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He took the paper, and I watched,
And saw him peep within;
At the first line he read, his face
Was all upon the grin.

He read the next; the grin grew broad,
And shot from ear to ear;

He read the third; a chuckling noise
I now began to hear,

The fourth; he broke into a roar;
The fifth; his waistband split;
The sixth; he burst five buttons off,
And tumbled in a fit.

Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye,
I watched that wretched man,―
And since, I never dare to write
As funny as I can.

LESSON XXVI.

THE DEATH OF FLOWERS.

The following beautiful contrast between the death of Flowers and the death of Man, was found floating in the newspapers, but the Editor knows nothing of its origin, except that it must have proceeded from a heart of purity, and a taste and sentiment of no common rank.

How happily, how happily the flowers die away-
Oh, could we but return to earth as happily as they !
Just live a life of sunshine, of innocence and bloom,
Then drop, without decrepitude, or pain, into the tomb!

The

gay and glorious creatures! they neither "toil nor spin ;"

Yet lo! what goodly raiment they are all apparelled in;

No tears are on their beauty, but dewy gems more bright Than ever brow of eastern queen endiademed with light.

The young, rejoicing creatures! their pleasures never pall;

Nor lose in sweet contentment, because so free to all! The dew, the showers, the sunshine, the balmy, blessëd air,

Spend nothing of their freshness, though all may freely share.

The happy, careless creatures! of time they take no heed;

Nor weary of his creeping, nor tremble at his speed; Nor sigh with sick impatience, and wish the light away; Nor when 't is gone, cry dolefully, "Would God that it were day!"

And when their lives are over, they drop away to rest, Unconscious of the penal doom, on holy Nature's breast. No pain have they in dying-no shrinking from decay; Oh, could we but return to earth as easily as they!

LESSON XXVII.

TIT FOR TAT.-EDITOR.

The hint of the following fable was taken from the French of De Stassart, but no translation was attempted.

A mouse, a cunning little soul,
Was trotting gaily to his hole,
To eat, as men say, at his ease
A little bit of stolen cheese,

When, right between him and his door,
He met a weasel, who, before

"A clever cat could lick her ear," Ate up the trotter ;-but his cheer Completing, like an epicure,

With the rich cheese, the evil doer

Himself was nabbed by that same fox
Who missed the grapes, and whom it shocks
To see oppression! So, with ease,
He eats the weasel, mouse, and cheese.
Just then a wolf, who chanced to see
How master fox had served the three,
In scripture said: "Whate'er to you
You wish to have another do,

Do

ye
to him;" I therefore must,
(And you will own the sentence just,)
Treat you as you the weasels treat,
And then the wolf began to eat,
And packed away, with perfect ease,
The fox and weasel, mouse and cheese.
A royal lion, who that way

In hungry mood perchanced to stray,
Saw what the cruel wolf was at,

And gave him on the ear a pat
That settled life and dinner both.
And then, his stomach, nothing loath,
Wolf, fox, and weasel, mouse, and cheese
Engulphed without a sigh or wheeze,
Just retribution being, of course,
The motive of the meal, and sauce.

This fable aims at statesmen, when
They check one wrong, inflicting ten,
And fill the world with dire distress,
To further human happiness!

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The following amusing personification of Winter affords the pupil a good opportunity to vary his voice and style; the last line, pronounced with a shrug, produces a pleasant effect. The ingenious author is HUGH MOORE.

Old Winter is coming again-alack!

How icy and cold is he!

He cares not a pin for a shivering back,
He's a saucy old chap to white and black,
He whistles his chills with a wonderful knack,
For he comes from a cold country.*

A witty old fellow this Winter is;

A mighty old fellow for glee!

He cracks his jokes on the pretty sweet miss,
The wrinkled old maiden unfit to kiss,
And freezes the dew of their lips-for this
Is the way with such fellows as he!

Old Winter's a frolicksome blade I wot-
He is wild in his humor and free!

He'll whistle along for the "want of his thought,”
And set all the warmth of our furs at naught,
And ruffle the laces by pretty girls bought;
For a frolicksome old fellow is he!

Old Winter is blowing his gust along,
And merrily shaking the tree!

From morning till night he will sing his song;

Now moaning and short-now howling and longHis voice is loud, for his lungs are strong,—

A merry old fellow is he!

Old Winter's a wicked old chap, I ween;
As wicked as ever you'll see!

* The old poets often throw the accent upon the last syllable of this and similar words.

He withers the flowers so fresh and green,
And bites the pert nose of the miss of sixteen,
As she triumphantly walks in maidenly sheen.*
A wicked old fellow is he!

Old Winter's a tough old fellow for blows,
As tough as ever you'll see!

He will trip up our trotters, and rend our clothes,
And stiffen our limbs from fingers to toes;
He minds not the cry of his friends or his foes-
A tough old fellow is he!

A cunning old fellow is Winter, they say,
A cunning old fellow is he!

He peeps in the crevices day by day,

To see how we 're passing our time away, And marks all our doings from grave to gay— I'm afraid he is peeping at me!

LESSON XXIX.

THE TAMING OF BUCEPHALUS.

It is related of Alexander the Great, that when a young man, witnessing the unsuccessful attempts of certain grooms to mount a remarkable horse that had been presented to king Philip, his father, he asked permission of the king to attempt it himself. Having with great difficulty obtained permission, he turned the head of the horse towards the sun, and then he mounted him with an ease that seemed almost supernatural to those who had not seen, as he had, that it was the sight of his own shadow that had made the horse so unmanageable. The horse Bucephalus became the favorite of Alexander, and bore him in most of his important battles. The following poetical account of the incident was written by PARK BENJAMIN, of New-York.

"Bring forth the steed!" It was a level plain,
Broad and unbroken as the mighty sea,
When in their prison-caves the winds lie chained.
There Philip sat, pavilioned from the sun;
There, all around, thronged Macedonia's hosts,
Bannered, and plumed, and armed—a vast array!

*Sheen means brightness or splendor.

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