How fair is the rose! what a beau-ti-ful flow-er! The glo-ry of A-pril and May;

But the leaves are be-gin-ning to fade in an hour,
And they wi-ther and die in a day.

Yet the rose has one pow'r-ful vir-tue to boast
Above all the flow-ers of the field;

When its leaves are all dead, and its fine co-lours

lost,

Still how sweet a per-fume it will yield.

So frail is the youth and the beau-ty of men, Though they bloom, and look gay like a rose; For all our fond care to pre-serve them is vain— Time kills them as fast as he goes.

Then I'll not be proud of my youth or my beau-ty,

Since both of them wi-ther and fade,

But gain a good name by well do-ing my du-ty; This will scent like a rose when I'm dead.

THE ROBIN AND THE NAUGHTY BOY.

It is not al-ways sum-mer. The fine warm wea-ther goes, and then come cold and rain, and snow and frost. Water freezes, the ground is white with the fall-en snow, and then we know it is win-ter.

Win-ter is a sad time for the poor lit-tle birds. They can-not get food in the fields as they did in sum-mer, and they fly in flocks to the barnyards to see if there be any stray grains for them to pick up.

At this sea-son the pret-ty ro-bin comes to the doors and win-dows, to look for crumbs. The ro-bin has a red breast, and it sings very sweet-ly. E-ve-ry bo-dy is kind to ro-bins, for they are harm-less crea-tures, and seem to ask us to feed them in cold frosty win-ter. It is on-ly cru-el naugh-ty boys who would hurt the ro-bin.

I will tell you a sto-ry about a very naugh-ty boy. He did not mind put-ting pins in flies, or pick-ing out the eyes of his sis-ter's dolls, or do-ing any other mis-chief. One cold morn-ing in win-ter, a ro-bin came in at his win-dow, and it was al-most fro-zen to death. He would not give it the least crumb of bread, but pull-ed it a-bout by the tail, and hurt it sad-ly, so that the ro-bin died.

Some time after, this boy lost him-self in a wood. He did not know how to find his way to any place he knew. When it grew dark, he sat down and cried bit-ter-ly. I be-lieve he would have been al-most dead be-fore morn-ing, if his cries had not been heard by a poor man

who was pass-ing that way. The poor man came to him, and took him kind-ly by the hand, and led him to his house, where he got some-thing to eat, and a bed to lie upon all night. It was well for him that the poor man was kind-er to him than he was to the ro-bin. The boy then saw that he ought to have taken in the ro-bin and given it some crumbs, in-stead of teas-ing and kill-ing it.

When the leaves had for-sak-en the trees,
And the fo-rests were chil-ly and bare;
When the brooks were be-gin-ning to freeze,
And the snow wa-ver'd fast through the air;

A ro-bin had fled from the wood,
To the snug ha-bi-ta-tion of man;
On the thresh-old the wan-der-er stood,
And thus his pe-ti-tion be-gan:

"The snow's com-ing down very fast,
No shel-ter is found on the tree;
When you hear the un-pi-ty-ing blast,
I pray you take pi-ty on me.

The hips and the haws are all gone,
I can find nei-ther ber-ry nor sloe:
The ground is as hard as a stone,
And I'm al-most bu-ried in snow.

My dear lit-tle nest, once so neat,

Is now emp-ty, and rag-ged, and torn;
On some tree should I now take my seat,
I'd be fro-zen quite fast be-fore morn.
Oh, throw me a mor-sel of bread!
Take me in by the side of the fire;
And when I am warm-ed and fed,
I'll whis-tle with-out other hire,
Till the sun be a-gain shin-ing bright,
And the snow is all gone, let me stay;
Oh, see what a ter-ri-ble night!

I shall die if you drive me a-way!

And when you come forth in the morn, And are talk-ing and walk-ing a-round; Oh, how will your bo-som be torn,

When you see me lie dead on the ground!

Then pi-ty a poor lit-tle thing,

And throw me a part of your store; I'll fly off on the com-ing of spring, And ne-ver will trou-ble you more."

THE SPRING-FANNY AND THE LAMB.

The spring is come a-gain, the cold win-ter is past, the snow is melt-ed away, and there are green buds on the hed-ges. We now hear the notes of the cuc-koo in the grove. The cuc-koo is a pret-ty bird like a pi-geon, and it comes to wel-come in the spring. Hark! how it cries; cuc-koo, cuc-koo.

The swal-lows have also come fly-ing back over the wide sea, from the warm lands where they spent the win-ter. But it is still cold on the hills and in the high grounds, and there are poor lit-tle lambs ly-ing a-bout that would be ve-ry glad if the sun shone warm-er, and the winds were less keen and bit-ing.

There is a farm-house yon-der, and it is well shel-ter-ed by trees, and the hills that slope a-round it; and a lit-tle girl, call-ed Fan-ny, lives there, who is very thank-ful that she has been so hap-py and safe through the long win-ter, and that she had not to live out in the drea-ry country, like many poor girls that have no fa-ther nor mo-ther to take care of them.

And she is come out into the fields to look a-bout, and see if the trees are bud-ding, and if the snow is gone from the hol-low places in the hil-locks, where the vio-lets will soon be found.

See, she is go-ing to-wards the fold where there are a great ma-ny sheep and lambs ly-ing, and there is one poor lit-tle thing that is not so strong as the rest, and it looks as if it would die,