48.-THE MOUSE'S PETITION.-Mrs. Barbauld.

Oh, hear a pensive prisoner's prayer, for liberty that sighs;
And never let thine heart be shut against a wretch's cries!
For here forlorn and sad I sit, within the wiry grate;

And tremble at the approaching morn, which brings impending fate.
If e'er thy breast with freedom glowed, and spurned a tyrant's chain,
Let not thy strong oppressive force a free-born Mouse detain!
Oh, do not stain with guiltless blood thy hospitable hearth!
Nor triumph that thy wiles betrayed a prize so little worth.
The scattered gleanings of a feast my frugal meals supply;
But if thy unrelenting heart that slender boon deny,—
The cheerful light, the vital air, are blessings widely given;
Let Nature's commoners enjoy the common gifts of Heaven.

So may thy hospitable board with health and peace be crowned,
And every charm of heartfelt ease beneath thy roof be found.

So when Destruction works unseen, which men, like mice, may share,— May some kind angel clear thy path, and break the hidden suare.

49.-THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE.-Lloyd.

A forward Hare, of swiftness vain, the genius of the neighbouring plain, would oft deride the drudging crowd,-for geniuses are ever proud. He'd boast his flight 'twere vain to follow, for dog and horse he'd beat them hollow; nay, if he put forth all his strength, outstrip his brethren half a length. A Tortoise heard his vain oration, and vented thus his indignation: "O puss! it bodes thee dire disgrace when I defy thee to the race. Come, 'tis a match; nay, no denial; I lay my shell upon the trial." "Twas "Done," and 66 66 Done,” All fair," ," "A bet,"-judges prepared, and distance set. The scampering Hare outstripped the wind; the creeping Tortoise lagged behind, and scarce had passed a single pole when puss had almost reached the goal. "Friend Tortoise," quoth the jeering Hare, "your burden's more than you can bear; to help your speed it were as well that I should ease you of your shell; jog on a little faster, pr'ythee: I'll take a nap and then be with thee." The Tortoise heard his taunting jeer, but still resolved to persevere; on to the goal securely crept, while puss, unknowing, soundly slept. The bets were won, the Hare awoke, when thus the victor-Tortoise spoke: "Puss, though I own thy quicker parts, things are not always done by starts: you may deride my awkward pace, but-slow and steady wins the race."

50.-EVENING.-Fletcher.

Shepherds all, and maidens fair, fold your flocks up; for the air 'gins to thicken, and the sun already his great course has run. See the dewdrops, how they kiss every little flower that is; hanging on their velvet heads, like a rope of crystal beads. See the heavy clouds low falling, and bright Hesperus down-calling the dead Night from underground; at whose rising, mists unsound, damps and vapours, fly apace, hovering o'er the wanton face of these pastures, where they come striking dead both bud and bloom. Therefore, from such danger, lock every one of his loved flock; and let your dogs lie loose without,—lest the wolf come, as a scout from the mountain, and ere day bear a kid or lamb away; or the crafty, thievish fox break upon your simple flocks. To secure yourself from these, be not too secure in ease. So shall you good shepherds prove, and deserve your Master's love. Now, good night! may sweetest slumbers and soft silence fall in numbers on your eyelids; so, farewell!-Thus I end my evening knell.

51.-HOW-D'YE-DO AND GOOD-BYE.-Spencer.

One day Good-bye met How-d'ye-do, too close to shun saluting;
But soon the rival sisters flew from kissing to disputing.

"Away!" says How-d'ye-do; "your mien appals my cheerful nature :
No name so sad as yours is seen in sorrow's nomenclature.

"Ere How-d'ye-do has tuned each tongue to 'Hope's delighted measure,'
Good-bye on Friendship's ear has rung the knell of parting pleasure!
From sorrows past my chymic skill draws smiles of consolation;
While you, from present joys, distil the tears of separation."

Good-bye replied, "Your statement's true, and well your cause you've pleaded;

But pray, who'd think of 'How-d'ye-do,' unless 'Good-bye' preceded?
How oft,-if at the court of love concealment is the fashion,-

When How-d'ye-do' has fail'd to move, Good-bye' reveals the passion?
"How oft when Cupid's fires decline, -as every heart remembers,-
One sigh of mine, and only mine, revives the dying embers?
Go, bid the timid lover choose, and I'll resign my charter,

If he, for ten kind' How-d'ye-do's, one kind 'Good-bye' would barter!
"From Love and Friendship's kindred source we both derive existence;
And they would both lose half their force without our joint assistance.
'Tis well the world our merit knows, since there is no denying
One half in 'How-d'ye-doing' goes, and t'other in 'Good-byeing !'"

52.—THE FOX AND THE CROW.-Anon.

The fox and the crow, in prose, I well know,
Many good little girls can rehearse;
Perhaps it will tell pretty nearly as well,
If we try the same fable in verse.

In a dairy, a crow having ventured to go,
Some food for her young ones to seek,
Flew up in the trees, with a large piece of cheese,
Which she joyfully held in her beak.

A fox who lived by, to the tree saw her fly,
And to share in the prize made a vow;
For having just dined, he for cheese felt inclined,-
So he went and sat under the bough.

She was cunning, he knew, but so was he too,
And with flattery adapted his plan;

For he knew if she'd speak, it must fall from her beak:
So bowing politely, began :—

""Tis a very fine day ;"-not a word did she say;—
“The wind, I believe, Ma'am, is south;

A fine harvest for peas;" he then look'd at the cheese,
But the crow did not open her mouth.

Sly Renard, not tired, her plumage admired,

"How charming! how brilliant your hue! The voice must be fine of a bird so divine, Ah, let me just hear it—pray do!

"Believe me, I long to hear a sweet song."

The silly crow foolishly tries

And she scarce gave one squall, when the cheese she let fall, And the fox ran away with the prize!

58.-THE FOX AND THE CAT.-Cunningham.

The Fox and the Cat, as they travelled one day,

With moral discourses cut shorter the way:

""Tis great," says the Fox, "to make justice our guide!"

"How god-like is mercy !" Grimalkin replied.

Whilst thus they proceeded, a Wolf from the wood, Impatient of hunger, and thirsting for blood,

Rush'd forth-as he saw the dull shepherd asleep-
And seiz'd for his supper an innocent Sheep.
"In vain, wretched victim, for mercy you bleat,
When mutton's at hand," says the Wolf, "I must eat."
Grimalkin's astonish'd!-the Fox stood aghast,

To see the fell beast at his bloody repast.

"What a wretch !" says the Cat, "'tis the vilest of brutes!
Does he feed upon flesh when there's herbage and roots ?"
Cries the Fox, "While oaks give us acorns so good,
What a tyrant is this to spill innocent blood!"

Well, onward they march'd, and they moraliz'd still,
Till they came where some poultry pick'd chaff by a mill.
Sly Reynard survey'd them with gluttonous eyes,
And made, spite of morals, a pullet his prize.

A Mouse, too, that chanc'd from her covert to stray,
The greedy Grimalkin secured as her prey.

A Spider that sat in her web on the wall,
Perceiv'd the poor victims, and pitied their fall;
She cried, "Of such murders, how guiltless am I!"
So ran to regale on a new-taken Fly.

54.-BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES.-Mary Howitt.
Buttercups and daisies-oh, the pretty flowers!
Coming ere the Spring-time, to tell of sunny hours.
While the trees are leafless, while the fields are bare,
Buttercups and daisies spring up here and there!

Ere the snow-drop peepeth, or the crocus bold;
Ere the early primrose opes its paly gold,

Somewhere on a sunny bank buttercups are bright;
Somewhere 'mong the frozen grass peeps the daisy white.

They are hardy flowers,-like to children poor,
Playing in their sturdy health by their mother's door.
Purple with the north-wind, yet alert and bold;
Fearing not, and caring not, though they be a cold!

What to them is weather! what are stormy showers!
Buttercups and daisies are these human flowers!
He who gave them hardships and a life of care,

Gave them likewise hardy strength and patient hearts to bear.

55.-ELLEN'S SONG-THE LADY OF THE LAKE.-Sir W. Scott.

1 Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; dream of battle-fields no more, days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, hands unseen thy couch are strewing; fairy strains of music fall, every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; dream of battlefields no more, morn of toil, nor night of waking. 2 No rude sound shall reach thine ear, armour's clang, or war-steed champing; trump nor pibroch summon here mustering clan, or squadron tramping. Yet the lark's shrill fife may come at the daybreak from the fallow, and the bittern sound his drum, booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds shall none be near, guards nor warders challenge here; here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, shouting clans or squadrons stamping. 3 Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done; while our slumb'rous spells assail ye, dream not with the rising sun bugles here shall sound reveillé. Sleep! the deer is in his den; sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying; sleep! nor dream in yonder glen, how thy gallant steed lay dying. Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done; think not of the rising sun, for at dawning to assail ye, here no bugle sounds reveillé.

56. THE FAIRY BOY.-Samuel Lover.

1 A mother came when stars were paling, wailing round a lonely spring; thus she cried, while tears were falling, calling on the Fairy King: "Why with spells, my child caressing, courting him with fairy joy,-why destroy a mother's blessing? wherefore steal my baby boy? 2 O'er the mountain, through the wild wood, where his childhood loved to play; where the flowers are freshly springing, there I wander day by day. There I wander, growing fonder of the child that made my joy; on the echoes wildly calling to restore my fairy boy. 3 But in vain my plaintive calling, tears are falling all in vain; he now sports with fairy pleasure, he's the treasure of their train. Fare thee well, my child, for ever, in this world I've lost my joy; but in the next we ne'er shall sever-there I'll find my angel boy!"

57.--SOLILOQUY OF A WATER-WAGTAIL.-Montgomery.

"Hear your sovereign's proclamation, all good subjects, young and old! I'm the Lord of the Creation,-I, a Water-wagtail bold; all around, and all you see,--all the world, was made for ME! 2 Yonder sun, so proudly shining, rises when I leave my nest; and, behind the hills declining, sets when I retire to rest; morn and evening thus you see,-day and night, were made for ME! 3 Vernal gales to love invite me; Summer sheds for me her beams; Autumn's genial scenes delight me; Winter