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THE WINTRY NIGHT.

ANONYMOUS. AROUND the fire, one wintry night,

A farmer's rosy children sat ; The fagot lent its blazing light,

And jokes went round and careless chat. When, hark! a gentle hand they hear

Low tapping at the bolted door! And thus, to gain their willing ear,

A feeble voice was heard implore :“ Cold blows the blast across the moor,

The sleet drives hissing in the wind,
Yon toisome mountain lies before,

A dreary, treeless waste behind.
My eyes are weak and dim with age,

No road or path can I descry;
And these poor rags ill stand the rage

Of such a keen inclement sky.
“ So faint I am-these tottering feet

No more my palsied frame can bear;
My freezing heart forgets to beat,
And drifting snows my

tomb

prepare. “Open your hospitable door,

And shield me from the biting frost; Cold, cold it blows across the moor, The

weary moor that I have passed.” With hasty step the farmer ran ;

And close beside the fire they place The poor half-frozen beggar-man,

With shaking limbs and blue-pale face, The little children flocking came,

And chafed his frozen hands in theirs;
And busily the good old dame

A comfortable mess prepares.
Their kindness cheered his drooping soul,

And slowly down his wrinkled cheek
The big round tears were seen to roll,

And told the thanks he could not speak.

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TO A REDBREAST THAT FLEW IN AT THE WINDOW.

GRAHAME. The Rev. James Grahame was born in Glasgow in 1765, and died

in 1811, after a life of practical virtue, but of patient suffering

under ill-health.
FROM snowy plains, and icy sprays,
From moonless nights, and sunless days,
Welcome, poor bird ! I'll cherish thee;
I love thee, for thou trustest me.
Thrice welcome, helpless, panting guest !
Fondly I'll warm thee in my breast.-
How quick thy little heart is beating !
As if its brother-flutterer greeting.
Thou need'st not fear a captive's doom,
No! freely flutter round my room;
Perch on my lute's remaining string,
And sweetly of sweet Summer sing.
That note, that Summer note, I know,
It wakes at once, and soothes my woe:
I see those woods, I see that stream,
I see--ah! still prolong the dream!

Still, with thy song, those scenes renew,
Though through my tears they reach my view.

No more now, at my lonely meal,
While thou art by alone I'll feel !
For soon, devoid of all distrust,
Thou'lt nibbling share my humble crust;
Or on my finger, pert and spruce,
Thou’lt learn to sip the sparkling juice;
And when, our short collation o’er,
Some favourite volume I explore,
Be it work of poet or of sage,
Safe thou shalt hop across the page.

Thus heedless of the raving blast,
Thou’lt dwell with me till Winter's past
And when the primrose tells 'tis Spring,
And when the thrush begins to sing,
Soon as I licar the woodland song,
I'll set thee free to join the throng.

EARLY PIETY.

ANONYMOUS. Father of all, whose tender love, Whose bounty all thy creatures prove: We feel thy goodness, own thy power: Thy hand sustains us every hour. Supported by thy gracious care, Thy blessings while we daily share, Our infant minds, which else would stray, Are early taught to know thy way. That happy day, which God has blest, We pass in prayer and holy rest; Cheerful we sing our Maker's praise, And wish to serve Him all our days. By Christ's example we are led The sacred paths of truth to tread; To shun the sinner's dangerous way, To love our duty and obey.

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LITTLE CHARLIE'S WILL.

GRACE GREENWOOD. From the “Recollections of my Childhood ” of this graceful and ac

complished authoress I gladly extract the following beautiful story

of the reward of unselfishness. WALTER and Charlie Harrison were the sons of a sea-captain, and lived in one of the fine old seaport towns of Massachusetts.

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These boys were as unlike as two brothers could well be. Walter was a rough, plain boy, large of his age, and rather clumsy, with a passionate, jealous temper, which gave his friends a great deal of trouble. But he had some noble qualities : he was as brave as a young lion, faithful, diligent, perfectly honest and truthful, and sometimes very tender in his feelings. Charlie, some two years younger than Walter, was a delicate, beautiful, sweet-tempered boy, who loved everybody, and in return was greatly beloved. He was fair, pale, and slight, with blue eyes and golden curls. Walter said he looked like a girl, and sometimes laughed at his delicacy; but, for all that, he was jealous of the poor child's beauty, even of his weakness.

Captain Harrison was most of the time at sea; and his gentle wife found it difficult to control the impatient spirit, or correct the even more unamiable moodiness, of her eldest son. If she reproved him sternly, he would often accuse her of being partial to her youngest and handsomest son, and say that she petted and indulged Charlie so much, that he could not be disobedient or give her any trouble; he himself, he said, would be good, if he were so treated.

Walter really thought himself slighted, because he knew he was very plain, and he saw his sickly brother cared for constantly. He never seemed to think how ridiculous it would look in his mother to be nursing and petting a stout, healthy boy, who was one of the strongest wrestlers, and the best hand with the ball in all the town.

Walter, with all his fine health, was often silent and sullen, while his brother was seldom too ill to be talkative and cheerful; so it was very natural for visitors to notice Charlie the most, and as they supposed he needed amusing, to send him books and to make him presents most frequently. All this "partiality" was shown to him, Walter said, because he happened to have a plain face, and didn't know how to put himself forward. Charlie was grieved at this, and always wished to share his gifts with his brother; but Walter could never be persuaded to accept anything.

One time, when Charlie was about ten years old, his mother had a visit from a pious maiden aunt, who spent some weeks in the family. During Miss Hannah Perkins' stay she became much attached to quiet little Charlie; but as Walter gave way to his temper two or three times before her, and made sport of some of her queer ways, she did not like him over-much, though she thought he might be made a good boy with proper management. She wondered how his mother could let slip such fits of passion and such naughty tricks pass without severe punishment. If he were her child, she said, she would soon whip that bad temper out of him. But Mrs. Harrison

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