PUSS AND THE BEAR.

A FIERCE grizzly bear,
With shaggy grey hair,

Lay on the low branch of a pine;
Above him there sat

A cunning wild cat,

Who guessed that he wanted to dine.

At last Bruin spied
Where puss wished to hide,
And, being quite hungry and tired,
Said, "Pray, Miss Puss, come
Down here to my home;

Oh, how your sweet face I've admired!

Her

But puss wisely thought

If she should be caught,

poor bones Bruin quickly would crunch; So she slily said, "Bear,

I'll take very good care

You don't gobble me up for your lunch."

Yet, being polite,

She judged it but right

To give an excuse for refusing;
So at once up she stood-

Still as high as she could

And said, “I can't do what you're choosing;

"But here's such a fine view

I wish you would come too;

I am sure it would please your good taste.
It's easy to climb

In almost no time;

So pray come up here, sir-make haste!

Bruin thought, "That will do!
Puss soon shall cry 'Mew!'

Ah, how silly a young cat is she!
I'll very soon stride

Close up to her side,

THE USES OF ADVERSITY.

When she'll make a nice luncheon for me."
So he said, "Thank you, puss,—
Without any more fuss

I'll come up your prospect to see.”

But old Bruin forgot

That a slim branch would not
Hold up such a monster as he;
Down he came with a crack,
Tumbling flat on his back,

To the stones at the foot of the tree.

Oh! how puss did purr

To think her sleek fur

Had 'scaped the rude clutch of his paws!
But more was she pleased

To think she had teased

Bruin, who would have seized
And munched her up in his great jaws.

THE USES OF ADVERSITY.

Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference; as the icy fang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,
This is no flattery,—these are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the uses of adversity,

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.

SHAKSPEARE, 1564-1616.

67

AUTUMN.

BRIGHT flowers are sinking,
Streamlets are shrinking,

Now the wide forest is withered and sear;
Light clouds are flying,

Soft winds are sighing,

We will be thoughtful, for autumn is near.
Blossoms we cherished

Have withered and perished,

Scenes which we smiled on are yellow and drear,
Feelings of sadness

O'ershadow our gladness,

And make the mind thoughtful, for autumn is near. Thus all that is fairest,

And sweetest, and rarest,

Must shortly be severed, and call for a tear;

Then let each emotion

Be warm with devotion,

And we will be thoughtful, for autumn is near.

ANON.-Glasgow Courier.

THE RAINY DAY.

THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;

My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining:
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,

Some days must be dark and dreary.

LONGFELLOW.

THE OLD ARM-CHAIR.

I LOVE it, I love it; and who shall dare
To chide me for loving that old arm-chair?
I've treasured it long as a sainted prize;

I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs, "Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart;

Not a tie will break, not a link will start.

Would ye learn the spell ?-a mother sat there;

And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair.

In childhood's hour I lingered near
The hallowed seat with listening ear;
And gentle words that mother would give;
To fit me to die, and teach me to live.

She told me shame would never betide,

With truth for my creed and God for my guide;
She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer,
As I knelt beside that old arm-chair.

I sat and watched her many a day,

When her eye grew dim, and her locks were grey;
And I almost worshipped her when she smiled,
And turned from her Bible to bless her child.
Years rolled on ; but the last one sped-
My idol was shattered; my earth-star fled;
I learnt how much the heart can bear,
When I saw her die in that old arm-chair.

"Tis past, 'tis past, but I gaze on it now
With quivering breath and throbbing brow ;—
"Twas there she nursed me; 'twas there she died;
And memory flows with lava tide.

Say it is folly, and deem me weak,

While the scalding drops start down my cheek;
But I love it, I love it; and cannot tear

My soul from a mother's old arm-chair.

ELIZA COOK.

IN faith and hope the world will disagree,
But all mankind's concern is charity.

POPE.

THE JACKDAW.

THERE is a bird, who, by his coat,
And by the hoarseness of his note,
Might be supposed a crow.

A great frequenter of the church,
Where, bishop-like, he finds a perch
And dormitory too.

Above the steeple shines a plate,
That turns and turns to indicate

From what point blows the weather.
Look up, your brains begin to swim ;
"Tis in the clouds! that pleases him,
He chooses it the rather.

You think, perhaps, he sits and muses
On future broken bones and bruises,
If he should chance to fall;
But not a single thought like that
Employs his philosophic pate,
Or troubles it at all.

He sees that this great roundabout,
The world, with all its motley rout,
Church, army, physic, law,
Its pleasures and its businesses,
Are no concern at all of his,

And says-what says he? Caw!
Thrice happy bird! I too have seen
Much of the vanities of men ;

And, sick of having seen 'em, Would cheerfully these limbs resign, For such a pair of wings as thine, And such a head between 'em.

WILLIAM COWPER, 1731-1800.