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“Now tell me, I beg you, dear Santa Claus,

Where am I going with you ?” He laughingly answered, “Why, don't you know?

To travel the wide world through!

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HE frost was hard, the ground was bare ;

Resolved to mend her scanty fare,
A daring Crow a larder entered,
Where'never Crow before had ventured,
And managed safely off to hop
With (what d'you think?) a mutton chop ;
(Friend Æsop talks, you know, of cheese,
But meat a Crow might better please),
And, holding in her beak the treasure,
Perched on a tree to feast at leisure.
But scarcely had she reached her station,
When a sly Fox her occupation
Observing, nimbly took his place
Below, and looked her in the face :
“Dear ma'am,” said he, “don't think me rude-
I would not for the world intrude ;
But really your commanding beauty
Obliges me to pay my duty :
Those piercing eyes! those glossy plumes !
Your slave perhaps too far presumes,
Yet, might I beg a single song?
A voice enchanting must belong
To that fair form !-be kind! I die,
Unless your goodness will comply !"
The simple Crow believed the joke,
Opened her beak, and cried out “Croak!”
Down fell the meat ! the wished-for prize
The Fox snaps up, and sneering cries,
“I fear you're hoarse ; don't strain your throat ;
I really scarce can hear a note.
Good-bye; I cannot longer stay,
Yet suffer me one word to say :
When rogues like me praise fools like you,
We have our private ends in view.
Remember this, then, and beware
Of being caught in flatt'ry's snare.
You'll own, unless you're quite a glutton,
The lesson's worth a piece of mutton.”

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“God pity the men on the sea to-night !”
I said to my


And we shuddered as we heard afar

The sound of minute-guns.
My good man came in, in his fishing coat

(He was wet and cold that night),
And he said, “There'll lots of ships go down

On the headland rocks to-night.”
“Let the lamp burn all night, mother,"

Cried little Mary then ;
or? Tis but a little light, but still

It might save drowning men.
“Oh! nonsense !” cried her father (he

Was tired and cross that night),
“The headland lighthouse is enough.”

And he put out the light.
That night, on the rocks below us,

A noble ship went down,
But one was saved from the ghastly wreck,

The rest were left to drown.
“We steered by a little light,” he said,

“Till we saw it sink from view;
If they'd only 'a left that light all night

My mates might have been here, too !”
Then little Mary sobbed aloud ;

Her father blushed for shame;
6'Twas our light that you saw,

"And I'm the one to blame.''
'Twas a little light--how small a thing !

And trifling was its cost,
Yet for want of it a ship went down,

And a hundred souls were lost.

he said,

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It calls for something more than brawn

Or muscle to o'ercome
An enemy who marcheth not

With banner, plume and drum-
A foe forever lurking nigh,

With silent, stealthy tread;
Forever near your board by day,

At night beside your bed.

ET others write of battles fought,

Of bloody, ghastly fields, Where honor greets the man who wins,

And death, the man who yields;
But I will write of him who fights

And vanquishes his sins,
Who struggles on through weary years

Against himself, and wins.
He is a hero staunch and brave,

Who fights an unseen foe,
And puts at last beneath his feet

His passions base and low;
Who stands erect in manhood's might

Undaunted, undismayed. -
The bravest man who drew a sword

In foray, or in raid.

| All honor, then, to that brave heart !

Though poor or rich he be,
Who struggles with his better part-

Who conquers and is free.
He may not wear a hero's crown,
Or fill a hero's

But truth will place his name among

The bravest of the brave.




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HAT mother viewed the scene of blood ; her six unconquered sons were gone:

fearless she viewed ;-beside her stood her last-her youngest—dearest one ! He looked upon her, and he smiled :-oh, will she save that only child ? “By all my love, my son,” she said, “the breast that nursed,—the arms that bore,

-the unsleeping care that watched thee,-fed, -till manhood's years required no more; by all I've wept and prayed for thee, now, now, be firm and pity me! Look, I beseech thee, on yon heaven, with its high field of azure light; look on this earth, to mankind given, arrayed in beauty and in might; and think, nor scorn thy mother's prayer, on Him who said it—and they were ! So shalt thou not this tyrant fear, nor, recreant, shun the glorious strife; behold ! thy battle-field is near; then go, my son, nor heed thy life ; go, like thy faithful brothers die,—that I may meet you all on high !”. Like arrow from the bended bow, he sprang upon the bloody pile :-like sun-rise on the morning's snow, was that heroic mother's smile. He died,—nor feared the tyrant's nod—for Judah's law, and Judah's God.



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BABY was sleeping ; its Mother was weeping, for her Husband was far on

the wild raging sea ; and the tempest was swelling round the fisherman's dwelling, as she cried, “Dermot, darling, oh ! come back to me." Her beads while she numbered, the baby still slumbered, and smiled in her face, as she bended her knee; "Oh! bless'd be that warning, my child, thy sleep adorning ; for I know that the angels are whispering with thee! And while they are keeping bright watch o'er thy sleeping, oh! pray to them softly, my baby with me; and say thou wouldst rather they'd watched o'er thy father ! for I know that the Angels are whispering with thee!”—The dawn of the morning saw Dermot returning, and the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see; and closely caressing her child, with a blessing, said, “I knew that the Angels were whispering with thee !''



D EAR friends, we thank you for your condescension, in deigning thus to

lend us your attention; and hope the various pieces we recite (boys though we are), will yield you some delight. The powers of eloquence can charm the soul, inspire the virtuous, and the bad control ; can rouse the passions, or their rage can still, and mould a stubborn mob to one man's will. Nor to the Senate of the bar confined, the pulpit shows its influence o'er the mind :—such glorious deeds can eloquence achieve; such fame, such deathless laurels, it can give. Then say not this our weak attempt is vain, for frequent practice will perfection gain: the fear to speak in public it destroys, and drives away the bashfulness of boys. Various the pieces we to-night repeat, and in them various excellences meet; some rouse the soul--some gently soothe the ear, “from grave to gay, from lively to severe." We would your kind indulgence then besspeak for awkward manner, and for utterance weak; our powers, indeed, are feeble;—but our aim is not to rival Greek or Roman fame ; our sole ambition aims at your applause; we are but young-ler youth then plead our cause; and, if your approbation be obtained, our wish is answered, and our end is gained.

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