Yet his heart all the while was so burnt and distrest, That it turned all the feathers coal-black on his

breast.

The birds they all marvelled, but still he denied, And wore a black cap his deep blushes to hide; So that is the reason himself and his kin

Wear hoods with the lappets quite under the chin.

Then last came the Owl, grieving loud as he flew, Saying how his false lover had bade him adieu; And though he knew not where to find her or follow, Yet round their old haunts he would still whoop and halloo,

For no sleep could he get in his sorrowful plight, So that is the reason Owls halloo at night.

And here ends the song of each woe-stricken bird,
Now was a more pitiful story e'er heard?
The rest were all coupled, and happy, and they
Sung the old merry songs which they sing at this
day:

And good little boys, when this tale they read o'er,
Will ne'er have the hearts to hurt birds any more,
And add to the griefs they already have sung,
By robbing their nests of their eggs and their young;
But feel for their sufferings, and pity their pain,
Nor give them new cause of their lot to complain.

BY THE LATE REV. WILLIAM GILLESPIE.

Now thick the yellow leaves are strew'd,
And stain the meadow's lively green;
While sad I roam through this lone wood,
And muse on the departing scene.

In hazel copse, or birchen bower,

Can scarce the blackbird hide her wing; While fall the leaves in eddying shower, Like hawthorn blossoms in the spring.

Thus generations, like the leaves,

Are nipt by age's chilling breeze; And earth, the common grave, receives The sad remains of men and trees.

There all the forms of being meet;
And, when the world is wrapt in snow,
Say, is not this the winding-sheet

Which folds the dead that sleep below?

Ye forms of life! return'd to earth,

Soon death dissolves your transient frame; But boasts the soul a nobler birth,

And soars to heaven-from whence it came.

་་

BY MRS. HOFLAND.

"WHAT a happy little girl Jane is, now you have praised her! She is as proud of saying a good lesson, though she can only spell d-o-g dog, c-a-t cat, as I should be if I had done a long sum in the Rule of Three," said Harry Gibson.

"Surely she has as much right to be proud and pleased too," replied his mother; "for she has gone through as much labour and conquered as much difficulty."

"She is a little merry, good-tempered thing, at all times," continued Harry; "indeed, I think we are altogether quite as happy as any of our neighbours, whether rich or poor; every body says we are a contented family, and so we are;-don't you think so, mother ?"

"I can only answer for myself, Harry, though I believe your father's feelings a good deal resemble mine; therefore, the same answer may do for both: we are by no means contented."

All the time Harry had been speaking, he was laid down at full length on the floor, rolling from side to side, and looking sometimes upon his father, who, overpowered by fatigue, was half