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

A fox who lived nigh, to the tree saw her fly,
And to share in the prize laid 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 crow say. “The wind, I believe ma'am, is south ;—

A fine harvest for peas."-He then looked at the cheese;

But the crow did not open her mouth.

Sly Reynard not tired, her plumage admired,
"How charming!-How brilliant its hue!
The voice must be fine of a bird so divine;
Ah! let me just hear it, now do.

Believe me,

I long just to hear your sweet song." The silly crow foolishly tries:

She scarce gave a squall, when the cheese she let fall, And the fox ran away with the prize.

Young ladies who hear, must the flatterer fear,
However his flatteries please;

For though e'er so demure, you may always be sure
He seeks something dearer than cheese,

2*

LESSON V.

THE USE OF FLOWERS.

A few of the emphatical words in this beautiful little poem, are marked to give the pupil its full expression. It was written by the English Quakeress, MARY HOWITT.

God might have bade the earth bring forth
Enough for great and small,

The oak-tree and the cedar-tree,

Without a flower at all.

He might have made enough, enough

For every want of ours,

For luxury, medicine, and toil,

And yet, have made no flowers.

The clouds might give abundant rain,
The nightly dews might fall,
And the herb, that keepeth life in man,
Might yet have drunk them all.

Then, wherefore, wherefore were they made,
All dyed with rainbow light,
All fashioned with supremest grace,
Up-springing, day and night?

Springing, in valleys green and low,
And on the mountains high,
And in the silent wilderness,
Where no man passes by?

Our outward life requires them not,
Then, wherefore had they birth
To minister delight to man,-
To beautify the earth;-

To comfort man-to whisper hope,
Whene'er his faith is dim,—
For, Whoso careth for the flowers,
Will care much more for him.

LESSON VI.

THE BEACON LIGHT.

The speaker should commence in a grave tone, brightening and growing more cheerful to the end of the third stanza, when, resuming his solemnity, he must speak the beautiful simile contained in the fourth stanza. A simile is a figure of speech containing a comparison to explain or adorn the sentiment. The author is MISS PARDOE.

Darkness was deepening o'er the seas,
And still the hulk drove on;
No sail to answer to the breeze,
Her masts and cordage gone;
Gloomy and drear her course of fear,
Each looked but for a grave—
When, full in sight, the beacon light
Came streaming o'er the wave.

Then wildly rose the gladdening shout
Of all that hardy crew;

Boldly they put the helm about,
And through the surf they flew ;
Storm was forgot―toil heeded not-
And loud the cheer they gave,
As full in sight, the beacon light
Came streaming o'er the wave.

And gaily of the tale they told,
When they were safe on shore;

How hearts had sunk and hopes grown cold
Amid the billow's roar ;

When not a star had shone from far,
By its pale beam to save:
Then full in sight, the beacon light
Came streaming o'er the wave.

Thus, in the night of nature's gloom,
When sorrow bows the heart:
When cheering hopes no more illume,
And prospects all depart;

Then, from afar, shines Bethlehem's star,
With cheering light to save ;

And full in sight, its beacon light

Comes streaming o'er the

grave.

LESSON VII.

THE ROMANCE READER.

This lively and natural description of we fear the greater part of our young females, is extracted from a longer poem, entitled CURIOSITY, written by CHARLES SPRAGUE of Boston; a poet, of whom it may be said, that he "has written nothing which, dying, he would wish to blot," a charm, which we are proud to think is characteristic of American poetry.

Look, now,
directed by yon candle's blaze,
Where the false shutter half its trust betrays-
Mark that fair girl, reclining in her bed,

Its curtain round her polished shoulders spread :
Dark midnight reigns, the storm is up in power;
What keeps her waking in that dreary hour?
See where the volume on her pillow lies-
Claims Radcliffe or Chapone those frequent sighs?
"Tis some wild legend-now her kind eye fills,
And now cold terror every fibre chills;
Still she reads on, in fiction's labyrinth lost,
Of tyrant fathers, and of true love crossed;

Of clanking fetters, low, mysterious groans,
Blood-crusted daggers, and uncoffined bones;
Pale, gliding ghosts, with fingers dropping gore,
And blue flames dancing round a dungeon door.
Still she reads on,-even though to read she fears,
And in each key-hole moan strange voices hears,
While every shadow that withdraws her look,
Glares in her face, the goblin of her book.
Still o'er the leaves her craving eye is cast,
On all she feasts, yet hungers for the last;
Counts what remain, now sighs there are no more,
And now even those half tempted to skip o'er.
At length, the bad all killed, the good all pleased,
Her thirsting curiosity appeased,

She shuts the dear, dear book, that made her weep,
Puts out her light, and turns away to sleep.

LESSON VIII.

THE FELON.

The philanthropist will see in this piece a sentiment worthy of deep consideration. After the description of the destitute criminal, the pupil must endeavor to use the tones and earnestness becoming the unfortunate being who is supposed to state a case, that, we fear, is but too common. The author was LEWIS, sometimes called Monk Lewis, because he wrote "The Monk," and several other popular romances like those alluded to in the preceding Lesson.

Oh! mark his wan and hollow cheeks,
And mark his eyeball's glare,

And mark his teeth in anguish clinched,

The anguish of despair.

Know, three days since, his penance o'er,
Yon culprit left a jail,

And since three days, no food has passed
Those lips so parched and pale.

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