for what I am saying. There is nothing that I regret so much, next to my unfaithfulness to my parents and to my God, when I think of what I did and what I might have done in my early days, as this that I neglected so many opportunities of storing my mind. with useful knowledge. How often do I perceive, with pain, that I might now be a much more useful man in my profession, if I had spent fewer hours in idleness and more in study.

My boy, I should not wonder at all if some of those who read my book will be presidents of this mighty republic, one of these days. Don't laugh at what I say. The people who are on the stage fifty years hence, must have presidents. The men who are now fit for such an office will not be here then. The places that now know them will then know them no more. Where will the people get their presidents, if they don't take them from your ranks ? · I have no desire to make you vain or foolishly ambitious. But I do want you to see that some men must do the work that our statesmen are now doing, when they have ceased from their labors, and that some of the boys who are now on the stage have got to take their places.

Do you see that lad, sitting so quietly and patiently, with a book in his hand, asking his kind mother or elder sister about his lesson ? To me that is a most interesting scene. Shall I tell you why? That lad, for aught that I know, will be a great man one of these days. Why not? Daniel Webster was once climbing the stairs of knowledge, just like this boy. His chances, everybody would have said, at that time, were no greater than that student yonder. I tell you that boy may be a president one day; and let me say, moreover, that it depends a good deal upon the way in which he manages when he is young, whether he will be distinguished among the good and the great of his country or not. I repeat it, that boy may make a president yet.

It was a sterling maxim of old Hesiod, digged from the mine of experimental wisdom, that "the man who devises mischief for another, devises it eventually for himself; and that evil counsel is ever the most pernicious to its author."

The Song of the Snow Bird.

POETRY AND AIR BY FRANCIS C. WOODWORTH-ACCOMPANIMENT BY S. N.

Allegro.

And

two little sisters were busy at play, When a snow bird was sitting close

Chick-a-de-de, chick-a de- de, And merrily singing his

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II.

He had not been singing that tune very long, Ere Emily heard him, so loud was his song.— "O sister! look out of the window," said she; "Here's a dear little bird, singing chick-a-de-de. Chick-a-de-de, &c.

III.

"Poor fellow! he walks in the snow and the sleet,
And has neither stockings nor shoes on his feet;
I pity him so how cold he must be!
And yet he keeps singing his chick-a-de-de.
Chick-a-de-de, &c.

IV.

"If I were a barefooted snow-bird, I know
I would not stay out in the cold and the snow.
I wonder what makes him so full of his glee;
He's all the time singing that chick-a-de-de.

V.

Chick-a-de-de, &c.

"O mother! do get him some stockings and shoes, A nice little frock, and a hat, if he choose;

I wish he'd come into the parlor, and see

How warm we would make him, poor chick-a-de-de."
Chick-a-de-de, &c.

VI.

The bird had flown down for some pieces of bread,
And heard every word little Emily said;

"How queer I would look in that dress!" thought he; And he laughed, as he warbled his chick-a-de-de.

VII.

Chick-a-de-de, &c.

"I thank you," he said, "for the wish you express,
But I've no occasion for such a fine dress;

I would rather remain with my limbs all free,
Than to hobble about, singing chick-a-de-de.

VIII.

Chick-a-de-de, &c.

"There is ONE, my dear child, though I cannot tell who,
Has clothed me already, and warm enough too.—
Good morning! O who are so happy as we?"—
And away he went, singing his chick-a-de-de.

Chick-a-de-de, &c.

THE CROSSBILL.

HAVE you ever seen a bird called by this name, reader? Perhaps you have seen him, and did not know his name. Perhaps, too, you have heard of the bird, but have never come across him. He is a singular fellow. He owns one of the most curiously constructed beaks that ever you saw on a bird; and it is on account of this peculiarity that he is named the crossbill. I wonder if it ever occurred to you, as you have been looking at different animals-birds, beasts, insects, reptiles-how admirably adapted each particular species is to its mode of life. The heron, you know, a bird that wades in the water after its food, has a long neck and long legs, while the hawk, that gets its living by preying upon other animals, has a hooked beak and claw fitted for tearing flesh in pieces. Well, you see here the wisdom of the great God, who made the world and everything in it. The Crossbill has the singular beak that I have just spoken of, to fit it for cutting in pieces the pine cones, of which he is For this purpose his beak is formed so that the upper mandibles cross each other as you see in the engraving.

very fond. and lower It is a re

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