The herd's low bleat, and the sick man's pant, LESSON XII. THE PAUPER'S DEATH BED. The following poem was written by MRS. SOUTHEY, wife of one of the greatest English poets of modern times. She is also distinguished for her prose writings, amongst which are Tales of the Churchyard. Tread softly-bow the head In reverent silence bow- Yet an immortal soul Is passing now. Stranger! however great, With lowly reverence bow; There's one in that poor One by that paltry bed, shed Greater than thou. Beneath that beggar's roof, Lo! Death doth keep his state : Enter-no guards defend This palace gate. That pavement damp and cold One silent woman stands, No mingling voices sound- O! change-O! wondrous change— So agonized, and now Beyond the stars! O! change-stupendous change! There lies the soulless clod! The sun eternal breaks The Immortal wakes Wakes with his God. LESSON XIII. THE LITTLE MAID. The following little poem appears best when spoken by a very girl. The witty author is unknown to the Editor. There was a little maid, Who wore a little bonnet; She had a little finger, With a little ring upon it. This pretty little maid Had a pretty little beau, Who wore a little hat, And gloves as white as snow; little He said his little heart Was in a little flutter,— That he loved the little maid, And no one else but her. He smiled a little smile When he breathed his little vows; And he kissed her little hand, With many little bows. By little and by little, Her little heart did yield, Till little tears and sighs, Her little heart revealed. A little while-alas! And her little beau departed, With all his little vows, And left her broken-hearted. A moral I will give you,— LESSON XIV. CHILDHOOD AND HIS VISITORS. The following piece was extracted from a Liverpool paper, but the author is unknown. Pindus, a mountain in what is now part of Turkey in Europe, was sacred to Apollo, the fabulous god of Music and Poetry, and to the Muses, nine sister goddesses, who presided over music, dancing, and all the liberal arts. Once on a time, when sunny May Happy, he knew not whence or how; Old Time, in most appalling wrath, That Childhood watched his paper kite, Then stepped a gloomy phantom up, Full to the brim of bitter water; Poor Childhood bade her tell her name, And when the beldame muttered "Sorrow," He said "Don't interrupt my game, I'll taste it, if I must, to-morrow." The muse of Pindus, thither came, Though sweet the music of the lay, Then wisdom stole his bat and ball, She talked of all the wondrous laws LESSON XV. MY FIRST NEW HAT. The following poem, which ridicules the too common propensity of boys and men to value themselves upon what is no merit of their own, and to contend about trifles, was written by J. N. M'JILTON, whose poems were published in Boston, in 1840. It may be spoken by a large boy, although it appears best, coming from a small one who tries to appear large. O! I remember well the day,- I laid it on the chair and stood, |