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GYPSIES. The Gypsies are a race of people with dark skins, who wander about from place to place, carrying their few articles of furniture with them. They are common in Spain, and parts of Germany, and a few are occasionally seen in England and France. They are never seen in America.

UNDERNEATH the greenwood tree,
Here we dwell right merrily,
Lurking in the grassy lane,
Here this hour — then gone again.
You may see where we have been,
By the burned spot on the green;
By the oak's branch drooping low,
Wither'd in our fagot's glow;
By the grass and hedge-row cropp’d,

Where our asses have been grazing :
By some old torn rags we dropp'd

When our crazy tents were raising :
You may see where we have been;
Where we are that is not seen,
Where we are, it is no place
For a lazy foot to trace.
Over heath and over field,

He must scramble who would find us;
In the copse-wood close conceal'd,

With a running brook behind us.
Here we list to village clocks;
Livelier sound the farmyard cocks;
Crowing, crowing round about,
As if to point their roostings out;
And many a cock shall cease to crow,
Ere we shall from the copse-wood go.

QUIN. The instruction of king George III., in elocution, was assigned to the celebrated Quin, under whose direction plays were sometimes performed at Leicester House, by the young branches of the royal family. Quin, who afterwards obtained a pension for his services, was justly proud of the distinction conferred upon him; and when he heard of the graceful manner in which his majesty delivered his first speech from the throne, he cried out, “Ay, I taught the boy to speak !"

The oak for grandeur, strength and noble size,

Excels all trees that in the forest grow;
From acorn small that trunk, those branches rise,

To which such signal benefits we owe.
Behold what shelter in its ample shade,

From noon-tide sun, or from the drenching rain,
And of its timber staunch, vast ships are made,

To sweep rich cargoes o'er the watery main.



“ You mean, despicable thing,” said a candle to a candlestick, " what were you made for but to wait on me?" " And pray tell me," said the candlestick,“ of what use you would be without me, though now you shine so proudly, while I hold you up?"

To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall,
The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall,
As if he grew there, house and all

Within that house secure he hides,
When danger imminent betides
Of storm, or other harm besides

Of weather.

Give but his horns the slightest touch,
His self-collecting power is such,
He shrinks into his house with much


Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone,
Except himself, has chattels none,
Well satisfied to be his own

Whole treasure.

Thus, hermit-like his life he leads,
Nor partner of his banquet needs,
And if he meets one, only feeds

The faster.

Who seeks him must be worse than blind,
He and his house are so combined,
If finding it, he fails to find

Its master.

EQUALITY. PALE Death, with equal foot, strikes wide the door, Of royal halls, and hovels of the poor.

THE CHRISTIAN REVELATION. Our Lord, at the very outset of his public instructions, marks, at once, in the strongest and most decided terms, the peculiar temper, spirit and character of his religion; and describes the Christian temper as humble, meek, lowly, devout, merciful, pure, peaceable, and unresisting.

The world calls it mean-spirited, tame and abject, yet notwithstanding all this, with the divine author of our religion, this is the favorite character; this is the constant topic of his commendation; this is the subject that runs through all the beatitudes. To this he assigns, under all its various forms, peculiar blessings.

* To those who possess it, he promises that they shall inherit the earth; that they shall obtain mercy; that theirs shall be the kingdom of heaven; that they shall see God, and be called the children of God.


PRIDE THE BANE OF HAPPINESS. THE odiousness of pride, and the evils attending it, have been the common topics both of ancient and modern moral

but no observation seems more pointed than that which

says, “ of all vices, pride seldomest obtains its end; for by showing our own pride, we pique the pride of other men, and thus, by aiming at honor and reputation, we reap derision and contempt.” The envy

which is sure to follow in the train of pride, has been happily illustrated by the fable of the Peacock, who no sooner begins to spread his gorgeous plumage, than the other birds begin to cry out against his ugly legs, and screaming voice.

And thou, my sad little lonely nest,
Hast often been sought as the peaceful rest,
Of a weary wing and a guiltless breast !

And where is thy builder now?
And what has become of the helpless brood,
For which the mother, with daily food,
Came flitting so light from the spicy wood,

To her home on the waving bough.
The fowler, perhaps, has hurled the dart,
Which the parent bird has received in her heart,
And her tender orphans are scattered apart,

So wide, they never again
In the warm, soft cell of love can meet,
And thou hast been filled with the snow and the sleet,
By the hail and the winds have thy sides been beat,

And drenched by the pitiless rain.
Though great was the toil which thy building cost,
With thy fibres so neatly coiled and crossed,
And thy lining of down, thou art lorn and lost,

A ruin beyond repair !
So I'll take thee down, as I would not see,
Such a sorrowful sight on the gay green tree;
And when I have torn thee, thy parts shall be,

Like thy tenants dispersed in air.
Thou hast made me think of each heart-woven tie;
Of the child's first home, and of her, whose eye
Watched fondly o'er those, who were reared to die,

Where the grave of a distant shore
Received to its bosom the stranger's clay;
For when, as thy birds, they had passed away,
"T was not to return, and the mother and they

In time were to meet no more!

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