TO A DEAR LITTLE BOY, AFTER AN INTERVAL OF ABSENCE.

I MISS thee from my side

With thy merry eyes and blue;
From thy crib at morning tide,
Oft its curtains peeping through;
In the kisses, not a few,

Thou wert wont to give me then ;
In thy sleepy, sad adieu,

When 't was time for bed again.

I miss thee from my side,
When the dinner bustle 's o'er;
When the orange I divide,

Or extract the apple's core ;
What avails my hoarded store

Of barley sugar, comfits sweet;
Thou art by my side no more;
Vacant is thy wonted seat!

I miss thee from my side,
With thy query oft repeated;
On thy rocking horse astride,
Or beneath my table seated;
Or when tired and overheated,
With a summer day's delight,
Many a childish aim defeated,

Sleep hath overpowered thee quite !

I miss thee from my side

When the light of day grows pale; When with eyelids opened wide,

Thou wouldst list the oft-told tale, And the murdered babes bewail; Yet so greedy of thy pain, That when all my lore would fail, I must needs begin again.

I miss thee from my side

In the haunts that late were thine; Where thy twinkling feet would glide, And thy clasping fingers twine; Here are checkered tumblers nine, Silent relics of thy play;Here the mimic tea-things shine, Thou wouldst wash the livelong day!

Thy drum hangs on the wall;

The bird-organ sounds are o'er; Dogs and horses, great and small Wanting some a leg or more; Cows and sheep,- a motley storeAll are stabled near thy bed; And not one but can restore

Memories sweet of him that's fled!

I miss thee from my side,

Blithe cricket of my hearth! Oft in secret I have sigh'd

For thy chirping voice of mirth: When the low-born cares of earth

Chill my heart, or dim my eye,

Grief is stifled in its birth,

If my little prattler's nigh!

I miss thee from my side,

With thy bright ingenuous smile;
With thy glance of infant pride,
And the face no tears defile; —
Stay, and other hearts beguile,
Hearts that prize thee fondly too;
I must spare thy pranks awhile;
Cricket of my hearth, adieu!

THE FROZEN DOVE.

AWAY from the path! silly dove,

Where the foot that may carelessly tread
Will crush thee! What! dost thou not move?
Alas! thou art stiffened and dead!
Allured by the brightness of day,

To sink mid the shadows of night,
Too far from the cote thou didst stray,
And sadly hast ended thy flight!
For, thus, with the snow at thy breast,
With thy wing folded close to thy side,
And couched in the semblance of rest,
Alone of the cold thou hast died!

Poor Bird! thou hast pictured the fate
Of many in life's sunny day,
Who, trusting, have found but too late,
How fortune can smile to betray.
How oft, for illusions that shine

In a cold and a pitiless world,

Bewilder'd and palsied, like thine,

Has the wing of the spirit been furl'd.

The heart the most tender and light,

In its warmth to the earth has been thrown,

With the chill of adversity's night,

To suffer and perish alone.

THE TURKEY AND THE ANT.

A FABLE.

In other men, we faults can spy,

And blame the mote that dims their eye,

Each little speck and blemish find;

To our own stronger errors blind.

A turkey, tired of common food,
Forsook the barn, and sought the wood;
Behind her ran an infant train,

Collecting here and there a grain.

"Draw near, my birds," the mother cries,
"This hill delicious fare supplies.

Behold the busy creeping race,
See millions blacken all the place!
Fear not, like me, with freedom eat;
An ant is most delightful meat.
How bless'd, how envied were our life,
Could we but 'scape the poulterer's knife!
But man, harsh man, on turkeys preys,
And Christmas shortens all our days, -
Sometimes with oysters we combine,
Sometimes assist the savory chine.
From the low peasant to the lord.
The turkey smokes on every board.
Sure men for gluttony are curst,
Of the seven deadly sins the worst.

An ant who climbed beyond his reach,
Thus answered from the neighboring beech:
"Ere you remark another's sin,

Bid thy own conscience look within.
Control thy more voracious bill,

Nor for a breakfast nations kill."

PETER THE GREAT, CZAR OF RUSSIA.

In all countries, there is a chief ruler. In some, he is called "King," in others, "Emperor," in others, "President." In Russia, the chief ruler is called "Czar." Peter the First, or Peter the Great as he was afterwards called, was the first Czar of the name of Peter. He was born in the year 1672, and lost his father when only ten years old; and at the early age of seventeen, he was acknowledged by the Russians as their chief ruler or Czar.

The Russians were at that time, a very ignorant and barbarous nation. It is true that all the other nations of Europe were also much more ignorant and barbarous than they are now; but the Russians were looked upon as barbarians even by them. Peter, although wanting instruction quite as much as the people of whom he was ruler, was fortunately aware of his igno

rance.

There are two kinds of ignorant people. One, who with their ignorance, are contented to remain ignorant all their lives; the other, who are sensible of their ignorance, but are, at the same time, sorry for it, and are resolved to spare no exertion to learn and improve. Peter was of the latter kind; and it has been often and justly remarked, that it is a great step towards knowledge to be sensible of one's own ignorance.