"My children," the Chameleon cries JAMES MERRICK, 1720-1769. THE TRAVELLER'S RETURN. SWEET to the morning traveller Whose twinkling wings are seen at fits And cheering to the traveller The gales that round him play, When faint and wearily he drags Along his noontide way. And when beneath th' unclouded sun Full wearily toils he, The flowing water makes to him Most pleasant melody. And when the evening light decays, And all is calm around, There is sweet music to his ear In the distant sheep-bell's sound. And sweet the neighbouring church's bell But sweeter is the voice of love That welcomes his return! SOUTHEY, 1774-1843, Το THE SNAIL. grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall, Within that house secure he hides, Of weather. Give but his horns the slightest touch, He shrinks into his house with much Wherein he dwells, he dwells alone, Whole treasure. Thus hermit-like his life he leads, 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. COWPER, 1731-1800. *Chattels, property. SUMMER EVENING. How fine has the day been! How bright was the sun! Just such is the Christian; his course he begins, But when he comes nearer to finish his race, DR. WATTS, 1746-1748. THE BIRD'S NEST. In yonder brake there is a nest, Think with what pain, through many a day, And think how must her heart deplore, If those she reared, and nursed, and loved, W. L. BOWLES, born 1762, died 1850. THE HOLIDAY. A HOLIDAY! a holiday! and is it really true, I've not a single thing to-day, but what I like, to do? A holiday! a holiday! whole hours to laugh and play! A holiday! a holiday! oh dear, what shall I do? I'll go and ask mamma, perhaps she'll think of something new; I do not like all work, I know, the same thing every day, Nor do I fancy I should like, much better, always play. A holiday! a holiday! oh, how I wish I knew The thing, of every other thing, which most I like to do! I've always hoped from such a day much more than I have found, And yet there's something full of joy and pleasure in the sound. A holiday! a holiday! before the day is past I shall be glad, I'm almost sure, it cannot always last; For I am never half so pleased, or happy, I must say, As when I've done my lessons well, and so deserved to play. A holiday! a holiday! I think I like to learn, And play and work, and work and play, each in its proper turn; A holiday! a holiday! I'll call it just the same, For after all, it seems to me, the charm is in the name. L. A. JERMYN, THE LITTLE BOY'S GOOD NIGHT. THE sun is hidden from our sight, "Tis time to say to all, "Good night!" Good night, my father, mother dear, Good night, my friends, both far and near, Good night, ye merry, merry birds, To all my pretty flowers, good night! The moon is lighting up the skies, ELIZA LEE FOLLEN. FORETHOUGHT; OR, THE TWO APPLE TREES. In spring, when the apple trees stood in full bloom, This autumn, while John's tree is loaded with fruit, The truth is, the blossoms that grew there last spring That Harry had pulled every bunch off the tree, |