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The Lobster found some Pic-nic-mits,
For his red claws no bad mis-fits ;-
In fine, the fish around that shore
Beat all that fish e'er did before;
And if you don't believe it with
My word for 't-go ask Dr. Smith.

LESSON LXVIII.

THE MISER AND THE APPLES.-EDITOR.

The following piece is an imitation of Florian, a French writer o the last century, who published several novels, dramas, fables and pastorals of good reputation.

A miser once, a selfish fellow,

In autumn, when the fruit was mellow,
Purchased some apples that were cheap,
And, gloating o'er the precious heap,
He hid them in the closet high,
And turned the key ;

And secretly

Chuckled to find he was so sly.

Full oft he went to count his treasure,
And only one thing marred his pleasure;
The apples ripe, of course, would rot,
And such he ate, but he would not
Touch any sound one, and would sigh
That fruit would rot, he knew not why.
At last, his half-starved wife espied
What he had vainly hoped to hide;
And whilst he slept, she took his key,
And, mother-like, most liberally
She poured the apples in the room,
And bade the children quickly come,

And eat up all the sound ones, while
They laid the rotten in a pile.

Judge how the urchins made them fly:
See apple after apple die!

Until with pleasure noisy grown,

They waked their father, who came down,
And, seeing how his treasure went,

To furious rage at once gave vent,
And at his wife and children swore
That if they did not all restore,
He'd hang them all.

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My dear," said she,

With well assumed humility,

"How can you threaten us so much?
We only ate what you ne'er touch,
And, knowing what you'd have us do,
We've saved the rotten ones for you!"

LESSON LXIX.

BERNARDINE DU BORN.

The Henry alluded to in the following poem by our gifted country. Woman, MRS. SIGOURNEY, was Henry the second, whose eldest son, prince Henry, instigated by the king of France, rebelled against him, but while in arms, was seized with a fever, and died full of remorse for his undutiful behavior to his father. Plantagenet was the family name of certain kings of England.

KING HENRY sat upon his throne,
And full of wrath and scorn,

His eye a recreant knight surveyed-
Sir BERNARDINE DU BORN.

And he that haughty glance returned
Like lion in his lair,

And loftily his unchanged brow

Gleamed through his crispëd hair.

“Thou art a traitor to the realm,

Lord of a lawless band,

The bold in speech, the fierce in broil,
The troubler of our land;
Thy castles, and thy rebel-towers,
Are forfeit to the crown,

And thou beneath the Norman axe
Shall end thy base renown.

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Deign'st thou no word to bar thy doom,
Thou with strange madness fired?

Hath reason quite forsook thy breast?”
PLANTAGENET inquired.

Sir BERNARD turned him towards the king,
And blenched not in his pride;
"My reason failed, most gracious liege,
The year-Prince HENRY died."

Quick at that name a cloud of woe Passed o'er the monarch's brow, Touched was that bleeding chord of love, To which the mightiest bow.

And backward swept the tide of y

years;

Again his first-born moved,
The fair, the graceful, the sublime,
The erring, yet beloved.

And he remembered at his side,

One chosen friend was near,
To share in boyhood's ardent sport,
Or youth's untamed career;
With him the merry chase he sought
Beneath the dewy morn,

With him in knightly tourney rode,
This BERNARDINE DU BORN.

Then in the mourning father's soul
Each trace of ire grew dim,
And what his buried idol loved

Seemed cleansed of guilt to him—
And faintly through his tears he spake,
God send his grace to thee,

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And for the dear sake of the dead,
Go forth-unscathed and free."

LESSON LXX.

NOW I'M A MAN.

The author is

The following piece, though suitable for an advanced boy, comes best from quite a small boy, who affects to be a man. unknown to the editor.

The days are gone when I could roll
My hoop along the street,

And with a laughing jest or word,
Each idle passer greet.

Where'er I go, my pace is slow,—

In early years I ran;

O! I was then a happy child,
But now-I am a man.

I used to whistle as I went,
Play marbles in the square,
And fly my kite, and ply my top,
And coat and trousers tear.
I" whistle" for my whistle now,
And marble hearts I span;
"kite" that meets my sight,

The only

Is man devouring man!

The ladies used to pet me once,

And praise my hair and eyes,

And "kissing went by favor" then,-
I was a little prize.

Whene'er I come, they now are glum,
Each look and word they scan,

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And call me

sir," when I demur,

And tell me, I'm a man.

Oh! happy, earlier years, when love
Was on the lip and eye,
And lily hands waved after me,
And glances said, good bye!
When there was music in my heart,
And life had yet no plan;

O! I was then a happy child,
But now-I am a man.

LESSON LXXI.

MY HOME IS THE WORLD.

The following piece was written by THOMAS H. BAYLY, of England. It should be spoken by an advanced pupil, cheerfully the first stanza, then plaintively till the end of the tenth. The eleventh should be spoken in a graver tone, and the last with the recklessness of bitter disappointment.

Speed, speed, my fleet vessel! the shore is in sight,
The breezes are fair, we shall anchor to-night:
To-morrow at sun-rise, once more I shall stand
On the sea-beaten shore of my dear native land.

Ah! why does despondency weigh down my heart?
Such thoughts are for friends who reluctantly part;
I come from an exile of twenty long years,
Yet I gaze on my country through fast-falling tears!

I see the hills purple with bells of the heath,
And my own happy valley that nestles beneath,

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