GUESS WHAT I HAVE HEARD.

DEAR mother, guess what I have heard!
O, it will soon be spring!
I'm sure it was a little bird,-
Mother, I heard him sing.
Look at this little piece of green
That peeps out from the snow
As if it wanted to be seen,-

'Twill soon be spring, I know.

And O, come here, come here and look!
How fast it runs along!-
Here is a cunning little brook;
O, hear its pretty song!

I know 'tis glad the winter's gone
That kept it all so still,
For now it merrily runs on,
And goes just where it will.

I feel just like the brook, I know;

It says, it seems to me,—

Good-bye, cold weather, ice, and snow; Now girls and brooks are free."

I love to think of what you said,

Mother, to me last night,

Of this great world that God has made, So beautiful and bright.

And now it is the happy spring
No naughty thing I'll do;
I would not be the only thing
That is not happy too.

CHARITY.

Do you see that old beggar that stands at the door?
Do not send him away- we must pity the poor.
Oh, see how he shivers! he's hungry and cold!
For people can't work when they grow very old.

Go set near the fire a table and seat:

And Betty shall bring him some bread and some meat. I hope my dear children will always be kind, Whenever they meet with the aged and blind.

THE ROBIN.

WHO would fancy this December,
Now the sun is shining bright,
For last year I well remember
How the snow lay cold and white;
All around 'twas lying coldly,
And so silently it fell,

That poor robin ventured boldly

On the sill, his wants to tell.

Now I hear him in the laurels
Chant his morning hymn so sweet,
Whilst the holly shows its corals
For his promised Christmas treat.
Now I see him slyly peeping
With his quick and glancing eye;
Still his cheerful carol keeping
Christmas by its minstrelsy.

Look now! he is venturing nearer-
Half afraid he starts away-
As if to make his visits dearer,
Like a little child at play.
I am sure he still remembers
All the crumbs we gave last

year,

And will many more Decembers Ask from us his Christmas cheer.

Do ye know the little Wood-Mouse,
That pretty little thing,
That sits among the forest leaves,
Beside the forest spring?

Its fur is red as the red chestnut,
And it is small and slim,
It leads a life most innocent
Within the forest dim.

"Tis a timid, gentle creature,
And seldom comes in sight;
It has a long and wiry tail,
And eyes both black and bright.

It makes its nest of soft, dry moss,
In a hole so deep and strong;
And there it sleeps secure and warm,
The dreary winter long.

And though it keeps no calendar,

It knows when flowers are springing;
And waketh to its summer life,
When nightingales are singing.

Upon the boughs the Squirrel sits,
The Wood-Mouse plays below;
And plenty of food it finds itself
Where the beech and chestnut grow.

In the Hedge-Sparrow's nest he sits,
When its summer brood is fled,
And picks the berries from the bough
Of the hawthorn over-head.

I saw a little Wood-Mouse once,
Like Oberon in his hall,

With the green, green moss beneath his feet,
Sit under a mushroom tall.

I saw him sit and his dinner eat,
All under the forest tree;

His dinner of chestnut ripe and red,
And he ate it heartily.