and who was indeed the handsomest of them, he would have to appear under the name and character of Cadiga, the favourite wife of the great prophet. The idea, wild and profane as it was, was notwithstanding readily adopted by all the people about him, no one presuming to dispute his will. Nor were the women on this occasion much inclined to do so, as it served them for a very agreeable amusement. Some debates, however, arose amongst them on account of the dresses proper to be worn on this occasion; as none of them remembered to have read in the Koran what sort of habits the houriis wore; and some of the ladies gave it as their opinion that those beauties went naked. After many disputes on the subject, however, they struck a sort of medium, and agreed to be attired in loose robes of the thinnest Persian gauze, with chaplets of flowers on their heads. Nourjahad approved of the invention, and gave orders to Hasem to prepare for this celestial masquerade with all possible diligence; charging him to leave nothing out that could render the entertainment worthy of Mahomet himself. picked a bud, opened it, and examined the inside with profound attention; then his father approached. "What are you thinking about so seriously, my child ?" asked he. "Oh, father," said the little boy, "I should like to know how the bud becomes a rose-therefore I picked and opened it; but I see nothing but little leaves, shrivelled and full of wrinkles. I wish I had not broken it." "Never mind, my child," replied the father; "Nature has given abundance. She did not provide for our wants only, but also for our pleasure and our curiosity. Thou hast learned, at least, that it is not easy to penetrate into her mysteries." "But I am not wiser now," said the boy. "Perhaps not," answered the father; "but you had the sincere wish to learn. A good intention is good in itself. Success does not always depend upon the man, and even if he succeeds, the good intention' is always the best in whatever he does." After a little while the boy said modestly, “Will you tell me, my dear father, how the bud becomes a flower?" Then the father answered, "My dear child, I can merely tell you in three words what happens: the bud increases in size, beauty, and grace, till it reaches its perfection. Beyond that I know no more than you! Nature gives us the beautiful in perfection, but she hides the hand which produces and offers it." Neither art nor expense were spared on this extraordinary occasion. He gave commandment that the fountains which adorned his garden should be so contrived, that instead of water they should pour forth milk and wine; that the seasons should be anticipated, and the early fragrance of the spring should be united with the more vivid colours Then the boy again took the bud which he had picked in his of the glowing summer: in short, that fruits, blossoms, and flowers, hand, and said to his father, "If the bud makes itself so beautiful, should at once unite their various beauties to embellish this terres--more beautiful than anything that man can make,-how is it that trial paradise. it cannot defend itself against the feeble hand of a child? Why is it able to do so much in the one case, and so little in the other?"" "Do you think the bud forms and makes itself, William ?" asked the father, looking with serene gravity at the boy. "Oh, to be sure," answered the boy, "the flowers have, like me, a mother and a father, who bring them up and take care of them!" "One Father of us all!" replied the father with emotion; 66 we do not see Him, but we feel His power and His love in and around us!" The diligence of Hasem was so active, that everything was got in readiness even sooner than Nourjahad expected. He descended into his garden to take a survey of these wondrous preparations, and finding all exactly to his mind he gave orders to his women to hold themselves prepared to act their parts; telling them that on that very evening he would give them a foretaste of the ravishing pleasures they were to enjoy in the happy regions of light. The weather was extremely hot, and Nourjahad, in order to take a view of the magnificent decorations, having fatigued himself with wandering through his elysium, retired to his apartment, and threw himself down on a sofa, with intent to take a short repose, the better to prepare himself for the excesses of the night: leaving orders with Hasem and Cadiga to awaken him from sleep before sunset. Nourjahad, however, opened his eyes without anyone's having roused him from his slumbers; when perceiving that the day was almost closed, and finding that his commands had been neglected, he flew into a violent passion, suspecting that his women had prevailed on Hasem to grant them this opportunity, whilst he slept, of indulging themselves in liberties without that restraint to which they were accustomed in his presence. Enraged at the thought, he resolved to have them called before him, and after severely reprimanding them, and punishing Hasem proportionally to his fault, to have his women all locked up, and postpone his festivity till he was in a better humour to relish it. Impatient, and even furious at his disappointment, he stamped on the floor with his foot, when immediately a black eunuch presented himself at the door. "Go," said he, his words almost choked with indignation, "go and bid my women, one and all, hasten directly into my presence." (To be continued.) THE ROSEBUD. A PARABLE. A BOY was standing by a rose-bush covered with buds and blooming roses; blithely and busily he looked now at a rose, now at a petal, now at a bud. His father watched him from a distance, as he stood in a shady bower, and his eye rested with fervent love and devotion on the darling of his heart. "Is it not," said he to himself, "as though a prophetic voice was speaking to me from the rose-bush, predicting by its buds and flowers that paternal joys will bloom for me in the child? or what makes him so fair and so dear to me, as he stands beside the blooming rose-bush ?" Thus said the father, while the son continued to gaze and to examine; for admiration of the beautiful kindles the desire of knowledge. He wished to discover how the bud is developed into a rose. He folded his arms on his breast, and looked steadfastly at a bud. The father smiled. Thus superior beings may smile when they perceive a philosopher of this world fixing his eye, aided by a telescope, on a star, or, aided by a microscope, upon the internal construction of a glow-worm. The boy soon found out that his watching was in vain. Now he Thus he spake, and the boy's heart was touched, for his father had dropt a jewel into his soul. From henceforth he regarded the rose-bush and the flowers of the field as congenial beings, and he increased in age, wisdom, and grace. The father kept the child's saying in his heart, and related it to the affectionate mother of the boy. "How clearly is the sublimest of truths revealed to an innocent and simple mind!" said the mother. THE GOOD SPIRIT. Of all the good spirits that brighten the earth, And luckless the hearth where she's seldom at home, Unlit by her radiant eye; And 'tis she who alone makes the banquet divine, The world would he dreary and barren indeed, Did the strife-seeking Spirit of Sullenness reign, He would blot out life's sunshine, and pluck up its flowers, Alas! that we ever should fall 'neath a sway For with her there is pleasure, and gladness, and light, She will lighten my sorrows, and whisper to Care Then be mine this Good Spirit, who comes at our call, ISABELLA BANKS. THE VOICE OF THE GRASS. HERE I Come creeping, creeping everywhere; On the sunny hill-side, In every shady nook, I come creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, smiling everywhere; I come creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; My pleasant face you'll meet; Silently creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; Nor hear my low sweet humming; And the glad morning light, I come quietly creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; And the merry bird not sad To see me creeping, creeping everywhere. To Him at whose command Creeping, silently creeping everywhere. PARENTAL INSTRUCTION. PATERNUS, sitting one day in a garden with his only son, thus addressed him :-"Though you now think yourself so happy, my son, because you have hold of my hand, you are in the hands and under the tender care of a much greater father and friend than I am, whose love to you is far greater than mine, and from whom you receive such blessings as no mortal can give. "You see, my son, this wide and large firmament over our heads, where the sun, and moon, and all the stars appear in their turns. If you were to be carried to any of these bodies, at this vast distance from us, you would still discover others as much above you as the stars which you see here are above the earth. or down, east or west, north or south, you would find the same Were you to go up height without any top, and the same depth without any bottom. Yet so great is God, that all these bodies added together are only as a grain of sand in his sight. But you are as much the care of this great God and Father of all worlds and all spirits as if he had no son but you, or there were no creature for him to love and protect but you alone. He numbers the hairs of your head, watches over you sleeping and waking, and has prevented you from a thousand dangers, unknown both to you and me. 66 Therefore, my child, fear, and worship, and love God. Your eyes, indeed, cannot see Him; but all things which you see are so many marks of His power and presence, and He is nearer to you than anything which you can see. "Take Him for your Lord, and Father, and Friend; look up unto Him as the fountain and cause of all the good which you have received from me, and reverence me only as the bearer and minister of God's good things to you. He that blessed my father before I was born, will bless you when I am dead. "As you have been used to look to me in all your actions, and have been afraid to do anything unless you first knew my will, so let it now be a rule of your life to look up to God in all your actions, to do everything in His fear, and to abstain from everything which is not according to His will. "Next to this, love mankind with such tenderness and affection as you love yourself. Think how God loves all mankind, how merciful He is to them; how tender He is of them, how carefully He preserves them, and then strive to love the world as God loves it. "Do good, my son, first of all to those who most deserve it; but remember to do good to all. The greatest sinners receive daily instances of God's goodness towards them; He nourishes and preserves them, that they may repent and turn to Him. Do you, therefore, imitate God, and think no one too bad to receive your relief and kindness, when you see that he wants it. "Let your dress be sober, clean, and modest-not to set off the beauty of your person, but to declare the sobriety of your mind— that your outward garb may resemble the inward plainness and simplicity of your heart: for it is highly reasonable that you should be one man, and appear outwardly such as you are inwardly. "In meat and drink observe the rules of Christian temperance and sobriety; consider your body only as the servant and minister of your soul, and only so nourish it as it may best perform humble and obedient service. "Love humility in all its instances, practise it in all its parts, for it is the noblest state of the soul of man: it will set your heart and affections right towards God, and fill you with whatever temper is tender and affectionate towards men. "Let every day, therefore, be a day of humility; condescend to all the weakness and infirmities of your fellow-creatures, cover their frailties, love their excellencies, encourage their virtues, relieve their wants, rejoice in their prosperity, compassionate their distress, receive their friendship, overlook their unkindness, forgive their malice, be a servant of servants, and condescend to do the lowest offices for the lowest of mankind. "It seems but the other day since I received from my dear father the same instructions which I am now leaving with you; and the God who gave me ears to hear, and a heart to receive, what my father enjoined on me, will, I hope, give you grace to love and follow the same instructions." CHILDREN'S BOOKS.-There is, however, even in these days, a section of books, the guiding principle of which is, not so much what they shall put into the mind as what they shall keep out, and where the anxiety to exclude all that may be pernicious has also sacrificed all that is nourishing. There are some writers by whom their young readers are treated rather as languid, listless invalids, than as healthy hungry boys and girls-who know no medium between ardent spirits and barley-water--and, for fear of repletion or intoxication, put their readers on a diet on which they may exist, but can never thrive. Nothing truly has surprised us more, in our tour through little libraries, than to see the wishy-washy materials of which not a few are composed, the scanty allowance of ideas with which a narrative is held together, and the mere prate with which the intervals are filled up. There are some children, doubtless, who relish this barren fare, as there are plenty of older ones who devour the most vapid novels, and both cases are alike pitiable. We have known a boy of fifteen whose energies were so sapped as not to be at the trouble of finishing "King Lear," and a girl of about the same age, whose tastes were so rarefied that she stuck fast in the "Heart of Mid-Lothian." be brought so low as Mere children may especially not to take an interest in what most amuses others, nay, instances are not wanting of unfortunate beings whose capacities, both for work and play, had been so desperately misOf course the quality of such works varies somewhat with the writer, managed that they had as little energy left for the one as for the other. though the principle of neutrality remains the same; and sometimes a little frothy liveliness of dialogue is exhibited, which might perhaps amuse an older generation, but is very much thrown away upon children. At least, their notions of smartness and repartee are very limited. They like them. Nor can it be otherwise, since all wit and irony derive their weapons the jingle of words which compose a pun, but the point is utterly lost upon from an acquaintance with the world; and, therefore, cannot exist in children, or is sure to disgust when it does. Miller, and that as much from the marvellousness as the humour of its A practical joke is, therefore, the only species which they thoroughly understand, and always like, but in an abstract way. The fable-book is their only Joe ideas with the nose of the fox or the bill of the raven, while the far-fetched contents. They can see some fun in the connexion of human speech and sharp casuists as to what is put into a child's mouth. They detect wit of a fellow-child will strike them as great nonsense. Children are intuitively what is absurd, or what is unnatural; and could we see into their hearts we should find a secret contempt for, or grudge against, the little pedantic spokesman whose perorations form, the greater part of such volumes. Own Under the best of circumstances, we doubt whether children, who are beyond mere boyhood, enjoy the histories and pictures of their "life and times" as much as their elders suppose. For us, these scenes of childhood, described as some of our modern writers can describe -for us these scenes have an ineffable charm, but we must remember that fondly back to childhood-they, ardently forward to maturity; we we stand in direct contrary position to their ostensible readers. We look magnify the happiness that is past-they, that alone which is to come. For them, men and women are gods and goddesses; and no description of the paradise they now occupy interests them half so much as a peep into that Olympus which they hope one day to climb.-Quarterly Review. HOPE AND MEMORY. A BABE lay in its cradle. A being with bright hair, and a clear eye, came and kissed it. Her name was Hope. Its nurse denied it a cake, for which it cried; but Hope told it of one in store for it tomorrow. Its little sister gave it a flower, at which it clapped its hands joyfully, and Hope promised it fairer ones which it should gather for itself. The babe grew to a boy. He was musing at the summer twilight. Another being, with a sweet, serious face, came and sat by him. Her name was Memory. And she said, "Look behind thee, and tell me what thou seest." The boy answered, "I see a short path, bordered with flowers. Butterflies spread out gay wings there, and birds sing among the shrubs. It seems to be the path where my feet have walked, for at the beginning of it is my own cradle." "What art thou holding in thy hand ?" asked Memory. And he answered, "A book which my mother gave me." "Come hither," said Memory, with a gentle voice, "and I will teach thee how to get honey out of it that shall be sweet when thy hair is gray." The boy became a youth. Once, as he lay in his bed, Hope and Memory came to the pillow. Hope sang a merry song, like the lark when she rises from her nest to the skies. Afterward, she said, "Follow me, and thou shalt have music in thy heart, as sweet as the lay I sung thee." But Memory said, "He shall be mine also. Hope, why need we contend? For as long as he keepeth Virtue in his heart, we will be to him as sisters, all his life long." So he embraced Hope and Memory, and was beloved of them both. When he awoke, they blessed him, and he gave a hand to each. He became a man, and Hope girded him every morning for his labour, and every night he supped at the table of Memory, with Knowledge for their guest. At length age found the man, and turned his temples white. To his dim eye it seemed that the world was an altered place. But it was he himself who had changed, and the warm blood had grown cold in his veins. Memory looked on him with grave and tender eyes, like a loving and long-tried friend. She sat down by his elbow-chair, and he said to her: "Thou hast not kept faithfully some jewels that I entrusted to thee. I fear that they are lost." She answered mournfully and meekly, "It may be so. The lock of my casket is worn. Sometimes I am weary, and fall asleep. Then Time purloins my key. But the gems that thou gavest me when life was new, see! I have lost none of them. They are as brilliant as when they came into my hands." Memory looked pitifully on him as she ceased to speak, wishing to be forgiven. But Hope began to unfold a radiant wing which she had long worn concealed beneath her robe, and daily tried its strength in a heavenward flight. The old man lay down to die. And as the soul went forth from the body, the angels took it. Memory ascended by its side, and went through the open gate of heaven. But Hope paused at the threshold. There she expired, like a rose faintly giving forth its last odours. A glorious form bent over her. Her name was Immortal Happiness. Hope commended to her the soul which she had followed through the world. "Religion," she said, " planted in it such seeds as bear the fruit of heaven. It is thine for ever." Her dying words were like the music of some breaking harp, mournful but sweet. And I heard the voices of angels saying, "Hope that is born of the earth must die, but Memory is eternal as the books from which men are judged." MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY. THE MAN WHO CAN READ AND WRITE. In the pastoral times, when men wandered over the face of the earth, leading their flocks to fresh pasturage, one of the sons of Japhet, sitting amid his sheep, fell asleep in his loneliness, and he dreamed a dream. He thought he was upon a lofty mountain, from whence he could perceive, far distant, the tents of his own tribe and those of many of his friends. At this sight his heart leaped for joy, he extended his arms toward the tents. and raised his voice, calling his sisters and friends; but the distance prevented him hearing them or being heard. In vain he appealed to the clouds to carry him to his brothers, or to the birds to lend him their wings, or to the wind to convey his words: the clouds and the birds passed by as though they heard him not. The eyes of the lone shepherd overflowed with tears, and he prayed to the God of his fathers : "Almighty and everlasting God, I pray thee to free me from the bonds of time and space. Enable me in this my solitude to speak to my fellow creatures, to know what they now think upon, and what they have thought in times past." Thereupon he saw an angel descend from heaven, bearing a tablet upon which certain signs and characters were traced, and the angel said :"First learn to recognise these characters, then imitate them, and thy desire will be accomplished." This was the Alphabet, which God gave to mankind, and with it the two arts most useful to his progress and his happiness-Reading and Writing! With them what signifies distance or solitude ? The man who knows how to read converses with the absent. He receives their secrets, he hears their assurances of affection; he knows what they desire, what they think, and what they do. The sheet of paper he receives covered with the signs they have written is similar to the talisman of the fairy tale, which summons distant friends, and causes them to appear to our eyes as they were then occupied. Without reading, the absent would be as though they were dead, for we should cease to know where they were, or what they were doing, or if they still remembered us or that we still remained dear to them. Remove these written interviews, which refresh the memory and reanimate the heart, and most human ties would be broken by distance. The man who knows how to read is in communication, not only with his friends, but with the universe. To him the world is not bounded by the narrow space embraced by his eyes, he participates in the life of all mankind; none are strangers to him, for he knows the history of all nations: no countries are unknown to him, for books have shown him the whole world, as in a mirror. The man who knows how to read converses also with the dead. Bending over the pages to which they have confided their thoughts, it seems to him as though the illustrious dead were present and spoke to him. He receives instruction from every genius that has sprung up on the path of time like stars on the orbit of our globe. He profits by their experience: he adds his reflections to theirs, and he becomes the universal legatee of the heritage of wisdom bequeathed by the centuries which have preceded him. The man who knows how to read can learn everything. Instruction reaches him direct, without coming from the mouth of the teacher. To him books are schools always open, which accompany him even amid solitude, and no power can close them against him. The man who knows how to read need never be dull. He has at his command everything that can awaken curiosity, interest his mind, or excite the imagination or fancy. Does he wish to make a distant journey, to hear the story of the triumphs or disasters of his country: to assist at the marvellous discoveries of the learned, to follow the romantic adventures of some imaginary hero, Reading, like an obliging fairy, will carry him whereever he wishes to go. All-powerful sovereign, his court is composed of the greatest geniuses that the earth has produced, and who, slaves to his pleasure, speak or remain silent at his will and pleasure. The man who knows how to read seems to multiply his faculties and enlarge his nature. There are a thousand functions which can be entrusted to him alone. In the eyes of the world he has one sense more than the ignorant. He belongs, it may be said, to a more elevated class of beings. But reading is only the half of indispensable knowledge, it begins the social man whom Writing completes. The man who knows not how to write may read the thoughts of others, but he cannot make his own thoughts read. He hears without the power of replying; he has received the gift of hearing, but speech is wanting; his connection with the absent is limited to a perpetual monologue of which he is the silent listener. He has no means of communicating secrets, of asking a question, or of saying what he wishes. The man who knows not how to write vainly tries to baffle a treacherous memory. He cannot by an unvarying note fix the present thought. All that passes in succession fades and perishes-dates, names, and circumstances, because he has not been able to fix them by these valuable letters. His brains resemble those tablets from which the writing of to-day is effaced by that of the morrow. The man who knows not how to write cannot explain to an absent person an affair upon which his fortune and his honour depends. In vain he desires his complaint or demand should reach those who govern. Obliged to borrow the hand of another, he finds himself struck with a perpetual childhood he is a minor that can produce nothing without the aid of his guardian. : The man who knows not how to write is ignorant of the art of putting his thoughts in order, and of expressing them with clearness and brevity. Accustomed to the diffuseness of unpremeditated speech, he has never reconstructed his phrases, discussed his expressions, arranged his arguments or studied the science of language which enables him to express everything, under the best form and with the fewest words. But the man who knows how to read and write is like a bird which has felt the power of its wings: the world is open to him. He has acquired that victory over time and space which the shepherd prayed for in his dream. Henceforth everything depends upon the good use he makes of these powerful instruments. In the terrestrial Paradise the tree of knowledge was also the tree of good and evil. Whoever knows how to read and write may certainly err, but, at least, it will not be without knowing it, his fault will not proceed from ignorance, but from choice, and therefore he will be legitimately responsible before men as he is before God. ESTEEM OF THE WORLD.-If you wish to gain the esteem of the world, first entertain for everyone, without distinction of quality, honesty, complaisance, and mildness of manners, without affectation and constraint. If you act otherwise, and by rude and unpolished manners render yourself insupportable to those who have to deal with you, the consequence will be that you will become the hatred of your inferiors, the contempt of your superiors, and the laughing-stock of everybody. THE SAILOR BOY'S FAREWELL. HARK! hark! 'tis the signal! The breezes are steady, And dread not the danger, Though I'm on the billow; I know my kind Saviour Will watch o'er my pillow. The sea owns His sceptre ; When its path He was treading The winds and the water Grew calm at His bidding. We'll trust Him, we'll trust Him, On land or on water Alike He'll be near usLet this song bear to Him Our heart's pure devotion, And under His guidance, I'll launch on the ocean. SARAH J. HALE. CASABIANCA. [YOUNG CASABIANCA, a boy about thirteen years of age, son to the Admiral of the Orient, remained at his post in the battle of the Nile after the ship had taken fire and all the guns had been abandoned, and perished in the explosion of the vessel when the flames had reached the powder.] THE boy stood on the burning deck, The flame that lit the battle's wreck Yet beautiful and bright he stood, A creature of heroic blood, A proud, though child-like form. The flames rolled on, he would not go He called aloud, "Say, father, say, He knew not that the chieftain lay Upon his brow he felt their breath, And in his waving hair, And looked from that lone post of death In still, yet brave despair. And shouted but once more, aloud, 66 'My father! must I stay?", While o'er him fast, through sail and The wreathing fires made way. There came a burst of thunder sound, With fragments strewed the sea. Was that young, faithful heart. FELICIA HEMANS. THE LION AND THE MOUSE. A FABLE. A LION, faint and weary, laid himself down to rest beneath the shady branches of a tree. While he was sleeping, a little mouse, not knowing where he was going, ran over the royal beast's nose, and awoke him. The lion, starting up, clapped his paw upon the timid little creature, and was just going to crush it to death, when the mouse, in a pitiful voice, begged for mercy, as he had meant no offence, while it would be a stain upon the lion's noble courage to destroy so insignificant an animal as a mouse. The lion, amused at the terror of his little prisoner, generously let him go. Some time afterwards, the lion, roaming the forest, seeking whom he might devour, fell into a snare laid for him by the hunters. Finding himself helplessly entangled in the net, he set up a loud roar, which could be heard all through the forest. The mouse, running to see what was the matter, recognised his old friend the lion, and immediately set to work to guaw asunder the cords that bound him, and very soon managed to set the lion at liberty. "Thank you, my little friend," said the lion, "one good turn deserves another; your gratitude pleases me. I am satisfied now that the most humble and insignificant creature has sometimes the power to help the strongest." TAKE HEED. I KNEW him when a little child, I knew him when a brave bright boy, I knew him when a noble youth, His very look was that of truth- I knew him when young manhood came- I knew him when his youthful bride, The country's flower, the country's pride,- I knew him when he stooped to kiss- I knew him at the holy shrine- I saw him take the bread and wine, THE BUTTERFLY'S FIRST THOU hast burst from thy prison, From its mansion of care. Where the gay lark is singing Where the sunbeams are throwing With tints more divine. Ön fresh-opened flowers; Around them to see Their fragrance, till day Then seeking some blossom London: Printed by TAYLOR and GREENING, Graystoke-place, Fetter-lane; and Published for the Proprietors by W. KENT and Co., Paternoster-row. Agents for the Continent: W. S. KIRKLAY d Co., 27, Rue de Richelieu, Paris. THE HISTORY OF THE YEAR. VT was last January! there was a fearful snowstorm, the snow drifted like a whirlwind through street and lane, encrusted the window panes, and lay heaped up on the roofs. The people who happened to be out of doors sped along as though some one were in chase of them, ran up against each other, fell into each other's arms, and then kept fast hold for a moment, fearing to lose their footing if they let go again. Horses and carriages were all well powdered, footmen stood with their backs to the carriages to avoid the wind beating against their faces, foot passengers kept steadily in the lee of the vehicles, which rolled slowly on through the deep snow; and when at last the storm was over and a narrow path had been swept in front of the houses, the folks came to a dead stop whenever they met, neither party liking to step aside into the snow to make room for the other to pass. Silently they would stand, facing each other, till at last, tacitly arriving at a mutual compromise, each would sacrifice one foot, setting it in the snow-drift. So Towards evening came a lull; the heavens looked as if they had been swept, and seemed higher and more transparent; the stars might have been taken to be spick-and-span new, they were dazzlingly bright, and some few glistened with such a soft blue light. The air was very keen, so much so, that the uppermost layer of snow was frozen quite hard. And now, in the early morning hour, came forth the little gray sparrows; they hopped up and down wherever the snow had been shovelled away, but there was not much to be found to eat, and the poor things were half starved, as well as half frozen. "Twit; " said one, "this is what folks call the New Year! Why, it is worse than the Old! I am very dissatisfied, and no wonder. We might just as well have kept the Old Year!' "Yes, and all the world has been running about, making such a fuss with proclaiming the New Year," said a stiff, frost-bitten little Sparrow." They were quite wild with joy, because the Old Year was over and gone; and I was glad, too, for I expected we should then get some warm days, but it has turned out a regular take init freezes worse than ever. Men must have made a mistake in their reckoning." 66 "That's just it-so they have," rejoined a third, an old Sparrow, hoary-white on the crest. They have something which they call an almanack—it is all their own invention-and they want to make everything go on as that goes on; but they can't do it, after all. When Spring comes, that is the real beginning of the year; that is the course of Nature, and that is my way of reckoning." "But when will Spring come?" asked the others. "Spring comes when the stork comes; but he is very unpunctual, and here in the town there is no one who understands anything about the matter,-they know better in the country. Suppose we fly thither and wait? We shall be nearer Spring there than 11 66 PRICE ONE PENNY. here." "All very well for you," remarked another Sparrow, who had kept on twittering for a long time without saying anything inIn a house up telligible; but, for my part, I have many conveniences here in the town which I fear I should miss in the country. yonder lives a human family, who, very sensibly, have contrived to set in the wall three or four flower-pots, with the large open top turned inside, and the bottom outside, and in the bottom a hole is cut large enough for me to fly in and out; it is there that my mate and I have made our nest, and thence have all our young ones taken their first flight. The human family have, of course, arranged all this that they may have the pleasure of looking at us, else why should they have done it ? And they strew crumbs of bread about, all for their own amusement; and that's the way we get our living, and thus we are provided for. So I believe I shall stay here, and my mate will stay here, although we are very discontented. we shall stay here." Yes, "And we will fly away into the country to see if Spring is coming." And so away they flew. In the country it was winter with a vengeance; the frost was some degrees sharper than in the town; the icy, cutting wind blew pitilessly over the snow-covered fields. The peasant, sitting in his sledge, swathed in thick woollen wraps, let his whip lie in his lap, and beat himself with his hands to get something like life into them, while the snow crackled under the hoofs of his lean, reeking horses, and the half-frozen Sparrows hopped about in the tracks left by the sledge runners. "Twit! will Spring never be coming? We have been waiting so long." He was "So long!" The words were wafted far over the fields from the highest of the snowy banks. Perhaps it was Echo who repeated them; perhaps it was the strange old man who sat up there, exposed to wind and weather, on the highest snow drift. perfectly white, like a peasant in his mantle of coarse, white wool; he had long white hair, and a white beard, and large bright eyes glittered in his wan face. "And who's that old man up there, I wonder ?". quoth the Sparrows. "I know," replied a grave old Raven, perched upon a paling hard by, who was condescending enough to acknowledge that we are all small birds in the sight of Him who made us, and therefore did not even with Sparrows, and enlighten their disdain to converse ignorance with his superior wisdom. "I know who the old man is. He is not dead, as the He is Winter, the old man of last year. almanack says; no, he is a sort of Regent for the young Prince Spring who is coming. Yes, Winter rules the roast, and will for some time to come. Ugh! do ye understand it now, you little ones?" "Yes, that is just what I say," answered the least and youngest of the Sparrows; "the almanack is a mere human invention-it is not They should have let us make it-us founded upon nature. |