He dreads a chill puff of the snow-burdened air,
Lest it wither his delicate frame;

Oh! small is the pleasure existence can give,

When the fear we shall die only proves that we live!

3.

"It snows!" cries the Traveller, "Ho!" and the word Has quickened his steed's lagging pace;

The wind rushes by, but its howl is unheard,

Unfelt the sharp drift in his face;

For bright through the tempest his own home appeared,
Ay, though leagues intervened, he can see:
There's the clear, glowing hearth, and the table prepared,
And his wife with her babes at her knee;

Blest thought! how it lightens the grief-laden hour,
That those we love dearest are safe from its power!

4.

"It snows!" cries the Belle, "Dear, how lucky!" and turns From her mirror to watch the flakes fall;

Like the first rose of summer, her dimpled cheek burns, While musing on sleigh-ride and ball:

There are visions of conquests, of splendor, and mirth,
Floating over each drear winter's day;

But the tintings of Hope, on this storm-beaten earth,
Will melt like the snow-flakes away:

Turn, turn thee to Heaven, fair maiden, for bliss;
That world has a pure fount ne'er opened in this.

5.

"It snows!" cries the Widow, "Oh, God!" and her sighs Have stifled the voice of her prayer;

Its burden ye 'll read in her tear-swollen eyes,
On her cheek sunk with fasting and care.
"Tis night, and her fatherless ask her for bread;
But "He gives the young ravens their food."

And she trusts, till her dark hearth adds horror to dread,

And she lays on her last chip of wood.

Poor sufferer! that sorrow thy God only knows;

"T is a most bitter lot to be poor, when it snows!

Mrs. S. J. Hale

LESSON 7.

LEARNING TO PRAY.

NEELING fair in the twilight gray,

KNEE

A beautiful child was trying to pray-
His cheek on his mother's knee,

His bare little feet half-hidden,
His smile still coming unbidden,
And his heart brimful of glee.

2. "I want to laugh. Is it naughty? Say,
O mamma! I've had such fun to-day,
I hardly can say my prayers.

I don't feel just like praying;

I want to be out-doors playing,
And run, all undressed, down-stairs.

3. "I can see the flowers in the garden-bed,
Shining so pretty, and sweet, and red;
And Sammy is swinging, I guess.
Oh, everything is so fine out there,
I want to put it all in the prayer.
(Do you mean I can do it by 'Yes'?

4. "When I say, 'Now I lay me,' word for word,
It seems to me as if nobody heard;

Would 'Thank you, dear God,' be right?

He gave me my mammy,

And papa, and Sammy,

O mamma! you nodded I might.”

5. Clasping his hands and hiding his face, Unconsciously yearning for help and grace, The little one now began.

His mother's nod and sanction sweet

Had led him close to the dear Lord's feet, And his words like music ran:

6. "Thank you for making this home so nice,
The flowers, and folks, and my two white mice.
(I wish I could keep right on.)

I thank you, too, for every day –
Only I'm 'most too glad to pray.
Dear God, I think I am done.

7. “Now, mamma, rock me, just a minute,
And sing the hymn with 'darling' in it.
I wish I could say my prayers!
When I get big, I know I can.
Oh, won't it be nice to be a man,
And stay all night down-stairs!"

8.

The mother, singing, clasped him tight,
Kissing and cooing her fond "Good-night,"
And treasured his every word;

For well she knew that the artless joy
And love of her precious, innocent boy
Were a prayer that her Lord had heard.
Mary B. Dodge.

EXERCISE.

Write expressions equivalent to the following:

1. His smile still coming unbidden.

2. Unconsciously yearning for help and grace.

3. His mother's nod and sanction sweet.

LESSON 8.

ADVICE TO THE YOUNG.

YOUNG friends, in whatever pursuits you may engage, you must not forget that the lawful objects of human efforts are but means to higher results and nobler ends. Start not forward in life with the idea of becoming mere seekers of pleasure,― sportive butterflies searching for gandy flowers. Consider and act with reference to the true ends of existence.

2. This world is but the vestibule of an immortal life. Every action of your life touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity. These thoughts and motives within you stir the pulses of a deathless spirit. Act not, then, as mere creatures of this life, who, for a little while, are to walk the valleys and the hills, to enjoy the sunshine and to breathe the air, and then pass away and be no more; but act as immortals, with an aim and a purpose worthy of your high nature.

3. Set before you, as the chief object to be obtained, an end that is superior to any on earth,— a desirable end, A PERFECT END. Labor to accomplish a work which shall survive unchanged and beautiful, when time shall have withered the garland of youth, when thrones of power and monuments of art shall have crumbled into ashes; and finally, aim to achieve something, which, when these our mutable and perishing voices are hushed forever, shall live amid the songs and triumphs of IM

MORTALITY.

4. Well will it be for you, if you have a guide within, which will aid you in every issue, which will arm you in every temptation, and comfort you in every sorrow. Consult, then, that Volume whose precepts will never fail you. Consult it with a deep aspiration after the true and good, and it shall illuminate your understanding with divine realities.

5. Open your soul, and it shall breathe into it a holy influence, and fill all its wants. Bind it close to your heart; it will be a shield against all the assaults of evil. Read it in the lonely hour of desertion; it will be the best of companions. Open it when the voyage of life is troubled; it is a sure chart. Study it in poverty; it will unhoard to you inexhaustible riches. Commune with it in sickness; it contains the medicine of the soul. Clasp it when dying, it is the charter of immortality. E. H. Chapin.

HE

LESSON 9.

RIP VAN WINKLE.

E now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the village inn, but it, too, was gone. A large, rickety wooden building stood in its place, with great gaping windows, some of them broken, and mended with old hats and petticoats; and over the door was painted, "The Union Hotel, by Jonathan Doolittle." Instead of the great tree that used to shelter the quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared a tall naked pole, with something on the top that looked like a red night-cap, and from it was fluttering a flag, on which was a singular assemblage of stars and stripes; all this was strange and incomprehensible.

2. He recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of King George, under which he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe; but even this was singularly metamorphosed the red coat was changed for one of blue and buff, a sword was held in the hand instead of a scepter, the head was decorated with a cocked hat, and underneath was painted in large characters, "General Washington."

3. There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but none that Rip recollected. The very character of