Here's a beautiful book,

You have pretty bright eyes;
Come, now, let us sce

If you really are wise.

You have eyes, but no mind;
I have eyes and mind too :
A hint let me take

To do better than you.

COME,

XXXVIII.

THE PEACOCK.

YOME, come, Mr. Peacock, you must not be proud,

Although you can boast such a train;

For there's many a bird more highly endowed,
Not half so conceited and vain.

Remember, gay bird, that a suit of fine clothes
Is a sorry distinction at most;

And seldom much valued, excepting by those
Who only such graces can boast.

The Nightingale certainly wears a plain coat,
But he cheers and delights with his song;
While you, though so vain, cannot utter a note
To please by the use of your tongue.

The Eagle can't boast of a plumage so gay,

But more piercing the glance of his eye; And while you are strutting about all the day, He gallantly soars in the sky.

The Dove may be clad in a plainer attire;
But is she thus selfish and cold?

Her love and affection more pleasure inspire,
Than all your fine purple and gold.

Thus you see, Mr. Peacock, you must not be proud,
Although you can boast such a train;

For many a bird is more highly endowed
And not half so conceited and vain.

S

XXXIX.

THE LITTLE BLACK GIRL.

USIE'S home was neat and cleanly,

Though 't was poor, and plain, and small;

On the floor there was no carpet,

Not a picture on the wall.

In one corner stood the bedstead,
In another was the tub,

Where from morn till weary evening,
Her poor mother, rub, dub, dub,

Toiled away with patient spirit,
Susie's daily bread to earn ;
Teaching lessons of endurance,

Which more favored ones might learn.

Once with lime, and pail, and brushes,

Forth to labor she had gone;
Leaving Susie with her kitten

And her playthings all alone.

Susie to their tiny mirror,

Climbing, saw her ebon face; But she hid it with her fingers,

As if 't were some deep disgrace.

"Oh, why was it," sadly murmuring,
Susie asked herself aloud,
"When God made white children's faces,
Over mine he spread a cloud?

"No one loves me; naughty children
Laugh whene'er I go along;
And rude boys are always singing
In my ear some negro song.

"I don't love to sit at school,

With the children white and fair; For it makes my face look blacker, And more crisp my woolly hair.

"Scrub and comb! and comb and scrub! I've Tried to grow white many a day,

But my poor face still is colored,
And my hair will knot this way!

"I don't think that God can love me,Yet I'm sure he loves my mother; How I wish I was not born,

Or was dead like my poor brother!"

Now poor Chloe, meek and patient,
Weary from her labor come,

Hears these words impatient, sounding
Through her cheerful little room.

"Susie! Susie!" cried she sadly,

"Many a colored child to-day,
Toiling in the rice and cotton,
Torn from mother far away,

"Would be happy as that blackbird
Singing gayly on yon tree,
If she had your joys and blessings,-
If she only could be free!

"We are God's, and he has made us
Just as pleased himself the best;
He will give us all things needful,
Let us leave with Him the rest.
"Soon, my child, if we obey Him,
We shall go to dwell above,
Where His own of every color
Share alike a Father's love."

XL.

CHARLIE; AND THE ROBIN'S SONG.

Ο

NE summer morning early,

When the dew was bright to see,

Our dark-eyed little Charlie

Stood by his mother's knee.

And he heard a robin singing

In a tree, so tall and high;
On the topmost bough 't was swinging,
Away up in the sky.

"Mamma, the robin's praying, In the very tree-top there; 'Glory! glory!' it is saying,

And that is all its prayer.

"But God will surely hear him,
And the angels standing by,
For God is very near him,
Away up in the sky.”

"My child! God is no nearer
To robin on the tree,

And does not hear him clearer
Than he does you and me.

"For he hears the angels harping
In sunbright glory drest,
And the little birdlings chirping
Within their leafy nest."

แ Mamma, if you should hide me
Away down in the dark,
And leave no lamp beside me,

Would God then have to hark?

"And if I whisper lowly,

All covered in my bed,

Do you think that Jesus holy

Would know what 't was I said?"

"My darling little lisper,

God's light is never dim;

The very lowest whisper

Is always close to him."