THE FROST SPIRIT.

JOHN G. WHITTIER.

He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes! You may trace his footsteps now On the naked woods and the blasted fields, And the brown hill's withered brow. He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees Where their pleasant green came forth, And the winds which follow wherever he goes, Have shaken them down to earth.

He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes!From the frozen Labrador,—From the icy bridge of the Northern seas,Which the white bear wanders o'er,—Where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice,And the luckless forms belowIn the sunless cold of the lingering night,Into marble statues grow!He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes!On the rushing Northern blast,And the dark Norwegian pines have bowedAs his fearful breath went past.With an unscorched wing he has hurried on,Where the fires of Hecla glowOn the darkly beautiful sky above,And the ancient ice below.He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes!And the quiet lake shall feelThe torpid touch of his glazing breath,And ring to the skater's heel;And the streams which danced on the broken rocks,Or sang to the leaning grass,Shall bow again to their winter chain,And in mournful silence pass.

THE FISHERMAN'S SAIL IS STIFF WITH ICE.

"THE FISHERMAN'S SAIL IS STIFF WITH ICE."

He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes!Let us meet him as we may,And turn with light of the parlor-fireHis evil power away;And gather closer the circle round,When that fire-light dances high,And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend,As his sounding wing goes by.

I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I know not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, I know not where; For who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song? Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend. ——HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

COUNTRY SCENES.

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

II stoodon the bridge at midnight,As the clocks were striking the hour,And the moon rose o'er the city,Behind the dark church-tower.I saw her bright reflectionIn the waters under me,Like a golden goblet fallingAnd sinking into the sea.And far in the hazy distanceOf that lovely night in June,The blaze of the flaming furnaceGleamed redder than the moon.Among the long, black raftersThe wavering shadows lay,And the current that came from the oceanSeemed to lift and bear them away;As, sweeping and eddying through them.Rose the belated tide,And, streaming into the moonlight,The sea-weed floated wide.And like those waters rushingAmong the wooden piers,A flood of thoughts came o'er me,That filled my eyes with tears.How often; Oh! how often,In the days that had gone by,I had stood on that bridge at midnight,And gazed on that wave and sky!How often; Oh! how often,I had wished that the ebbing tideWould bear me away on its bosomO'er the ocean wild and wide!For my heart was hot and restless,And my life was full of care,And the burden laid upon me,Seemed greater than I could bear.But now it has fallen upon me,It is buried in the sea;And only the sorrow of othersThrows its shadow over me.Yet whenever I cross the riverOn its bridge with wooden piers,Like the odor of brine from the ocean,Comes the thought of other years.And I think how many thousandsOf care-encumbered men,Each bearing his burden of sorrow,Have crossed the bridge since then.I see the long processionStill passing to and fro,The young heart hot and restless,And the old subdued and slow!And forever and forever,As long as the river flows,As long as the heart has passions,As long as life has woes;The moon and its broken reflectionAnd its shadows shall appear,As the symbol of love in Heaven,And its wavering image here.

I stoodon the bridge at midnight,As the clocks were striking the hour,And the moon rose o'er the city,Behind the dark church-tower.I saw her bright reflectionIn the waters under me,Like a golden goblet fallingAnd sinking into the sea.And far in the hazy distanceOf that lovely night in June,The blaze of the flaming furnaceGleamed redder than the moon.Among the long, black raftersThe wavering shadows lay,And the current that came from the oceanSeemed to lift and bear them away;As, sweeping and eddying through them.Rose the belated tide,And, streaming into the moonlight,The sea-weed floated wide.And like those waters rushingAmong the wooden piers,A flood of thoughts came o'er me,That filled my eyes with tears.How often; Oh! how often,In the days that had gone by,I had stood on that bridge at midnight,And gazed on that wave and sky!How often; Oh! how often,I had wished that the ebbing tideWould bear me away on its bosomO'er the ocean wild and wide!For my heart was hot and restless,And my life was full of care,And the burden laid upon me,Seemed greater than I could bear.But now it has fallen upon me,It is buried in the sea;And only the sorrow of othersThrows its shadow over me.Yet whenever I cross the riverOn its bridge with wooden piers,Like the odor of brine from the ocean,Comes the thought of other years.And I think how many thousandsOf care-encumbered men,Each bearing his burden of sorrow,Have crossed the bridge since then.I see the long processionStill passing to and fro,The young heart hot and restless,And the old subdued and slow!And forever and forever,As long as the river flows,As long as the heart has passions,As long as life has woes;The moon and its broken reflectionAnd its shadows shall appear,As the symbol of love in Heaven,And its wavering image here.

THE RESPONSIVE CHORD

J. WILLIAM JONES.

Oneevening in 1863, when the Confederate and Union armies were both near Spottsylvania, two bands chanced, at the same hour, to begin to play on either bank of the river.

The soldiers of both armies gathered to listen, and soon the bands began to answer each other. First the Federal band would play "Hail Columbia" or some other national air, and at its close the "boys in blue" would cheer most lustily. Then the Confederate band would respond with "Dixie" or "Bonnie Blue Flag," and the "boys in gray" would yell their approval. But presently one of the bands struck up, in sweet and sad tones, the grand old tune "Home, Sweet Home." It was caught up by the other band, and at its close there went up a shoutfrom both sides of the river—cheer followed cheer and the hills re-echoed the glad acclaim. A chord had been struck to which all hearts could beat in unison; and, for the time being, their enmity was forgotten.

DECORATIVE.

MMammasaid; 'Little one, go and seeIf Grandmother's ready to come to tea.'I knew I must'nt disturb her, soI stepped as gently along, tiptoe,And stood a moment to take a peep—And there was Grandmother, fast asleep."I knew it was time for her to wake;I thought I'd give her a little shake,Or tap at her door, or softly call;But I had'nt the heart for that at all—She looked so sweet and so quiet there,Lying back in her high arm-chair,With her dear white hair and a little smile,That means she's loving you all the while."I did'nt make a speck of a noise;I knew she was dreaming of little boysAnd girls who lived with her, long ago,And then went to Heaven—she told me so."I went up close, and I did'nt speakOne word, but I gave her on her cheekThe softest bit of a little kiss,Just in a whisper, and then said this;'Grandmother dear it's time for tea.'"She opened her eyes and looked at me,And said: 'Why, Pet, I have just now dreamedOf a little angel who came, and seemedTo kiss me lovingly on my face.'She pointed right at the very place."I never told her 'twas only me;I took her hand and we went to tea."Sydney Dayrein St. Nicholas.

Mammasaid; 'Little one, go and seeIf Grandmother's ready to come to tea.'I knew I must'nt disturb her, soI stepped as gently along, tiptoe,And stood a moment to take a peep—And there was Grandmother, fast asleep."I knew it was time for her to wake;I thought I'd give her a little shake,Or tap at her door, or softly call;But I had'nt the heart for that at all—She looked so sweet and so quiet there,Lying back in her high arm-chair,With her dear white hair and a little smile,That means she's loving you all the while."I did'nt make a speck of a noise;I knew she was dreaming of little boysAnd girls who lived with her, long ago,And then went to Heaven—she told me so."I went up close, and I did'nt speakOne word, but I gave her on her cheekThe softest bit of a little kiss,Just in a whisper, and then said this;'Grandmother dear it's time for tea.'"She opened her eyes and looked at me,And said: 'Why, Pet, I have just now dreamedOf a little angel who came, and seemedTo kiss me lovingly on my face.'She pointed right at the very place."I never told her 'twas only me;I took her hand and we went to tea."

Sydney Dayrein St. Nicholas.

DECORATIVE.

Itwas dreadfully cold, it snowed, and was getting quite dark, for it was evening—yes, the last evening of the year.

Amid the cold and the darkness, a little girl, with bare head and naked feet, was roaming through the streets. It is true she had on a pair of slippers, when she left home, but that was not of much use, for they were very large slippers; so large, indeed, that they had hitherto been used by her mother; besides, the little creature lost them as she hurried across the street, to avoid two carriages, that were driving at a fearful rate. One of the slippers was not to be found, and the other was pounced upon by a boy, who ran away with it, saying that it wouldserve for a cradle when he should have children of his own.

So the little girl went along, with her little bare feet, that were red and blue with cold. She carried a number of matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle of them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything of her the whole livelong day, and nobody had even given her a penny.

She crept along, shivering with cold and hunger, a perfect picture of misery—poor little thing!

The snowflakes covered her long, flaxen hair, which hung in pretty curls round her throat; but she heeded them not.

Lights were streaming from all the windows, and there was a savory smell of roast goose; for it was St. Sylvester's evening.

She now sat down, cowering in a corner formed by two houses, one of which projected beyond the other. She had drawn her little feet under her, but she felt colder than ever; yet she dared not return home, for she had not sold a match, and could not bring back a penny.

Her father would certainly beat her; and it was cold enough at home, besides,—for they had only the roof above them, and the wind came howling through it, though the largest holes had been stopped withstraw and rags.

Her little hands were nearly frozen with cold.

Alas! a single match might do her some good, if she might only draw one out of the bundle, and rub it against the wall, and warm her fingers.

So at last she drew one out. Whist! how it shed sparks, and how it burned! It gave out a warm, bright flame, like a little candle, as she held her hands over it,—truly, it was a wonderful little light! It really seemed to the little girl as if she were sitting before a large iron stove, with polished brass feet, and brass shovel and tongs. The fire burned so blessedly, and warmed so nicely, that the little creature stretched out her feet to warm them likewise, when lo! the flame expired, the stove vanished, and left nothing but the little half-burned match in her hand.

She rubbed another match against the wall. It gave a light, and where it shown upon the wall, the latter became as transparent as a veil, and she could see into the room.

A snow-white table-cloth was spread upon the table, on which stood a splendid china dinner service, while a roast goose, stuffed with apples and prunes, sent forth the most savory fumes. And what was moredelightful still, the goose jumped down from the dish, and waddled along the ground with a knife and fork in its breast, up to the poor girl.

The match then went out, and nothing remained but the thick, damp wall.

She lit another match.

She now sat under the most magnificent Christmas tree, that was larger, and more superbly decked, than even the one she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchant's. A thousand tapers burned on its green branches, and gay pictures, such as one sees on targets, seemed to be looking down upon her. The match then went out.

The Christmas lights kept rising higher and higher. They now looked like stars in the sky. One of them fell down, and left a long streak of fire.

"Somebody is now dying," thought the little girl,—for her old grandmother, the only person who had ever loved her, and who was now dead, had told her, that when a star falls, it is a sign that a soul is going up to heaven.

She again rubbed a match upon the wall, and it was again light all round; and in the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and shining like a spirit, yet looking so mild and loving.

"Grandmother," cried the little one, "oh! take me with you! I know you will go away when the match goes out,—you will vanish like the warm stove and the delicious roast goose, and the fine, large Christmas tree!"

And she made haste to rub the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to hold her grandmother fast. And the matches gave a light that was brighter than noonday. Her grandmother had never appeared so beautiful nor so large. She took the little girl in her arms, and both flew upwards, all radiant and joyful, far—far above mortal ken—where there was neither cold, nor hunger, nor care to be found; for it was to the land of the blessed that they had flown.

But, in the cold dawn, the poor girl might be seen leaning against the wall, with red cheeks and smiling mouth; she had been frozen on the last night of the old year.

The new year's sun shone upon the little corpse.

The child sat in the stiffness of death, still holding the matches, one bundle of which was burned.

People said: "She tried to warm herself."

Nobody dreamed of the fine things she had seen, nor in what splendor she had entered upon the joys of the new year, together with her grandmother.

DECORATIVE.

PHILA H. CASE.

AAlone, in the dreary, pitiless street,With my torn old dress and bare, cold feet,All day I've wandered to and fro,Hungry and shivering and nowhere to go;The night's coming on in darkness and dread,And the chill sleet beating upon my bare head;Oh! why does the wind blow upon me so wild?Is it because I'm nobody's child?Just over the way there's a flood of light,And warmth and beauty, and all things bright;Beautiful children, in robes so fair,Are caroling songs in rapture there.I wonder if they, in their blissful glee,Would pity a poor little beggar like me;Wandering alone in the merciless street,Naked and shivering and nothing to eat.Oh! what shall I do when the night comes down,In its terrible darkness, all over the town?Shall I lay me down 'neath the angry sky,On the cold, hard pavements, alone, to die?When the beautiful children their prayers have said,And mamas have tucked them up snugly in bed.No dear mother ever upon me smiled—Why is it, I wonder, that I'm nobody's child.No father, no mother, no sister, not oneIn all the world loves me; e'en the little dogs run,When I wander too near them; 'tis wondrous to see,How everything shrinks from a beggar like me!Perhaps 'tis a dream; but sometimes, when I lieGazing far up in the dark, blue sky,Watching for hours some large, bright star,I fancy the beautiful gates are ajar.And a host of white-robed, nameless things,Come fluttering o'er me in gilded wings;A hand that is strangely soft and fair,Caresses gently my tangled hair,And a voice like the carol of some wild bird,The sweetest voice that was ever heard—Calls me many a dear pet name,'Till my heart and spirits are all aflame;And tells me of such unbounded love,And bids me come up to their home above,And then, with such pitiful, sad surprise,They look at me with their sweet blue eyes,And it seems to me, out of the dreary night,I am going up to the world of light,And away from the hunger and storms so wild—I am sure I shall then be somebody's child.

Alone, in the dreary, pitiless street,With my torn old dress and bare, cold feet,All day I've wandered to and fro,Hungry and shivering and nowhere to go;The night's coming on in darkness and dread,And the chill sleet beating upon my bare head;Oh! why does the wind blow upon me so wild?Is it because I'm nobody's child?Just over the way there's a flood of light,And warmth and beauty, and all things bright;Beautiful children, in robes so fair,Are caroling songs in rapture there.I wonder if they, in their blissful glee,Would pity a poor little beggar like me;Wandering alone in the merciless street,Naked and shivering and nothing to eat.Oh! what shall I do when the night comes down,In its terrible darkness, all over the town?Shall I lay me down 'neath the angry sky,On the cold, hard pavements, alone, to die?When the beautiful children their prayers have said,And mamas have tucked them up snugly in bed.No dear mother ever upon me smiled—Why is it, I wonder, that I'm nobody's child.No father, no mother, no sister, not oneIn all the world loves me; e'en the little dogs run,When I wander too near them; 'tis wondrous to see,How everything shrinks from a beggar like me!Perhaps 'tis a dream; but sometimes, when I lieGazing far up in the dark, blue sky,Watching for hours some large, bright star,I fancy the beautiful gates are ajar.And a host of white-robed, nameless things,Come fluttering o'er me in gilded wings;A hand that is strangely soft and fair,Caresses gently my tangled hair,And a voice like the carol of some wild bird,The sweetest voice that was ever heard—Calls me many a dear pet name,'Till my heart and spirits are all aflame;And tells me of such unbounded love,And bids me come up to their home above,And then, with such pitiful, sad surprise,They look at me with their sweet blue eyes,And it seems to me, out of the dreary night,I am going up to the world of light,And away from the hunger and storms so wild—I am sure I shall then be somebody's child.

GRIMM.

A poor widow once lived in a small cottage, and before the cottage was a garden in which grew two rose-trees, one of which bore white roses, and the other red. She had two children, who resembled

the rose trees—one was named Snow-white, and the other Rosy-red, and they were as pious, kind, and industrious as any two children ever were. Snow-white was quieter and more gentle than her sister, who preferred skipping over the fields, seeking flowers, and catching summer birds; while Snow-white remained at home with her mother, either assisting her in her work, or reading aloud to her when that was done. The two children had the greatest love for each other; they were always seen hand-in-hand, and if Snow-white said to her sister, "We will never separate!" the other replied, "Not while we live!" the mother adding, "what one has, let her always share with the other." They often ran together in the woods, and gathered ripe berries; but not a single animal would have done them an injury—on the contrary, they all felt the greatest regard for the young creatures: the hare came and ate parsley from their hands, the deer grazed by their side, the stag sprang past them unconcerned, the birds likewise stirred not from the branch, but sang in the most perfect security. No mischance befell them; if benighted in the wood, they laid themselves in the moss to repose, and slept until the morning, and their mother was satisfied they were safe, and felt no fear on their account. Once, when they hadpassed the night in the wood, and the bright sunrise awoke them, they saw a beautiful child, in a snow-white dress, which shone like diamonds, sitting near the place where they had rested. She stood up when they opened their eyes, and looked kindly at them, but said not a word, and passed from their sight into the wood. When the children looked around, they saw that they had slept on the edge of a high cliff, and would certainly have fallen over, if they had proceeded two steps farther in the darkness. Their mother told them the beautiful child must have been the angel who watches over good children. Snow-white and Rosy-red kept their mother's cottage so clean, that it was a pleasure only to look in. In the summer Rosy-red looked after the house, and placed by her mother's bed every morning, before she awoke, a bouquet, in which was a rose from each of the rose trees. In the winter Snow-white lighted the fire, and put the kettle on, after scouring it, so that it resembled gold in brightness. In the evening, when the snowflakes fell, her mother bade her bolt the door, and then seating themselves by the hearth, the good widow read aloud to them from a large book, while the girls spun; near them lay a lamb, and behind was a white pigeon upon a perch, with its head tucked under its wing.

One evening as they all sat thus comfortably together, a knock was heard at the door, as if somebody desired to enter, 'Quick, Rosy-red,' said her mother, 'open the door; it must be some traveler seeking shelter.' Rosy-red accordingly opened the door, thinking to see a poor man; but it was no such thing, it was a bear, who thrust his great black head into the open door.

Rosy-red uttered a cry and sprang back, the lamb bleated, the dove fluttered her wings, and Snow-white hid herself behind her mother's bed. The bear began to speak, and said, "Fear not, I will do you no harm; I am half frozen, and only wish to warm myself a little at your fire." "Poor bear," returned the mother, "come and lie by the fire, only take care that your hair does not burn." Then calling Snow-white and Rosy-red, she bade them come out, "The bear," she said, "was kind, and would do them no harm." So they obeyed, and by degrees the lamb and the dove approached also, and had no fear. "Children," said the bear, "knock a little of the snow out of my coat." So they got the broom, and swept the bear's coat quite clean. After which, he stretched himself out before the fire and amused himself with a little growl, just to prove he was happy and comfortable. Before long, they were all quite good friends, and the children began to sport with their unexpected guest, tugging at his thick fur, or putting their feet on his back, or rolling him over and over. Then they took a thin hazel twig, with which they struck his thick fur, and when he growled, they laughed. The bear very kindly allowed them to amuse themselves thus, only sometimes, when itproceeded a little too far, he called out, "Children, children, leave me an inch of life.

"Snow-white and Rosy-red,Strike not your lover dead."

When night came, and all prepared to go to bed, the widow said to the bear, "You can stay here, and lie on the hearth if you like, you will then be sheltered from the cold and the bad weather." The offer was accepted, but in the morning, as soon as day broke in the east, the two children let him out, and he trotted over the snow back into the wood. From this time the bear came every evening at the same hour, laid himself by the fire, and permitted the children to amuse themselves with him, so that they became quite attached to their strange playfellow, and the door was never bolted of an evening, until he had made his appearance.

When spring came, and everything around began to look green and bright, the bear said one morning to Snow-white, "I must now leave you, and I shall not be able to return for the whole summer." "Where are you then going, dear bear?" inquired Snow-white. "I must go to the woods, to protect my treasure from the bad dwarfs; in the winter, when the earth is hard frozen, they are obliged to stay underground, and cannot worktheir way through; but now the sun has thawed and warmed the earth, they find their way to the surface, and are ever on the watch for what they can steal, and whatever touches their hands, or reaches their caves, rarely, if ever, sees daylight again." Snow-white was very sorrowful when she took leave of the good-natured bear, and unbolted the door, that he might depart; but in passing out, he caught on a hook in the door-post, and a little of his fur being torn, Snow-white thought she saw something shine like gold through the rent; but he passed out so rapidly, that she did not feel sure what it was, and he was soon lost among the trees.

One day the mother sent her children into the wood to collect sticks; they found a large tree lying on the ground, which had been felled, and among the roots they saw something jumping and hopping, which they could not at all understand, it being sometimes hidden among the grass. When they drew nearer, they saw it was a dwarf, with an old withered face and a snow-white beard a yard long. The beard was fastened in a split in the trunk of the tree, and the little fellow was springing backwards and forwards like a dog at the end of a cord, but could not succeed in getting free. He stared at the children with his fiery redeyes, and cried out, "What are you standing there for? Can you not come and see if you can help me?" "What have you been doing, little man?" asked Rosy-red. "Silly inquisitive goose:" answered the dwarf, "I wanted to split the tree that I might chop it into sticks for the kitchen; thick logs would burn up the small portion of food we cook, for we do not swallow great mountains of provisions, as you coarse greedy folks do. I have driven in the wedge, and should soon have done what I wanted, but the tool sprang out of the split, which closed again so quickly, that my beautiful white beard was caught, and here I am detained for I cannot get away." "You silly white-faced creatures! you are laughing, are you?" Notwithstanding the little man's ill-temper, the girls gave themselves all imaginable trouble, in order to release the dwarf, but in vain—the beard was held too fast.

"I will run and call somebody else," said Rosy-red. "Idiot," replied the dwarf, "who would go and fetch more people? here are already two too many; can you not think of anything better?" "Do not be impatient," said Snow-white, "I will try and consider." Clapping her hands, as if she had found a remedy, she took out her scissors, and instantly released the dwarf by cutting off the end of his beard. Directly thedwarf felt himself free, he seized a sack filled with gold, which was hidden among the roots of the tree, and raising it, growled out, "Awkward creatures! to cut off a bit of my beautiful beard, of which I am so proud, the cuckoos may pay you for what you have done." With these words, he swung the sack over his shoulder and went away, without even casting a look upon the children.

Shortly after this the two sisters went to fish in the brook, thinking to catch some fish for dinner. As they approached the water, they saw something that looked like a large cricket jumping towards the brook as if it were going in. They ran to see what it could be, and perceived the dwarf. "Where are you going?" asked Rosy-red; "you will not surely jump into the water?" "I am not quite such a simpleton," screamed the dwarf; "do you not see that the confounded fish is pulling me in?" The little man had been sitting on the bank fishing, when unfortunately the wind had entangled his beard in the line, and as a large fish directly afterwards took the bait, the little fellow had not strength to pull it out; the fish therefore got the upper-hand, and was drawing the dwarf after it. It is true, he caught at every stalk and twig near him, but that did not help him much, he was obliged to follow all the movementsof the fish, and was in danger of being drawn into the water.

The girls came up just in time; they held him fast and tried to disentangle his beard from the line, but in vain. Nothing remained but again to use the scissors, so they were taken out, and the part entangled cut off. When the dwarf saw what they were doing, he cried out in a great rage, "Is this the way you spoil my beard? Not content with shortening it before, you are now cutting it the other way, and ruining it entirely. I shall never dare to show my face to my friends. I wish you had lost your way, before you came this road." Then fetching a sack of pearls lying in the rushes, and without another word he hobbled away and vanished behind a large stone.

It happened that soon after this the poor widow sent her children to the town in order to buy thread, needles, ribbon and tape. The road lay over a heath on which large masses of rock were scattered in all directions, and the children's attention was soon drawn to a large bird hovering in the air: they observed that after flying slowly in a circle for some time, and gradually approaching nearer to the earth, it suddenly dashed down among a mass of rock; immediately a pitiable cry pierced their ears, and running hastily to the spot, they saw with horror that the eagle had seized their old acquaintance, the dwarf,and was preparing to bear him away. The children did not wait for a moment, but taking firm hold of the little man, they disputed so stoutly with the eagle for the possession of his prey, that after much rough handling on both sides, the dwarf remained in the hands of his little friends, and the eagle took to flight.

When the little man had in a degree recovered from his fright, his little thin cracked voice was heard saying, "Could you not handle me more gently? look at my little coat, you have torn and mangled it in a fine fashion, you awkward creatures!" He then took up a sack of precious stones, and slipped out of sight behind a fragment of a rock. The maidens were by this time quite accustomed to his thankless manner, so they thought nothing of it, but continued their way, executed their mother's commission, and then prepared to return to their happy home.

On their road thither, they suddenly came again upon their friend the dwarf; he had emptied out his sack of precious stones upon a clean spot, that he might number or admire them, for he did not expect that any one would be crossing the heath at so late an hour. The setting sun shone upon the bright stones, and their varying hues and brilliant rays induced the children to stop and admire them. "What are youlooking at?" said the dwarf, rudely, at the same time reddening with anger; "and why do you stand there making faces?" It is likely that he might have continued in the same strain, but suddenly a loud growl was heard close to them, and a large black bear joined the party. The dwarf sprang up in the greatest terror, but was unable to reach his hiding-place, the bear was too near him; so he exclaimed in the most evident anguish, "Dear Mr. Bear, pray pardon me, I will give you all my treasure, only look at the valuable stones lying there. Grant me my life! You would not feel me between your teeth; but look at those two children, they would be tender morsels, and are as fat as quails—pray take them, good Mr. Bear, and let me go." The bear, however, was not to be moved with his words; he gave the dwarf one blow with his paw, and he lay lifeless on the ground.

In the meantime the maidens had ran away, and were making the best of their way towards their home, but they were suddenly stopped by a well-known voice, which cried, "Snow-white! Rosy-red! stop, do not be afraid. I will go with you."

The bear rapidly advanced towards them; but as he joined them, the bear-skin suddenly fell to the ground, and there stood before them ahandsome man, entirely dressed in gold. "I am the son of a king," said he, "but was enchanted by the wicked dwarf lying yonder, who stole my treasure, and forced me to run about the woods in the form of a great bear, until I should be set free by his death. He has therefore only met with a well-merited punishment."

After some time, Snow-white married the prince, and Rosy-red his brother; and they divided between them the immense treasure that the dwarf had collected in his cave. The old mother passed many happy years with her children; but when she left her cottage, she carried with her the two rose-trees, and they stood before her window, and continued to bear the most beautiful red and white roses every year.

The Cottage

LUCY LARCOM.

TThere's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree."He's singing to me! he's singing to me!"And what does he say, little girl, little boy?"Oh, the world's running over with joy!Don't you hear? Don't you see?Hush! Look! In my tree,I'm as happy as happy can be!"And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do you see,And five eggs, hid by me in the juniper-tree?Don't meddle! don't touch! little girl, little boy,Or the world will lose some of its joy!Now I'm glad! now I'm free!And I always shall be,If you never bring sorrow to me."

There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree."He's singing to me! he's singing to me!"And what does he say, little girl, little boy?"Oh, the world's running over with joy!Don't you hear? Don't you see?Hush! Look! In my tree,I'm as happy as happy can be!"And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do you see,And five eggs, hid by me in the juniper-tree?Don't meddle! don't touch! little girl, little boy,Or the world will lose some of its joy!Now I'm glad! now I'm free!And I always shall be,If you never bring sorrow to me."

The Thrush in the Tree.

So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree,To you and to me, to you and to me;And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy,"Oh, the world's running over with joy!But long it won't be,Don't you know? Don't you see?Unless we are as good as can be."

A fox came suddenly into a meadow, where a flock of beautiful, fat geese were reposing; this amused him, so he laughed, and said,"It is just as if I had been called; I am just arrived at the right moment; you sit all there so comfortably together, that I can eat you up one after the other, without disturbing you much." The geese cackled with apprehension, and began to lament their impending fate, and entreat for their lives. The fox, however, would

listen to nothing, and said, "There is no mercy for you; you must die!" At last one took courage, and said, "If we poor geese must lose our young, fresh lives, grant us at least this small favor—that we may repeat one prayer, and not die in our sins; after that we will place ourselves in a row, that you may be able to choose the fattest." "Well," said the fox, "perhaps that is only just, it is certainly proper, begin your prayer, and I will wait." The first began with a remarkably long prayer, nothing but "ga, ga," and as it did not seem inclined to leave off, the second would not wait until her turn came, but began likewise, "ga, ga," the third and fourth followed, and they soon all cackled together. (When the prayer is finished you shall have the rest of the story; but as far as I know, they are all still going on.)

Duck in a Basket

"Count that day lost whose low-descending sun,Views from thy hand no worthy action done."

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