"Father, when people die,

Will they come back in May?" Tears were in Charley's eye,— "Will they, dear father, say?"

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.

I wish you could have seen him there;
It did my spirit good,

To see the small thing God had made
Thus eating in the wood.

I saw that He regardeth them-
Those creatures weak and small;
Their table in the wild is spread
By Him who cares for all!

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.