rising generation, such as "The Child's Companion," a book which should be in the hands of every young person; "The Teachers' Offering;" "The Children's Friend," etc. It was thought that many of those effusions were too good to be lost. The Editor has "culled the sweets from many a flower," and thus endeavoured to weave a chaplet which should at least be enriched and adorned with selections from both the American as well as English Press. A few ORIGINAL PIECES have also been added. As far as in his power he has given the authors' names, or their initials.

The present little Volume is dedicated to THE YOUNG. He trusts it will receive the approbation and recommendation of the heads of families, as well as those who are engaged in the work of teaching.

THE EDITOR'S ADDRESS.

Go, my little Book, and be
A favorite in the nursery;
Go, add thy mite unto the joys
Of our English girls and boys:

So that when they're grave and quiet,
Tired of noise, and romp and riot-
When they leave their play to look
For some "pretty story book;"
Or ask "dear mamma" to read
Something very nice indeed-

Then thy title-page uncover,
Bid them turn thy pages over-
List to what thou hast to say
To such little folks as they.

Tell them to think of what they read,
And try to make the book succeed;
So that these poetic gleanings,

With their various tales and meanings,
May not on the shelf remain,

To prove the labour spent in vain.

THE YOUTH'S

POETICAL INSTRUCTOR.

MORAL AND ENTERTAINING.

THE BUD.

Pretty Bud, I love to see
Much in you resembling me;
And from your instructive look,
Learn as from a little book.

I am young and so are you,

Life with us is fresh and new ;
Yet fair buds oft wither'd lie,
And the youngest children die.
Riper flowers may wide expand,
Win the eye and court the hand;
But, like you, oh may I be
Grac'd with humble modesty.

When 'tis evening, dark and chill,
Close you wrap yourself from ill;
So may God my heart secure,
Safe from everything impure.

S. W P.

THE GARDEN.

Come, dear little friend,
To the garden we'll go ;
I've water'd my rose-plants,
Come, see how they grow.

The first one that blossoms,
My mother's must be;
For as I watch these rose-buds,
She watch'd over me.

Here, here are some pinks
For your bosom and hair;
'Tis the pencil of heaven,
That hath dy'd them so fair.
How thick the young violets
Spring up at our feet,

Let us love the kind hand

That hath made them so sweet.

Is it time for our school?

Then we will thither repair,

And the smile of our teachers

Will welcome us there.

Mrs. Sigourney.

THE COTTON TREE AND THE BOOK.

Fair befal the cotton tree !
Bravely may it grow,