The other, more wise,

Looked about with both eyes, And hardly would eat at all;

For as he came in

With a squeeze and a grin,

He rei arked that the hole was small;

And, the cunning elf,

He said to himself,

If I eat too much, it's plain.
As the hole is small,

I shall stick in the wall,
And never get out again.

Thus matters went on

Till the night was gone, And the farmer came out with a pole ;

The foxes both flew,

And one went through,

But the greedy one stuck in the hole.

In the hole he stuck,

So full was his pluck

Of the chickens he had been eating

He could not get out,

Or turn about,

And so he was killed by beating.

THE IDLE BOY.

THOMAS was an idle lad,

And lounged about all day ;
And though he many a lesson had,
He minded nought but play.

Ile only cared for top of ball,
Or marbles, hoop, and kite;
But as for learning, that was all
Neglected by him quite.

In vain his mother's kind advice,
In vain his master's care;

He followed every idle vice,

And learned to curse and swear!

And think you, when he grew a man,
He prospered in his ways?
No; wicked courses never can
Bring good and happy days.

Without a shilling in his purse,
Or cot to call his own,

Poor Thomas grew from bad to worse,

And hardened as a stone.

And, O! it grieves me much to write

His melancholy end;

Then let us leave the dreadful sight,

And thoughts of pity lend.

But may we this important truth
Observe and ever hold, -

"All those who 're idle in their youth Will suffer when they're old."

CLOSE OF TERM.

OUR School-term is ended,
Our studies are through,

We'll bid one another
A friendly adieu.

We all will part kindly,
And leave school behind

For other engagements
To fill precious time.

For we have grown weary

Of sitting all day,

With school-books before us,

And rules to obey.

But now we 'll be happy,

And home we will haste,
'To pass the term gayly, -
Each one to his taste.

We'll aid our dear parents,
And then to our play,
Thus finding enjoyment
The long summer's day.

When vacation 's o'er,

We'll return to our school,

And firmly endeavor

To obey every rule.

CASABIANCA.

Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the Admiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the battle of the Nile) after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been abandoned, and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the powder.

THE boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,

As born to rule the storm;

A creature of heroic blood,

A proud, though childlike, form.

The flames rolled on- - he would not go

Without his father's word;

That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud -"Say, father, say,

If yet my task is done?"

He knew not that the chieftain lay

Unconscious of his son.

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Speak, father!" once again he cried, "If I may yet be gone!

And "

but the booming shots replied,

And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair,

And looked, from that lone post, to death,

In still, yet brave despair,

And shouted but once more aloud

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'My father! must I stay?”

While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapped the ship in splendor wild,

They caught the flag on high,

And streamed above the gallant child,

Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound -
The boy-O! where was he?

Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strewed the sea;

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part –
But the noblest thing that perished there
Was that young, faithful heart.