I wish to give you all my blessing,
And leave you with a useful lesson,
That when I've left this world of care
Each may his testimony bear
How much my latest thoughts inclined.
To prove me tender, good, and kind.
Observe that fagot on the ground,
With twisted hazel firmly bound."
The children turn'd their eyes that way,
And view'd the fagot as it lay;

But wondered what their father meant,
Who thus expounded his intent:
"I wish that all of you would take it,
And try if any one can break it."
Obedient to the good old man,

They all to try their strength began:
Now boy, now girl, now he, now she,
Applied the fagot to their knee;

They tugg'd and strain'd, and tried again,
But still they tugg'd, and tried in vain;
In vain their skill and strength exerted,
The fagot every effort thwarted;

And when their labour vain they found,
They threw the fagot on the ground.

Again the good old man proceeded
To give the instruction which they needed!
"Untwist," says he, "the hazel bind,
And let the fagot be disjoined;"
Then stick by stick, and twig by twig,
The little children and the big,
Following the words their father spoke,
Each sprig and spray they quickly broke.
"There, father!" all began to cry,
"I've broken mine! and I! and I!"

Replied the sire: ""Twas my intent
My family to represent!

While you are join'd in friendship's throng
My dearest children you'll be strong:

But if by quarrel and dispute
You undermine affection's root,

And thus the strengthening cord divide,
Then will my children ill betide:
E'en beasts of prey in bands unite,
And kindly for each other fight;
And shall not every Christian be
Join'd in sweet links of amity?
If separate, you'll each be weak;
Each, like a single stick will break;
But if you're firm, and true and hearty,
The world and all its spite can't part ye.
The father having closed his lesson,
Proceeded to pronounce his blessing;
Embraced them all, then pray'd and sigh'd,
Look'd up, and dropp'd his head, and died.

BABY'S SHOES.

W. C. BENNETT.

O THOSE little, those little blue shoes!
Those shoes that no little feet use!
O the price were high,

That those shoes would buy,

Those little blue unused shoes!

For they hold the small shape of feet
That no more their mother's eyes meet,
That, by God's good will,

Years since grew still,

And ceased from their totter so sweet!

And O, since that baby slept,

So hush'd! how the mother has kept,
With a tearful pleasure,

That little dear treasure,

And o'er them thought and wept!

For they mind her for evermore
Of a patter along the floor,

And blue eyes she sees

Look up from her knees,
With the look that in life they wore.

As they lie before her there,
There babbles from chair to chair
A little sweet face,

That's a gleam in the place,

With its little gold curls of hair.

Then O wonder not that her heart
From all else would rather part
Than those tiny blue shoes

That no little feet use,

And whose sight makes such fond tears

start.

THE FUNERAL OF CHARLES THE FIRST,

At night, in St. George's chapEL, WINDSOR.
REV. W. L. BOWLES.

THE castle clock had toll'd midnight-
With mattock and with spade,
And silent, by the torch's light,

His corse in earth we laid.

The coffin bore his name, that those
Of other years might know,
When earth its secret should disclose,

Whose bones were laid below.

"Peace to the Dead" no children sung,

Slow pacing up the nave;

No prayers were read, no knell was rung,
As deep we dug his grave.

We only heard the Winter's wind,
In many a sullen gust,
As o'er the open grave inclined,
We murmur'd "Dust to dust!"

A moonbeam, from the arch's height,
Stream'd, as we placed the stone;
The long aisles started into light,
And all the windows shone.

We thought we saw the banners then,
That shook along the walls,
While the sad shades of mailed men
Were gazing from the stalls.

'Tis gone! again on tombs defaced,
Sits darkness more profound,
And only by the torch we traced
Our shadows on the ground.

And now the chilly, freezing air,
Without, blew long and loud;
Upon our knees we breathed one prayer
Where he slept in his shroud.

We laid the broken marble floor-
No name, no trace appears―

And when we closed the sounding door
We thought of him with tears,

THE SPIDER AND THE BEE.

DEAN SWIFT.

UPON the highest corner of a large window there dwelt a certain spider, swollen up to the first magnitude by the destruction of infinite numbers of flies whose spoils lay scattered before the gates of his palace, like human

bones before the cave of some giant. The avenues to his castle were guarded with turnpikes and palisadoes, all after the modern way of fortification. After you had passed several courts you came to the centre, wherein you might behold the constable himself in his own lodgings, which had windows fronting to each avenue, and ports to sally out upon all occasions of prey or defence. In this mansion he had for some time dwelt in peace and plenty, without danger to his person by swallows from above, or to his palace from brooms from below: when it was the pleasure of fortune to conduct thither a wandering bee, to whose curiosity a broken pane in the glass had discovered itself, and in he went; where, expatiating awhile, he at last happened to alight upon one of the outward walls of the spider's citadel; which, yielding to the unequal weight, sunk down to the very foundation. Thrice he endeavoured to force his passage, and thrice the centre shook. The spider within, feeling the terrible convulsion, supposed at first that nature was approaching to her final dissolution; or else, that Beelzebub, with all his legions, was come to revenge the death of many thousands of his subjects whom his enemy had slain and devoured. However, he at length valiantly resolved to issue forth and meet his fate. Meanwhile the bee had acquitted himself of his toils, and, posted securely at some distance, was employed in cleansing his wings, and disengaging them from the rugged remnants of the cobweb. By this time the spider had adventured out, when, beholding the chasms, the ruins and dilapidations of his fortress, he was very near at his wits' end; he stormed like a madman, and swelled till he was ready to burst. At length, casting his eye upon the bee, and wisely gathering causes from events (for they knew each other by sight), "A plague split you," said he, "for a giddy puppy, is it you that have made this litter here? could

* Beelzebub, in the Hebrew, signifies lord of flies.