with his welcome beams he dispersed the vapor and the cold; the traveller felt the genial warmth, and as the sun shone brighter and brighter he sat down, overcome with the heat, and cast his cloak on the ground. Thus the Sun was declared the conqueror, and it has ever been deemed that persuasion is better than force. THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOWWORM. WILLIAM COWPER. A NIGHTINGALE that all day long The worm, aware of his intent, For 'twas the self-same Power Divine THE IDLE MAGNET. TRANSLATED BY THE EDITORS. FROM THE GERMAN. A BOY had a magnet. He wanted to keep it new and nice, so he put it into a chest away from all other iron. By and by he took it out to use. He held it to a piece of iron, but the magnet would not work any more because in its idleness it had lost all its strength. A COUNTRY maid was walking along with a can of milk upon her head when she fell into the following train of reflections. "The money for which I shall sell this milk will enable me to increase my stock of eggs to three hundred. These eggs, allowing for what may prove addle and what may be destroyed by vermin will produce at least two hundred and fifty chickens. The chickens will be fit to carry to market just at the time when poultry is always dear; so that by the new year I cannot fail of having money enough to purchase a new gown. Green Green-let me consider-yes, green becomes my complexion best, and green it shall be. In this dress I will go to the fair, where all the young fellows will strive to have me for a partner; but noI shall refuse every one of them, and with a disdainful toss turn from them." Transported with this idea she could not forbear acting with her head the thought that thus passed in her mind; when down came the can of milk! and all her imaginary happiness vanished in a moment. Do not count your chickens before they are hatched. BAUCIS AND PHILEMON. JONATHAN SWIFT. In ancient times, as story tells, The saints would often leave their cells, It happened on a winter night, They begged from door to door in vain, Tried every tone might pity win; But not a soul would take them in. Our wandering saints, in woful state, Treated at this ungodly rate, Having through all the village passed, To a small cottage came at last Where dwelt a good old honest yeoman, Call'd in the neighborhood Philemon; Who kindly did these saints invite In his poor hut to pass the night; And then the hospitable sire Bid goody Baucis mend the fire; While he from out the chimney took A flitch of bacon off the hook, And freely from the fattest side Cut out large slices to be fried; Then stepped aside to fetch them drink, Filled a large jug up to the brink, And saw it fairly twice go round; Yet (what is wonderful!) they found 'Twas still replenished to the top, As if they ne'er had touched a drop. The good old couple were amazed, And often on each other gazed; For both were frightened to the heart, And just began to cry, "What art!" Then softly turned aside to view Whether the lights were burning blue. "Good folks, you need not be afraid, ; They scarce had spoke, when fair and soft The roof began to mount aloft, Aloft rose every beam and rafter, The kettle to the top was hoist, A wooden jack which had almost |