'Twas thought by some people who slightly had seen
There was not a pin to be chosen between them;
But no one for long in this notion persisted,
So great a distinction there really existed.
Eliza knew well that she could not be pleasing,
While fretting and fuming, while sulking or teasing;
And therefore in company artfully tried,
Not to break her bad habits, but only to hide.
So, when she was out, with much labour and pain,
She contrived to look almost as pleasing as Jane;
But then you might see that, in forcing a smile,
Her mouth was uneasy, and ached all the while.
But in spite of her care it would sometimes befall
That some cross event happened to ruin it all;
And because it might chance that her share was the
worst,
Her temper broke loose, and her dimples dispersed.
But Jane, who had nothing she wanted to hide,
And therefore these troublesome arts never tried,
Had none of the care and fatigue of concealing,
But her face always showed what her bosom was feel-
ing.
The smiles that upon her sweet countenance were,
At home or abroad they were constantly there;
And Eliza worked hard, but could never obtain
The affection that freely was given to Jane.
HERE was one little Jim,
Tis reported of him,
And must be to his lasting disgrace,
That he never was seen
With hands at all clean,
Nor yet ever clean was his face.
His friends were much hurt
To see so much dirt,
And often they made him quite clean;
But all was in vain,
He was dirty again,
And not at all fit to be seen.
Then to wash he was sent,
He reluctantly went
With water to splash himself o'er;
But he seldom was seen
To have washed himself clean,
And often look'd worse than before.
The idle and bad
Like this little lad,
May be dirty, and black, to be sure; But good boys are seen
To be decent and clean,
Although they are ever so poor.
ING-TING! I wish I were a Primrose, A bright yellow Primrose blowing in the Spring! The stooping boughs above me, The wandering bee to love me, The fern and moss to keep across,
And the Elm-tree for our King!
Nay-nay! I wish I were an Elm-tree,
A great lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay!
The winds would set them dancing,
The sun and moonshine glance in,
The Birds would house among the boughs,
And sweetly sing!
O-no! I wish I were a Robin,
A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go;
Through forest, field or garden,
And ask no leave or pardon,
Till Winter comes with icy thumbs
To ruffle up our wing.
Well-tell! Where should I fly to, Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell? Before a day was over,
Home comes the rover,
For Mother's kiss-sweeter this
Than any other thing!
THE LION AND THE MOUSE.
LION with the heat oppressed,
A One day composed himself to rest;
But whilst he dozed, as he intended,
A mouse his royal back ascended;
Nor thought of harm, as Esop tells,
Mistaking him for someone else;
And travelled over him, and round him,
And might have left him as he found him
Had he not-tremble when you hear-
Tried to explore the monarch's ear!
Who straightway woke, with wrath immense,
And shook his head to cast him thence.
"You rascal, what are you about?"
Said he, when he had turned him out.
"I'll teach you soon," the lion said,
"To make a mouse-hole in my head!"
So saying, he prepared his foot
To crush the trembling tiny brute;
But he (the mouse) with tearful eye,
Implored the lion's clemency,
Who thought it best at last to give
His little pris'ner a reprieve.
'Twas nearly twelve months after this,
The lion chanced his way to miss;
When pressing forward, heedless yet.
He got entangled in a net.
With dreadful rage, he stamped and tore,
And straight commenced a lordly roar;
When the poor mouse, who heard the noise,
Attended, for he knew his voice.
Then what the lion's utmost strength
Could not effect, he did at length;
With patient labour he applied
His teeth, the network to divide;
And so at last forth issued he,
A lion, by a mouse set free.
Few are so small or weak, I guess,
But may assist us in distress,
Nor shall we ever, if we're wise,
The meanest, or the least despise.
AZY sheep, pray tell me why
In the grassy fields you lie,
Eating grass and daisies white,
From the morning till the night?
Every thing can something do,
But what kind of use are you?
Nay, my little master, nay,
Do not serve me so, I pray;
Don't you see the wool that grows
On my back to make you clothes?
Cold, and very cold you'd get,
If I did not give you it.
Sure it seems a pleasant thing
To nip the daisies in the spring,
But many chilly nights I pass
On the cold and dewy grass,
Or pick a scanty dinner where
All the common's brown and bare.
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