Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear!

Robin sings so sweetly In the falling of the year.

2. Bright yellow, red, and orange, The leaves come down in hosts; The trees are Indian princes, But soon they'll turn to ghosts; The leathery pears and apples Hang russet on the bough; It's autumn, autumn, autumn late, 'T will soon be winter now.

Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear!

And what will this poor Robin do?

For pinching days are near.

3. The fireside for the cricket, The wheat stack for the mouse, When trembling night winds whistle And moan all round the house.

The frosty ways like iron, The branches plumed with snow,-- Alas! in winter dead and dark, Where can poor Robin go?

Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear!

And a crumb of bread for Robin, His little heart to cheer.

Note.--The Old World Robin here referred to is quite different in appearance and habits from the American Robin. It is only about half the size of the latter. Its prevailing color above is olive green, while the forehead, cheeks, throat, and breast are a light yellowish red. It does not migrate, but is found at all seasons throughout temperate Europe, Asia Minor, and northern Africa.

XI. THE FISH I DID N'T CATCH.

John Greenleaf Whittier was born near Haverhill, Ma.s.s., in 1807, and died at Hampton Falls, N.H., in 1892. His boyhood was pa.s.sed on a farm, and he never received a cla.s.sical education. In 1829 he edited a newspaper in Boston. In the following year he removed to Hartford, Conn., to a.s.sume a similar position. In 1836 he edited an antislavery paper in Philadelphia.

In 1840 he removed to Amesbury, Ma.s.s. Mr. Whittier's parents were Friends, and he always held to the same faith. He wrote extensively both in prose and verse. As a poet, he ranked among those most highly esteemed and honored by his countrymen. "Snow Bound" is one of the longest and best of his poems.

1. Our bachelor uncle who lived with us was a quiet, genial man, much given to hunting and fishing; and it was one of the pleasures of our young life to accompany him on his expeditions to Great Hill, Brandy-brow Woods, the Pond, and, best of all, to the Country Brook. We were quite willing to work hard in the cornfield or the haying lot to finish the necessary day's labor in season for an afternoon stroll through the woods and along the brookside.

2. I remember my first fishing excursion as if it were but yesterday. I have been happy many times in my life, but never more intensely so than when I received that first fishing pole from my uncle's hand, and trudged off with him through the woods and meadows. It was a still, sweet day of early summer; the long afternoon shadows of the trees lay cool across our path; the leaves seemed greener, the flowers brighter, the birds merrier, than ever before.

3. My uncle, who knew by long experience where were the best haunts of pickerel, considerately placed me at the most favorable point. I threw out my line as I had so often seen others, and waited anxiously for a bite, moving the bait in rapid jerks on the surface of the water in imitation of the leap of a frog. Nothing came of it. "Try again," said my uncle.

Suddenly the bait sank out of sight. "Now for it," thought I; "here is a fish at last."

4. I made a strong pull, and brought up a tangle of weeds. Again and again I cast out my line with aching arms, and drew it back empty. I looked at my uncle appealingly. "Try once more," he said; "we fishermen must have patience."

5. Suddenly something tugged at my line, and swept off with it into deep water. Jerking it up, I saw a fine pickerel wriggling in the sun. "Uncle!"

I cried, looking back in uncontrollable excitement, "I've got a fish!"

"Not yet," said my uncle. As he spoke there was a plash in the water; I caught the arrowy gleam of a scared fish shooting into the middle of the stream, my hook hung empty from the line. I had lost my prize.

6. We are apt to speak of the sorrows of childhood as trifles in comparison with those of grown-up people; but we may depend upon it the young folks don't agree with us. Our griefs, modified and restrained by reason, experience and self-respect, keep the proprieties, and, if possible, avoid a scene; but the sorrow of childhood, unreasoning and all-absorbing, is a complete abandonment to the pa.s.sion. The doll's nose is broken, and the world breaks up with it; the marble rolls out of sight, and the solid globe rolls off with the marble.

7. So, overcome with my great and bitter disappointment, I sat down on the nearest ha.s.sock, and for a time refused to be comforted, even by my uncle's a.s.surance that there were more fish in the brook. He refitted my bait, and, putting the pole again in my hands, told me to try my luck once more.

8. "But remember, boy," he said, with his shrewd smile, "never brag of catching a fish until he is on dry ground. I've seen older folks doing that in more ways than one, and so making fools of themselves. It's no use to boast of anything until it's done, nor then, either, for it speaks for itself."

9. How often since I have been reminded of the fish that I did not catch.

When I hear people boasting of a work as yet undone, and trying to antic.i.p.ate the credit which belongs only to actual achievement, I call to mind that scene by the brookside, and the wise caution of my uncle in that particular instance takes the form of a proverb of universal application: "NEVER BRAG OF YOUR FISH BEFORE YOU CATCH HIM."

DEFINITIONS.--1. Gen'ial, cheerful. 3. Haunts, places frequently visited.

Con-sid'er-ate-ly, with due regard to others, kindly thoughtful. 4.

Ap-peal'ing-ly, as though asking for aid. 6. Mod'i-fied, qualified, lessened. Pro-pri'e-ties, fixed customs or rules of conduct. Ab-sorb'ing, engaging the attention entirely. 7, Has'sock, a raised mound of turf. 9.

An-tic'i-pate, to take before the proper time. A-chieve'ment, performance, deed.

XII. IT SNOWS.

Sarah Josepha Hale (b. 1788?, d.1879) was born in Newport, N.H. Her maiden name was Buell. In 1814 she married David Hale, an eminent lawyer, who died in 1822. Left with five children to support, she turned her attention to literature. In 1828 she became editor of the "Ladies' Magazine." In 1837 this periodical was united with "G.o.dey's Lady's Book," of which Mrs.

Hale was literary editor for more than forty years.

1. "It snows!" cries the Schoolboy, "Hurrah!" and his shout Is ringing through parlor and hall, While swift as the wing of a swallow, he's out, And his playmates have answered his call; It makes the heart leap but to witness their joy; Proud wealth has no pleasures, I trow, Like the rapture that throbs in the pulse of the boy As he gathers his treasures of snow; Then lay not the trappings of gold on thine heirs, While health and the riches of nature are theirs.

2. "It snows!" sighs the Imbecile, "Ah!" and his breath Comes heavy, as clogged with a weight; While, from the pale aspect of nature in death, He turns to the blaze of his grate; And nearer and nearer, his soft-cushioned chair Is wheeled toward the life-giving flame; He dreads a chill puff of the snow-burdened air, Lest it wither his delicate frame; Oh! small is the pleasure existence can give, When the fear we shall die only proves that we live!

3. "It snows!" cries the Traveler, "Ho!" and the word Has quickened his steed's lagging pace; The wind rushes by, but its howl is unheard, Unfelt the sharp drift in his face; For bright through the tempest his own home appeared, Ay, though leagues intervened, he can see: There's the clear, glowing hearth, and the table prepared, And his wife with her babes at her knee; Blest thought! how it lightens the grief-laden hour, That those we love dearest are safe from its power!

4. "It snows!" cries the Belle, "Dear, how lucky!" and turns From her mirror to watch the flakes fall, Like the first rose of summer, her dimpled cheek burns!

While musing on sleigh ride and ball: There are visions of conquests, of splendor, and mirth, Floating over each drear winter's day; But the tintings of Hope, on this storm-beaten earth, Will melt like the snowflakes away.

Turn, then thee to Heaven, fair maiden, for bliss; That world has a pure fount ne'er opened in this.

5. "It snows!" cries the Widow, "O G.o.d!" and her sighs Have stifled the voice of her prayer; Its burden ye'll read in her tear-swollen eyes, On her cheek sunk with fasting and care.

'T is night, and her fatherless ask her for bread, But "He gives the young ravens their food,"

And she trusts till her dark hearth adds horror to dread., And she lays on her last chip of wood.

Poor sufferer! that sorrow thy G.o.d only knows; 'T is a most bitter lot to be poor when it snows.

DEFINITIONS.--1. Trow, to think, to believe. Trap'pings, ornanents. 2.

Im'be-cile, one who is feeble either in body or mind. 3. In-ter-vened', were situated between. 4. Mus'ing, thinking in an absent-minded way.

Con'quests, triumphs, successes. Tint'ings slight colorings. 5. Sti'fled, choked, suppressed.

REMARK.--Avoid reading this piece in a monotonous style. Try to express the actual feeling of each quotation; and enter into the descriptions with spirit.

XIII. RESPECT FOR THE SABBATH REWARDED.

1. In the city of Bath, not many years since, lived a barber who made a practice of following his ordinary occupation on the Lord's day. As he was on the way to his morning's employment, he happened to look into some place of worship just as the minister was giving out his text--"Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy." He listened long enough to be convinced that he was constantly breaking the laws of G.o.d and man by shaving and dressing his customers on the Lord's day. He became uneasy, and went with a heavy heart to his Sabbath task.

2. At length he took courage, and opened his mind to his minister, who advised him to give up Sabbath work, and worship G.o.d. He replied that beggary would be the consequence. He had a flourishing trade, but it would almost all be lost. At length, after many a sleepless night spent in weeping and praying, he was determined to cast all his care upon G.o.d, as the more he reflected, the more his duty became apparent.

3. He discontinued his Sabbath work, went constantly and early to the public services of religion, and soon enjoyed that satisfaction of mind which is one of the rewards of doing our duty, and that peace which the world can neither give nor take away. The consequences he foresaw actually followed. His genteel customers left him, and he was nicknamed "Puritan"

or "Methodist." He was obliged to give up his fashionable shop, and, in the course of years, became so reduced as to take a cellar under the old market house and shave the poorer people.

4. One Sat.u.r.day evening, between light and dark, a stranger from one of the coaches, asking for a barber, was directed by the hostler to the cellar opposite. Coming in hastily, he requested to be shaved quickly, while they changed horses, as he did not like to violate the Sabbath. This was touching the barber on a tender chord. He burst into tears; asked the stranger to lend him a half-penny to buy a candle, as it was not light enough to shave him with safety. He did so, revolving in his mind the extreme poverty to which the poor man must be reduced.

5. When shaved, he said, "There must be something extraordinary in your history, which I have not now time to hear. Here is half a crown for you.

When I return, I will call and investigate your case. What is your name?"

"William Reed," said the astonished barber. "William Reed?" echoed the stranger: "William Reed? by your dialect you are from the West." "Yes, sir, from Kingston, near Taunton." "William Reed from Kingston, near Taunton? What was your father's name?" "Thomas." "Had he any brother?"

"Yes, sir, one, after whom I was named; but he went to the Indies, and, as we never heard from him, we supposed him to be dead."

6. "Come along, follow me," said the stranger, "I am going to see a person who says his name is William Reed, of Kingston, near Taunton. Come and confront him. If you prove to be indeed he who you say you are, I have glorious news for you. Your uncle is dead, and has left an immense fortune, which I will put you in possession of when all legal doubts are removed."

7. They went by the coach; saw the pretended William Reed, and proved him to be an impostor. The stranger, who was a pious attorney, was soon legally satisfied of the barber's ident.i.ty, and told him that he had advertised him in vain. Providence had now thrown him in his way in a most extraordinary manner, and he had great pleasure in transferring a great many thousand pounds to a worthy man, the rightful heir of the property.