Gentle lady, when I'm dead By the blow upon my head, Proving thus, the truest friend, Him who brings me to my end; Wilt thou bid them dig a grave For their faithful, patient slave; Then, my mournful story trace, Asking mercy for my race?



Humility; or, The Mushroom's Soliloquy.

O, what, and whence am I, 'mid damps and dust, And darkness, into sudden being thrust? What was I yesterday? and what will be, Perchance, to-morrow, seen or heard of me?

Poor—lone—unfriended—ignorant—forlorn, To bear the new, full glory of the morn,— Beneath the garden wall I stand aside, With all before me beauty, show, and pride.

Ah! why did Nature shoot me thus to light, A thing unfit for use—unfit for sight; Less like her work than like a piece of Art, Whirled out and trimmed—exact in every part?

Unlike the graceful shrub, and flexible vine, No fruit—no branch—nor leaf, nor bud, is mine. No singing bird, nor butterfly, nor bee Will come to cheer, caress, or flatter me.

No beauteous flower adorns my humble head, No spicy odors on the air I shed; But here I'm stationed, in my sombre suit, With only top and stem—I've scarce a root!

Untaught of my beginning or my end, I know not whence I sprung, or where I tend: Yet I will wait, and trust; nor dare presume To question Justice—I, a frail Mushroom!



The Lost Nestlings.

"Have you seen my darling nestlings?" A mother-robin cried, "I cannot, cannot find them, Though I've sought them far and wide.

"I left them well this morning, When I went to seek their food; But I found, upon returning, I'd a nest without a brood.

"O have you nought to tell me, That will ease my aching breast, About my tender offspring That I left within the nest?

"I have called them in the bushes, And the rolling stream beside; Yet they come not at my bidding;— I'm afraid they all have died!"

"I can tell you all about them;" Said a little wanton boy "For 'twas I that had the pleasure Your nestlings to destroy.

"But I didn't think their mother Her little ones would miss; Or ever come to hail me With a wailing sound, like this.

"I didn't know your bosom Was formed to suffer woe, And to mourn your murdered children, Or I had not grieved you so.

"I am sorry that I've taken The lives I can't restore; And this regret shall teach me To do the like no more.

"I ever shall remember The wailing sound I've heard! No more I'll kill a nestling, To pain a mother-bird!"



The Bat's Flight By Daylight An Allegory.

A Bat one morn from his covert flew, To show the world what a Bat could do, By soaring off on a lofty flight, In the open day, by the sun's clear light! He quite forgot that he had for wings But a pair of monstrous, plumeless things; That, more than half like a fish's fin, With a warp of bone, and a woof of skin, Were only fit in the dark to fly, In view of a bat's or an owlet's eye.

He sallied forth from his hidden hole, And passed the door of his neighbor, Mole, Who shrugged, and said, "Of the two so blind The wisest, surely, stays behind!" But he could not cope with the glare of day: He lost his sight, and he missed his way;— He wheeled on his flapping wings, till, "bump!" His head went, hard on the farm-yard pump. Then, stunned and posed, as he met the ground, A stir and a shout in the yard went round; For its tenants thought they had one come there, That seemed not of water, earth, or air. The Hen, "Cut, cut, cut-dah-cut!" cried, For all to cut at the thing she spied; While the taunting Duck said, "Quack, quack, quack!" As her muddy mouth to the pool went back, For something denser than sound, to show Her sage disgust, at the quack to throw. The old Turk strutted, and gobbled aloud, Till he gathered around him a babbling crowd; When each proud neck in the whole doomed group Was poked with a condescending stoop, And a pointed beak, at the prostrate Bat, Which they eyed askance, as to ask, "What's that?" But none could tell; and the poults moved off, In their select circle to leer and scoff.

The Goslings skulked; but their wise mamma, She hissed, and screamed, till the Lambs cried, "Ba-a!" When up from his straw sprang the gaping Calf, With a gawky leap and a clammy laugh. He stared—retreated—and off he went, The wondrous news in his voice to vent,— That he had discovered a monster there— A bird four-footed, and clothed with hair! And had dashed his heel at the sight so odd, It looked, he thought, like a heathen god!

The scuddling Chicks cried, "Peep, peep, peep! For Boss looks high, but not very deep! It is not a fowl! 'tis the worst of things,— low, mean beast, with the use of wings, So noiseless round on the air to skim, You know not when you are safe from him."

There stood by, some of the bristly tribe, Who felt so touched by the peeper's gibe, Their backs were up; for they thought, at least, It aimed at them the low, mean beast: And they challenged Chick to her tiny face, In their sharp, high notes, and their awful base.

Then old Chanticleer to his mount withdrew, And gave from his rostrum a loud halloo. He blew his clarion strong and shrill, Till he turned all eyes to his height, the hill; When he noised it round with his loudest crow, That 't was none of the plumed ones brought so low.

And, "Bow-wow-wow!" went the sentry Cur; But he soon strolled off in a grave demur, When he saw on the wonder, hair, like his, Two ears, and a kind of doubtful phiz; And he deemed it prudent to pause, and hark In silence, for fear that the sight might bark!

At last came Puss, with a cautious pat To feel the pulse of the quivering Bat, That had not, under her tender paw, A limb to move, nor a breath to draw! Then she called her kit for a mother's gift, And stilled its mew with the racy lift.

When Mole of the awful death was told, "Alas!" cried she, "he had grown too bold— Too vain and proud! Had he only kept, Like the prudent Mole, in his nest, and slept. Or worked underground, where none could see, He might have still been alive, like me!"

While thus, so early the poor Bat died, A cry, that it was but the fall of pride, And signs of mirth, or of scorn, were all He had from those who beheld his fall. They each could triumph, and each condemn; But no kind pity was shown by them.

And now, should we, as a mirror, place This story out for the world to face, How many, think you, would there perceive Likeness to children of Adam and Eve?



Idle Jack.

See mischievous and idle Jack! How fast he flies, nor dares look back! He seized Horatio's pretty cart, And broke and threw it part from part; The body here, and there the wheels; And now, by taking to his heels, He makes the Scripture proverb true,— The wicked flee when none pursue..

Oh! Jack's a worthless, wicked boy, Who seems but evil to enjoy. He often racks his naughty brain Inventing ways of giving pain. He loves to torture butterflies— To dust the kitten's tender eyes— To break the cricket's slender limb; And pain to them is sport to him.

He sometimes to your garden comes, To crush the flowers and steal the plums— The melons tries with thievish gripe, To find the one that's nearest ripe— His pocket fills with grapes or pears, No matter how their owner fares; When, by its lawless, robber track, You trace the foot of idle Jack.

Whenever Jack is sent to school, He, playing truant, plays the fool: Or else he goes, with sloven looks And hands unclean, to spoil the books— To spill the ink, or make a noise, Disturbing good and studious boys; Till all who find what Jack's about Within the school, must wish him out.

If ever Jack at church appears, He knows not, cares not, what he hears. While others to the word attend, He has a pencil-point to mend— An apple, or his nails to pare, Or cracks a nut in time of prayer, Till many wish that Jack would come, A better boy, or stay at home.

In short, he shows, beyond a doubt, That, if he does not turn about, And mend his morals and his ways, He yet must come to evil days; And of a life of wasted time— Of idleness, and vice, and crime, To meet, perhaps, a felon's end, With neither man, nor God his friend.



David and Goliath.

Young David was a ruddy lad With silken, sunny locks, The youngest son that Jesse had: He kept his father's flocks.

Goliath was a Philistine, A giant, huge and high; He lifted, like a towering pine, His head towards the sky.

He was the foe of Israel's race. A mighty warrior, too; And on he strode from place to place, And many a man he slew.

So Saul, the king of Israel then, Proclaimed it to and fro, That most he'd favor of his men The one, who'd kill the foe.

Yet all, who saw this foe draw near, Would feel their courage fail; For not an arrow, sword, or spear, Could pierce the giant's mail.

But Jesse's son conceived a way, That would deliverance bring; Whereby he might Goliath slay, And thus relieve the king.

Then quick he laid his shepherd's crook Upon a grassy bank; And off he waded in the brook From which the lambkins drank.

He culled and fitted to his sling Five pebbles, smooth and round; And one of these he meant should bring The giant to the ground.

"I've killed a lion and a bear," Said he, "and now I'll slay The Philistine, and by the hair I'll bring his head away!"

Then onward to the battle-field The youthful hero sped; He knew Goliath by his shield, And by his towering head.

But when, with only sling and staff, The giant saw him come, In triumph he began to laugh; Yet David struck him dumb.

He fell! 'twas David's puny hand That caused his overthrow! Though long the terror of the land, A pebble laid him low.

The blood from out his forehead gushed. He rolled, and writhed, and roared: The little hero on him rushed, And drew his ponderous sword.

Before its owner's dying eye He held the gleaming point Upon his throbbing neck to try; Then severed cord and joint.

He took the head, and carried it And laid it down by Saul; And showed him where the pebble hit That caused the giant's fall.

The lad, who had Goliath slain With pebbles and a sling, Was raised in after years to reign As Israel's second king!

'Twas not the courage, skill, or might Which David had, alone, That helped him Israel's foe to fight And conquer, with a stone.

But, when the shepherd stripling went The giant thus to kill, God used him as an instrument His purpose to fulfil!



Escape of the Doves.

Come back, pretty Doves! O, come back from the tree. You bright little fugitive things! We could not have thought you so ready and free In using your beautiful wings.

We didn't suppose, when we lifted the lid, To see if you knew how to fly, You'd all flutter off in a moment, and bid The basket for ever good-by!

Come down, and we'll feast you on insects and seeds;— You sha'nt have occasion to roam— We'll give you all things that a bird ever needs, To make it contented at home.

Then come, pretty Doves! O, return for our sakes, And don't keep away from us thus; Or, when your old slumbering master awakes, 'Twill be a sad moment for us!

"We can't!" said the birds, "and the basket may stand A long time in waiting; for now You find out too late, that a bird in the hand Is worth, at least, two on the bough.

"And we, from our height, looking down on you there, By experience taught to be sage,— Find, one pair of wings that are free in the air Are worth two or three in the cage!

"But when our old master awakes, and shall find The work you have just been about, We hope, by the freedom we love, he'll be kind, And spare you for letting us out.

"We thank you for all the fine stories you tell, And all the good things you would give; But think, since we're out, we shall do very well Where nature designed us to live.

"Whene'er you may think of the swift little wings On which from your reach we have flown, No doubt, you'll beware, and not meddle with things, In future, that are not your own."



Edward and Charles.

The brothers went out with the father to ride, Where they looked for the flowers, that, along the way-side, So lately were blooming and fair; But their delicate heads by the frost had been nipped; Their stalks by the blast were all twisted and stripped; And nothing but ruin was there.

"Oh! how the rude autumn has spoiled the green hills!" Exclaimed little Charles, "and has choked the bright rills With leaves that are faded and dead! The few on the trees are fast losing their hold. And leaving the branches so naked and cold. That the beautiful birds have all fled."

"I know," replied Edward, "the country has lost A great many charms by the touch of the frost, Which used to appear to the eye; But then, it has opened the chestnut-burr too, The walnut released from the case where it grew; And now our Thanksgiving is nigh!

"Oh! what do you think we shall do on that day?" "I guess," answered Charles, "we shall all go away To Grandpa's; and there find enough Of turkeys, plum-puddings, and pies by the dozens, For Grandpa' and Grandma', aunts, uncles and cousins; And at night we'll all play blind-man's-buff.

"Perhaps we'll get Grandpa' to tell us some stories About the old times, with their Whigs and their Tories; And what sort of men they could be; When some spread their tables without any cloth, With basins and spoons, and the fuming bean-broth, Which they took for their coffee and tea.

"They'd queer kind of sights, I have heard Grandma' say, About in their streets; for, if not every day, At least it was nothing uncommon, To see them pile on the poor back of one horse A saddle and pillion; and what was still worse, Up mounted a man and a woman!

"The lady held on by the driver; and so, Away about town at full trot would they go; Or perhaps to a great country marriage,— To Thanksgiving-supper—to husking, or ball; Or quilting; for thus did they take nearly all Their rides, on an animal carriage!

"I know not what huskings and quiltings maybe; But Grandma' will tell; and perhaps let us see Some things she has long laid away:— That stiff damask gown, with its sharp-pointed waist, The hoop, the craped, cushion, and buckles of paste, Which they wore in her grandparent's day.

"She says they had buttons as large as our dollars, To wear on their coats with their square, standing collars; And then, there's a droll sort of hat, Which Mary once fixed me one like, out of paper, And said she believed 'twas called three-cornered scraper; Perhaps, too, she'll let us see that.

"Oh! a glorious time we shall have! If they knew At the south, what it is, I guess they'd have one too; But I have heard somebody say, That, there, they call all the New England folks Bumpkins, Because we eat puddings, and pies made of pumpkins, And have our good Thanksgiving-day."

"I think, brother Charles," returned Edward "at least, That they might go to church, if they don't like the feast; For to me it is much the best part, To hear the sweet anthems of praise, that we give To Him, on whose bounty we constantly live:— It is feasting the ear and the heart.

"From Him, who has brought us another year round, Who gives every blessing, wherewith we are crowned, Their gratitude who can withhold? And now how I wish I could know all the poor Their Thanksgiving-stores had already secure, Their fuel, and clothes for the cold!"

"I'm glad," said their father, "to hear such a wish; But wishes alone, can fill nobody's dish, Or clothe them, or build them a fire. And now I will give you the money, my sons, Which I promised, you know, for your drum and your guns, To spend in the way you desire."

The brothers went home, thinking o'er by the way, For how many comforts this money might pay, In something for clothing or food: At length they resolved, if their mother would spend it, For what she thought best, they would get her to send it Where she thought it would do the most good.



The Mountain Minstrel.

On our mountain of Savoy, In the shadow of a rock, Once I sat, a shepherd-boy, Watching o'er my father's flock.

We'd a happy cottage-home, Peaceful as the sparrow's nest, Where, at evening, we could come From our roamings to our rest.

I'd a minstrel's voice and ear: I could whistle, pipe and sing, While I roving, seemed to hear Music stir in every thing.

But misfortune, like a blast. Swift upon my father rushed; From our dwelling we were cast— At a stroke our peace was crushed.

All we had was seized for debt: In the sudden overthrow, Even my fond, fleecy pet, My white cosset, too, must go.

Then I wandered, sad and lone, Where I'd once a flock to feed; All the treasure now my own Was my simple pipe of reed.

But a noble, pitying friend, Who had seen me sadly stray, Made me to his lute attend; And he taught me how to play.

Then his lute to me he gave; And abroad he bade me roam, Till the earnings I could save Would redeem our cottage-home.

Glad, his counsel straight I took— I received his gift with joy; All my former ways forsook, And became a minstrel-boy.

With my mountain airs to sing, Forward then I roamed afar, Sweeping still the tuneful string— Having hope my leading star.

In the hamlets where I've gone, Groups would gather—music-bound: In the cities I have drawn List'ners till my hopes were crowned.

Ever saving as I earned, I of one dear object dreamed; To my mountain then returned, And our cottage-home redeemed.

Time has wiped away our tears; Here we dwell together blest; All our sorrows, doubts and fears I have played and sung to rest.

Here my aged parents live Free from want, and toil, and cares; All the bliss that earth can give Deem they in this home of theirs.

Life's night-shades fast o'er them creep; All their wrongs have been forgiven— They have but to fall asleep In their cot, to wake in heaven.

Gentle friend, dost thou inquire What's the lineage whence I came? Jesse is my shepherd sire— David-Jesse is my name!



The Veteran and the Child.

"Come, grandfather, show how you carried your gun To the field, where America's freedom was won, Or bore your old sword, which you say was new then, When you rose to command, and led forward your men; And tell how you felt with the balls whizzing by, Where the wounded fell round you, to bleed and to die!"

The prattler had stirred, in the veteran's breast, The embers of fire that had long been at rest. The blood of his youth rushed anew through his veins; The soldier returned to his weary campaigns; His perilous battles at once fighting o'er, While the soul of nineteen lit the eye of four-score.

"I carried my musket, as one that must be But loosed from the hold of the dead, or the free! And fearless I lifted my good, trusty sword, In the hand of a mortal, the strength of the Lord! In battle, my vital flame freely I felt Should go, but the chains of my country to melt!

"I sprinkled my blood upon Lexington's sod, And Charlestown's green height to the war-drum I trod. From the fort, on the Hudson, our guns I depressed, The proud coming sail of the foe to arrest. I stood at Stillwater, the Lakes and White Plains, And offered for freedom to empty my veins!

"Dost now ask me, child, since thou hear'st here I've been, Why my brow is so furrowed, my locks white and thin— Why this faded eye cannot go by the line, Trace out little beauties, and sparkle like thine; Or why so unstable this tremulous knee, Who bore 'sixty years since,' such perils for thee?

"What! sobbing so quick? are the tears going to start? Come! lean thy young head on thy grandfather's heart! It has not much longer to glow with the joy I feel thus to clasp thee, so noble a boy! But when in earth's bosom it long has been cold, A man, thou'lt recall, what, a babe, thou art told."



Captain Kidd.

There's many a one who oft has heard The name of Robert Kidd, Who cannot tell, perhaps, a word Of him, or what he did.

So, though I never saw the man, And lived not in his day; I'll tell you how his guilt began— To what it paved the way.

'Twas in New York Kidd had his home; And there he left his wife And children, when he went to roam, And lead a seaman's life.

Now Robert had as firm a hand, A heart as stern and brave, As ever met in one on land, Or on the briny wave.

'Twas in the third king William's time, When many a pirate bold Committed on the seas the crime Of shedding blood for gold.

So Captain Kidd was singled out As one devoid of fears, To take a ship and cruise about Against the Bucaniers.

The ship was armed with many a gun, And manned with many a man, Across the southern seas to run To foil the pirate's plan.

But when she long, from isle to isle, Without success had sailed, And made no capture all the while, Her master's patience failed.

The prizes he so oft had sought, He found he sought in vain; And soon a wicked, bloody thought, Came into Robert's brain!

His mind he opened to his men; And found his guilty crew Agreed with him, that they, from then, Would all turn pirates too!

He threw his Bible in the deep, Defied its Author's will; And, with his conscience put to sleep, Began to rob and kill.

And now the desperado reigned, A tyrant on the waves; While they whose blood his hands had stained, Went down to watery graves.

No merchant ship could near him go, Which he would not annoy; For Kidd was passing to and fro, And seeking to destroy.

He seized the vessel, plunged the knife Within the seamen's breast: And by a cruel waste of life, His evil gains possessed.

He then would make the nearest isle. And go at night by stealth, To hide within the earth awhile His last ill-gotten wealth.

Thus, many a shining wedge of gold This modern Achan hid; And many a frightful tale was told About the pirate, Kidd.

But Justice does not slumber long; If slow, she's ever sure. There's none too artful, quick, or strong For her to make secure!

To Boston, with a brazen face, The pirate boldly went, Where he was seized; and in disgrace And chains, to England sent.

The captain and his crew were there, A solemn, fearful sight; Resigning life high up in air, E'en at the gibbet's height!

For many a year their bodies hung Along the river side; As beacons, showing old and young How they had lived and died.

The wealth they hid was never found. Though often sought of men. 'Tis where they placed it in the ground, Till they should come again!

The earth has seemed by Heaven constrained. The treasures to withhold That price of blood has none obtained, Or used the pirate's gold!



The Dying Storm.

I am feeble, pale and weary, And my wings are nearly furled. I have caused a scene so dreary, I am glad to quit the world. While with bitterness I'm thinking On the evil I have done, To my caverns deep I'm sinking From the coming of the sun.

Oh! the heart of man will sicken In that pure and holy light, When he feels the hopes I've stricken With an everlasting blight! For, so wildly in my madness Have I poured abroad my wrath, I've been changing joy to sadness; And with ruins strewed my path.

Earth has shuddered at my motion:— She my power in silence owns; While the troubled, roaring ocean O'er my deeds of horror moans. I have sunk the dearest treasure— I've destroyed the fairest form: Sadly have I filled my measure; And I'm now a dying Storm!

Yet, to man among the living, With my final gasp and sigh, I, a solemn caution giving, Fain would serve him while I die. Not like me, shall he, descending Swift to death, from being cease. He's a spirit!—fleetly tending To eternal pain or peace!



The Little Traveller.

I am the tiniest child of earth! But still, I would like to be known to fame; Though next to nothing I had my birth, And lowest of all in my lowly name.

Yet, if so humble my native place, This I can say, in family pride— That I'm of the world's most numerous race, And made by the Maker of all beside.

Although I'm so poor, I naught to lose; Still I'm so little I can't be lost! I journey about, wherever I choose, And those who carry me bear the cost.

The most forgiving of earthly things, I often cling to my deadly foe; And, spite of the cruellest flirts and flings, Arise by the force that has cast me low.

When beauty has trodden me under foot, I've quietly risen, her face to seek,— Embraced her forehead, and calmly put Myself to rest in her dimpled cheek.

I've ridden to war on the soldier's plume; But startled and sprung, at the wild affray,— The sights of horror—of fire and fume; And fled on the wings of the wind away.

I've visited courts, and been ushered in By the proudest guest of the stately scene; I've touched his majesty's bosom-pin, And the nuptial ring of his lofty queen.

At the royal board, in the grand parade, I've oft been one familiar and free: The fairest lady has smiled, and laid Her delicate, gloveless hand on me.

Philosopher, poet, the learned, the sage, Never declines a call from me; And all, of every rank and age. Admit me into their coteri.

I visit the lions of every where, If human, or brute, and can testify To what they do, to what they wear, To wonders none ever beheld but I!

And now, reviewing the things I've done, Forgetting my name, my rank and birth, I begin to think I am number ONE, Of the great and manifold things of earth.

I've still much more, I yet might tell, Which modesty bids me here withhold; For fear with my travels I seem to swell, Or grow, for an ATOM OF DUST, too bold!

THE END.



BY SUSAN PINDAR. Now ready, a New Edition.

FIRESIDE FAIRIES; OR, CHRISTMAS AT AUNT ELSIE'S.

Beautifully illustrated, with Original Designs. 1 vol. 12mo. 75 cts., gilt ed. $1.

Contents.

The Two Voices, or the Shadow and the Shadowless. The Minute Fairies. I Have and O Had I. The Hump and Long Nose. The Lily Fairy and the Silver Beam. The Wonderful Watch. The Red and White Rose Trees. The Diamond Fountain. The Magical Key.

Though this is a small book, it is, mechanically, exceedingly beautiful, being illustrated with spirited woodcuts from Original Designs. But that is its least merit. It is one of the most entertaining, and decidedly one of the best juveniles that have issued from the prolific press of this city. We speak advisedly. It is long since we found time to read through a juvenile book, so near Christmas, when the name of this class of volumes is legion; but this charmed us so much that we were unwilling to lay it down after once commencing it. The first story,—"The Two Voices, or the Shadow and the Shadowless,"—is a sweet thing, as is also the one entitled, "The Diamond Fountain." Indeed, the whole number, and there are ten, will be read with avidity. Their moral is as pure as their style is enchanting.—Com. Adv.

* * * * *

D. Appleton & Co. have just ready,

A NEW UNIFORM SERIES FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. BY AMEREL.

COMPRISING

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HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS. Illustrated. 4to., 25 cts.; cloth 50

STORY OF JOAN OF ARC. By R.M. Evans. With 23 illustrations. 16mo. 75

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THE CARAVAN; A COLLECTION OF TALES AND STORIES FROM THE GERMAN. Translated by G.P. Quackenboss. Illustrated by Orr. 16mo.

INNOCENCE OF CHILDHOOD. By Mrs. Colman. Illustrated 50

HOME RECREATIONS, comprising Travels and Adventures, &c. Colored Illustrations. 16mo. 87

FIRESIDE FAIRIES. A New Story Book. My Miss Susan Pindar. Finely Illustrated. 16mo.

STORY OF LITTLE JOHN. Trans, from the French. Illus. 62

LIVES AND ANECDOTES OF ILLUSTRIOUS MEN. 16mo. 75

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TALES AND STORIES for Boys and Girls. By Mary Howitt 75

AMERICAN HISTORICAL TALES for Youth. 16mo. 75

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LIBRARY FOR MY YOUNG COUNTRYMEN.

ADVENTURES of Captain John Smith. By the Author of Uncle Philip 38

ADVENTURES of Daniel Boon. By do. 38

DAWNINGS of Genius. By Anne Pratt. 38

LIFE and Adventures of Henry Hudson. By the Author of Uncle Philip. 38

LIFE and Adventures of Herman Cortez. By do. 38

PHILIP RANDOLPH. A Tale of Virginia. By Mary Gertrude. 38

ROWAN'S History of the French Revolution. 2 vols. 75

SOUTHEY'S Life of Cromwell. 38

* * * * *

TALES FOR THE PEOPLE AND THEIR CHILDREN.

ALICE FRANKLIN. By Mary Howitt. 38

LOVE AND MONEY. By do. 38

HOPE ON, HOPE EVER! Do. 38

LITTLE COIN, MUCH CARE. By do. 38

MY OWN STORY. By do. 38

MY UNCLE, THE CLOCKMAKER. By do. 38

NO SENSE LIKE COMMON SENSE. By do. 38

SOWING AND REAPING. Do. 38

STRIVE AND THRIVE. By do. 38

THE TWO APPRENTICES. By do. 38

WHICH IS THE WISER? Do. 38

WHO SHALL BE GREATEST? By do. 38

WORK AND WAGES. By do. 38

CROFTON BOYS, The. By Harriet Martineau. 38

DANGERS OF DINING OUT By Mrs. Ellis. 38

FIRST IMPRESSIONS. By do. 38

MINISTER'S FAMILY. By do. 38

SOMMERVILLE HALL. By do. 38

DOMESTIC TALES. By Hannah More. 2 vols.... 75

EARLY FRIENDSHIP. By Mrs. Copley. 38

FARMER'S DAUGHTER, The By Mrs. Cameron. 38

LOOKING-GLASS FOR THE MIND. Many plates. 45

MASTERMAN READY. By Capt. Marryat. 3 vols. 2

PEASANT AND THE PRINCE. By H. Martineau. 38

POPLAR GROVE. By Mrs. Copley. 38

SETTLERS IN CANADA. By Capt. Marryatt. 2 vols. 75

TIRED OF HOUSEKEEPING. By T.S. Arthur. 38

TWIN SISTERS, The. By Mrs. Sandham. 38

YOUNG STUDENT. By Madame Guizot. 3 vols. 1 12

* * * * *

SECOND SERIES.

CHANCES AND CHANGES. By Charles Burdett. 38

NEVER TOO LATE. By do. 38

GOLDMAKERS VILLAGE. By R. Zschokke. 38

OCEAN WORK, ANCIENT AND MODERN. By J.H. Wright. 38

THE MISSION; or, Scenes in Africa By Capt. Marryatt. 2 vols. 75

STORY OF A GENIUS

TEXT BOOKS

FOR LEARNING THE FRENCH, GERMAN ITALIAN AND SPANISH LANGUAGES.

I FRENCH.

COLLOT'S Dramatic French Reader. 12mo. $1.

DE FIVA'S Elementary French Reader. 12mo. 50 cts.

DE FIVA'S Classic French Reader for Advanced Students. 12mo. $1.

OLLENDORFF'S Elementary French Grammar. By Greene. 16mo. 38 cts. with Key, 50 cts.

OLLENDORFF'S New Method of Learning French. Edited by J.L. Jewett 12mo. $1.

KEY to ditto. 75 cts.

ROWAN'S Modern French Reader. 12mo. 75 cts.

SURRENNE'S French Pronouncing Dictionary. 12mo. $1 50.

VALUE'S New and Easy System of Learning French. 12mo. (In Press.)

NEW and COMPLETE FRENCH and ENGLISH DICTIONARY. 1 vol. 8vo To match Adler's German Lexicon. (In Press.)

II. GERMAN.

ADLER'S Progressive German Reader. 12mo. $1.

GERMAN and English, and English and German Dictionary, compiled from the best authorities. 1 vol. large 8vo. $5.

EICHORN'S New Practical German Grammar. 12mo. $1.

OLLENDORFF'S New Method of Learning German. Edited by G.J. Adler 12mo. $1 50.

III. ITALIAN.

FORESTT'S Italian Reader. 12mo. $1.

OLLENDORFF'S New Method of Learning Italian. Edited by F. Forestt 12mo. $1 50.

KEY to ditto 75 cts.

IV. SPANISH.

OLLENDORFF'S New Method of Learning Spanish. By M. Velasquez and T Simonne 12mo. $1 50.

KEY to ditto, 75 cts.

PALENZUELA'S new Grammar on the Ollendorff System, for Spaniards to Learn English. (In Press.)

VELASQUEZ'S New Spanish Reader. With Lexicon. 12mo. $1 25.

VELASQUEZ'S New Spanish Phrase Book; or Conversations in English and Spanish. 18mo. 38 cts.

VELASQUEZ'S and SLOANE'S New Spanish and English, and English and Spanish Dictionary. Large 8vo. To match "Adler's German Lexicon." (In Press.)

COLLEGE AND SCHOOL TEXT-BOOKS.

I. GREEK AND LATIN.

ARNOLD'S First and Second Latin Book and Practical Grammar. 12mo.... 8.75

ARNOLD'S Latin Prose Composition. 12mo.... 1.00

ARNOLD'S Cornelius Nepos. With Notes. 12mo.... 1.00

ARNOLD'S First Greek Book....62

ARNOLD'S Greek Prose Composition. 12mo.....75

ARNOLD'S Greek Reading Book. Edited by Spencer. 12mo.... 1.50

BEZA'S Latin Testament. 12mo.....63

BOISE'S Exercises in Greek Prose Composition. 12mo.....75

CAESAR'S Commentaries. Notes by Spencer. 12mo.... 1.00

CICERO'S Select Orations. Notes by Johnson. 12mo.

CICERO De Senectute and De Amicitia. Notes by Johnson. 12mo. (In Press.)

CICERO De Officius. Notes by Thatcher. 12mo.

HORACE, with Notes by Lincoln. 12mo. (In Press.)

LIVY, with Notes by Lincoln. 12mo ... 1.00

SALLUST, with Notes by Butler. 12mo. (In Press.)

TACITUS'S Histories. Notes by Tyler. 12mo.... 1.25

—— Germania and Agricola. Notes by Tyler. 12mo.....62

* * * * *

II. HEBREW.

WESENIUS'S Hebrew Grammar. Edited by Rodiger. Translated from the best German edition, by Conant. 8vo.... 2.00

* * * * *

III. ENGLISH.

ARNOLD'S Lectures on Modern History. 12mo.... 1.25

BOJESON and Arnold's Manual of Greek and Roman Antiquities. 12mo ... 1.00

CROSBY'S First Lessons in Geometry. 12mo.....38

CHARE'S Treatise on Algebra. 12mo.... 1.00

EVERETT'S System of English Versification. 12mo.

GRAHAM'S English Synonymes. Edited by Professor Reed, of Pa. University. 12mo....

GUIZOT'S History of Civilization. Notes by Professor Henry, of N.Y. University. 12mo.... 1.00

HOWS' Shaksper. Reader. 12mo.... 1.25

JAGER'S Class Book of Zoology. 18mo.....42

KEIGHTLEY'S Mythology Greece and Rome. 18mo.

MAGNALL'S Histor. Questions. With American additions. 12mo. 1.00

MARKHAM'S School History of England. Edited by Eliza Robins, author of "Popular Lessons." 12mo.....75

MANDEVILLE'S Series of School Readers: —— Part I.....10 —— Part II.... 16 —— Part III.....28 —— Part IV.....38 —— Course of Reading for Common Schools and Lower Academies. 12mo.....75 —— Elements of Reading and Oratory. 8vo.... 1 00

PUTZ and ARNOLD'S Manual of Ancient Geography and History. 12mo.... 1.00

REID'S Dictionary of the English Language, with Derivations, &c. 12mo.... 1.00

SEWELL'S First History of Rome. 16mo.....60

TAYLOR'S Manual of Modern and Ancient History. Edited by Professor Henry. 8vo., cloth or sheep.... 1.60

TAYLOR'S Ancient History. Separate. ....26

TAYLOR'S Modern ditto....

WRIGHT'S Primary Lessons; or Child's First Book....12

* * * * *

In Press.

GREEN'S (Professor) Manual of the Geography and History of the Middle Ages. 12mo.

BURNHAM'S New Mental and Written Arithmetic.

THE END