The birds sit chittering in the thorn,
A' day they fare but sparely;

And lang's the night frae e'en to morn-
I'm sure it's winter fairly.

Up in the morning's no for me,
Up in the morning early;

When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw,

I'm sure it's winter fairly.

Burns.

LA

PICTURE OF WINTER.

ASTLY came Winter, clothèd all in frieze,

Chatt'ring his teeth for cold that did him chill;
Whilst on his hoary beard his breath did freeze,
And the dull drops, that from his purpled bill

As from a limbeck, did adown distil;

In his right hand a tipped staff he held,
With which his feeble steps he stay'd still;

For he was faint with cold, and weak with eld;
That scarce his loosed limbs he able was to weld.

Spenser.

B

THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER.

B

ESIDE yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay,

There, in his noisy mansion skill'd to rule,
The village master taught his little school;
A man severe he was, and stern to view;
I knew him well, and every truant knew.
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
The day's disasters in his morning's face;
Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;
Full well the busy whisper circling round,
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd;
Yet he was kind; or, if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault;
The village all declared how much he knew;
'Twas certain he could write and cipher too;
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,
And even the story ran that he could gauge ;

In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill,
For ev'n, though vanquish'd, he could argue still;
While words of learned length, and thundering sound,
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around;

And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew,
That one small head could carry all he knew.
But past is all his fame: the very spot,
Where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot.

Goldsmith.

SING

A LONDON TOY SHOP IN THE OLDEN TIME.

INCE it was necessary for fashionable folk to be provided with all the artillery then in mode, Mistress Hazelrig gave her good Squire no peace, until he took herself and Dolly to a well-known Toy-shop on Ludgate Hill. Such places were the grand resort of the Georgian belles during the interval between a late breakfast and a modish dinner at three or four. There were gathered on shelf and counter vases of china-dragons in porcelain, blue, gold, speckled, and green— tiny tea-sets like delicately-tinted egg-shells-fans of many forms, glittering with all that colour and artistic skill could do to suit them to the fickle tastes of fashion-snuff-boxes with jewelled and painted lids-clouded canes adorned with dainty silken tassels-jars of snuff and pulvillio-bottles of essence-gilded flasks of cut and coloured glass for holding ratafia and spirit of clary-pocket-glasses— ivory combs-boxes of patches cut in fanciful shapes-gloves and lace-trinkets and shawls-vizards for the Mall-Dacca muslins, sprigged with gold and silver --and a thousand other things to charm from their netted seclusion guineas won at bassett or spadille. Once fairly within this seductive scene, where the tattle of tongues and the variety of beautiful knick-knacks delighted the country ladies beyond measure, the Squire found himself helpless in the hands of two or three. ministering fairies in hoops and powder, who combined with his wife and daughter in making him the unwilling purchaser of almost every kind of ware they showed. Rainbow fans unfurled coquettishly before his eyes, silken scarfs flung with careless ease round graceful shoulders, bewildered the fat farmer into buying almost ere he knew; and, when he seemed wearied at last of this drain upon his guineas, Mistress Betty, who had a little private hoard of her own to expend, derived principally from the profits of her hen-coops, released him from the duty of attendance, and sent him off to pick up the Tory gossip at the Cocoa Tree, a famous chocolate house in St James's.

Dr. Collier.