THE LIFE OF A BIRD.

How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Skimming about on the breezy sea,
Cresting the billows like silvery foam,

And then wheeling away to its cliff-built home!
What joy it must be to sail, upborne

By a strong free wing, through the rosy morn, To meet the young sun face to face,

And pierce like a shaft the boundless space!

How pleasant the life of a bird must be !
Wherever it listeth, there to flee;
To go, when a joyful fancy calls,
Dashing adown 'mong the waterfalls,
Then wheeling about with its mates at play,
Above and below, and among the spray,
Hither and thither, with screams as wild
As the laughing mirth of a rosy child!

What joy it must be, like a living breeze,
To flutter about 'mong the flowering trees;
Lightly to soar, and to see beneath
The wastes of the blossoming purple heath,

And the yellow furze, like fields of gold,
That gladden some fairy regions old!
On mountain tops, on the billowy sea,
On the leafy stems of the forest tree,
How pleasant the life of a bird must be!

MARY HOWITT.

THE FOOT-BALL ORATORS.

I.

Champion of the Blues.

GENTLEMEN of our side! Undaunted Blues! The moment is at hand when you must either exult as victors, or be laid low in the dust as vanquished. The great annual football battle between the honorable Blues and the detested Greens is now to come off. What can I say to add to the generous ardor that fires your minds? If we allow ourselves to be beaten, beaten by the Greens, the pusillanimous Greens, where and how shall we hide our diminished heads? For us no minstrel raptures will swell. For us no laurel wreath, will be woven. We shall go down to the base dust from which we sprung unwept, unhonored, and unsung. But, if we prevail, and when I look on your glowing faces and flashing eyes, I feel that we shall prevail; I know that there is no such word as fail; if we prevail, did I say? no! when we prevail what glory will be ours! We shall draw a freer breath; we shall tread with a prouder step; we shall feel that we, too, are associated with the Alexanders and the Cæsars, with the Fredericks and the Napoleons, of history.

Does any dastard pretend to say that fame is but an empty name? or that, if there is any glory, it will attach to me, your leader, and not to the common soldier? Base and un

worthy insinuation! Here I resign it all freely to you in advance. Let me lead you to victory, and the spoils and the glory may be his who can get them.

Intrepid sons of your country! Bravest of brave men! True Blues! Throw off your jackets! Tighten your belts! Don't waste your kicks, but wait till you are sure the ball is before you. Now stand at ease, and wait for the word of command.

II.

Champion of the Greens.

Comrades! Companions in arms! Illustrious Greens! Our strength lies more in deeds than words. If we can not brag as well as the gentlemen of the other side, we may, perhaps, show them that we can kick as well, when the time comes. If we do not win this match, it will not be for want of superior wind, tougher shins, and stronger sinews. Our training, too, has been better. We have kept more in the open air eaten less and exercised more. We are better organized. There stands the larger mob; here stands the stronger

army.

Let us meet them like true Americans, and charge home! Do not shrink from the thickest of the scuffle when the ball is to be rescued. Press where ye see my green ribbon flutter amid the ranks of war! Let no man fear for his shins. Let the enemy find, to their sorrow, whose shins are the more tender. Let the abhorred Blues the tongue-valiant, forcible-feeble Blues-be sent limping from the field home to their anxious mothers, who probably do not know that they

are out.

But I will not waste time in words. The hour strikes. The ball is in the air. Now every man to his post! Now, guards! up and at them! Charge!

SPENCER.

A CHARACTER.

WHO traced these lines, upon the world was thrown,
Alike "to fortune and to fame unknown;
So very poor, his only store was health;
So very rich, he envied no man's wealth;
So very proud, he owed a debt to none ;
So very bold, he never feared a dun,.
So very brave, he kissed no tyrant's rod;
So very cowardly, he feared his God;

So idle, that he loved to muse and dream ;
So selfish, that he loved his self-esteem;
So tame, he swore not when dispute grew loudest ;
So fierce, he brooked no insult from the proudest;
So hot, a slanderer well-nigh drove him mad;
So cold, he formed no friendships with the bad;
So timid, that he dared not be a slave;
So stubborn, that he would not be a knave;
So ignorant of life, he hoped and feared
As fortune's varying sky o'ercast or cleared;
So ignorant of law, he knew no better
Than to prefer the spirit to the letter;
So poor a drudge, he earned his daily bread;
So odd, he thanked the Giver as he fed ;
So loyal, he abused nor church nor state;
So rancorous, a villain moved his hate ;
So insolent, a fool provoked his scorn;
So foolish, that he pitied the forlorn;
So old, at last, he grieved that youth had wings
So young, even then he loved all lovely things;
So childish, that his heart could burn and bleed;
And "whom it loved, loved tenderly indeed!"

J. G. GRANT.

PRECEPTS.

FIRST Worship God: he that forgets to pray
Bids not himself good-morrow nor good-day;
Let thy first labor be, to purge thy sin,

And serve Him first whence all things did begin.

Honor thy parents to prolong thine end:

With them, though for a truth, do not contend;
Whoever makes his father's heart to bleed
May have a child that will avenge the deed.

Think that is just 't is not enough to do,
Unless thy very thoughts are upright too.
Defend the truth; for that who will not die,
A coward is, and gives himself the lie.

Take well whate'er shall chance; though bad it be,
Take it for good, and 't will be good to thee.
First think; and, if thy thoughts approve thy will,
Then speak; and after that thy speech fulfill.

THOMAS RANDOLPH.

RIENZI TO THE ROMANS.

I, THAT speak to you,

I had a brother once, a gracious boy,
Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope,
Of sweet and quiet joy; there was the look
Of heaven upon his face, which limners give
To the beloved disciple. How I loved
That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once and son! He left my side,
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour,