Pull the Primrose, Sister Anne!

He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook, Pull as many as you can.

And rings a sharp larum !-but, if you should look, - Here are Daisies, take your fill;

There's nothing to see but a cushion of snow Pansies, and the Cuckow-flower :

Round as a pillow, and whiter than milk, Of the lofty Daffodil

And softer than if it were covered with silk. Make your bed, and make your bower;

Sometimes he 'll hide in the cave of a rock, Fill your lap, and fill your bosom ;

Then whistle as shrill as the buzzard cock ; Only spare the Strawberry-blossom!

- Yet scck him,-and what shall you find in the place?

Nothing but silence and empty space; Primroses, the Spring may love them

Save, in a corner, a heap of dry leaves,
Summer knows but little of them :

That he's left, for a bed, to becgars or thieves !
Violets, a barren kind,
Withered on the ground must lie;

As soon as 't is daylight, to-morrow, with me
Daisies leave no fruit bebiod

You shall go to the orchard, and then you will see When the pretty flowerets die;

That be has been there, and made a great rout, Pluck them, and another year

Apd cracked the branches, and strewn them about; As many will be blowing here.

Heaven grant that he spare but that one upright twig

That looked up at the sky so proud and big God has given a kindlier power

All last summer, as well you know,
To the favoured Strawberry-flower.

Studded with apples, a beautiful show!
When the months of Spring are fled
Hither let us bend our walk;

Hark! over the roof he makes a pause,
Lurking berries, ripe and red,

And growls as if he would fix his claws Then will hang on every stalk,

Right in the slates, and with a liuge rattle Each within its leafy bower;

Drive them down, like men in a battle :
And for that promise spare the flower!

– But let him range round; he does us po harm,
We build up the fire, we're snug
Untouclid by his breath see the candle shines bright,

And burns with a clear and steady light; CHARACTERISTICS OF A CHILD THREE YEARS Books have we to read, — but that half-stilled knellOLD.

Alas! 't is the sound of the eight o'clock bell. Loving she is, and tractable, though wild;

-Come now we 'll to bed! and when we are there And innocence hath privilege in der

He may work his own will, and what shall we care? To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes ;

He may knock at the door,-we'll not let him in ; And feats of cunning; and the pretty round

May drive at the windows, -- we'll laugh at his din; Of trespasses, affected to provoke

Let bim scck his own home wherever it be;
Mock-chastisement and partnership in play-

Here 's a cozie warm llouse for Edward and me.
And, as a faggot sparkles on the learth,
Not less if unattended and alone
Than when both young and old sit gathered round
And take delight in its activity,

THE MOTHER'S RETURN.
Even so this happy Creature of herself

BY TIME SAME.
Is all-sufficient; solitude to her
Is blithe society, who fills the air

A MONTII, sweet Little-ones, is passed
With gladness and involuntary songs.

Since your dear Mother went away,
Light are her sallies as the tripping fawn's

And she to-morrow will return;
Forth-startled from the fern where she lay couched; To-morrow is the happy day.
Unthought-of, unexpected, as the stir
Of the soft breeze ruftling the meadow flowers;

O blessed tidings ! thought of joy!
Or from before it chasing wantonly

The eldest heard with steady glee; The many-coloured images impressed

Silent be stood ; then laughed amain,Upon the bosom of a placid lake.

And shouted, « Mother, come to me!»

and warm ;

« What ails thee, Young Ope? what? Why pull so at thy

cord ? RURAL ARCHITECTURE.

Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board? From the meadows of ARMATD, ONTWIRLMERE's wild shore, Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass cau be; Three rosy-cheek'd School-boys, the highest not more

Rest, little Young One, rest; what is t that aileth thee? Than the height of a Counsellor's bag; To the top of Great How, were once tempted to climb; «What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy And there they built up, without mortar or lime,

heart? A Man on the peak of the crag.

Thy limbs, are they not stroog? And beautiful thou art:

This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no They built him of stones gathered up as they lay;

peers; They built him and christend him all in one day, And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears! Ao l'rchin both vigorous and hale; And so without scruple they called him Ralph Jones.

« If the Sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen Now Ralph is renoward for the length of his bones;

chain, The Magog of Legberthwaite dale.

This becch is standing by, its covert thou canst gain;

For rain and mountainstorms? the like thou need'se not Great low is a single and conspicuous bill, which rises towards

fearthe four 4 of Thirimere, on the western side of the beautiful dalo of Loyberdwaite, along the high road between Koswick und Ambles

. The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come

i