stly in feathers,
A good honest brown I find most to my liking,
It always looks neat, and is fit for all weathers,
But I think your gray mixture is not very striking.

"We know that the bird from the isles of Canary
Is fed, foreign airs to sing in a fine cage;
But your note from a cackle so seldom does vary,
The fancy of man it cannot much engage.

"My chirp to a song sure approaches much nearer,
Nay, the Nightingale tells me I sing not amiss;
If voice were in question I ought to be dearer;
But the Owl he assures me there's nothing in this.

"Nor is it your proneness to domestication,
For he dwells in man's barn, and I build in man's thatch,
As we say to each other--but, to our vexation,
O'er your safety alone man keeps diligent watch."

"Have you e'er learned to read?" said the Hen to the Sparrow.
"No, Madam," he answer'd, "I can't say I have,"
"Then that is the reason your sight is so narrow,"
The old Hen replied, with a look very grave.

"Mrs. Glasse in a Treatise--I wish you could read--
Our importance has shown, and has prov'd to us why
Man shields us and feeds us: of us he has need
Ev'n before we are born, even after we die."

WHICH IS THE FAVOURITE?

Brothers and sisters I have many:
Though I know there is not any
Of them but I love, yet I
Will just name them all; and try,
As one by one I count them o'er,
If there be one a little more
Lov'd by me than all the rest.
Yes; I do think, that I love best
My brother Henry, because he
Has always been most fond of me.
Yet, to be sure, there's Isabel;
I think I love her quite as well.
And, I assure you, little Ann,
No brother nor no sister can
Be more dear to me than she.
Only, I must say, Emily,
Being the eldest, it's right her
To all the rest I should prefer.
Yet after all I've said, suppose
My greatest fav'rite should be Rose.
No, John and Paul are both more dear
To me than Rose, that's always here,
While they are half the year at school;
And yet that neither is no rule.
I've nam'd them all, there's only seven;
I find my love to all so even,
To every sister, every brother,
I love not one more than another.

THE BEGGAR-MAN

Abject, stooping, old, and wan,
See yon wretched beggar man;
Once a father's hopeful heir,
Once a mother's tender care.
When too young to understand
He but scorch'd his little hand