The hares, perhaps, in weight may have lost half an

ounce,

But after this frost, just see how they'll bounce.

Singing, gently, so ho! halloo, let 'em go,

Look, she slouches one ear-she's a fizzer, I know. They're running like wildfire; the black dog's a turn: Now the blue un's a go-by: she's off for the fern. He has thrown, and has miss'd her: the black dog is in;

He's a mortal good judge that can tell which will win. Singing, gently, so ho! halloo, let 'em go,

Each goes like an arrow just shot from a bow.

The black dog is leading the blue dog a nose;
She makes for the spinney-my heart, how she goes.
The black dog, a thousand! a-done, sir-a-done!
He has her! he hasn't! my soul, what a run!

Singing, gently, so ho! halloo! let 'em go;
Poor "pussy" in each has a death-meaning foe.
They're getting the slows on, they're all of them beat-
It's rarely a sportsman enjoys such a treat;

Now, Topper! now, Bugle! they'll kill her!-they won't;

They have her!-they haven't!-she beats 'em!-she don't!

Singing, gently, so ho! halloo! let 'em go;

I ne'er saw better mettle than all the three show.

See, the judge takes his hat off, and gets from his horse,

And so, UNDECIDED's this wonderful course;

They've managed to kill her, but no man can tell Which won it, they both ran so HONEST and WELL! Singing, gently, so ho! halloo! let 'em go,—

To see such another, I'd fifty miles go!

Come, fill up your glasses, whatever you drink (I shall hold him a muff who endeavours to slink),—

Here's success to the "long tails," their owners,

and all,

Who are fond of the sport, whether great folks or small. Singing, gently, so ho! halloo! let 'em go,

There's nothing can stop 'em except frost or snow.

LITTLE FOOLS AND GREAT ONES. [Music by HENRY RUSSELL.

C. MACKAY.]

When at the social board you sit,
And pass around the wine,

Remember, though abuse is vile,

That use may be divine:

That heaven in kindness gave the grape
To cheer both great and small-
That little fools will drink too much,
But great ones not at all.

And when in youth's too fleeting hours
You roam the earth alone,

And have not sought some loving heart
That you may make your own;
Remember woman's priceless worth,
And think, when pleasures pall,
That little fools will love too much,
But great ones not at all.

And if a friend deceived you once,
Absolve poor human kind,
Nor rail against your fellow-men
With malice in your mind:
But in your daily intercourse,
Remember, lest ye fall,

That little fools confide too much,
But great ones not at all.

In weal or woe, be truthful still,
And in the deepest care
Be bold and resolute, and shun
The coward foe-Despair.

Let work and hope go hand in hand,
And know, whate'er befall,
That little fools will hope too much,
But great ones not at all.

In work or pleasure, love or drink,
Your rule be still the same-
Your work not toil, your pleasure pure,"
Your love a steady flame;

Your drink not maddening, but to cheer:

So shall your bliss not pall,
For little fools enjoy too much,

But great ones not at all.

THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.

W. H. LONGFELLOW.]

[Music by J. W. HOBBS.

There is a reaper whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,

He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.

"Shall I have nought that is fair ?" saith he-
"Have nought but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again."

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
He kissed their drooping leaves;

It was for the Lord of Paradise

He bound them in his sheaves.

"My Lord hath need of these flow'rets gay,"

The reaper said, and smiled;

"Dear tokens of the earth are they,

Where He was once a child.

"They shall all bloom in fields of light,

Transplanted by his care,

And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear."

And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love;
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.

O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,

The reaper came that day;

"Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.

THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK.

S. LOVER.]

[Music by S. Lover.

I'll seek a four-leaved shamrock
In all the fairy dells,

And if I find the charmed leaf,
Oh, how I'll weave my spells!
I would not waste my magic might
On diamond, pearl, or gold,
For treasure tires the weary sense-
Such triumph is but cold;

But I will play the enchanter's part
In casting bliss around;

Oh! not a tear, nor aching heart,
Should in the world be found.

To worth I would give honour,

I'd dry the mourner's tears,

And to the pallid lip recall

The smile of happier years;

And hearts that had been long estranged,
And friends that had grown cold,

Should meet again like parted streams,

And mingle as of old.

Oh! thus I'd play, &c.

The heart that had been mourning
O'er vanished dreams of love.

Should see them all returning,

Like Noah's faithful dove.

And Hope should launch her blessed bark
On Sorrow's darkening sea,

And Misery's children have an ark,

And saved from sinking be.

Oh! thus I'd play, &c.

THE CHILD AND THE STARS.

J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by J. E. PERRING.

"They tell me, dear father, each gem in the sky
That sparkles at night is a star;

But why do they dwell in those regions so high,
And shed their cold lustre so far?

I know that the sun makes the blossoms to spring,
That it gives to the flow'rets their birth;
But what are the stars? do they nothing but fling
Their cold rays of light upon earth ?"`

"My child, it is said, that yon stars in the sky Are worlds that are fashion'd like this,

Where the souls of the good and the gentle who die Assemble together in bliss;

And the rays that they shed o'er the earth is the light
Of His glory whose throne is above,

That tells us, who dwell in these regions of night,
How great is His goodness and love."

"Then, father, why still press your hand to your brow, Why still are your cheeks pale with care?

If all that was gentle be dwelling there now,
Dear mother, I know, must be there."

"Thou chidest me well," said the father, with pain, "Thy wisdom is greater by far;

We may mourn for the lost, but we should not complain, While we gaze on each beautiful star."