better taught;
    But I will cut the matter short. 
    You both are wrong, and both are right,
    And both are very impolite. 
    E’en in a work-box ’twill not do
    To talk of every thing that’s true. 
    All personal remarks avoid,
    For every one will be annoyed
    At hearing disagreeable truth;
    Besides, it shows you quite uncouth,
    And sadly wanting in good taste. 
    But what advantages you waste! 
    Think, Pins and Needles, while you may,
    How much you hear in one short day;
    No servants wait on lordly man
    Can hear one half of what you can. 
    ’Tis not worth while to mince the matter;
    Nor men nor boys like girls can chatter;
    All now are learning, forward moving,
    E’en Pins and Needles are improving;
    And in this glorious, busy day
    All have some useful part to play. 
    Go forth, ye Pins, and bring home news! 
    Ye Needles in your cases muse! 
    And take me for your kind adviser,
    And only think of growing wiser;
    Then, when you meet again, no doubt,
    Something you’ll have to talk about,
    And need not get into a passion,
    And quarrel in this vulgar fashion. 
    Less of yourselves you’ll think, and more
    Of others, than you did before. 
    You’ll learn, that in their own right sphere
    All things with dignity appear. 
    And have, when in their proper place,
    Peculiar use and native grace.”

    Methought the polished Scissors blushed
    To have said so much, and all was hushed.

LEARNED FRED.

From the German.

    One short six months had scarcely gone,
      When, full of all he’d learned,
    Young Frederick, that hopeful son,
      From college home returned.

    To his paternal roof restored,
      It was not long before
    The learned man at table poured
      The treasures of his lore.

    “Now,” said the youngster, “father dear,
      You doubtless think you see
    Two roasted fowls before us here;
      But I say there are three.

    “Atqui these roasted fowls are two,
      And one in two must be;
    Ergo,—­or logic is not true,—­
      These roasted fowls are three.”

“God bless your studies!” quoth papa; “’Tis just as you have said; This is for me, that for mamma, The third for learned Fred.”

LITTLE ROLAND.

Translated from the German of Uhland.

    Lady Bertha sat in the rocky cleft,
      Her bitter woes to weep;
    Little Roland played in the free fresh air;
      His sorrows were not deep.

    “My royal brother, O King Charles,
      Why did I fly from thee? 
    Splendor and rank I left for love;
      Now thou art wroth with me.