e apartment.

It were a Matter-son or father might take
A note of; so I questioned of the key-hole,
And, lo! they would bestow warm raiment on our
Suffering soldiers.

I deemed the subject worthy of attention,
The more so as a very fat commission
Would be gained by it, so as almoner I
Tendered my service.

I looked for thanks; when, lo! they gave me none, sir,
But, calling eavesdroppers ungodly sinners,
Applied their patent-leathers to my tender
Unmentionables.

FRIEND OF HUMANITY.

They served you right; take wholesome warning by it,
Leave state affairs to those who live upon 'em;
Should not the ox that treadeth in the corn-crib
Eat of the hoe-cakes?

How noble such care for our shivering heroes!
Who would not gladly perish for his country
When, for his sake, her great men stoop so low as
The shoddy business!

* * * * *

The Germans have a fine _Spinn-lied_, or song of spinning; so, too, have
the jolly Flemish dames. And a poetical correspondent of ours seems
determined that few and far between as the old-fashioned spinners are in
this country, the race shall not entirely disappear without taking a
song with them, and a quaint, pleasant lesson. Dear reader, to the
CONTINENTAL'S way of thinking, there is something very winning
in the thought of that 'great holiday,' when, free from all task, we
shall play merrily evermore 'out-of-doors,' in eternal light, over
infinite realms of beauty.

SPINNING.

Dearest mother, let me go;
I am tired of this spinning, yet the whizzing wheel goes round,
Till my brain is dull and dizzy with its ceaseless, humming sound.
I can hear a little blue-bird, chirping sweetly in yon tree;
And he would not stay there, mother, if he were not calling me.

Oh! in pity, let me go:
I have spun the flaxen thread, until my aching fingers drop;
And my weary feet will falter, though the whizzing wheel should stop.
I can see the sunny meadow where the gayest flowers grow;
And I long to weave a garland;--dearest mother, let me go.

Nay, be patient, eager child;
Summer smiles beyond the door-way, but stern poverty is here;
We must give her faithful service, if her frown we would not fear.
Spin on cheerly, little daughter, till your needful task is done,
Then go forth with bird and blossom, at the setting of the sun.

Wait _thou_, also, troubled soul;
Thou may