For pinching days are near.

3. The fireside for the cricket,
The wheat stack for the mouse,
When trembling night winds whistle
And moan all round the house.
The frosty ways like iron,
The branches plumed with snow,--
Alas! in winter dead and dark,
Where can poor Robin go?
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
And a crumb of bread for Robin,
His little heart to cheer.

Note.--The Old World Robin here referred to is quite different in
appearance and habits from the American Robin. It is only about half the
size of the latter. Its prevailing color above is olive green, while the
forehead, cheeks, throat, and breast are a light yellowish red. It does
not migrate, but is found at all seasons throughout temperate Europe, Asia
Minor, and northern Africa.

XI. THE FISH I DID N'T CATCH.

John Greenleaf Whittier was born near Haverhill, Mass., in 1807, and died
at Hampton Falls, N.H., in 1892. His boyhood was passed on a farm, and he
never received a classical education. In 1829 he edited a newspaper in
Boston. In the following year he removed to Hartford, Conn., to assume a
similar position. In 1836 he edited an antislavery paper in Philadelphia.
In 1840 he removed to Amesbury, Mass. Mr. Whittier's parents were Friends,
and he always held to the same faith. He wrote extensively both in prose
and verse. As a poet, he ranked among those most highly esteemed and
honored by his countrymen. "Snow Bound" is one of the longest and best of
his poems.

1. Our bachelor uncle who lived with us was a quiet, genial man, much
given to hunting and fishing; and it was one of the pleasures of our young
life to accompany him on his expeditions to Great Hill, Brandy-brow Woods,
the Pond, and, best of all, to the Country Brook. We were quite willing to
work hard in the cornfield or the haying lot to finish the necessary day's
labor in season for an afternoon stroll through the woods and along the
brookside.

2. I remember my first fishing excursion as if it were but yesterday. I
have been happy many times in my life, but never more intensely so than
when I received that first fishing pole from my uncle's hand, and trudged
off with him through the woods and meadows. It was a still, sweet day of
early summer; the long afternoon shadows of the trees lay cool across our
path; the leaves seemed greener, the flowers brighter, the birds merrier,
than ever before.

3. My uncle, who knew b