THE SINGING-LESSON.

  A nightingale made a mistake;
    She sang a few notes out of tune,
  Her heart was ready to break,
    And she hid from the moon. 
  She wrung her claws, poor thing,
    But was far too proud to speak. 
  She tucked her head under her wing,
    And pretended to be asleep.

  A lark, arm-in-arm with a thrush,
    Came sauntering up to the place;
  The nightingale felt herself blush,
    Though feathers hid her face. 
  She knew they had heard her song,
    She FELT them snicker and sneer,
  She thought this life was too long,
    And wished she could skip a year.

  “O nightingale!” cooed a dove,
    “O nightingale, what’s the use,
  You bird of beauty and love,
    Why behave like a goose? 
  Don’t skulk away from our sight,
    Like a common, contemptible fowl: 
  You bird of joy and delight,
    Why behave like an owl?

  “Only think of all you have done;
    Only think of all you can do;
  A false note is really fun,
    From such a bird as you! 
  Lift up your proud little crest;
    Open your musical beak;
  Other birds have to do their best,
    You need only SPEAK.”

  The nightingale shyly took
    Her head from under her wing,
  And, giving the dove a look,
    Straightway began to sing. 
  There was never a bird could pass;
    The night was divinely calm;
  And the people stood on the grass
    To hear that wonderful psalm!

  The nightingale did not care,
    She only sang to the skies;
  Her song ascended there,
    And there she fixed her eyes. 
  The people that stood below
    She knew but little about;
  And this story’s a moral, I know,
    If you’ll try to find it out!

* * * * *

    Northern Vermont.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS:  “Little Joanna” is only three years and a half old, but her father and mother take the ST. NICHOLAS for her; and although she is so very young, she enjoys it as much as the older ones.  She liked the little poem called “Cricket on the Hearth,” and has learned to repeat some of it.  In the December number she liked the poem about the tea-kettle; she cries every time she hears about poor “Little Tweet,” and laughs at the “Magician and his Bee,” and at Polly’s stopping the horses with the big green umbrella.  But she laughs the hardest at the picture of the little girl who was so afraid of the turtle, and Edna, the kitchen-girl, told her if the turtle should get hold of the little girl’s toe, he wouldn’t let go till it thundered.  After “Little Joanna” has seen the pictures and heard the stories she can understand, her mamma sends the ST. NICHOLAS to some little cousins in Massachusetts, who in their turn forward it to some more cousins in far away Iowa.  So we all feel the ST. NICHOLAS merits the heartiest welcome of any magazine.—­Yours,

    “LITTLE JOANNA’S” AUNTIE.