No doubt many of our readers have read some of the poems of Charles and Mary Lamb, and all who have will be interested in the following news concerning one of their books. In 1809 they published a little volume of "Poetry for Children," but only a few copies were printed, and these were soon out of print, so that the book has long been considered lost to the world. It was recently discovered, however, that the little book had been reprinted in Boston in 1812, and the only two copies of this edition known to exist in this country have lately come into possession of Messrs. Scribner, Armstrong & Co., who intend to republish the volume this fall. The book contains many delightful little poems for boys and girls, prettily rhymed, and full of the quaint humor and conceits which mark the other writings of the authors. We should like to print several of them, but have only room for these: THE YOUNG LETTER-WRITER. _Dear Sir_, _Dear Madam_, or _Dear Friend_, With ease are written at the top; When these two happy words are penn'd, A youthful writer oft will stop, And bite his pen, and lift his eyes, As if he thinks to find in air The wish'd-for following words, or tries To fix his thoughts by fixed stare. But haply all in vain--the next Two words may be so long before They'll come, the writer, sore perplext, Gives in despair the matter o'er; And when maturer age he sees With ready pen so swift inditing, With envy he beholds the ease Of long-accustom'd letter-writing. Courage, young friend, the time may be, When you attain maturer age, Some young as you are now may see You with like ease glide down a page. Ev'n then, when you, to years a debtor, In varied phrase your meanings wrap, The welcom'st words in all your letter May be those two kind words at top. CRUMBS TO THE BIRDS. A bird appears a thoughtless thing, He's ever living on the wing, And keeps up such a carolling, That little else to do but sing A man would guess had he. No doubt he has his little cares, And very hard he often fares; The which so patiently he bears, That, listening to those cheerful airs, Who knows but he may be In want of his next meal of seeds? I think for _that_ his sweet song pleads; If so, his pretty art succeeds. I'll scatter there among the weeds All the small crumbs I see. * * * * * We very seldom take up a book only to break the tenth commandment; but Bayard Taylor's recent volume, "The Boys of Other Countries," published by the Putnams, always has that effect upon us, for we wish that every one of the stories in it had been written for ST. NICHOLAS. The best thing we can say to our boys and girls, of a book so well described by its title, is that it contains "Jon of Iceland," which originally appeared in this magazine, and that each of the stories is as good in its way as "Jon" itself.