Citation
Vacation fun for boys and girls

Material Information

Title:
Vacation fun for boys and girls embracing stories from fairy land, stories from natural history, stories of wonderful things in the sea, on the land and in the air, stories from home life and stories of games indoor and out, which little folk love so well : enlivened by the choicest selections from the poetic world
Creator:
W. W. Houston & Company ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
Philadelphia
Publisher:
W.W. Houston & Company
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
1 v. (unpaged) : ill. (some col.) ; 25 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Natural history -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Fairies -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Amusements -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1894 ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1894 ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1894
Genre:
Children's stories
Children's poetry
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Frontispiece printed in colors.
General Note:
Contains prose and verse.
Statement of Responsibility:
superbly illsutrated by a wealth of special engravings by the best designers.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026661684 ( ALEPH )
ALG5333 ( NOTIS )
226307846 ( OCLC )

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VACATION FUN

EMBRACING

STORIES FROM FAIRY LAND.
STORIES FROM NATURAL HISTORY. \
STORIES @F WONDERFUL THINGS IN THE SEA, ON THE LAND AND IN THE AIR.
STORIES FROM HOME LIFE AND STORIES OF GAMES
INDOOR AND OUT, WHICH LITTLE FOLK
LOVE SO WELL. ,



+ e » ENLIVENED BY THE . . .

CHOICEST SELECTIONS From tHE POETIC WORLD.

SUPERBLY. ILLUSTRATED

By a Wealth of Special Engravings by the Best Designers, !



COPYRIGHTED 1894, BY ROBERT O. LAW.

W. W. HOUSTON & COMPANY,
46 AND 48 NORTH FOURTH ST,
PHILADELPHIA, PA.













































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































“THE SULTRY DAY IS WELL-NIGH DONE,”









































































































































JENNIE'S CROSSING.



MUSIC OF THE MONTHS.
JANUARY.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

ANUS am I; oldest of potentates!
Forward I look and backward and below.

I count—as God of avenues and gates—
The years that through my portals come and go.
I block the roads and drift the fields with snow,
I chase the wild fowl from the frozen land;
My frosts congeal the rivers in their flow,
My fires light up the hearths and hearts of men.

HOW STOCKINGS GROW.

{= was New Year’s Day! Grandmother had

finished her cup of tea, and was ready
for a quiet nap in her high-backed chair; but
to-day she had to forego the pleasure, as she

had promised to show little Polly ‘‘how it »

was done.” How what was done? Listen.

The day before Polly had asked Granny a
dozen or more questions about stockings, to
all of which questions Granny only nodded
her head, and said, ‘‘Stockings grow.”

“Grow! grow! but they don’t grow like
cherries on acherry-tree; they don’t grow
like mushrooms in the meadow; and I have
never, never seen any stockings growing any-
where, I am quite sure, quite sure,” said
Polly, with confidence.

So when Granny ended the dispute by say-
ing, “‘ You come to me to-morrow afternoon
and I’ll show you how stockings grow,” Polly
was delighted.

-Whata picture they make! Fora long time
-she could not see how, bit by bit, the tiny
thread of worsted lapping over the bright knit-
ting-needles was making the stocking grow
longer and tonger. But at last the patient

erseverance of the teacher was rewarded, and

olly exclaimed, ‘‘I see it all now, Granny.
You can’t nohow make a stocking all at once:
you must do it bit by bit; and it is really just
like growing.” ;

Granny was very wise, as most Grannies
are. Quicker than I can write it, she drop-
ped the knitting needles and unraveled the
stocking all at once. To Polly’s great dis-
may there was nothing left on the floor but
acrumpled, tumbled-about pile of worsted.

“Oh, Granny! It isa shame! How could
you!” And poor Polly was ready to burst
into tears.

““T’ve done it on purpose, child,” said
Granny, gravely. ‘It is quite true, as you
have seen, that we can only make a stocking
bit by bit; out look there, and learn that we

39

can spoil it all ina moment. So it is with
our characters. We make them bit by bit
every day, and we can spoil them in a mo-
ment. Granny is an old woman, and she has
often seen the work of a lifetime ruined in a
few minutes. ‘Watch and Pray.’

‘Watch, as if on that alone
Hung the issue of the day ;
Pray, that Help may be sent down—
Watch and Pray!”

SUNSET.

FANNIE ISABEL SHERRICK.

eco gold, gold!
Gold in the meadows of God,
Gold in the blossoming sod,
Gold in the crown of the yellow sun.

Rest, rest, rest!

Rest in the purple sky, :

Rest where the cloudlands lie,
Rest for the lands of the wind and sun.

Dreams, dreams, dreams!
Dreams for the ones that we love,
Dreams for the star-souls above, .
Dreams for the world when the day is done.

LITTLE FEET.
FLORENCE PERCY.

ARS little feet so small that both may nestle,
In one caressing hand, —
Two tender feet upon the untired border

Of life’s mysterious land.

Dimpled and soft, and pink as peach-tree blossoms,
In April’s fragment days,

How can they walk among the briery tangles,
That edge the world’s rough way.

These white-rose feet, along the doubtful future
Must bear a woman’s load; i

Alas! Since woman bears the heaviest burden
And walksthe roughest road.

Love, for a while, will make the path before them
All dainty, smooth and fair,—

‘Will cut away the brambles, letting only
The roses blossom there.

Will they go up Ambition’s summit,
The common world above?

Or in some nameless vale securely sheltered,
Walk side by side love? -

How shall it be with this dear gentle stranger,
Fair-faced and gentle-eyed; _
Before whose unstained feet, the world’s rude high-
way.
Stretches so strange and wide.

Ah! who may read the future? For our darling,
‘We crave all blessings sweet — F

And pray that he who feeds the crying ravens
Will guide the baby’s feet.



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    LITTLE FEET.





    “THE LAND OF LITTLE PEOPLE.”
    COOPER WILLIS. i

    ES ; the land of little people is a lovelier land
    than ours,

    With its mine of new-found treasures, mossy glades,
    and fairy bowers ;

    Harth her robe of choicest beauty spreads to woo the
    tender feet,

    And the angels whispering round them thrill the air
    with accents sweet.

    Memory brings no pang of sorrow, troubles lightly
    pass away,

    Hope’s horizon 1s to-morrow, and the sun is bright
    to-day ;

    Every moment has its blessing, sweeter thoughts,
    and fairer flowers.

    Yes ; the land of little people is a lovelier land than
    ours.

    But from o’er the silent river comes to us a purer
    glow—

    Purer even thun the sunbeams that the little people
    know ;

    And the love song of the heavens steals upon the
    wearied ear,

    Sweeter than the angels’ whisper that the little peo-
    ple hear;

    And the wanderer, overstriven, humbled as a little
    child, :

    Knows the past is all forgiven, and his God is recon-
    ciled,

    When around his faltering footsteps comes the
    blessing of the dove,

    From the fairest world of any, from the home of
    peace and love. ‘



    “DON'T YOU THINK WE LOOK VERY
    PRETTY.”

    LD. you think we look very pretty ?
    Why of course you do. You never
    saw five handsomer kittens in all your life,
    now did you? But perhaps Lette — that’s
    the tall serious one inthe middle of the back
    row —can hardly be called a kitten; she is
    older even than Belle and Saucy, those are
    the kittens on either side of her. Roxie
    and I, are twins. You will know Roxie by
    the beautful leather collar she wears around
    her neck. And a cunning, wicked Roxie

    she is, though she does look so demure. I’m
    sure Ishouldn’t get into half the trouble I
    flo, if it were not for Roxie. You will see
    that I have a beautiful old gold satin-ribbon
    bow, tied under my left ear, which is fash-
    ionable—and you will also observe that I
    have a very beautiful bushy tail. I asked
    Ma one day how long kittens could be kit-
    tens, and she said she could hardly tell. She
    said she understood chickens were chickens
    until they were cooked, and so she supposed

    kittens were kittens as long as they were
    kittenish. That’s just what makes me
    think Lette’s kittenhood has come to an end,
    for she is cross and very stupid, and when
    we went to have our photographs taken in
    what the photograph man called “A Feline
    Group,” Lette winked and blinked and
    looked half asleep. Well, I’ve just made
    up my mind to be a kitten as long as ever I
    can. Some people don’t like kittens, but I
    know agentleman who wrote a long poem,
    all out of his own head, about kittens. I
    only remember two verses, but Im sure

    yow’ll say with me that it’s real beautiful |

    poetry, and that he was a real nice geutle-
    man.

    A small bright face, two round green eyes,
    A fluffy head as soft as silk,

    Two ears pricked up in swift surprise,
    Two whiskered lips to drink the milk, °

    So sleek, so quick, so fair, so fat,
    There’s nothing like the youngest cat. .

    She’s here, she’s there, she’s everywhere ;
    No spot is sacred from the pet.
    Of food she takes the lion’s share :
    She rushes where the saucer’s set ;
    The mouse she claims ; she beards the rat
    Within his hole—the youngest cat.

    THE BOY WHO PROMISED MOTHER.
    GEORGE COOPER.

    HE school was out, and down the street
    A noisy crowd came thronging;
    The hue of health, and gladness sweet,
    To every face belonging.

    Among them strode a little lad,
    Who listened to another,

    And mildly said, half grave; half sad.
    “YT can’t—I promised mother.”

    A shout went up, a ringing shout,
    Of boisterous derision;

    But not one moment left in doubt
    That manly, brave decision.

    “Go where you please, do what you will,”
    He calmly told the other;

    “But I shall keep my word, boys, still;
    I can’t—I promised mother.”

    Ah! who could doubt the future course
    Of one who thus had spoken?

    Through manhood’s struggle, gain and loss,
    Could faith like this be broken?

    God’s blessings on that steadfast will,
    Unyielding to another,

    That bars all jeers and laughter still,
    Because he promised mother.



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    “DON’T YOU THINK WE LOOK PRETTY ?”






    SUNDAY MORNING TALKS.

    I. A LESSON FROM THE COLISEUM.
    THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    E are not quite certain who wrote the
    Epistle to the Hebrews. The popular
    impression that Paul was its author is not
    sustained by sufficient evidence to make that
    impression certain. Whoever wrote it, was
    aman of very remarkable skill, of wide
    scholarship, and of keen powers of observa-
    tion. This letter was, in the first instance,
    addressed to the Hebrew converts to Christi-
    anity, and its main purpose was to show
    them that in giving up Judaism for this faith
    of the Nazarene, they were not in any real
    sense giving up the sacred faith of their
    fathers, but were accepting the larger spirit-
    ual development of the promise made of God
    untothe fathers. It was the business of this
    epistle to show that ‘‘ Christianity was Juda-
    ism gone to blossom and fruit;” that the
    “law” which came by Moses was but the fore-
    runner of ‘‘the grace and truth,” which at
    last came by Jesus Christ. The author of
    this epistle sees Christ exalted as head over
    all. Ile is higher than the angels, greater
    than Moses, a greater priest than Aaron or
    Melchisedec. But the writer of this letter,
    who wrote as though he had been baptized
    into Jewish: modes of thought, into Jewish
    hopes and Jewish dreams—‘‘a Hebrew of
    the Hebrews”—was also greatly moved by
    the Greek love of athletic sports and the
    grand endurance of the Roman gladiator.
    And from remembrances of what he had
    geen in the Coliseum at Rome, he suggests a
    few wise lessons, that we should be quite
    willing to learn. In the days of Tiberias
    the Roman amphitheater was capable of hold-
    ing fifty thousand spectators. The Coliseum
    was well filled at the Olympian races, but
    when gladiators fought with gladiators or
    with wild beasts it was crowded. Whata
    sight for the poor wretch—who was being
    “butchered to make a Roman holiday ”—it
    must have been to see fifty thousand pairs of
    cruel eyes looking down upon his torture!
    But when the scene was only one of compe-
    titive skill, as in the Greek races, it was both
    pleasant and humane. It must have been
    an inspiration to those swift runners to have
    seen that great cloud of witnesses, and, per-
    chance, to have heard voices that were dear
    to them cheering them on. The ambitious
    racer, eager to gain the prize, unclasped his

    mantle, and, freeing himself from all en-
    tanglements, sped on, ‘‘ laying aside every
    weight”; inspired by the witnessing multi-
    tude, but not allowing their presence to dis-
    tract him, his eye fixed on the goal, and om
    the laurel crown that was to gird the brow
    of him who was fleetest of foot. Every
    atom of power was pressed into the service,
    and so he reached forth and ran for the prize
    that was set before him. From such ascene
    what may we not learn of the kind of life
    our life should be, if we are to win, not a
    crown of fading laurels, but a crown of char-
    acter that shall shine pure and bright in the
    light of the great white throne. For this is
    the great end of the Christian race, not the
    mere attainment of position, but the acqui-
    sition of a Christ-like disposition and
    character. There are those who seem to
    think that the highest guerdon of the
    Christian life would be to be ‘‘ nearest the
    throne and first in song.” Better far is the
    ambition of the psalmist, ‘I shall be satis-
    fied when I awake in Thy likeness.” Te
    attain such a prize is worth all it can ever
    cost through all the trying years of time.
    With an eye ever fixed on the goal let us run
    with all patient continuance, for the crown
    we seek is not the fading crown of honor,
    but the unfading crown of character.

    Live for something, live in earnest, |
    Though thy work may humble be,
    By the world of men unnoticed,
    Known alone to God and thee.
    Every act has priceless value
    To the architect of fate:
    Tis the spirit of thy doing,
    This alone that makes it great.

    EULA’S MORNING RIDE.

    ULA is an early riser. Often before
    the birds are wide awake, or the sun.
    flowers have turned their hearts of gold to
    the sun, or the morning-glories have blown

    their trumpets of beauty wide open, Eula’s

    voice may be heard singing through the
    dewy.morning. As soon as she hears the
    ring of the milking pail, she is out of bed
    and throws her window wide open, and be-.
    fore her father has finished milking Curly
    Bess she is down stairs for her morning
    ride. Greatly as Eula enjoys her ride from
    the milking-shed to the meadow, it would
    almost seem asif Curly Bess was equally de-
    lighted to bear so fair a burden.





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    PLAYING BROWNIE.

    TZ was a very dismal, rainy Saturday, anda
    very dismal little girl, with something
    that looked like a raindrop running over
    each cheek, stood at the sitting-room win-
    dow drumming drearily on the pane, through
    which there was nothing to be seen but a
    rubber coated grocery-boy with a basket on
    his arm.

    ‘What a horrid, horrid day!’ pouted Alice
    Kent.

    ‘What a little Miss Grumblekin?” ex-
    claimed busy Aunt Julia, as she hurried
    through the room clad in her waterproof,
    en route for the market.

    “But, Auntie, I haven’t anything to play
    with.”

    Aunt Julia stopped a moment. ‘I know
    a nice game you can play all by yourself,”
    she said.

    “What isit?” asked Alice.

    “Play you are a good brownie,” replied
    he Aunt. ‘Your mother has a great deal
    to attend to this morning.”

    ‘‘What do good brownies do, Aunt Julia?”

    Things to help people when nobody sees,”
    was the reply—‘“‘surprises you know.” Then
    she was gone,

    Alice stood and watched the umbrella turn
    the corner; then her face brightened, and
    sheran up stairs as fast as her feet could
    carry her.

    As the family sat at the cozy tea-table that

    -evening mamma remarked, “‘I believe there
    has been a good fairy around today. Some-
    body dusted my room and put my work-
    basket to rights and arranged my top-drawer
    beautifully. 3

    “Why, thatis strange Ellen,” said grand-
    ma; ‘‘I had asimilar experience. Somebody
    found my spectacles, and saved me the
    trouble of coming down after the morning
    paper.”

    “I wish you would notice the hall-closet,”
    interjected Aunt Julia. ‘You knowit’s a
    catch-all for the family.”

    “Yes,” sighed mamma; “‘when everything
    else is in order that closet rises up before me
    likea nightmare. I must straighten it out
    this evening.”

    “Butit looks very nice to-night,” con-
    tinued Aunt Julia—‘‘shawls all folded on
    the shelves, hoods and gloves and hats and
    rubbers in their proper places. I could
    hardly believe my eyes.” |

    «There is a certain little girl,” said papa,

    “who often forgets to put my gown ang
    slippers by the fire, but my fairy must have
    done it-tonight. Have you had adull day,
    Puss?” .

    “The pleasantest Saturday I can remems
    ber,” replied Alice. or

    Noone would have thought her to be the
    child who pouted at the rain that morning.

    HOW MUCH THERE IS THAT’S BEAUTI-
    FUL. i

    OW much there is that’s beautiful,
    In this fair world of ours!
    The verdure of the early spring,
    The sweetly blooming flowers.
    The brook that dances in the light,
    The birds that carol free,
    Are objects beautiful and bright,
    That everywhere we see.

    MONUMENT TO LINCOLN, IN LINCOLN
    PARK, CHICAGO.

    LI BATES a wealthy citizen of Chicago,

    who died some years ago, left alargesum
    of money for the erection of a suitable monu-’
    ment to the memory of Abraham Lincoln,
    After some years spent in perfecting the
    wishes of the donor the statue was ready for
    unveiling. Thousands of people gathered to-
    gether to witness the ceremony. Afteran ad
    dress from Leonard Swett, one of Lincoln’s
    law partners, and a brief speech by Mayor
    Roche in which hesaid, ‘‘Herein the metrop-
    olis of the great state that nurtured him from
    boyhood to ripened manhood, and saw him, by
    the nation’s suffrage, consecrated to leader-
    ship and invested with more than kingly
    power; here in the beautiful park commem-
    orating his name, by the waters of this great
    inland sea, it is fitting that we raise a mon-
    ument to his memory where future genera-
    tions may come and see the likeness of the
    hero who died for liberty;” Master Abraham
    Lincoln, grandson of the martyr President
    stepped to the base of the statue and unloos-
    ing the string that held the American colors
    in which the statue was enveloped, unveiled
    the beautiful monument amid loudand long
    continued applause. While this impressive
    scene was transpiring in Lincoln Park, the
    Hon. Elihu Washburne, one of the most
    honored and gifted of American citizens lay
    dying, and before the cannonade of the cere-
    mony had wholly ceased, the man who had
    so distinguished himself as minister to the ,
    court of France had passed away.



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    LENA’S GOSSIP WITH THE MOON.
    R. W. LOWRIE.

    L met the moon the other night,
    Out by the chestnut tree;
    Pl teil you, if you'll listen all,
    Some things she told to me.

    She says that ong ago she was
    As blooming as the sun.

    Though now so pale her cheeks, and blanched
    Her roses one by one.

    She says she sees the frost before
    It comes upon the ground;

    And hears the footsteps of the snow
    While men are sleeping sound.

    She says she sees the babies smile
    When no one else can see;

    And that she loves to see them dream,
    And dimple prettily.

    She told me many a pretty tale,
    And many a secret, too.

    And made me promise yester-night
    Vd never tell it you!

    But if to-morrow night, my dears,
    You'll seek the chestnut tree,

    No doubt she’ll tell you every word,
    Just as she did to me!

    REAL COWBOY FUN.

    THEODORE ROOSEVELT.

    ee the head men are gathered in
    a little knot, planning out the work,
    the others are dispersed over the plain in
    every direction, racing, breaking rough
    horses, or simply larking with one another.
    If a man has an especially bad horse, he
    usually takes such an opportunity, when he
    has plenty of time, to ride him; and while
    saddling he is surrounded by a crowd of
    most unsympathetic associates who greet
    with uproarious mirth any misadventure. A
    man on a bucking horse is always considered
    fair game, every squeal and jump of the
    bronco being hailed with cheers of delighted
    irony for the rider and shouts to “stay with
    him.” The antics of a vicious bronco show
    infinite variety of detail, but are all modeled
    on one general plan. When the rope set-
    tles round his neck the fight begins, and it
    is only after much plunging and snorting
    that a twist is taken over his nose, or else a
    hackamore—a species of severe halter, usu-
    ally made of plaited hair—slipped on his
    head. While being bribed he strikes vici-
    ously with his fore feet, and perhaps has to
    be blindfolded or thrown down; and to get

    the saddle on him is quite as difficult,
    When saddled he may get rid of his exuber-
    ant spirits by bucking under the saddle, or
    may reserve all his energies for the rider. -
    Tn the last case, the man, keeping tight hold
    with his left hand of the check-strap, so as
    to prevent the horse from getting his head
    down until he is fairly seated, swings him-
    self fairly into the saddle. Up rises the
    bronco’s back into an arch; his head, the
    ears laid straight back, goes down between
    his fore feet, and squealing savagely, he
    makes a succession of rapid, stiff-legged,
    jarring bounds. Some times he isa ‘* plung-
    ing” bucker, who runs forward all the time
    while bucking; or he may buck steadily in
    one place, or ‘‘sunfish,”—that is, bring first
    one shoulder down almost to the ground and
    then the other—or else he may change ends
    while in the air. A first-class rider will sit
    throughout it all without moving from the
    saddle, quirting his horse all the time,
    though his hat may be jarred off his head
    and his revolver out of itssheath. Aftera
    few jumps, however, the average man grasps
    hold of the horn of the saddle—the delighted
    oniooker meanwhile earnestly advising him
    not to ‘go to leather”—and is contented to
    get through the affair in any shape provided
    he can escape without being thrown off. An
    accident is of necessity borne with a broad
    grin, as any attempt to resent the raillery of
    the bystanders— which is perfectly good
    humored—would be apt toresult disastrously.

    “YOURS, DEAR HEARTS, AND MINE.”
    FANNIE ISABEL SHERRICK.

    -[ ET us look in our hearts and count the gifts
    That the Father in heaven has given ;

    'The poorest among us has life at least

    And hope of a future heaven.
    We each have a blessing that others have not,
    Some gift that is sweeter than all,
    And the guiding hand of a Savior near
    Whatever our lives befall.
    We all have sorrows that we must bear,
    And a cross that is hid from sight:
    But though in darkness we walk to-day,
    To-morrow we'll find the light.
    Though we see them not in the cloudy sky,
    The stars inthe heaven still shine,
    And beyond them all is the Father’s Love
    That is yours, dear hearts and mine.

    THE UNRULY MEMBER.

    There are many men whose tongues might
    govern multitudes if they sould govern their

    tongues.



    ANY
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    A SURE RECIPE FOR HAPPINESS.

    nce there was a king who had a little
    boy whom he loved. He gave him beau-
    tiful rooms to live in, and pictures and toys
    and books. He gave him a pony to ride and
    ‘a row boat on a lake, and servants. He
    provided teachers who were to give him
    knowledge that would make him good and
    great. But for all this the young prince
    was not happy. He wore a frown wherever
    he went, and was‘always wishing for some-
    thing he did not have. At length, one day,
    - a magician came to the court. He saw the
    boy, and said to the king: ‘I can make
    your son happy, but you must pay me a
    great price for telling the secret.” . <‘ Well,”
    said the king, “what you ask I will give.”
    So the price was paid. The magician took
    the boy into a private room. He wrote
    something with a white substance on a piece
    of paper. Next he gave the boy a candle and
    told him to light it and hold it under the
    pee and then see what he could read. Then

    e went away. The boy did as he was told,
    and the white letters on the paper turned
    into a beautiful blue.

    _ They formed these words: ‘*Do a kind-
    ness to some one every day.” ‘The prince
    made use of the secret and became the hap-
    piest boy in the kingdom.

    LONGINGS FOR THE SPRING.
    GEORGE COOPER. :

    Wi you never wake up little brook?
    You are sleeping so cold and still:
    Have you nothing to say,
    Till the snow flies away,
    And the daisies the springtime fill?
    “Wait,” the little brook lisped, very low,
    “‘T have wonderful things to tell;
    Though the winter seems long,
    I shall break into song
    we tars bluebirds that flash through the
    ell.

    «You look withered and lonely, poor tree!
    ‘Will you soon wear your crown of green?
    Only icicles fall -
    From your boughs, dark and tall,
    Where a torn empty nest is seen.”
    “Wait!” thetree murmured softly “still wait!
    Though the snow all around me lies deep,
    ‘When the warmer wind brings
    The flutter of wings,
    T shall rock the sweet birdies to sleep.

    ** Are you stirring below, tiny seed?
    For I am longing to see you peep,
    When the storm blusters near,
    Are you frightened to hear? ”

    ** Wait,” the tiny seed whispered, ‘‘I’ll eome
    When the rain-drops above me cali;
    Then, in gold, pink and blue,
    With a sweet ‘ How d’ye do,’
    I shall welcome the little ones all!”

    “WELL-ENOUGH JONES.”

    «¢ Have you got your lesson, Will?” asked
    Harry Mayo, standing outside the open sit-
    ting-room window of the Jones’ farmhouse.

    ‘Pye got it well enough.” And the tat-
    tered, coverless spelling-book was thrown
    into the farthest corner of the room, as the
    lad crammed his new but battered straw hat
    upon his curly, half-combed hair, and started
    to join his comrade in the yard.

    “Tt is not well enough unless it is per-
    fect,” replied Harry; ‘‘and I am in no
    hurry.”

    «Well enough’ is my motto, and ‘ Per-
    fect’ is yours,” laughed Will.

    “And that is why Harry is always at the
    head of your classes, and you are at the
    foot,” put in Aunt Hannah, with a sigh;
    while Mrs. Jones called after her son, “‘ That
    onion bed is not thoroughly weeded by any
    means.”

    “It is weeded well enough,”, retorted
    Will, as he vaulted over a rail fence on the
    brow of-a hill, from which point a broad
    sheet of water, glistening inthe sunlight, was
    visible a mile away.

    “Have you mended your boat?” asked
    Harry, as the two lads ran swiftly down the
    grassy pasture slope.

    «Yes, well enough,” replied Will, reach-
    ing the water’s edge, and pushing the paint-
    ed skiff out upon the mirror-like surface.

    “A well-enough boat will not do for my
    mother’s only boy,” said Harry, stoutly.
    “Let us give up going upon the water to-
    day, and throughly mend and tar The Speed-
    well, then we can take some comfort going
    out in her.”

    ‘Oh, nonsense! You are such a notional
    chap! The boat is well enough. - Come on!”
    And, jumping in, he took up the oars.

    Harry sat down upon a rock, saying, “‘Go
    on, and I will stay here to render you what
    assistance I can when the boat sinks.”

    Will laughed heartily as he paddled away,
    and his laughter ran back over the water at
    intervals for haif an hour. Then he shouted,
    making a trumpet of his hands: ‘‘ She’s fill-
    ing and sinking! I can’t get ashore!”

    “‘Put for Brush Island,” Harry shouted













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    back; and knew his advice was being taken
    by the changed course of the little boat.

    “He won’t drown—he can swim,” said
    Harry to himself. But he watched with in-
    tense anxiety, there being nothing else that
    he could do, until the boat disappeared, and
    the owner struck out for the island, now
    only a few rods away from him. Not until
    he had scrambled upon the rocks, and
    waved his hat in triumph, did Harry leave
    his own exposed position; then, waving his
    hat in reply, he turned and ran as fast as
    possible for the house.

    “There is only one thing for me to do,”
    he said, breathlessly, to Mrs. Jones, “and
    that is to go as fast as I can for Tom Fisher’s
    boat. Iam afraid we can’t get him off be-
    fore dark, and it is awfully lonely over
    there.”

    “JT don’t care at all,” said Aunt Hannah.
    “TI don’t pity him one bit. I think it would
    be a good lesson for him to stay there all
    night. It might teach him that nothing
    partly done is done well enough.”

    The kind old lady, however, as Harry sped
    away, took her knitting work and went and
    sat upon the rocks by the boat landing where
    she could see her nephew and he could see
    _ her, although the distance was too great for
    either to hear the voice of the other.

    “ He’s well enough,” she said to the fam-
    ily, a8 one and another came down to keep
    her company; “but there would be no harm
    in making a bonfire here, so he will know
    we have not forgotten him.”

    The sun went down, the daylight faded
    away in the west, one by one the stars came
    out; but still there was no sign of the ap-
    proaching boat.

    When the flames of the bonfire shot up
    against the sky, an answering flame shone
    out from the island.

    “Oh, he had his metallic match-safe with
    him that he uses when he goes fishing even-
    ings,” said his sister.

    “Now, if he. only had something to cook,
    he would be all right; but he has not, and,
    oh dear, how hungry he must be!” and the
    little girl sobbed bitterly.

    The hours dragged along, one, two, three
    of them, and then from out of the darkness,
    at the upper end of the pond, astar appeared,
    coming gradually nearer and nearer. It was
    a boat with a lantern, but it was not coming
    from the direction of Tom Fisher’s,

    They all watched breathlessly as it rounded

    the point and shot up into the rays of
    light. It was a boat with two men, and it
    took off the adventurer and sped to the
    shore.

    “Tt seems as if I had been gone as long as
    Rip Van Winkle,” said Will, as he jumped
    onshore. “I think my hair must be turned
    quite gray. I am hungry asa wild Indian;
    and I am sure I could write a book, if I could
    put down all the thoughts that have run
    through my mind, and all the good resolu-
    tions I have made. There is one thing sure,
    I never will say, ‘Well enough,’ again.”

    “And how are you, Harry?” asked Aunt
    Hannah, gently, of the lad who stood quietly
    b

    %Oh, well enough,” laughed Harry, good-
    naturedly. “Tom Fisher was not at home,
    and I had to tramp three miles further, clear
    to the head of the pond.”

    “You were as much alone as I was, tramp-
    ing alone through the pine woods,” said
    Will, with unusual thoughtfulness,

    “Why, yes, so I was; but I did not think
    of it, because I was doing something for
    somebody, and you had nothing to do but
    wait.”

    “Have you had supper?” asked Aunt
    Hannah. Harry shook his head. “Neither
    have I,” said the other lady. “I didn’t
    think of it, I was so anxious for both you
    boys.”

    Will was cured of his bad habit; but the
    schoolboys insisted that the initials W. E.
    stood not for William Everett, but for Well
    Enough; and “ Well-Enough Jones” he has
    been called all his life.

    The pond where the little red boat can
    still be seen on the clear, sandy bottom, is
    known as Well-Enough Pond; and the short
    cut through the pinewoods that leads from
    the pond to the village is known as Well-
    Enough Lane.



    A GOOD TIME TO BE DEAF,
    SIR T, BROWNE.

    Be deaf unto the suggestions of tale-
    bearers, caluminators, pick-thanks or
    malevolent detractors, who, while great
    men sleep, sow the tares of discord and
    division; distract the tranquility of charity
    and all friendly society. These are the
    tongues that set the world on fire—cankerers
    of reputation, and, like that of Jonah’s gourd,
    wither a good name in a single night.





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    gay
    But the song lived on through all the day,

    THE WELCOME SINGE
    il every street in the old town rang
    With liquid notes from the silver bill.
    And an added softness gently lay

    Twitter and warble and softest trill
    Through pastures green and meadows

    Moisture from cheeks where it seldom lay,

    As pictures arose of valley and hill

    Entered houses through window and door,
    Of forest nook and mountain rill

    A wandering bird dropped lightly down;
    On a swinging spray he sat and sang
    And filled every shop from roof to floor.
    And many a hard hand brushed away
    Of beautiful youths and maidens fair,
    The dear old home and mother’s chair.
    The unconscious bird flew far away,
    On the little town with houses gray.
    Made each ‘become as a little child.”

    Into the heart of a dusty town
    Every one wondered

    The jubilant melody,

    Men spoke more softly,

    Ti

    A //} LEE ZR

    LT LE,



    y









    BABY JO.
    KATE HARRINGTON.

    UT from heaven's portals, those flood-gates of
    light,

    Came ee soul in the hush of the night.
    On, past the star-isles that floated on high:
    . On, past the moonbeamis that goldened the sky:
    Truant from Eden it wandered away
    Down to the edge of the dawn of the day.
    No one could tell how the pathway was known,
    Or how, unguided, it came to its own.
    This we but knew — that a heaven of love
    Came to our home with this gift from above,
    This we but felt — that a transport of joy
    Burst in each heart at the birth of our boy.

    Just while we mourned o’er the vanishing flowers
    One from the summer-land floated to ours.

    Just when we sighed that the song-birds had fled
    Came our sweet nestling to cheer us instead.

    Just when earth’s shadows its sunlight concealed,
    Lo! to our spirits this bliss was revealed.

    Soft, dimpled hands we can hide in our own,
    What will you do when our baby is grown?
    Promise me, now, when your work has been planned,
    Ever to cheerfully heed His command.

    Strike, if need be, for Justice and Right,

    Lead back misguided ones into the light.
    Constant in friendship and steadfast in love,
    Hand-clasp and heart-throb in concert will move.

    Small, tender feet! O, so daintily flushed,

    Dyed with a tint as of rose petals crushed,

    Wilkyou not carry our darling alway

    Onward and upward, but never astray?

    Will you not bear him, with tenderest care?

    Over each pitfall and past every snare? .

    Whether his path lie through thorns or through
    flowers

    Hold from temptation this treasure of ours!

    Lips like twin blossoms a-quiver with dew,

    When will the sweet, lisping words tremble
    through?

    When, O how long must I wait ere I see

    Answering smiles in the blue eyes for me?

    Questioning glances and looks of surprise

    Brighten and flash in those wondering eyes.

    Sueh a large world for a baby so small!

    Wenuld he might tell what he thinks of it al?!



    GOOD HUMOR’S VISIT TO PESKY JIM.

    ESKY JIM was a good boy generally,
    and had plenty of toys, such as nine-
    pins, blocks, drums, a boy doll, a lovely
    horse, and he liked to play with all those
    things and scatter them over the floor, which
    his mamma allowed him to do all day, until
    evening. Then mamma said: “Now, Jim,
    ick up your toys and put them in the
    rawer.” But Jim, being tired and a little
    eross, would say with a pout:

    “T don’t want to put them away. Mam.
    ma, pick them up.”

    Well, one evening Jim was sitting on the
    carpet with his toys all around him, when
    there was a brisk rat-a-tat at the door, and
    in walked a little man who said,

    “Good evening, Jim. Why, what is the
    matter? You look so cross. I see you don’t
    know me to-day. My name is Good Hu-
    mor.”

    Jim said, ‘“‘I don’t want to pick up all
    these things every evening.”

    Then Good Humor laughed and said,
    “‘ Well, I will have to introduce you to two
    friends of mine. I expect them here every
    minute.”

    While he was yet speaking there came a
    “rat-a-tat, tat” at the door, and in walked
    two little gentlemen. One of them went to
    Jim and said,

    ““Good evening, Jim; my name is Cheer-
    fulness. Allow me to introduce you to my
    friend, Werk. We have called this evening
    to help you put away all your toys in their
    proper places for to-night. Come, show us
    the drawer.” -

    “‘Here it is,” said Good Humor with a
    laugh.

    So Jim went with Cheerfulness to work,

    and they piled up the toys on Work’s back,

    and they put them away in the drawer very
    carefully. Then Good Humor shouted,
    “Hurrah, hurrah!” and Cheerfulness
    shook hands with Jim, and Work said,
    “Good evening. I am going to bed;”
    and they all went away and left Jim laugh-
    ing.
    Dear. little boys and girls, whenever you
    feel cross or sulky, and don’t wish to obey
    your parents, call on Good Humor and
    Cheerfulness, and they will help you with
    your work.

    TAKE YOUR HANDS OUT OF YOUR
    POCKETS, MY BOY.

    O begin with, it does not look well when
    a young man crooks his arms and
    thrusts his hands into his pockets, making a
    figure eight of himself, and then stands up
    against the sunny side of the house, like a
    rooster in December. :
    How would the girls look all turned to
    eights and leaning against the wall? How
    would your mother look in that posture?









































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    ZEW

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    ° BABY JO.





    a

    Catch her doing it! You don’t find her
    hands in her pockets. Your mother’s hands!
    While you are loafing, they are the hands
    that sew, and bake, and stew, and fry, and
    sweep, and darn, and nurse, but she does not
    sink them in her pockets and then loll against
    a building.

    Are your hands cold? Warm them up at

    the end of the hoe handle and scythe. Swing -

    the hammer; drive the plane; flourish the
    axe. There is untold caloric about a spade,
    a trowel, a wrench. :

    Besides, pocket. heat is not profitable.

    Have you money there though? Are your.

    pockets the safes in which you have hid
    treasure, and shands the:bolts:th
    : eth



    3
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    pressing the
    the work of t;
    years.

    we build our bridg:
    the sleepers, launch’
    run our factories. Y
    twenty hills of pota
    talking to you, my b
    out of your pockets.

    have planted
    I have been
    > your hands

    A SONG OF WORK,
    E. W. BATCHELDER.

    A charming tale was that of old,
    For lazy folks by poets told, .
    That ’tis Love that makes the world go round—
    Round and round,
    With never a sound;
    Over and over,
    From Sydney to Dover,
    Here we go, there we go, till the brain reels;
    Now on our heads and now on our heels;
    But we know it is not Love atall
    That keeps agoing this cosmic ball;
    : For oh!
    Tis Work that makes the world go round,
    And Love only oils the wheels!


















    Then prate no more of a ‘‘ primal curse;”
    With Eden kept, things might have been worse;
    For ’tis Work that makes the world go round;
    : So day by day
    We'll work away,
    Plowing and sowing,
    Reaping and mowing,
    Spinning and weaving and getting of meals,
    Forging and building and laying of keels;
    Slaves and prisoners labor; free men disdain
    A word so fraught with crime and pain!
    Yet oh!
    ’Tis hard to make the world go round
    If Love do not oil the wheels!








    it know they of rest who never work,
    ithe duties of manhood and womanhood shirk,
    Work that makes the world go round!
    2 When work is done
    *Tis time for fun—

    Father and mother,
    . Sister and brother,
    d all, with the merriest peals,
    ‘éeting the joys home life reveals,
    Day's work brings peace and rest at night;
    For, Work means Duty, and Duty is Right!
    an _ And oh!
    is easy to make the world go round
    ove will but oil the wheels!



    AN ALPHABET OF PROVERBS.

    Attend carefully to details of your business.
    Be prompt in all things.

    Consider well, then decide positively.
    Dare to do right, fear to do wrong.
    Endure trials patiently.

    Fight life’s battle bravely, manfully.

    Go not into the society of the vicious.
    Hold integrity sacred.

    Injure not another’s reputation nor business,
    Join hands only with the virtuous.

    Keep your mind from evil thoughts.

    Lie not for any consideration,

    Make few acquaintances. ~

    Never try to appear what you are not.
    Observe good manners.

    Pay your debts promptly.

    Question not the veracity of a friend.
    Respect the counsel of your parents.
    Sacrifice money rather than principle.
    Touch not, taste not, intoxicating drinks,
    Use your leisure time for improvement.
    Venture not upon the threshold of wrong.
    Watch carefully over your passions.
    *Xtend to every one a kindly salutation.
    Yield not to discouragement.

    Zealously labor for the right.

    And success is certain.



    iu
    Al at



























































































































































































































































































































    THEA FIRST LASSON,



    LITTLE THINGS.

    T CANNOT do great things for Him
    Who did so much for me, .
    But I would like to show my love,
    Dear Jesus, unto Thee.
    Faithful in every little thing,
    O, Saviour, may I be!

    There are small crosses I may take,
    Small burdens I may bear,

    Small acts of faith and deeds of love,
    Small sorrows I may share,

    And little bits of work for Thee,
    I may do everywhere.

    And so I ask Thee, Give me grace
    My little place to fill,

    That I may ever walk with Thee,
    And ever do Thy will,

    And in each duty, great or small,
    May I be faithful still.



    INDEPENDENT PIERRE,

    A MONG the French aristocrats who es-
    caped the guillotine, in the days when
    it was a crime to have been born with a title,
    was the Marquise de Sourcy, who fled to
    England, and thence to this country, with
    her son, a boy of fourteen. Her husband
    having keen executed, this boy, Pierre, in-
    herited the title; estates there were none.
    His mother landed penniless in Wilming-
    ton, Del., and found refuge in a little
    cabin on Sixth street. The influential peo-
    ple of the town called on Madame de Sourcy,
    and offered her aid; many houses were
    opened to her, but Pierre refused all help.
    “We are poor, but not beggars,” he said,

    proudly. “I have hands. [ will support
    my mother.” —
    He had no profession, trade or capital.

    In the garden attached to their cottage
    grew a gourd vine. He cut the smaller
    gourds and made of them boxes, which he
    stained and decorated with black figures.
    These boxes sold rapidly at high prices. He
    then invented an ice-boat, which drew large
    crowds to the banks of Christiana Creek
    when it was frozen over,

    There the young marquis was waiting
    with toy boats which he had made for sale.
    When spring came he had several small boxes

    . ready to dispose of.
    In the garden he raised poultry and vege-
    tables enough to supply his mother’s table.
    Two years passed. Pierre had wider ambi-
    tions. He built, after many failures, a boat

    so large that in it he was able to cross the
    Delaware, and to bring from New Jersey
    sand, which he sold for building purposes,
    He had from this a steady.income, and began
    to look with contempt on his toy boxes and
    boats.

    But one day the poor little Marquis.
    weighted with his cargo of sand, was over-
    taken by a storm on the Delaware, his boat
    was capsized, and he was drowned within
    sight of his home. His mother sank under
    her trouble and died the next day.

    They were buried together in the old
    Swedes’ churchyard, and the grave is still
    shown to strangers, of the little nobleman
    who played his part in the world, in the
    midst of cruel misery and pain, more bravely,
    perhaps, than any of his ancestors.

    MAXIMS FOR THE YOUNG.

    EVER be idle. When your hands are
    not usefully employed, attend to the
    cultivation of your mind.
    Always speak the truth.
    Keep good company or none at all.
    Make few promises.
    Live up to your engagements.
    When you speak to a person look him in
    the face.
    Good company and excellent conversation
    are the very sinews of virtue.
    Good character is above all things else.
    Never listen to loose or idle conversation.
    You had better be poisoned in your blood
    than in your principles.
    Your character cannot be essentially in-
    jured except by your own acts.
    Early in life secure a practical business
    education.
    Do not make too great haste to be rich if
    you would prosper.
    Small and steady gains give competency
    with tranquility of mind.
    Never play games of chance, or make bets
    of any description. :
    Avoid temptation through the fear that
    you may not withstand it at last.
    Drink no intoxicating liquors.
    Never run in debt, unless you see a way
    to get out again.
    Keep yourself innocent if you would be
    happy.
    Save when you are young to spend when
    you are old.
    Aim high in this life, but not so high that

    “you cannot hit anything.













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    HIS MESSENGER.

    M. B. CULVER.

    ,

    A H! Robin red breast, here you are!
    Back from the southern clime afar.

    What is the news you chirpingly bring,

    Returning tous oneager wing?

    How did you leave that summer land,
    Where flowers bloom on every hand?
    Do soft winds whisper a lullaby
    To nature fair in earth and sky?

    Do the roses bloom with beauty rare,
    Yielding perfume to all the air?
    Lifting to God in their purity

    An incense glad to His deity?

    Why did you leave your sunny home,—
    Were you quite ready and anxious to come?
    Tell us, sweet robin, what do you bring?
    Dear little robin, poor little thing!

    “Summer is coming!” you chirpingly say~
    ‘Tam coming to show her the way.
    Qoming with roses and violets blue,
    Flowers and grasses baptized with dew.

    This is thy message, O birdie, to-day,
    Heralding summer, showing the way.
    Oh, it is joyous, this message you bring,
    Glad robin red-breast, sweet little thing!

    THE SONG OF THE BREEZE.

    J. M. Ke

    A UNT Jemima’s flower-bed certainly

    did need weeding. Tommy had prom-
    ised to keep it in order, and it looked very
    well the first part of the summer, but later
    on there were so many things more delight-
    ful to do than weeding. There was fishing,
    and Tommy had such a beautiful new rod,
    and such good luck fishing! Then there
    were picnics, and excursions down the river
    to the seashore, and the blackberry parties,
    and base-ball,matches, and tennis, and arch-
    ery, and foot-ball. The summer days went
    by so fast! At first the weeds were a little
    timid about starting up, fearful of attract-
    ing attention; but as no one noticed their
    - little shy advances, they became bolder, and
    they grew, and they grew, and they grew,
    until the little discouraged geraniums and
    rose bushes just hid their heads, and could
    not be seen at all.

    ““ Why, Ido declare!” said Tommy, one
    bright morning as he was hurrying by, and
    caught sight of the tall flaunting weeds.
    Aunt Jemima had made some particularly
    nice apple-turnovers, and Tommy’s con-

    science gave a decided twinge at the
    thought of her unfailing kindness to him.
    “Tt is too had,” said he, pulling off his
    jacket; “‘’ll go to work right off, and clean
    out that bed before noon!” : :

    But the sun was very hot, and the weeds
    were very large and their roots very long,
    and it took many a strong tug to pull even
    one up.

    “My!” exclaimed Tommy, the perspira-
    tion rolling down his face, ‘* what tough old
    customers these are! How did they ever get
    such a start?”

    At length the shade of a neighboring
    apple-tree seemed very inviting, and Tommy
    threw himself down on the grass beneath the
    branches for a moment’s rest. A breeze hap-
    pened to be wandering by, and stopped to
    cool off Tommy’s hot face. ‘* How nice!”
    he sighed. ‘I wish I were a breeze, just to
    fly about all the time, and play among the
    leaves and grasses, and have nothing else to
    do!”

    “Dear little boy!’ the breezes seemed to
    murmur, ‘‘now listen and hear. [’ll whisper
    a secret just into your ear. You think

    - *twould. be lovely to dance and play, and

    frolic about the whole long day, but it would
    be tiresome to you, with nothing else in the
    world to do.”

    “Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Tommy, “I'd
    like to try it just once; no dull school-room,
    no sums, no weeding inthe hot sun.” Here
    the breeze playfully tickled his ear witha
    spear of grass as it whispered: ‘‘It is cer-
    tainly hard, all the weeding you’ve done be-
    neath the hot beams of the summer sun!
    Let me see how long—one hour or two—you
    have been working here, and are not yet
    through! Don’t you think you’d better
    return to your charge?—for the weeds are
    strong and the bed is large. For when at
    length the task is done, the rest of the vaca-

    tion is nothing but fun!”

    “No,” said Tommy, “I’m not going back
    quite yet; you don’t know how hard it is.”

    “ But, dear little boy, I’d have you know,
    this is true of all the breezes that blow:—
    through all the moments of bright daylight,
    and on through the silent hours of night,
    we are busy and working, each doing his
    share, no rest or vacation for us anywhere.”

    ‘* Why! what on earth have you got te
    do?” asked Tommy. ‘‘ You’re joking!
    there’s nothing for you to do!”

    The breeze began softly rocking the















    SS
    SS







    HIS MESSENGER.



    ranches of the old apple-tree, and seemed
    to sing among the rustling leaves. ‘ Noth-
    ing to do, nothing to do! Indeed, my work
    is never through. From ‘lands of sun to
    jands of snow,’ over the whole wide world I
    go. I marshal the clouds that bring the
    showers, and hurry them on to the thirsty
    flowers, and when they have given the blessed
    rain, then I must scatter them all again, and
    show the depths of the sky so blue with the
    beautiful sunlight shining through. Lazily
    rocking upon the sea, the ships are waiting
    and watching forme. ‘The sailor sighs for
    the favoring gales, when lo! I come and fill
    the sails, and off and away they swiftly glide,
    dashing the water on either side, bearing
    rich cargo from far and near, or carrying
    home some loved one dear. Then on I fly
    to that distant land, where, gaunt and grim,
    great windmills stand. They beckon to me
    to hurry and blow, helpless they are without
    me, they know. Then off to the city’s nar-
    - row street I travel to drive away the heat,
    and bring new life and fresher air to those
    who are toiling and stifling there,—a breath
    from the country, of pastures that lie sweet
    and green ’neath the summer sky, or a cool-
    ing whiff from the neighboring sea, that
    quickens the pulses to life more free.

    ‘Then over the hills I hurry with speed
    to plants, where I promised to carry their
    seeds to a different soil or a richer field that
    shall an abundant harvest yield. By a
    window an invalid sits in her chair, and I
    come to bring her a breath of air, and blow
    softly in that she may get the scent of the
    blossoming mignonette. Then on to the
    North with fiercer blast, I whirl the snow-
    flakes thick and fast, and over the plants,
    an their winter’s sleep, I lay a white cover,
    soft and deep, and tuck them in snugly, to
    keep them warm, away from the King
    Frost’s mighty arm. Down chimneys wide
    I whistle and sing, and up start the bright
    flames quivering on the farmhouse hearth
    from birch-logs dry, and the children laugh
    at the sparks that fly. I watch their faces
    redden and glow, as the fire to brighter flames
    I blow; then around the house I shout and
    roar, and rattle the windows and shake the
    uoor, The farmer’s wife stops her work to
    hear, and smiles at thought of the comfort
    near, and her loved ones sheltered from
    stormy blast, and I laugh and shout as I
    hurry past. I lash the waves into seething
    foam, and hurry the lingering fisherman

    os,

    home. Now I am stopping and idling here,
    just to whisper a secret into your ear. From
    early morn to set of sun, there’s always work
    that must be done; and, little boy, you
    should do your share in this world of nature
    so wide and fair, and learn a lesson from
    birds and bees, from murmuring brooks and
    murmuring breeze. The rest is sweetest
    that toil has won, and the happiest play
    when the task is done.”

    At that moment a little green apple drop-
    ped down on Tommy’s face. He jumped up
    and rubbed his eyes. The wind was blow-
    ing, and a cloud had covered the sun.
    ‘‘ Well!” said Tommy, looking all around,
    “it certainly is queer; how very queer it all
    was!” He went thoughtfully back to the
    garden-bed and the tall weeds, and worked
    with such good will that by afternoon they
    were all cleared out, and the bed was raked
    carefully over, and the rose-bushes looked
    as if they could hold up their heads.

    Tommy had a beautiful time fishing next
    day in the reservoir, and caught a bass and
    six perch, while the words kept ringing in
    his ears :

    ‘Rest is sweetest that toil has won,
    And the happiest play when the task is done.”

    LITTLE BOPEEP AND LITTLE BOY
    BLUE.

    A ROMANCE.

    I T happened one morning that little Bopeep, |
    While watching her frolicsome, mischievous sheep.
    Out in the meadow, fell fast asleep.

    By her wind-blown tresses and rose-leaf pout,

    And her dimpling smile, you’d have guessed, no
    doubt,

    *T was love, love, love, she was dreaming about.

    As she lay there asleep, came Little Boy Blue,
    Right over the stile, where the daisies grew ;
    Entranced by the picture, he stopped in the dew.

    So wildly bewitching that beautiful morn
    Was little Bo-peep, that he dropped his horn,
    And thought no more of the cows in the corn,

    Our sorrows are many, our pleasures are few;
    Oh, moment so lucky! What could a boy do?
    He kissed the wee lassie, that Little Boy Blue!

    Each sheep heaved a sigh as they stood iu a row,
    And said as their heads they wagged srlemnly, slow,
    “Such conduct is perfectly shocking—let’s 9.”



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    GOOD NIGHT.
    MERCIE M. THIRDS.

    Shadows have crept into every nook
    Where the sunbeams sported to-day,
    And the pure moon chased with her saintly look
    The tumult of toil away;
    The bird has folded its dew-wet wing,
    And gone to its welcome nest;
    It awoke with the first light ray to sing,
    So is wearily seeking rest.
    Good-night, sweet bird, good-night.

    How oft in my busy work to-day
    I have thought, dear love, of thee,
    And still when the day has passed away,
    Thy image comes back to me.
    Ere I seek repose with slumber blest,
    I will pray the Power above
    To send good spirits to guard thy rest,
    And weave thee bright dreams of love.
    Good-night, my love, good-night.

    WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

    MAN of very pleasing address, but
    very dishonest in his practices, once
    said to an honorable merchant: “I would
    give fifty thousand dollars for your good
    name.”
    ““Why so?” asked the other, in sur-
    prise.
    “Because I could make a, hundred thou-
    sand dollars out of it.”
    The honorable character, which was at the

    bottom of the good name, he cared nothing.

    for; it was only the reputation, which he
    could turn to account in a money point of
    view, which he coveted.

    But a good name can not be bought with
    silver. It, of all other possessions, must be
    fairly earned. When it is. possessed; jt is
    better business capital than a great sum of
    money. It isa fortune any boy or girl may
    secure. Honesty must be its foundation,
    even in the smallest particulars. When an
    employer says: “‘There is a boy I can
    trust,” that youth will always find himself
    in demand, provided he joins industry with
    honor. ‘The hand of the diligent maketh
    rich.”

    It seems hard at the time, perhaps, to be
    bound to a ceaseless round of work while
    other boys are lounging, or playing on the
    green. But the reward will come if you are
    faithful. While idlers are dragging out a
    miserable life-time in privation and poverty,
    the hard-working boy lives at his ease, re-
    spected and honored.

    Remember that if you desire to make
    your way in the world, there is nothing
    that can serve your purpose likea name for
    honesty and industry; and you will never

    _ acquire either if you are a loiterer about the

    streets, and neglectful of your business.
    <‘A good name is rather to be chosen than
    great riches, and loving favor rather than
    silver and gold.”

    WORTH REMEMBERING.

    That the tongue is not steel, yet it cuts.

    That cheerfulness is the weather of the
    heart. .

    That sleep is the best stimulant; a nervine
    safe for all to take. :

    That cold air is not necessarily pure, nor
    warm air necessarily impure.

    That a cheerful face is nearly as good fox
    an invalid as healthy weather.

    That there are men whose friends are more
    to be pitied than their enemies.

    That advice is like castor oil—easy enough
    to give but hard enough to take.

    That wealth may bring luxuries, but that
    luxuries do not always bring happiness.

    That grand temples are built of small
    stones, and great lives made up of trifling
    events.

    That an open mind, an open hand, and an.
    open heart would everywhere find an open
    door. %

    WE ARE BUT YOUNG PEOPLE YET.

    E are but little children yet—
    Young people yet.
    But as we grow, the more we know;
    We hope we may be wiser yet.
    We wish to learn to read and spell;
    We wish to know our duty well,
    And every one who asks we'll tell
    That we shall soon be wiser yet.

    Perhaps we are but naughty yet,
    Naughty yet.
    But every day we try to say
    We'll be a little better yet.
    ‘We mean to mind what we are told,
    And if we should be rude or bold,
    We'll try to mend as we grow old;
    We'll wish that we were better yet.

    You think we are too giddy yet,
    Giddy yet,

    But wait awhile; you need not smile,
    Perhaps you'll see us steady yet.

    For though we love to run and play,

    And many a foolish word we say,

    Just come again on some fine day,
    You'll find us all quite steady yet..



    LOOK WHERE SHE COMES!”

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    LITTLE PROBABILITIES.

    HEN he frowns his mother cries;
    “Clouds to-day and gloomy skies!”

    When he roams in noisy play,
    “‘Boisterous winds and high to-day.

    When he’s sweet and still and grave,
    «* Fair and clear—a warmer wave.”

    When he cries with might and main,
    «* Storms and cyclones, wind and rain.”

    When he’s bright and blithe and gay,
    “Sunshine, breeze—a perfect day!”

    Ah, you look so grave and wise, -
    ‘Little Probabilities.”

    Since you make for us our day,
    Listen, baby, when we pray.

    Give us only pleasant weather,
    Banish frowns and tears together.

    SUNDAY MORNING TALKS, '
    Il. WHAT THE WORLD OWES TO REUBEN,

    THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    The world owes a great deal to men whose
    names have never become very famous. The
    obscure men and women, the unseen toilers
    and sufferers, have done the world’s best
    work in every age. How small a place the
    name of this young man Reuben, son of the
    patriarch Jacob, fills in the world’s history,
    and yet, if we think of it, if we ponder a lit-
    tle on the life and character of this noble
    elder brother, we shall see that he did the
    world grand service. For if it had not been
    for the gentleness and faithfulness of Reuben
    the world would never have heard much of

    Joseph. Jacob was the father of Joseph but.

    Reuben was his savior. The world has a very
    lofty place in its temple of fame for this
    young dreamer of ancient Israel, who after-
    ward became the best friend of Egypt and
    the world. But Hgypt and the world
    owe Reuben a debt of gratitude, for if it had

    ‘not been for Reuben’s brotherly tenderness, -

    Joseph would have found a bloody grave on
    the plains of Dothan, a martyr to his youth-
    ‘ful vanity. Let us pause here a moment and
    ‘look in upon this family of Jacob. Four
    ‘thousand years have passed since the spoiled,
    yproud Joseph wassold into slavery, but there
    ‘are fruits and lessons that are worth garner-
    ‘ing to-day. Jacob’s family was big enough
    ito be very troublesome, and Jacob was not

    ph

    very wise in his old age. He was foolish
    enough to have favorites in his family. This
    boy Joseph was young and fair and gifted.
    There was a touch of the poetic in his nature. .
    He had. many dreams—day dreams, some of
    which he would have been wise to have kept
    to himself. Joseph was spoiled and petted,
    the old man made a favorite of him, bought
    him a coat of many colors, which, but for
    Reuben would have cost him his life. Favor-
    itism in a family is sure to work evil, be-
    cause it is founded in injustice. No doubt
    Joseph was vain and overbearing. His
    dream of the sun, moon and stars bowing be-
    fore him, was straw quite big enough for his -
    less favored brothers to see, and seeing to
    know which way the tide was flowing. Then
    he was very proud of that fine coat, as most
    spoiled boys would be, and when ‘his father
    sent him with a message to his brothers, he
    must needs go—not in the dress of a farmer’s
    boy, but in this coat of many colorsand much
    mischief. The sight of this fine gentleman
    irritated his farmer brethren; they had borne
    enough of his arrogance and conceit; he had
    the best place and the best of everything
    always—they were tired of this sort of thing,
    and not, valuing human life as men value it
    to-day, they conspired to kill the young
    dreamer, and take the fine coat, all dabbled
    in blood, to Jacob, and tell him that some
    evil. beast had devoured hisfavorite son. But
    Reuben had a brother’s heart and a brother’s
    tenderness. He saw Joseph’s faults, and,
    being a true brother, he saw more than his
    faults, and with as much wisdom as gentle-
    ness, he interposed. He did not openly
    champion Joseph’s cause, that would have
    awakened stronger opposition, and he was
    only one against ten of them. He proposed
    to leave the proud lad in a pit to die, with
    the secret purpose of delivering him after a
    little while. Reuben did not accomplish all
    the good he wanted to do. What Reuben
    ever did? But he saved Joseph. Reuben’s
    plan failed in part. He meant to restore
    Joseph to his father. Joseph was sold into
    Egypt, but the very part of Reuben’s plan
    that failed was the gateway through which
    God led the young captive Israelite to a
    larger and wider destiny. Therefore let all
    Reubens lay this to heart, that in His wise
    love God often over-answers Reuben’s broth-
    erly purposes by making failure in detail
    the occasion of divine success. It was
    Shakespeare who, seeing the far-reaching









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    radiance of a feeble taper in a dark night,
    said:

    ‘* So shines a good deed in this naughty world.”

    This kind, brotherly deed of Reuben’s
    many centuries ago shines in beauty through
    the world’s history. We owe Reuben much.
    He spared Joseph to the world. And there
    are few pages of buried history more inter-
    esting than that which records the wise ad-
    ministration of the Hebrew statesman Jo-
    seph, through the years of Kgypt’s peril.
    The fields of Troy are constantly yielding
    secrets of the Homeric age; why should not
    the banks of the Nile whisper some day the
    secrets of the wise policy of Joseph? When
    we know more of this hidden history, we
    shall know better what a debt we owe to
    Reuben. Reuben has set us the pattern of
    true brotherhood, of that brotherhood that
    spite of all faults and failings, and even
    sins, holds on to the brother’s heart and love.
    And all through these thousands of years
    the voice of Reuben comes to us saying:
    “‘Don’t let them kill Joseph! He is vain
    and foolish, but don’t let. them kill him!
    You don’t know what wonderful work God
    has in store for him. Do all you can, strain
    every nerve, be sure and save Josenh!”

    HOME.
    HELEN HUNT JACKSON.

    HEN the long day’s work is over,
    When the light begins to fade,
    Watching, waiting in the gloaming,
    Weary, faint, and half afraid,
    Then from out the deep’ning twilight,
    Clear and sweet a voice shall come,
    Softly through the silence falling—
    ‘Child, thy Father calls, come home.”

    GIBSON, THE GUIDE OF WATKIN’S
    GLEN.

    HE guest at the Jefferson House in
    Watkins’ Glen, is almost sure to be
    greeted on his arrival by a large, handsome,
    well-fed dog. Thisis Gibson, famed far and
    near as the only living guide to Watkins
    Glen, Gibson isa remarkable animal, with
    more sagacity even than the dog which the
    girl with the laughing eyes possessed in
    Glenville Murray’s tale. For the past eight
    years Gibson has made daily trips to the glen,
    and has been petted and caressed by thou-
    sands of women and children, for Gibson is
    avery gallant dog, and a great admirer of

    the ladies, whom he is particularly proud to
    pilot through the glen, watching after their
    safety with great care. The dog is an aris-
    tocratic fellow, too, and only likes well-
    dressed people. He will growl at the ap-
    proach of a man in poor clothes, and when
    escorting ladies he has been known tospring
    on a workman who passed, so zealous was he
    in the protection of the fairtourist. But ordi-
    narily Gibson is one of the best natured dogs
    in the world, and will allow ladies and chil-
    dren to pet him all day long, accepting their
    attentions with quiet dignity. He never
    plays with the other dogs about the street,
    but holds himself apart from all canine com-
    panionship. A curious trait is that, al-
    though ever ready to guide a guest of the
    Jefferson House, to the glen and through it,
    he will never go with a resident of the vil-
    lage. He seems to know the tourist and
    pleasure seeker by instinct, and will come
    up to them and draw their attention by a
    rub of the nose or a touch of the paw. He
    seems to know that the commercial traveler
    does not want to visit the glen, and he
    makes no attempt to cultivate his acquaint-
    ance. If a visitor says to the dog: ‘‘ Gib-
    son, I want to go to the glen.” Gibson is at
    once by his side, and even his master can not
    call him away when once a tourist has been
    placed under his guidance. He will lead the
    way to the entrance of the glen as sedately
    as though he knew the responsibility of his
    duty, and will conduct him through unerr-
    ingly, going a few steps in advance, and
    stopping now and then as if to call attention
    to the beauties of thescenery. He will never
    desert any one whom he sets out to escort,
    and if avisitor from the Jefferson House de-
    cides to take a meal in the glen, Gibson will
    wait until he is ready to return. He is more
    fond of ice cream than a school girl, and
    giving him some of this delicacy isthe surest
    way to win his favor. When he rides he al-
    ways sits upright on the seat of the carriage
    by the side of the person in whose company
    he has started out. In going through the
    glen if a tourist gets on the wrong path Gib-
    son will at once drop a few steps behind,
    and nothing can induce him to go ahead
    again until the way has been retraced and
    the right path regained, when he will bound
    ahead with every manifestation of pleasure.
    It is no unusual thing with him to catch the ,

    person he is with by the clothes and pull him —

    the right way.













































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    BE THOROUGH.

    THOMAS CARLYLE.

    ss YOU want to succeed in life, be thor-
    ough in your work, whatever it is. It is
    sometimes convenient to be Jack-of-all-trades,
    but it is always profitable to be master of
    one. A workman who thoroughly under-
    stands his business is seldom in danger of
    coming to want. While the mass of the
    inefficient suffer, the few who do the best
    work, whether men or women, are always
    sought for. Young men, you can not prepare
    yourselves for life’s duties too thoroughly or
    stick to your vocations too persistently after
    having chosen them. But before adopting
    any calling educate yourselves practically in
    order that there may be some certainty of
    puccese attending your faithfulness to your
    work.

    CHRIST AND THE LITTLE ONES.
    URANIA LOCKE BAILEY.

    ss HE Master has come over Jordan,”
    Said Hannah, the mother one day;
    ‘‘He is healing the people who throng him,
    With a touch of his finger, they say.

    “And now I shall carry the children—
    Little Rachel, and Samuel, and Joha;
    I shall carry the baby, Esther,
    For the Lord to look upon.”

    The father looked at her kindly,
    But he shook his head and smiled:

    ‘“Now who but a doting mother
    Would think of a thing so wild?

    “Tf the children were tortured by demons,
    Or dying of fever, ’twere well;

    Or had they the taint of the leper,
    Like many in Israel.”

    “Nay, do not hinder me, Nathan,
    I feel such a burden of care;

    If I carry it to the Master,
    Perhaps I shall leave it there.

    “Tf he lay his hand on the children,
    My heart will be lighter, I know;

    For a blessing forever, and ever,
    Will follow them as they go.”

    So, over the hills of Judah,
    Along by the vine-rows green,
    With Esther asleep on her bosom,
    And Rachel her brothers between.

    *Mong the people who hung on his teaching,
    Or waited his touch and his word,

    Through the row of proud Pharisees listening,
    She pressed to the feet of the Lord.

    “Now, why shouldst thou hinder the Master?"
    Said Peter, ‘‘ with children like these?

    Seest not how, from morning till evening,
    He teacheth and healeth disease?”

    Then Christ said, ‘‘Forbid not the children—
    Permit them to come unto Me;”

    And He took in His arms little Esther,

    And Rachel He set on His knee.

    And the heavy heart of the mother
    Was lifted all earth-care above,

    As He:laid His hands on the brothers
    And blessed them with tenderest love

    As He said of the babes on His bosom,
    “Of such is the kingdom of Heaven;”

    And strength for all duty and trial
    That hour to her spirit was given.

    WONDERFUL TOOLS.

    R. W. EMERSON.

    WwW have a pretty artillery of tools now
    in our social arrangements: we ride
    four times as fast as our fathers did; travel,
    grind, weave, forge, plant, till and excavate
    better. . . . We have the calculus, we
    have the newspaper, which does its best to
    make every square acre of land and sea give
    an account of itself at your breakfast-table;
    we have money, and paper money; we have
    language, the finest tool of all, and nearest
    to the mind. :

    I AM GREAT AND YOU ARE SMALL.

    A SPARROW swinging on abranch,
    Once caught a passing fly;

    “Oh, let me live!” the insect prayed,
    With trembling, piteous cry.

    ‘*No,” said the sparrow, ‘‘ you must fall,
    For Iam great and you are small.” -

    The bird had scarce begun his feast
    Before a hawk came by;
    The game wascaught. ‘ Pray let me live!”®
    ‘Was now the sparrow’s cry.
    “No,” said the captor, ‘‘ you must fall,
    For I am great and you are small.”

    An eagie saw the rogue, and swooped
    Upon him from on high ; ;
    ‘* Pray let me live! why should you kill
    So small a bird as 1?”
    * Oh,” said the eagle, ‘‘ you must fall,
    For I am great and you are small.

    But while he ate the hunter came;
    He let his arrow fly.
    “Tyrant!” the eagle shrieked, ‘‘ you have
    No right to make me die!”
    “Ah,” said the hunter, “‘you must fall,
    For I am great and you are small,”





    “T AM GREAT AND YOU ARE SMALL.”





    THE BABY AND THE SOLDIERS.

    ie ae and ready the troopers ride,

    Great bearded men with swords by side;
    They have ridden long, they have ridden hard,
    They are travel stained and battle scarred ;

    The hard ground shakes with their martial tramp,

    And course is the laugh of the men of the camp.

    They reach a spot where a mother stands,
    With a baby clapping its little hands,
    Laughing aloud at the gallant sight

    Of the mounted soldiers fresh from the fight.
    The captian laughs out: ‘‘I’ll give you this,
    A handful of gold, your baby to kiss.”

    Smiles the mother: ‘‘ A kiss can’t be sold,

    But gladly he’ll kiss a soldier bold.”

    He lifts up the babe with a manly grace,

    And covers with kisses its smiling face,

    Ite rosy cheeks and its dimpled charms,

    And it crows with delight in the soldier’s arms.

    “Not all for thecaptian,” the soldiers call :
    ‘«The baby we know, hasa kiss for all.”

    To the soldiers’ breasts the baby is pressed

    By the strong rough men, and by turns caressed
    And louder it laughs, and the mother fair
    Smiles with mute joy as the kisses they share.

    «Just such a kiss,” cries one trooper grim,
    ““When Ileft my boy I gave to him;”

    «* And just such a kiss on the parting day

    I gave to my girl as asleep she lay.”

    Such were the words of the soldiers brave,
    And their eyes were moist as the kiss they gave.



    PLEASANT PEOPLE.

    IZAT a boom to all his friends and

    acquaintances a pleasant person is!
    ‘It may be hard to define pleasantness,
    but we find no difficulty in recognizing it
    when we meet with it. Pleasant people are
    not always by any means the most admirable
    of mankind, nor the most interesting; for it
    often happens that the qualities in a man
    which are worthiest of esteem are, for lack
    of other modifying elements, the very ones
    which make against his agreeableness as a
    companion ; and a person who does not im-
    press us as particularly pleasant may, never-
    theless, interest us very much by the display
    ef unusual mental or moral characteristics,
    or trom a complexity of nature which seems
    to offer itself as an enigma we are curious to
    solve. Pleasant people may not even be the
    most truly lovable, but they are likable; we
    perhaps have no desire to make friends of
    them, in the deeper sense of friendship, but
    we are glad when we meet them, and enjoy
    ourselves while in their society. The tie

    thus formed, though slight, is a real one, and
    I beiieve that we should all do well to re-
    member, in the interest of our closer friend-
    ships, the attractive and cohesive force of
    mere pleasantness. The highest virtues and
    offices of friendship we are not called on to
    exercise every day,and in familiar intercourse
    we have not less, but rather the more, need
    ef making ourselves pleasant, because of the
    times when our friends will have to answer
    our drafts on their patience and sympathy.



    ONE GOOD LIFE.

    A SUNBEAM piercing the forbidden shade

    Of some drear prison cell, has often brought
    Quiet to troubled spirits, and has made
    Dark, morbid brooding change to peaceful thought.

    So one good life will prove a guiding light,

    To brighten paths weak mortals oft find drear—
    A beacon in the narrow way of Right,

    To lure the fallen to a higher sphere.

    “SMART ALEC.”

    UGH Brent won the name of ‘‘ Smare
    Alec” so thoroughly that he was never
    called byany other name by his intimate com-
    panions. He was not really clever, he was
    only ‘“‘smart,” and as boastful as he was
    “smart.” His boasting and his smartness
    brought him very few real friends. Very
    often his smart tricks failed so utterly that
    those who really liked him could not help
    laughing at him. One day there was a pic-
    nic held in Royston Woods, and Hugh Brent
    was there, and of course took every oppor:
    tunity to do smart things. After lunch the
    whole company rambled down to the bank
    of a very narrow stream, across which a huge
    tree was thrown. No sooner did Hugh seg
    this rustic bridge than he announced his in-
    tention of walking across it. It was very
    slippery and his friends urged him not to
    try. They told him there was nothing eas-
    ier than “falling offa log,” but it was in
    vain. ‘‘Smart Alec” started, and before he
    had proceeded more than three yards, his foot
    slipped, he lost his balance, and down he fell
    into the mud and slime of the river. He
    was met with only the laughter of his com-
    rads as heclimbed up the river bank, and the
    ery of itis “Smart Alec!” was all the pity
    he got. Boys, its worth while to struggle to
    be clever, but America has had ali the
    “smart” boys she needs.









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    TEN ROBBER TOES.
    LILLIAN BARR.

    dares is a story that I have been told,

    And it’s just as old as babies are old,
    For sweet. mother Eve, as every one knows,
    Told the babies the tale of the toes.

    Told to her babies how ten little toes— ‘
    Each one as pink as the pinkest pink rose —
    Once on a time were naughty and bad,

    And sorrow and trouble in consequence had *

    How this big toe wanted butter and bread,
    After his mamma had put him to bed.
    And this lying next said: ‘‘Sposen we go
    Down to the pantry, and get it, you know.”

    And this wicked toe cried, ‘‘ Come along, quick,

    Let’s sugar the butter ever so thick.”
    And this naughty toe said, ‘‘ Jelly for me,
    Top of the butter and sugar, you see.”

    And this little toe cried, ‘‘ Goody, let’s go,
    We'll slip down the stairs so quiet and slow.”
    So ten robber toes, all tipped with red,

    Stole silently out of their snowy-white bed.

    While this wicked toe, so jolly and fat,
    Helped nine naughty toes to pitty-pat, pat
    Along the big hall with pillars of white,
    And down the back stairs devoid of light.

    Then this little toe got a terrible scare,

    For he thought in the dark of a grizzly bear
    And this little toe said : ‘‘ Nurse must be right
    "Bout gobbles and witches living at night.”

    And this little toe said, ‘‘ A fox may be hid
    In the hat rack box, right under the lid.”
    And this little toe said, ‘‘ Dearie me, oh!
    Lions and tigers is coming, I know.”

    Then mamma came out with the beautiful light,
    Caught ten robber toes all ready for flight.
    Yes, she caught and she kissed those ten robber

    toes
    Till redder they were than any red rose.

    THE GENERAL AND THE CORPORAL.

    NE day during the American Revolu-

    tion, an officer was passing on horseback |

    by some military works that were being pre-
    pared by a small squad of soldiers, and he
    found the leader of the party merely standing
    by and looking on at the operations, which
    were being carried on with difficulty owing to
    small number of men. The officer, seeing the
    ‘the state of affairs, and that assistance was
    much needed, inquired of the man why he
    did not render a little aid instead of only
    standing idle. The latter, in great astonish-
    ment, turned around, it is said, “with all
    the pomp of an emperor,” and replied, “Sir,

    Iam a corporal?!” “You are, sre you ef
    said the officer; “I did not know that,” ané
    raising his hat in solemn mockery, he con-
    tinued, ‘‘I ask your pardon, Mr. Corporal.”
    He dismounted from his horse, threw off his
    coat, aud not until he was tired out with
    sheer hard work did the stranger cease to
    render his assistance to the squad, and then,
    turning round to the corporal, he said,
    “‘ Mr. Corporal, when you have another such
    @ job as this, and have not men enough,
    send for your General, and he will come
    and help you a second time.” And, to the
    amazement of the poor corporal, he found
    that the unknown cfficer who had addressed
    him was indeed, no other than his own
    Commander-in-Chief.

    THE WAY TO SING.

    Ae birds must know. Who wisely sings,
    Will sing as they.
    The common air has generous wings:
    Songs make their way.

    No messenger to run before,
    Devising plan;

    No mention of the place, or hour,
    To any man.

    No waiting till some sound betrays
    A listening ear,

    No different voice—no new delays
    If steps draw near.

    ‘What bird is that? The song is good.”
    And eager eyes

    Go peering through the dusky wood
    In glad surprise.

    Then, late at night, when by his fire
    The traveler sits,

    Watching the flame go brighter, higher,
    The sweet song flits

    By snatches through his weary brain,
    To help him rest. ©

    When next he goes that road again,
    An empty nest

    On leafless bough will make him sigh,
    Ah me! last spring,

    Just here I heard, in passing by,
    That rare bird sing.”

    But while he sighs, remembering
    How sweet the song,

    The little bird, on tireless wing, .
    Is borne along

    In other air; and other men,
    With weary feet,

    On other roads, the simple strains
    Are finding sweet.

    The birds must know. Who wisely sings
    Will sing as they;

    The common air has generous wings;
    Songs make their way.









    SS

    SS



    THE GENERAL AND THE. CORPORAL |!







    BOYS MAY WHISTLE.

    Cl Goff said a curious thing—

    “‘ Boys may whistle but girls must sing.”
    That's the very thing [ heard her say

    To Kate, no longer than yesterday.

    “Boys may whistle.” Of course they may,
    If they pucker their lips the proper way,
    But for the life of me I can’t see

    Why Kate can’t whistle as well as me,

    ‘‘Boys may whistle, but girls must sing,”
    Now I call that a curious thing.

    If boys can whistle, why can’t girls too?
    It’s the easiest thing in the world to do.

    First you do that, then you do this—
    Just like you were fixing up for a kiss.
    It’s a very poor girl, that’s all I say,
    Who can’t make out to do that way.

    “Boys may whistle, but girls may not ;”

    A whistle’s a song with the noise knocked out,
    Strayed off somewhere down in the throat,
    Everything lost but the changeful note.

    So if the boys can whistle and do it well,
    Why cannot girls, will somebody tell ?
    Why can’t they do what a boy can do ?
    That is the thing I should like to know.

    I went to father and asked him why

    Girls couldn’t whistle as well as I.

    And he said ‘‘ the reason that girls must sing
    Is because a girl’s a sing—ular thing.”

    And grandma laughed till I knew she’d ache,
    When I said I thought it all a mistake.

    “Never mind, little man.” I heard her say,
    “They will make you whistle enough some day,”

    COMMON SENSE.

    ETTER bend the neck promptly than
    to bruise the forehead.

    An evil intention perverts the best actions
    and makes them sins.

    A coxcomb is ugly allover with the affec-
    tation of the fine gentleman. ‘

    Cleverness is asort of genius for instru-
    mentality. Itis the brain of the hand.

    Men who live without religion live always
    in a tumultuary and restless state.

    _ When respiration ceases our education is
    finished, and not a moment sooner.

    Most of the shadows that cross our path
    through life are caused by standing in our
    own light.

    Even reckoning makes lasting friends, and
    the way to make reckonings even is to make
    them often.

    Many men claim to be firm in their prin-
    ciples, when really they are only obstinate
    in their prejudices.

    True friends visit us in prosperity only
    when invited, but in adversity they come
    without invitation.

    Frugal and industrious men are friendly
    to the established government, as the idle
    and expensive are dangerous.

    JUDY AND THE GEESE.
    MRS. H. N. CADY.

    6¢ TUDY,” we called her; the pretty red

    calf, all over spotted with white,
    which came to us in the spring, and a de-
    lightful playfellow she proved to be. It
    seemed as if we must always have the gentle
    creature, so she soon became a part of our
    very lives. We never tired of admiring her
    beautiful coat and soft velvety eyes, and
    would play with her by the hour, when she
    was kept in the lot behind the barn. But,
    as summer advanced, father needed that
    pasture for other purposes, and poor Judy
    was carried down to the woodland lot at the
    lower end of the farm. We children didn’t
    let that keep us from seeing our pet how-
    ever, and scarcely a day passed on which the
    wood-lot did not hold some of us within its
    borders.

    .One morning, as we jumped the bars, we
    were surprised at not finding Judy in her
    accustomed place near the gate, waiting for
    us, and for a minute we feared that some-
    thing had happened to our pet, but a bend
    in the path brought us in full view of the
    dear creature, and we all burst into the most
    uproarious laughter at the sight before us.
    There was Miss Judy, in a small open space
    among the tall trees, charging upon a flock
    of geese, which had evidently swam the
    brook from the neighboring farm, and were
    then noisily investigating the animal before
    them. Poor Judy! She was quite overcome
    by her strange guests, and evidently found
    it hard to decide what manner of creatures
    they were; and it was some hours before we
    could calm her manifest fright, or make her
    forget her snappish visitors. So strong
    indeed was the impression they left on her
    mind, that for years afterward the sight of
    a flock of noisy, hissing geese would drive
    her into an insane kind of fury entirely

    - foreign to her usually gentle self.





    JUDY AND..THE GEESE.









    “COME SIT ON MY KNEE, LITTLE
    CHILDREN.”

    Gre sit on my knee, little children, _
    Too tired for laughter or song,
    The sports of the daylight are over,

    And evening is creeping along.

    The snow-fields are white.in the moonlight,
    The winds of the winter are chill,

    But under the sheltering roof-tree
    The fire shineth ruddy and still.

    You sit on my knees little children,
    Your cheeks are ruddy and warm ;
    But out in the cold of the winter,
    Is many a shivering form.

    There are mothers who wander for shelter,
    And babes that are pining for bread;

    Oh! Thank the dear Lord, little children,
    From Whose tender hand you are fed.

    He heareth the cry of the sparrow .
    And careth for great and for small,
    Tn life and in death, little children,
    His love is the truest of all.

    LEGENDS OF THE ROSE.

    ee are several legends to account
    for the origin of the rose.
    Mandeville relates a very beautiful one. A
    certain Jewish maiden, Zillah, rejected the
    advances of a lover, Hammal, a degraded
    and cruel man. In revenge he accused her
    of offenses for which she was condemned to
    be burned at the stake. When brought to
    the spot the flames did no harm to the
    maiden, but consumed the false lover. ‘¢ And
    when the fyre began to burn about her, she
    made the prayers to oure Lord, and anon
    was the fyre quenched and oute, and
    brandes that were brennynge becomen white
    roses, and theise werein the first roses that
    any man saughe.” The burning brands
    thus became red roses—the others white
    ones. :

    According toa Greek myth, red roses were
    white ones, tinged with the blood of Venus,

    who wounded her foot in a thorn while

    hastening to the aid of the dying Narcis-
    sus. According to another legend, they
    sprang from the bath of Aphrodite. A
    later Christian tradition asserted that the
    crown of thorns was one of the rose-thorns,
    and that the red roses sprang from the blood
    of Christ.

    Men saw the thorns on Jesus’ brow,
    But angels saw the roses.

    A still different origin is given to the

    Sir John.

    “

    «queen of flowers” by Mussulman tradition.
    According to it, white roses sprung from
    the sweat of the prophet Mohammed during
    his journey to heaven, and yellow ones
    dripping from the mane of Al Borak, his
    steed. It is further reported that the red

    flower is colored with drops of his blood, .

    and the faithful will never suffer one to
    lie on the ground. There is an Arab tra-
    dition that a certain King Shaddad planted
    a field of roses in the desert, which are
    still flourishing, but no man can find them.

    A popular tradition asserts that in Para-

    ‘ dise the rose grew without thorns, basing

    the statement upon the third chapter of
    Genesis, eighteenth verse: ‘‘ Thornsalso and
    thistles shall it bring forth unto thee.”
    Early Christian writers maintain that there
    were no thorns in Eden, and Milton says in
    it there bloomed “flowers of all hue, and
    without thorn the rose.”

    The rose has always been an important
    flower in folk legends. It has several
    emblematic meanings. It is, to begin with,
    the symbol of beauty:

    Whatsoe’r of beauty

    Yearns and yet reposes,

    Blush and bloom and sweet breath,
    ; Took a shape in roses.
    - Anciently it was the emblem of silence.
    Eros gave to Harpocrates, son of silence, a
    rose to keep the secrets of Venus. On the
    ceiling of banquet rooms to remind strangers
    that what was ‘‘sub-rosa,” was not to be re-
    peated, was anciently sculptured a rose.

    Red as the rose of Harpocrate.

    For the same reason it was placed over
    confessionals in 1500. Doubtless its place
    on Greek and Roman tombs was given to it
    as the flower of silence. It was the symbol
    of the mystic Rosicrucians (sub-rosa crux).
    As diplomacy is secret, it becomes a
    national emblem. Roman soldiers bore it
    as an insignia on their shields. Adopted as
    an emblem of England, and each political
    faction having selected his color, the rose
    figured conspicuously in English history.
    The wars of the roses lasted thirty years,
    with the white rose asthe badge of York,
    and the red one of Lancaster.

    The rose of Jericho, also called the rose of
    the Virgin Mary, become the symbol of resur-
    rection. It is not really a rose, however. A
    tradition reported that it marked every spot
    where the holy family rested during the
    journey to Egypt.



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    ‘‘COME SIT ON MY KNEE, LITTLE CHILDREN.”



    HOW MOTHER EARTH GOT A NEW
    DRESS.

    OM Mother Earth woke up from sleep,
    And found she was cold and bare;
    The winter was over, the spring was near
    And she had not adress to wear!
    ‘‘ Alas!” she sighed with great dismay,
    “© Oh where shall I get my clothes?
    There’s not a place to buy a suit,
    And a dressmaker no one knows.”

    “T’]] make you a dress,” said the springing grass,
    Just looking above the ground;
    ‘© A dress of green of the lovliest sheen,
    To cover you all around.”
    “‘And we,” said the dandelions gay,
    Will dot it with yellow bright;”
    “Tl make it afringe,” said forget-me-not;
    “* Of blue, very soft and light.”

    «« We’llembroider the front,” said the violets,
    “‘ With a lovely purple hue; ”
    «‘And we” said the roses, ‘‘ will make you a crown
    Of red jeweled over with dew.”
    “And we'll be your gems,” said a voice from the
    shade
    Where the ladies’ ear-drops live—
    “Orange is a color for any queen,
    And the best that we have to give,”

    Old Mother Earth was thankful and glad,
    As she put on her dress so gay;

    And that is the reason, my little ones,
    She is looking so lovely to-day.



    “WHAT IS WORTH DOING IS WORTH
    DOING WELL.”

    bea HARGRAVES was the son of a

    clergyman, and as there were three
    other brothers all older than himself, and all
    of them studying for professions, he thought
    he would vary things a little, and try and
    learn a trade. Harry was to be a doctor,
    Joe was studying land surveying, and Austin
    was to follow in his father’s footsteps and be
    apreacher. So Fred made up his mind he
    would go to the Manual Training School and
    afterwards take up a trade. He went to
    work with a will, and though he felt a little
    strange for a while in a workingman’s square
    paper cap and leather apron, his heart was
    in his work, and the ring of the anvil was
    really musical. Mr. Melson, the Principal of
    his department of the Manual School, after
    some general instructions, congratulated
    Fred on his decision to become thoroughly
    master of a trade, said: ‘‘ Fred, my boy,
    keep this thought in your mind, that the
    certain way to gain proficiency in any trade,
    is to attend to all the details of your work
    thoroughly. Look well after the little

    things, and you won’t be likely to forget the
    more important matters. With every stroke
    upon that ringing anvil, remember, that
    ‘what is worth doing is worth doing well.’
    Do your best in small things as well as
    great, and you will succeed.”

    JUNE IN THE COUNTRY.
    LOUISE E, LEWIN.

    ODDING daisies ’mid the grass
    Hide their faces when we pass;

    Cups of gold that grow beside
    Hold their heads with lofty pride,
    Blossoms sweet of clover red
    Nestle in their grassy bed,
    While the butterfly and bee
    Seek the sweets so fresh and free.
    All the birds their ruffled throats
    Fill with joy, their sweetest notes;
    By the meadow’s winding stream
    In the woodland’s misty gleam,
    Purple flags in marshy lots
    Cover up the barren spots
    And upon the silvery lake
    Lilies white unfold and wake;
    While among their leaves of green
    Timid fish delight to swim.
    At the closing of the day
    Whip-poor-will begins his lay;
    From the dark and lonesome dell
    Come his notes of woe to tell.
    How much pleasure, how much joy,
    Could men have would they employ
    Only things of truth and worth,
    Not so much of pride and birth:
    And like nature’s children dear,
    Make the best of what is here.

    WORK AND PROSPERITY.
    THOMAS CARLYLE.

    T takes a sound body to make a sound
    mind. Work is not vulgar. So longas
    the brain needs the juices of the body, so
    long will hard work be the fundamental
    element in the developement of the mind.
    Business is eminently fit for a man of
    genius, and to earn a livelihood is the best
    way to sharpen one’s wits. Besides, business
    affairs offer better opportunities at present
    than the so-called professions. Therefore
    our youth should be thoroughly and prac-
    tically trained for business, in order that
    they may succeed and become a credit to
    whatever calling they may choose to adopt.
    At the same time they should be educated
    not to despise labor; for, after all, it is only
    by hard work that we achieve any success
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    “WHAT IS WORTH DOING IS WORTH DOING WELL.”



    ‘THE CALMNESS OF TRUTH.
    HORATIUS BONAR.

    LL truth is calm,
    Refuge and rock and tower,
    The more of truth the more of calm,
    Its calmness is its power.

    . Calmness is truth,
    And truth is calmness still—
    Truth lifts its forehead to the storm,
    Like some eternal hill.

    SUNDAY MORNING TALKS.

    Ill. SONGS OF THE MORNING.

    THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    OETS of all ages have sung sweet songs
    concerning the morning. They have
    found in the dawn of day a symbol of youth
    and beauty. In the growth of the morning
    form the first gray glooms to the golden sun-
    rise, they have seen a parable of those mystic
    days through which a youth passes from the
    fair garden of his early years to climb the
    hill of manhood. If in these later days our
    great teachers would inspire our hopes con-
    cerning the world’s future, they tell us that
    _ the darkness of the ages is passed, and the
    morning of the world’s brighter day has
    dawned. And whenthey would picture for
    us the peacefulness and serenity of that land
    that lies beyond the boundaries of time they
    tell us of a ‘‘ morning without clouds” that
    shall never know the shadow of the setting
    sun, for there is ‘“‘no night there.” The
    Psalmist David loved the morning and so
    recorded a vow, ‘‘ My voice shalt thou hear
    in the morning, O Lord; to Thee will I di-
    rect my prayer and look up.” The godly
    poet resolves to begin the day with praise, he
    will fill the morning hours with songs of
    gratitude. While yet the day is young he
    will lift his hands and heart in prayer. A
    later poet utters the same sentiment in these
    words:
    ‘“O timely happy, timely wise,
    Hearts that with rising morning arise;
    Eyes that the beam celestial view
    ‘Which evermore makes all things new.”
    Many of our acknowledged divisions of
    time are to a large extent arbitrary, but day
    and night are ordinances of nature that
    never change. ach day rounds off a sepa-
    rate and complete period of time; and that
    was a very beautiful conception that thought
    of each morning as a new creation, and our
    rising from sleep as adaily resurrection from

    Sh TT SER a

    the dead. Every morning we turn over a

    fresh page of life’s eventful history. The
    page of to-day is linked with the page of
    yesterday, and will be linked with to-mor-
    row’s page, but these pages are nevertheless
    complete in themselves. Through the shin-
    ing gateways of each and every morning
    there come to us new blessings, new cares,
    new opportunities.

    New every morning is the love

    Our waking and uprising prove:

    Through sleep and darkness safely brought,

    Restored to life and power and thought.

    Since each new morning comes thus loaded
    with new benedictions, it is mete that each
    morning should find us with songs of thanks-
    giving on our lips. Of all the hours of the
    day, the morning hours are most suitable for
    devotion. When the mind is fresh and clear
    and when the heart is untouched by the
    cares of the day.

    An hour spent with God every morning
    would make men conquerors all the day long.
    It is worth while to make and keep such a
    vow as we are considering now on another
    ground. As the morning is so the day is.
    There is much ina good start. And the man
    who begins the day with God will have
    divine companionship all the day long. The
    man who begins the day with songs of praise
    will hear all day long strains of heavenly
    music above the roar of the crowded street
    or the clamor of the mart. Our days are
    often dull and gloomy, but the fault is ours.
    The day will not often rise above the key-
    note of the morning hours. Almost every-
    thing depends on the use we make of the
    first hour of the day.

    A great man said: “The mouth of the
    morning is full of gold.” Let us wake be-
    times and gather that gold, that we may be
    rich all the day. Mornings thus attuned to

    . the Divine harmonies, will be the portals

    through which we shall pass to. happy, useful
    days. The pathway of our common life will

    be illumined with a brightness which will

    be ‘‘above the brightness of the sun.”

    If on our daily course, our mind

    Be set to hallow all we find,

    New treasures still of boundless price,
    God will provide for sacrifice.

    Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,
    As more of heaven in each we see,
    Some softening gleam of love and prayer
    Will dawn on every cross and care.
    The trivial round; the common task,
    Will furnish all we ought to ask.

    Room to deny ourselves—a road

    To bring us daily nearer God





























































































































































































































































































































































    BASS CATCHING AT NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND.



    HOW INDIANS POISON THEIR ARROWS

    VENERABLE Indian arrow-maker
    explained how arrows were poisoned,

    in the following words:
    “First we take a bloated yellow rattle-
    snake in August, when he is most poisonous,
    and tie him with a forked stick to a stake;

    . then we tease him until he is ina great rage.

    This is done by passing a switch over his
    body from his head to his tail. When he
    thrashes the ground with his tail and his
    eyes grow bright and sparkle like diamonds,
    we kill a deer, antelope or some other small
    animal, and, tearing out the liver, throw
    it to the snake while it is warm and the
    blood still coursing through it. The reptile
    will strike it again and again, and pretty
    soon it will begin to turn black. When he
    tires, the snake is teased again, and he is in-
    duced to sink his fangs into the soft flesh
    until all the poison has been extracted from
    him and the liver is reeking with it. He is
    then killed and the liver lifted with a sharp
    pole; for so dangerous is it no one dares

    _ touch it. The liver is let lie for about an
    -hour, when it will be almost jet black and

    emit a sour smell. Arrowsare then brought
    and their iron heads pushed into the liver up
    to the shaft. They are left sticking there

    for about one hour and a half, when they

    are withdrawn and dried in the sun. A
    thin, glistening, yellow scum adheres to the
    arrow, and if it but so much as touches raw
    flesh it is certain to poison it to death.”

    I asked if Indians still used poisoned ar-
    rows. ‘* No,” he replied; ‘‘no man, Indian
    or white man, for years past has been shot
    with these arrows, and they are no longer
    made.”

    AGAIN.

    Oe. and over again,

    No matter which way I turn,

    I always see in the book of life
    Some lesson that I must learn.

    I must take my turn at the mill.
    I must grind out the golden grain.

    I must work at my task with resolute will—
    Over and over again. f

    Over and over again,
    The brook through the meadow runs;
    And over and over again
    The ponderous mill wheel turns,
    One doing will not suffice— -
    Though doing be not in vain—
    And a blessing failing us once or twice,
    May come if we try again.

    THE GOLD DOG.

    ROF. McALLISTER, the ventriloquist.

    happened to be traveling across Lower
    Idaho some years ago on his way from one
    town to another. It was in the days of
    early stage coaching, before railroads were
    quite as plentiful as at the present time.
    The professor one afternoon, before the
    show commenced, in wandering about the
    streets of, I think it was Lewiston, encoun-
    tered on the outskirts of the town a small
    band of Indians. Two or three companions
    were with him. While chatting together,
    looking about and observing things generally,
    McAllister became quite familiar with a
    mongrel dog owned by the redskins, whom
    he proceeded to pet.

    «Fine dog,” said the professor.

    “Ugh,” grunted an Indian.

    ‘* How much you sell him for?” asked the
    magician.

    “‘Ugh! two dollar,” replied the Indian
    holding up a pair of dirty fingers to indicate
    the amount.

    “* Him very fine dog,” said McAllister,
    stroking the cur down the back and taking
    a gold piece from the end of his tail.

    <¢ Hi! hil” exclaimed the redskin, looking
    on in astonishment, his eyes ready to start
    from his head in excitement.

    “* Him very fine dog indeed,” quitely con-
    tinued the professor, this time taking a
    whole handful of coin from the cur’s tail,
    and picking stray pieces from his mouth,
    nose and ears, which he transferred to his
    pockets.

    Strange noises were heard proceedin
    from the interior of the brute. He aioanel
    and laughed and howled and barked, at all
    of which the poor deluded redskins stood
    in the utmost awe and astonishment, and
    couldn’t for the life of them understand
    what had come over the spirit of the animal.
    It was hard to tell which was the most sur-
    prised—the Indians or the dog. After
    filling his pockets with gold and taking
    another fistful from the cur’s tail, the pro-
    fessor left the redskins in peace. He had
    not been gone ten minutes before the latter
    pounced upon the poor doomed animal and
    cut him wide open.. Like the goose that
    laid the golden egg, there was nothing inside,
    and it was only fair to presume that the only
    reward was a fine feast upon ribs of roast
    dog, browned tea turn.



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    HOW INDIANS POISON THEIR ARROWS.





    MY TYRANT QUEEN.
    My lady she bids me go, and I go;
    My lady says ‘‘ Come!” and | come;
    My lady says ‘‘ Sing!” and I sing to her;
    My lady says ‘‘ Stop!” and I’m dumb.

    Whatsoever she does I find her fair,
    Whatsoever she says is good;

    Her word to me is the breath of my life,
    Her most foolish fancy is food.

    One day she is cruel, one day she is kind,
    This dear little lady of mine;

    One day her pretty brow puckers with frowns,

    One day with love her eyes shine.

    ‘But now she was sunny, all smiles and all wiles,
    And now she is off in a pet.

    She’s an angel, I’ll vow, but oh, and alas!.
    My lady’s an arrant coquette.

    To-day she will crown me a king with a kiss
    From her honey-sweet rosy-lips;

    To-morrow, mayhap, my lady’ll not deign
    To grant me her finger tips.

    Her bond-slave? Yes. But I hug my chains
    Till pleasure flows out of pain.

    © love it is better than liberty; O
    I would never be free again!

    With a rod of iron she rulesme. She knows

    I'll do whatsoever I’m told.
    A tyrant? No doubt of that— but then
    y lady’s but twelve years old.

    “DAN,”
    GEO. H. SARGENT.

    A WAY out in western Nebraska, where

    the sluggish North Platte rolls its tur-
    bid waters down through arich valley withthe
    land on either hand rising until it gradually
    merges into a series of low sandhills, the
    country is but thinly settled, and the
    scream of the locomotive never disturbs the
    solitude of the Great Plains. This country,
    half garden and half desert, is, however, full
    of animal life. Here the great American
    eagle makes its home, and the prairie dog
    and rattlesnake live and rear their kind in
    peace. The native grasses growing on the
    sandy soil furnish grazing for cattle all the
    year round, and so the country is for the
    most part given up to the sturdy ranchmen
    and the wild animals.

    On a certain ranch in this region, some
    years ago, a party of herdsmen caught a young
    eagle which was unable to fly. Its mother
    had been killed, so they took it home to their
    cabin, and kept it confined in a cage.

    There was a boy named Charley on this
    raneh, who entreated his father to let him

    keep the eagle. His father finally did so,
    and Charley took great pleasure in caring for
    his new pet, naming him Dan. After a
    while, Dan became so tame that the boy no
    longer kept him in the cage, but had a
    small collar put around one leg and fastened
    him by a small chain to a post.

    For a long time Dan chafed and fretted.

    under his confinment and refused to eat, but
    finally came to the conclusion that his cap-
    tivity was to be permanent, and began to
    make the best of his situation. As he grew
    less uneasy under restraint, the boy allowed
    him a longer chain, until finally Dan had
    quite an extensive range in front of the
    cabin,

    Dan soon learned to come at the call of his
    name and would eat from Charlie’shand. He
    would follow the boy as far as his chaiu
    would permit, when Charlie went away any-
    where, and on his return Dan would be
    waiting on the edge of his circular range te.
    welcome his master back. He would shake
    hands, turn somersaults and perform many
    other curious tricks. . But all the time Dan
    was as solemn and grave as a judge. He
    never smiled or even made the attempt.

    Sometimes Charlie would lie down in
    front of the cabin and pretend to be asleep,
    and Dan would come over very cautiously
    and pull Charlie’s watch from his vest.
    pocket, and when the boy jumped up and
    said. ‘‘Give it up, you thief,” Dan would
    stand on one leg and hold out the watch in:
    one claw, hanging down his head and look-
    ing very guilty.

    One summer day, Charlie had been run-
    ning about in the morning and was very
    tired. All the men had gone away from the:
    ranch, and Charlie was left alone with Dan.
    He did not mind this, however, for his very
    solitude made him safe, and as he knew
    there were no wild animals near he lay down.
    in the warm sunlight in front of the cabin,
    and was soon fast asleep. Dan came up and
    stole his watch, but Charlie did not say,
    *‘Give it up, you thief,” which somewhat.
    surprised the bird, so he played with it for

    a while, but finally becoming tired of the

    sport replaced it in Charlie’s pocket and lay
    down near him.

    Very soon, Dan became interested in a.
    long, black object that crawled along slowly
    through the tufts of prairie grass, in the
    direction of the sleeping boy. In a moment
    his native instinct for fighting with small
    animals was aroused, and Dan made a rusk











    for tne intruder. A warning, ominous rat-
    tle halted him but for an instant, then he
    struck at the serpent with both of his claws.
    The rattlesnake coiled itself ready to strike,
    but Dan, with a harsh shriek, was upon him.
    The noise awakened Charlie, who recognized
    the danger, and sprang outside of the circle.

    It was a desperate encounter; the snake
    coiled itself around Dan’s body, and strove
    to strike him with its powerful fangs, but
    Dan eluded these attempts, and seizing the
    rattlesnake in his powerful talons tore it
    with his strong beak and in a few moments
    the snake was writhing in agony at Dan’s

    feet, when a few blows from Charlie dis- -

    patched it.

    And Dan! Alas! the light chain had
    proven too much of an encumbrance ; the
    poor eagle had been bitten in the fray, and
    despite Charlie’s efforts to save the bird by
    bathing it in whisky poor Dan died. When
    the men returned at night they found the
    trio in front of the cabin ; the dead rattle-
    snake lay on the ground, while Charlie was
    shedding unavailing tears over the body of
    the dead eagle.

    Charlie has grown to manhood now, and
    only goes to Nebraska occasionally for pleas-
    ure; but in his elegant New York home,
    over the door of one of the parlors, there is
    a large stuffed specimen of an American
    eagle, with a rattlesnake in its claws, while
    underneath is the legend,

    “Faithful Unto Death.”

    “WE THOUGHT TO WEEP, BUT SING
    FOR Joy.”

    LOUISA M, ALCOTT.

    These beautiful lineswere written by the poet onthe death
    of her mother.

    N { YSTERIOUS death ! who in a single hour
    Life’s gold can so refine
    And by thy art divine :
    Change mortal weakness to immortal power!

    Bending beneath the weight of eighty years,
    Spent with the noble strife
    Of a victorious life,
    ‘We watched her fading heavenward through our
    tears.

    But, ere the sense of loss our hearts had wrung,
    A miracle was wrought,
    And swiftas happy thought

    ‘She lived again, brave, beautiful and young.

    Age, pain and sorrow dropped the veils they wore,
    And showed the tender eyes
    Of angels in disguise,

    "Whose discipline so patiently she bore.



    The past-years brought their. harvest richand fajy!
    While memory and love
    Together fondly wove

    A golden garland for the silver hair.

    How could we mourn like those who are bereft,
    When every pang ef grief
    Found balm for its relief

    In counting up the treasures she had left?

    Faith that withstood the shocks of toil and time,
    Hope that. defied despair,
    Patience that conquered care,

    And loyalty whose courage was sublime.

    The great, deep heart that was a home for all,
    Just, eloquent and strong,
    In protest against wrong ;

    Wide charity that knew no sin, no fall.

    The Spartan spirit that made life so grand,
    Mating poor, daily needs
    With high, heroic deeds,

    That wrested happiness from fate’s hard hand.

    We thought to weep, but sing for joy instead,
    Full of the grateful peace
    That follows her release;

    For nothing but the weary dust lies dead.

    Oh! noble woman! never more a queen
    Than in the laying down
    Of sceptre and of crown,

    To win a greater kingdom yet unseen.

    Teaching us how to seek the highest goal;
    To earn the true success;
    To live, to love, to bless,

    And make death proud to take a royal soul,

    WONDERS OF SPIDER LIFE.

    ce On here is a spider! Mean thing! kill
    it!” said little Tom.”

    “Stop!” said papa; ‘what harm has he
    done?”

    “Well, papa,” said Mary, coming to little
    Tom’s aid, ‘‘does he not entrap and kill the
    flies? He’s a cruel, sly, spiteful thing!’
    Ugh! Ishudder to look at it!”

    Papa by way of reply, took upa plate with
    a poison fly-paper, on which were several
    dead flies. Mary understood the silent re
    proof.

    “Oh, papa! you know the flies must not:
    have it all their own way. If we did not
    use the fly-papers we should be quite over:
    run with flies.” “ |

    “T do not blame you, my dear, for using}
    fly-papers; but on the same ground I must |
    speak a word for the despised spider; they
    are God’s fly-papers to check the excessive
    abundance of flies. All kinds of animal and



    sacaiete

    ;



























































    SSS

    Se







    MY TYRANT QUEEN,





    vegetable life also, if left to increase without
    check, would soon overrun the earth, and
    instead of the harmony and variety now ex-
    isting we should have the earth monopolized
    by afew animals and plants.”

    “Well, papa, but spidersare such repul-
    sive ugly things.”

    “That is no reason why they should be
    killed as a matter of course whenever we see
    them; but I don’t think they are very repul-
    sive, and they have a beauty of their own,
    like everything that God has made, and ful-
    fil a useful purpose in nature. Perhaps you
    would like me to tell you a little about
    them?”

    “Yes, papa, please do!”

    “‘ Well, my dears, the spider is, in the first
    place, very skillful.
    is itsweb! How fine! how perfect! Whena
    spider cannot fasten all parts of its web to
    corners or twigs or posts, he attaches his web
    to asmall bit of gravel, which hangs down
    as a weight to balance and keep the mass of
    the web stretched out. If a bee or a wasp is
    caught in the web, the spider will help it to
    get free, for he does not like to attack such
    big insects.”

    ““How clever!” said Mary.

    “By a microscope I could show you the
    spider’s eyes. He has six or eight, and you
    would be surprised to find how bright they
    are. His skin too is very beautiful, often
    covered with bright spots; and when this skin
    gets worn and dull, he sheds or changes it,
    and comes out in a new suit of clothes.”

    “‘Dear me, how wonderful!” said little
    Tom.

    ““Yes,” continued papa, “‘and he also has
    anew set of legs now and then, and if one
    is pulled off or broken, a new one grows in
    again, so that he never has to limp about with
    a wooden leg. I have heard the same of the
    crabs.”

    ““Oh papa! and the lobster,” said Mary.

    ‘* Yes, the spider is very much like the crab.
    It has claws at the end of its legs, and two
    short fore-arms that enable it to grasp its
    prey tightly. | Now you see that the spider
    can do many things besides crawl.” |

    “*Oh, yes,” said Mary, “‘ he can drop down
    from his web like a stone just as far as he
    likes, and then run up again as quick asa
    monkey up a pole; and he can swing himself
    by his wonderful web in all directions; really,
    pape; he is very clever! but what else can he

    oP?

    “* He can feel and taste,” said little Tom.

    What a wonderful thing .

    _ “Yes,” said papa. ‘and how exquisite
    must be his power of feeling, to be able to
    pull his web like a lot of ropes; and each
    thread of his web, though so fine, is com-
    posed, like a rope, of several strands. But
    the spider can also hear very well, and is
    also able to foretell the weather.”

    “* How do we know that?” inquired Mary.

    “When a storm or frost is coming, he goes
    away from his web, and remains snugly in
    his nest,” replied papa.

    ““T wonder that he has not sense enough
    to be taught,” remarked Mary.

    “Tt really can be tamed. A poor prisoner
    once had no companion but a poor spider,
    and he was so gentle and patient with it,
    that in time it came and ate out of the pris-
    oner’s hand. Now, Mary, do you think the
    poor prisoner would have been pleased to kill
    the poor spider?”

    “Oh no, papa! I don’t think I should
    like to kill one now. Poor thing! It has as
    much right to live as Ihave. But is there
    no fear of spiders becoming too numerous?”

    ‘*T think not,” replied papa; ‘: spiders can
    not live without food, and they require a
    great deal. A spider will eat six or eight
    times his own weight in a day, so that you
    see he keeps flies in check by destroying
    great numbers. If pressed by hunger, spi-
    ders will also destroy one another, so that
    there is no fear of their becoming pests, and
    and no need, I think, for little boys and girls
    to crush them whenever they see them.”

    ROSY MORN.

    pees morning sits and swings
    In her hammock of rose and gold,
    Her feet just touch the sea
    And the edge of her garments fold;
    She wafts a breath to me
    Of the blossoms of hope and love,
    As swinging to and fro
    Ske croons like the brooding dove.
    Sing soft, swing Iow,
    Oh, rosy morn!
    Clasp to thy breast
    The day, new born.

    The morning swings far out
    O’er the foam of the misty seas,
    And lights with rosy glow
    The tops of the tallest trees;
    The sleeping flowers wake
    At the touch of her quick’ning lips,
    And drink the dewy showers
    That fall from her finger tips.
    Sing soft, swing low,
    Oh, rosy morn!
    Clasp to thy breast
    The day, new born.













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    “THEY DO NOT DIE!”

    FRANK N. SCOTT.

    nes do not die ;—
    Our loved ones fade, droop, and sink to rest,
    We cross tired hands above the pulseless breast,
    We kiss cold lips that warmly ours have prest ;
    The love-lit eye
    Whose glanees cheered our lives, and made earth
    blest.
    We close and sigh,
    And strive in faith to say ‘‘ God doeth best,
    He knowth why ;—
    For though in robes funereal they are drest,
    They do not die.”

    The flowers bloom,
    All their fresh, budding glories to display
    To cheer the heart and glad the toiling way,
    Then droop, and yield their sweetness to decay,
    *Tis Nature’s doom. i
    The cloud dissolves amid the lightning’s play,
    And stormy gloom,
    Darkness weaves up into the sun’s bright ray,
    In airy loom,
    And glorious light fades into twilight gray,
    And finds a tomb.

    But nothing dies ;-—

    That we call death is but progressive aim ;—

    As gold is tried and purified by flame,

    Soearthly loves are purged of taint or shame,

    And higher rise.

    Tho’ for a time the tomb our loved may claim,
    And rend all ties,

    It only holds the worn-out earthly frame,—

    ’*Tis that which dies—

    The soul mounts upward to a grander fame

    Above the skies,



    SUNDAY MORNING TALKS.
    V. ONESIPHORUS: THE FAITHFUL FRIEND.
    THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    ie isa very sad thing to hear people say, as
    many do, that the world is all a hollow

    mockery, and there is no such thing as

    genuine friendship to be found. Such com-
    plainings speak but poorly for those who
    complain, for the man who can go through
    life without finding at least a few genuine,
    disinterested friends is not only unfortunate,
    but must be himself of a most unfriendly
    disposition. His bitterness’“must have reé-
    pelled what a gentler spirit would have
    attracted. Because true friendship is not
    ostentatious, because love blows no trumpets,
    flaunts no banners in the air, but breathes
    out its life in quite unseen paths, therefore
    some men judge that there is very little
    genuine friendship. But their judgement is
    aot just. The violets bloom in secret dells

    and the gentlest friendships have always
    sought a hiding-place from the rude gaze of
    acritical and censorious world. The student
    of the Bible never calls in question the exist-
    ence of genuine friendships. He has no
    need to ask the poets of the classic age for
    some cunningly devised fable of friendship,
    he needs only to turn the sacred page, and
    lo, the clinging fidelity of Ruth, the love of
    David and Jonathan—passing the love of
    women—the divine friendship of the Christ
    for all men, but especially for those who
    formed the first little band of disciples,
    these examples and many more serve to show
    how men and women understood true friend-
    ship when the world was young. The
    Apostle Paul—that noblest spirit of the apos-
    tolic age—had hosts of friends. Read the
    last paragraph of his letter to the Romans,
    and see how tenderly he thinks of them; not
    sending his ‘* kind regards to all,” but nam-
    ing them one by one—Priscilla and Aquila,
    the well-beloved Epenetus, Andronicus and
    Junia, Amphlias and Appeles, Herodian and
    Narcicus, Tryphena and Tryphosa, and a
    host of others. How they had loved him,
    and how he loved them! And in this letter
    to Timothy, his well-beloved son in the
    gospel, he tells of a genuine friend, a man
    whose very name is not known to one man in
    ten thousand. And, indeed, the world
    would never have heard of Onesiphorus, but
    that he was worthy to stand for all time as
    an example of the true and faithful friend.
    He was probably an Ephesian merchant,
    whose business occasionally brought him te
    Rome. Christianity was not popular in Rome
    in those days, and because Paul had dared
    to lift the standard of the cross in the palace
    of the Caesars he was cast into prison. And one
    day the gloom of his dungeon was changed
    into gladness, for Onesiphorus of Ephesus,
    after a long and diligent search through all
    the prisons of Rome, had at last found his
    old friend and pastor. Paul was most likely
    allowed some brief liberty on his word of
    honor, and so, accompanied by a slave to
    whom he was chained, he was allowed a brief
    respite. A strange trio that, walking the
    streets of Rome 2000 years ago! A prisoner
    chained to a slave, and a gentleman of
    Ephesus on the other side. And Paul says .
    he was “‘ not ashamed of my chain.” That
    one phrase covers all the ground, the friend
    who is not ashamed of our chains is the
    friend to cling to and trust in. Heaven has
    no greater gift for us, in this life at least,





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    THE SLEEPING CHILD.
    EUGENE FIELD.

    My baby'slept; how calm his rest
    As o’er his handsome face a smile
    ike to an angel’s flitted, while
    He lay so still upon my breast.

    My baby slept; his baby head 6
    Lay all unkissed neath pa!l and shroud.



    did not weep or cry aloud;
    Tonly wished I, too, were dead.

    My baby sleeps; a tiny mound,
    All coverd by the little flowers,
    Woos me in all my waking hours,
    Down in the quiet burying ground.

    And when I sleep I seem to be
    With baby in another land, a
    I take his little baby hand,

    He smiles and sings sweet songs to me. |’

    Sleep on, O baby, while I keep
    My vigils till this day be past,
    Then shall I, too, lie down at last
    And with my darling baby sleep.

    SSS



    than a friend who is true when the days are
    dark, and the way is rugged, and the chain
    clangs its rude music at every step we take.
    One such friend in such an hour is enough
    to redeem us from despair. And it should
    be remembered that was an example of
    Christian friendship. ‘The world chooses to
    be very merry sometimes in its criticisms of
    church friendships, and it is sad that there
    should be any foundation in truth for such
    criticisms, but when all is said and done,
    there are no truer friendships in the world
    than church friendships. Onesiphorus was
    the kind of a friend that Christianity makes;
    the friend whom no chain can scare away,
    the friend who thinks that if one be in
    sorrow or pain, in prison or disgrace, then
    there is so much more the need of gentleness
    and love. There is much true friendship in
    the world and in the church, and if a man is
    friendless in days like these the fault is his
    own. Let us cherish dearly those who love
    us. . Let us count our wealth not in acres or
    stocks or gold alone, but in friends. Happy
    is the man, and wealthy is the man, though
    he never own an acre who can count amongst
    his treasures a host of faithful friends.
    Life’s burdens will be light if love keeps
    equal step with us in the march, and heaven
    itself will have little better to bestow than
    the reunion of sundered friendships.

    DUTIES LEFT UNDONE.
    MARGARET E. SANGSTER,

    ie isn’t the thing you do, dear,
    It’s the thing you leave undone,
    Which give you a bit of heartache
    At the setting of the sun.
    The tender word forgotten,
    The letter you did not write,
    The flower you might have sent, dear,
    Are your haunting ghosts to-night.

    The stone you might have lifted
    Out of a brother’s way,
    A bit of heartsome counsel
    You were hurried too much to say;
    The loving touch of the hand, dear,
    The gentle and winsome tone,
    That you had no time nor thought for,
    With troubles enough of your own.

    These little acts of kindness,
    So easily out of mind,
    These chances to be angels
    Which even mortals find—
    They come in night and silence,
    Each chill, reproachful wraith,
    When hope is faint and flagging,
    And a blight has dropped on faith,

    For life is all too short, dear,
    And sorrow is all too great,
    To suffer our slow compassion
    That tarries until too late.
    And it’s not the thing you do, dear,
    It’s the thing you leave undone,
    Which gives you the bitter heartache
    At the setting of the sun.

    MOTHER’S TOILING SAINT.

    Cee is a girl, and I love to think of

    her and talk of her, who comes in late
    when there is company, who wears a pretty
    little air of mingled responsibility and anxiety
    with her youth, whom the others seem to
    depend upon and look to for many comforts,
    She is the girl who helps mother.

    In her own home she is a blessed little
    saint and comforter. She takes unfinished
    tasks from the tired, stitf fingers that falter
    at their work; her strong young figure is a
    staff upon which the gray-haired, white-
    faced mother leans and is rested. She
    helps mother with the spring sewing, with
    the week’s mending, with a cheerful conver-
    sation and congenial companionship that
    some girls do not think worth while wasting
    on only mether. And when there comes a
    day when she must bend over the old, worn-
    out body of mother lying unheeded in her
    coffin, her rough hands folded, her long dis-
    quiet merged in rest, something very sweet
    will be mingled with her loss, and the girl
    who helped mother will find a benediction
    of peace upon her head and in her heart.

    The girl who works—God bless her!—is
    another girl whom I know. She is brave
    and active. She is not too proud to earn her
    own living, or ashamed to be caught at her
    daily task. She is studious and painstaking
    and patient. She smiles at you from be-
    hind counter or desk. There is a memory
    of her own sewn into each silken gown. She
    is like a beautiful mountaineer already far
    up the hill, and the sight of her should be
    a fine inspiration for us all. It is an honor
    to know this girl—to be worthy of her re-
    gard. Her hand may be stained with factory
    grease or printer’s ink, but it is an honest
    hand and a helping hand. It stays misfor-
    tune from many homes; it is one shield that
    protects many a forlorn little family from
    the almshouse and the asylum.

    FIVE ESSENTIAL POINTS.
    WILLIAM PENN.
    Five things are requisite to a good officer—
    ability, clean hands, dispatch, patience and
    impartiality.



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    “CARRY YOUR GIFTS OF FLOWERS.’
    MRS. F. S. LOVEJOY.

    Ca your gifts of flowers,
    In memory of the brave;

    Strew them thickly, like summer showers,
    Over each soldier's grave.

    Bravely they fought, and well,
    Nor feared the battle’s strife,

    And bravely for their country fell,
    Dearer to them than life.

    Then carry gifts of flowers,
    And over graves ‘‘ Unknown ”

    Strew the fairest from spring’s fair bowers,
    For God has marked each one.

    “Unknown”! No mother’s tears,
    Or wife’s or sister’s care,

    These graves have known thro’ changing years;
    So place the fairest there.

    Within our Nation’s grounds
    Are sleeping, side by side,

    The friends and foes; in all your rounds
    Let no grave be denied.

    Through the soft summer hours
    They rest in quiet sleep,

    While waving trees and blooming flowers
    Above their vigils keep.

    No more war’s clarion cry
    Will call them into strife;
    ‘They've gained a glorious victory
    And passed from death to life;

    ‘While over our fair land,
    Kven from sea to sea,

    Floats undisturbed, on every hand,
    Our flag of Liberty.

    Then carry gifts of flowers,
    In memory of the brave,

    Who fought so well through weary hours,
    This blessed land to save. :

    HOW TO CLIMB SAFELY.

    eee safety of a mountain climber depends
    4_ upon being well shod; therefore, the Swiss
    uides wear heavy shoes with sharp spikes
    in the soles. On a bright July morning a
    famous man of science started with two gen-
    tlemen to ascend Piz ‘Morteratsch, a steep
    and lofty snow mountain in Switzerland.
    Though experienced mountaineers, they
    took with them Senni, the boldest guide in
    . the district. After reaching the summit of
    Morteratsch, they started back, and soon
    arrived at a steep slope covered with a thin
    snow. They were lashed together with a
    strong rope, which was tied to each man’s
    waist,

    ‘Keep carefully in my steps, gentlemen,”
    said Senni, “for a false step here might start
    the snow and send us down in an avalanche.”
    He had hardly spoken when the whole field
    of ice began to slide down the icy mountain
    side, carrying the unlucky climbers with it
    ata terrible pace. A steeper slope was be-
    fore them, and 24 the end of it was a preci-
    pice. The three foremost men were almost
    buried in the whirling snow. Below them
    were the jawsofdeath. Everything depend-
    ed on getting a foothold. Senni shouted
    loudly, ‘Halt! Halt!” and with desperate
    energy drove his iron nail boots into the firm

    _ice beneath the snow. Within a few rods of

    the precipice Senni got a hold with his feet,
    and was able to bring the party all up stand-

    ing, when two seconds more would have.

    swept them into the chasm.

    The narrow escape shows the value of be-
    ing well shod when in dangerous places.
    The lesson is especially needed by the young.
    No boy is well prepared for rough climbing,
    unless he is ei shod with Christian princi-
    ples. Sometimes temptation ices the track
    under him, and then he must plant hig foot
    down with an iron heel or he is gone.

    THE PICTURE OF A MAN.

    W. SHAKSPEARE.
    i | IS words are bonds, his oaths are oracles;
    His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate;

    His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart;
    His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.

    “ARE YOU HURT, WALLACE?”

    66 A RE you hurt Wallace, dear?” asked

    Panzie, as she came running down
    the bank the moment she saw Wallace fall
    from his bicycle.

    “Hurt! no, only shaken just a little,”
    answered Wallace, who had just “come a
    cropper” through, not looking out for
    stumps and snags.

    “You see,” Wallace added as he picked
    himself up from the ground, “ Pride must
    have a fall, and the boys tell me that I shall
    never be an expert manager.of the bicycle
    till I have had a dozen falls. And this is
    only my third, so you see I have nine more
    to have.”

    With this Wallace remounted his trund-
    ling wheels and was off whistling merrily.

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    OLD DOBBIN GRAY.

    HE merciful man is merciful to his beast.

    The man or boy who is merciful to poor
    dumb beasts will never be very unkind to
    any one.. Farmer Armstrong was more than
    merciful to his poor o1a horse Dobbin Gray.
    Dobbin had been a faithful servant for many
    years, and. now that he had grown old and
    feeble he was not permitted to work any
    more. Once a day the children brought him
    out for a little exercise and Oscar, the farm-
    er’s little grandson, was allowed a short ride.
    ‘Poor old Dobbin has a very happy old age
    for everybody is kind to one who has been a
    faithful servant for so many years.

    LESSONS OF STEM AND LEAF.

    E. P. ROE.

    Eee purple-tipped strawberry run-
    ner, every bud forming at the stem of
    the leaf, every ripening seed, should teach us
    that it is God’s will that we should live and
    be happy in the future as well as in the
    present.

    EASTER LILIES.
    AGNES MAUDE MACHAR.

    H, where are the sweet white lilies,
    - Stately and fair and tall?
    And why don’t they grow for Easter,
    Down by our garden wall?

    Dear, in the bare, brown garden,

    - Their roots lie hidden deep,

    And the life is pulsing through them,
    Although they seem to sleep.

    And the gardener’s eye can see them,
    In germs that buried lie,

    Shine in the spotless beauty
    That will clothe them by and by.

    So may Christ see in us growing
    The lillies he loves best—

    The faith, the trust, the patience
    He planted in the breast.

    Not yet their crown of blossom,
    But he sees their coming prime,
    As they will smile to meet him
    In earth’s glad Easter time.

    The love that striveth toward him,
    Through earthly gloom and chill;
    The faithful, meek obedience,
    In darkness following still—

    These are the Easter lilies,
    Spotless and fair and sweet,

    We would bring to the risen Saviour,
    And lay at his blessed feet.

    EASTER EGGS.

    1 is not altogether easy to establish the.
    connection between eggs and Haster Day,
    as we have a number of superstitions te
    choose from. The Persians, for instance,
    used eggs asa New Year’s gift, assymbolizing
    prosperity. The Romans had egg games in
    honor of Castor and Pollux, who were said te
    have been hatched from an egg of the swan
    Leda. form of an oval, and decorated eggs were
    given as prizes to the victors. As the new
    year, with the Romans, began at Haster,
    nothing was easier than to transfer the egg
    custom from the Pagan to the Christian fes-
    tival. Furthermore, eggs formed a part of
    the Passover feast of the Jews, being put on
    the table, we are told, ‘“‘in honor of the
    bird, Ziz,” a fowl holding as important a part
    in the rabbinical legends as the Roc does
    in the tales of the Orient. Itis quite possi-
    ble, however, that our modern Haster eggs
    had no such far-fetched beginning. In the
    fourth century the eating of eggs during
    Lent was forbidden. But as the unothodox
    hens continued to lay, there was naturally a
    large accumulation of eggs by the close of
    Lent. On Easter Day, then, they formed the
    first ‘‘ flesh food” eaten, and they were set
    out in great platters upon the tables. As
    the appetite was soon cloyed upon them, and
    they were so plenteous, the suggestion prob-
    ably followed to give them to the children
    to play with, for which purpose, of course,
    it was necessary to boil them hard, The
    simple fact of the plenteousness of the eggs
    at these medieval Hasters seems to account
    readily enough for the fancy for decorating
    them, giving them away, or using them for
    sports. Later came in the emblematic idea,
    which accepted the egg as an emblem of the
    resurrection. The custom became very pop-
    ular in Europe and continued to modern
    times. In France, eggs gilded and painted,
    were brought as tribute to the King in

    _ heaped baskets, and after being blessed by

    the chaplain or bishop they were distributed.
    The decorated eggs, filling the toy shops and
    hawked about in the streets, are now one of
    the sights of Paris in Easter week, and
    everybody gives everybody else an egg or a
    picture of an egg in honor of the occasion.
    In Russia Easter Day is Calling Day, as New
    Year’s Day with us, and each swain who
    sallies forth has his pockets full of hard-boiled
    eggs. Meeting a friend, he salutes him



    he i
    Nags
    x

    THE HERITAGE OF THE RICH
    AND THE POOR.

    JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

    Mt t ION N is HE rich man’s son inherits lands,
    a} pa |S aI i And piles of brick and stone and gold,
    Ws And he inherits soft, white hands,
    And tender flesh that fears the cold,
    Nor dares to wear a garment old;
    A heritage, it seems to me,
    SI One would not care to hold in fee,

    The rich man’s son inherits cares:
    The bank may break, the factory burn;
    \| Some breath may burst his bubbles hares;
    And soft, white hands would hardly earn
    A living that would suit his turn;
    A heritage, it seems to me,
    One would not care to hold in fee.

    What does the poor man’s gon inherit?
    Stout muscles and a sinewy heart;
    2 \ A hardy frame, a hardier spirit;
    NLS _ King of two hands; he does his part
    In every useful toil and art;
    A heritage, it seems to me,
    A king might wish to holdin fee.

    What does the poor man’s son inherit ?
    Wishes o’erjoyed with humble things;
    A rank adjudged by toil-worn merit;
    Content that from employment springs;
    A heart that in his labor sings;
    6 A heritage, it seems to me,
    A king might wish to hold in fee.

    Both heirs to some six feet of sod,
    Are equal in the ground at last;

    Both children of the same dear God;
    Prove title to your heirship vast,
    By records of a well-filled past:

    A heritage, it seems to me,

    Well worth a life to hold in fee,





    after the manner of the early Christains:
    “Christ is risen!” To which the reply is
    made; “‘ He isrisen, indeed!” Then the two
    exchange eggs, and usually rub their beards
    together in token of good will. Ladies who
    “receive” have platters of gaily colored eggs
    to give away, and always a kiss can be
    claimed with the exchange of eggs, if either
    party desires. In Scotland, where Haster
    prener has been suppressed for centuries,

    aster Monday. is unfailingly celebrated
    among the young people by rolling hard-
    boiled cggs down hill. In England and in
    the continental countries for centuries a
    feature of the same day has been ball playing
    with eggs, the hardest and the toughest one
    proving the winner of the game. In the
    villages of the continent another old custom
    was to scatter a number of eggs on the village
    green, when the young couples would dance
    among them, and if any pair concluded the
    figures without stepping upon an egg they
    were to be regarded as affianced. This cus-
    tom once brought about a very happy royal
    marriage between Philibert the Handsome,
    King of Savoy, and the fair Marguerita of
    Austria, who successfully performed the egg
    dance at Bresse on Easter Day, 1501, and
    were married the same year. The absurd
    fiction which connects the rabbit or hare with
    Raster eggs comes from a German nursery
    tale, and originated, no doubt, in the desire
    of some parent or nurse to hoax the children
    as to the origin of their favorite eggs.

    BONES! BONES! NOTHING BUT BONES!

    Fee many bones in the human face?
    Fourteen, when they’re all in place.

    How many bones in the human head?
    Eight, my child, as I’ve often said.

    How many bones in the human ear?
    Three in each, and they help to hear.

    How many bones in the human spine?
    Twenty-six, like a climbing vine.

    How many bones in the human chest?
    Twenty-four ribs, and two of the rest.

    * How many bones the shoulders bind?
    Two in each: one before, one behind.

    How many bones in the human arm?
    In each arm onc¢; two in each fore-arm.

    How many bones in the human wrist?
    Eight in each, if none are missed.

    How many bones in the palm of the hand?

    . Five in each, with many a band.

    How many bones in the fingers ten?
    Twenty-eight, and by joints they bend.

    How many bones in the human hip?
    One in each; like a dish they dip.

    How many bones in the human thigh?
    One in each, and deep they lie.

    How many bones in the human knees?
    One in each, the knee-pan please.

    How many bones in the leg from the knee?
    Two in each, we can plainly see.

    How many bones in the ankle strong?
    Seven in each, but none are long

    How many bones in the ball of the foot?
    Five in each, as in the palms were put.

    How many bones in the toes half a score?
    Twenty-eight, and there are no more.

    And now, all together, these many bones fix

    And they count in the body two hundred and six, Lei:

    And then we have in the human mouth,
    Of upper and under, thirty-two teeth.

    And we now and then have a bone, I should think,
    That forms on a joint, or to fill up a chink.

    A seamoid bone, or a wormian we call,
    And now we may rest, for we’ve told them all.

    TRUTH IN A STRAIGHT LINE.

    THOMAS BASFORD.

    RUTH lies in a straight line, following

    which a man may always stand erect in
    the full dignity of his manhood; but false-
    hood ever has a zigzag, underground course,
    pursuing which he must bend his judgment,
    twist his conscience and warp his manhood.
    till he ceases to be a man.

    CONCERNING MONEY.
    BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.

    ND as for money—Don’t you remember
    -\. the old saying, ‘“‘ Hnough is as good as.
    feast’? Money never made a man happy
    yet, nor will it. There is nothing in its
    nature to produce happiness. The more a
    man has, the more he wants. Instead of its
    filling a vacuum, it makes one. If it satis-
    fies one want, it doubles and trebles that
    want another way. That was a true proverb
    of the wise man, rely upon it: “ Better is
    little with the fear of the Lord than great
    treasure, and trouble therewith.”























































    THE MUSIC OF THE MARSH.

    Wien the sun is going down and the stars are at a twinkle,
    And the drapery of night falls down without a wrinkle,
    A quaint and curious chorus in the twilight is agog,

    = And "tis then we hear the music of the fair and festive frog.

    Oh, Froggie, sing your song in peace—lift up your chorus shrill—

    And make the evening’s musical, though they be warm or chill, |E
    We'd miss you in the May time with your tiny pollywog, i
    If we didn’t hear your music, Ok, festive, merry frog. ; 34





    ON DUTY.

    EMMA L. BURNETT.

    TNCLE ALEX came out on the back pi-
    azza with his newspaper, and was just
    going to seat himself in one of the arm chairs,
    when a very large spider, weaving its web
    among the vines, attracted his attention. He
    went closer to look atit, and presently called
    ‘to Neddie, who was playing in the yard:
    *‘Neddie come and see this huge spider.”

    “TI can’t come now, Uncle Alex,” replied
    Neddie; “Iam on duty.”

    Uncle Alex stopped looking at the spider
    and looked at Neddie. He had a paper sol-
    dier-cap on, and, carrying his toy gun, was
    gravely pacing up and down before his tent,
    which was pitched on the grass under the
    big cherry-tree. Will Ramsey and two or
    three other boys were in the adjoining
    meadow galloping around on sticks and
    flourishing wooden swords. There was prob-
    ably a battle going on, though the cows
    chewing their cud under the trees didn’t
    seem a bit frightened.

    ‘“‘What are you doing ?” asked Uncle
    Alex.

    “‘l’m a sentinel keeping guard,” said
    Neddie.

    “«Can’t you come over here just a minute
    if I watch the tent ?”

    “No indeed,” answered Neddie decidedly.
    “Soldiers mustn’t go away a second when
    they’re on duty.”

    ‘Well, well,” said Uncle Alex, seeming
    quite amused as he sat down to his paper.

    Towards the close of the afternoon, when
    the tent was deserted, and the boys were
    playing something else at the other side of
    the house, Neddie’s mother came out on the
    porch from the kitchen carrying a small
    basket. She looked hastily around, and
    then called, ‘‘Neddie, Neddie! where are
    you ?”

    “‘Here, mamma!” he shouted, bounding
    around the corner of the house and up the
    steps.

    ““T want you to go over to the store and
    get me two pounds of sugar and half a
    pound of raisins” said his mother, adding,
    as she gave him the basket and some money,
    “‘Now don’t be gone long. I’m making

    something good for supper, and want those

    things as soon as possible.”

    About ten minutes after Neddie had gone,
    Uncle Alex started to the post-office. When
    he reached the little brook which had to be

    crossed to get to the village, he saw Neddie
    standing on the bridge throwing pebbles in-
    to the water.

    “¢ Hello, Neddie!” he said, ‘“‘I thought you
    were on duty.”

    “No sir,’ replied the boy, looking up in
    surprise; ‘“‘we’re not. playing soldier any
    more. Mamma sent me on an errand.”

    «©Did she send you here to throw pebbles
    inthe brook?”

    ““No, sir; she sent me to the store for
    something.”

    “T thought I heard her giving you a com-
    mission which was to be executed with
    promptness and dispatch, and knowing you
    to be such a soldierly fellow, who could not
    be tempted away from duty a moment, I
    wonder, rather, to see you standing here.”
    and Uncle Alex stroked his whiskers medi-
    tatively and knit his brows as though he
    was trying to study the matter out.

    Neddie, with a puzzled expression, looked
    steadily in his uncle’s face for a moment or
    two, and then turning toward the village
    was off like a flash.

    Uncle Alex was standing on the post-
    office steps reading a letter, when he hap-
    pened to see Neddie come out of the grocery
    store with his basket and walk rapidly home-
    ward. Some little boys on the other side
    of the street also spied him, and running
    over, surrounded him, evidently wanting
    him to stop with them a little while, but he,
    though in a very good-natured way, de-
    clined there invitation, and kept on his way.
    He realized that he was on duty.

    JESSICA’S BOUDOIR.

    AY ARMITAGHE?’S sister Emily has

    spent a summer in Europe and on her
    return brought May the loveliest doll from
    Paris with a little trunk of doll’s clothes.
    There were at least seven different dresses and
    asmany beautiful little hats. Since herreturn
    from abroad Miss Armitage had changed
    the name of her pretty little dressing room
    tothe fine French name “boudoir.” May
    soon caught up the new name and said her
    doll could have.a “‘ boudoir ” just as well as
    Emily. She called her little doll Jessica,
    and the quiet little spot at the foot of the
    big elm tree wheroc May used to dress and’
    undress her beautiful doll was known as
    «* Jessica’s Boudoir.”



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    JESSICA’S BOUDOIR.



    “NO YOU DON’T!”

    Sree has gone to sleep. She is thor-
    oughly tired out, too tired to eat the
    piece of cake that remains on her plate.
    Master Tip has avery fine nose for cake,
    and if there was no one else around he would
    soon have that piece of cake between his teeth.
    But Miss Malty, Susie’s little cat, ison guard,
    and says just as plain as alittle cat can say:—
    “No you don’t Master Tip! Not while I’m
    here. You’re a nice sort of a dog to take
    advantage of your little Mistress being asleep,
    if you were a boy you’d be mean enough to
    try and win a pair of gloves.”

    THE STOUTEST. HEARTS ARE THOSE
    THAT BLEED.

    BY FATHER RYAN.

    ee summer rose the sun has flushed
    With crimson glory, may be sweet—

    *Tis sweeter when its leaves are crushed
    Beneath the winds’ and tempests’ feet,

    The rose, that waves upon its tree,
    In life, sheds perfume all around—
    More sweet the perfume floats to me
    Of roses trampled on the ground.

    The waving rose, with every breath, .
    Scents, carelessly the summer air—
    The wounded rose bleeds forth in death
    A sweetness far more rich and rare.

    It is a truth beyond our ken—
    And yet a truth that all may read—
    It is with roses as with men,
    The sweetest hearts are those that bleed,

    The flower which Bethlehem saw bloom
    Out of a heart all full of grace.

    Gave never forth its full perfume
    Until the cross became its vase.-

    SUNDAY MORNING TALKS,

    VI. THE FOOL’S CREED.
    THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    A eee is no great difficulty in under-
    standing what the Bible means when it
    speaks of a man as a fool. The phrase is
    never used in the Bible in scorn of a man
    of weak or imperfect intellect. The fool of
    the Bible is not a man of unbalanced mind,
    a mental weakling, or an imbecile; but one
    who, blessed with reason, wilfully runs coun-
    ter to the teachings of sound judgment.
    The poor demented child who puts his hand
    in the fire, not knowing that the fire will

    burn, is to be pitied and cared for most ten-
    derly. But the man who, knowing that the
    fire burns, still plays with fire, is a fool, and
    has only himself to thank for the scorching
    and the scars. In short, the fool of the Bible
    is one who, blessed with the inestimable
    treasure of a sound mind, will not follow its
    teachings. The fool of the Bible will sow
    the wind, though he knows perfectly well he
    must sooner or later reap the whirlwind; he
    will turn aside from the fountain of living
    waters, and spend his life and strength in
    hewing out broken cisterns that he knows
    can hold no water; he will make a mock at
    sin, though he knows that the wages of sin
    are death; he will look upon the wine when.
    it is red, though he knows that at the last it
    biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an ad-
    der. There can be no reasonable complaint
    against the Bible for calling such men fools 3
    on the contrary, there should be great thank-
    fulness that the Bible lifts its voice of warn-
    ing with such clearness and fidelity. But
    there is another kind of folly that takes very
    largely the form of stubbornness, and be-
    cause the impossible ig not made possible
    and easy, utterly refuses to give credence,
    not to say faith, to that which is shrouded
    in mystery. This folly says: “* What I can
    not know I will utterly reject. There shall
    be no place in my creed for anything that is.
    not capable of the most complete demon-
    stration.” This is the arrogance of ignor- |
    ance. ‘This is folly of the emptiest kind.
    And there are many who are foolish enough
    to boast that they are so far removed
    from credulity and superstition that they de-
    cline to believe anything that is not made
    perfectly clear to them. Such a creed will
    be very brief; in fact there will be nothing
    torecord. The final step of such folly is to
    complete the picture David saw. Folly per-
    fected says: ‘*There is no God” That a
    man may have serious doubts about the ex-
    istence of a personal God, is quite easy to
    understand. Some thingsseem too good to
    be true, and faith stands faltering by. Some
    things are too great for mortal grasping, and
    not infrequently the-blazing light in which
    one stands so dazzles the feeble orbs of vis-
    ion that the landscape about our fect is for
    the time being hidden from our eyes. But
    the man is a fool who, in the face of all
    the ten thousand probabilities that stand be-
    fore him, avows the sad negation as his creed.
    Let us never forget that religion, ‘to be
    worth the name of religion, must always be











































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    “NO YOU DON'T!”



    a hope rather than a demonstration. This
    was enough for the Apostle Paul,a man whose
    ‘mind was so far-reaching and colossal in its

    rasp that no man need be ashamed to fol-

    ow where he trod. He declared on the
    plainest grounds the utter inexcusableness
    of atheism. In his wonderful letter to the
    Romans he says: <‘ Because that which may
    be known of God is manifest in them; for
    God has shown it unto them. For the in-
    visible things of Him, from the creation of
    the world, are clearly seen, being under-
    stood by the things that are made, even His
    eternal power and God-head; so that they
    are without excuse.” In other words, the
    seen is wholly inexplicable, save on the
    ground that it points to the unseen; and the
    known is wholly unaccountable, save as it
    points to a wide and boundless realm of the
    unknown. The folly of men who take a
    negation for their creed is only seen when we
    come to think of the poverty of such a creed.
    Without God we are without hope, for the
    life that is and for the life that is to be. We
    can not dream of a world without God. God
    can not be retired from our life, from our
    world, from our homes. He is interwoven
    in the warp and woof of the world’s history.
    The creed of Atheism is the nightmare of
    disordered souls.

    Could I for a moment deem
    God is not in all I see,
    O how awful were the dream,
    Of a world devoid of Thee!
    But since Thou are ever near,
    Ruling all that comes to me,
    Ican smile at pain or tears,
    For they come in love from Thee.

    _ HOW DIMES ARE MADE.

    pee United States Mint in San Fran-
    cisco is said to be the largest of the
    kindin the world. Just at the present time
    there is a lively demand for silver dimes,

    and twe of the money presses have been for ~

    some tiwe running exclusively on this coin.
    The dex und is so great that these machines
    are not even stopped on Sunday. The pro-
    cess of dime making is an interesting one.
    The silver bullion is first melted and run
    into two-pound bars. These in turn are
    run through immense rollers and flattened
    out to the thickness of the coin. These sil-
    ver strips are then passed through a machine,
    which cuts them into proper size for the
    presses, the strips first having been treated

    with a kind of tallow to prevent their being
    scratched in their passage through the cut
    ters. The silver pieces are then put into —
    the feeder of the printing presses, and are

    fed to the die by automatic machinery at

    the rate of 100 per minute, 48,000 dimes

    being turned outin a regular working day

    of twelve hours.

    As the smooth pieces are pressed between
    the ponderous printing dies, they receive
    the lettered and figured impression in a
    manner similar to that’ of a paper pressed
    upon a form of type; at the same time the
    piece is expanded in a slight degree, and the
    small corrugations are cut in its rim. The
    machine drops the completed coin into a
    receiver, and it is ready for the counter’s
    hands. The instrument used by the count-
    er is not a complicated machine by any
    means, as one might suppose. It is a sim-
    pla, copper-colored tray, having raised edges
    running across its surface ab a distance
    about the exact width of a dime. From the
    receiver the money is dumped on the board
    or tray, and as it is shaken rapidly by the
    counter the pieces settle down into the
    spaces between the ridges,

    All these spaces being filled, the surplus
    coin is brushed back into the receiver, and
    the counter has exactly 1,250 silver dimes,
    or $125 on the tray, which number is re-
    quired to fill the spaces. The tray is then
    emptied into boxes, and the money is ready
    for shipment. The dime does not pass
    through the weigher’s hands, as does the
    coin of a larger denomination. One and
    one-half grains is allowed for variation, or
    ‘*tolerance,” in all silver coins from a dollar
    down, and the deviation from the standard
    in the case of the ten-cent pieces is so
    trifling that the trouble and expense of
    weighing coins of this denomination is dis-
    pensed with.



    A GENTLE MOTHER.

    ON’T imagine fora moment that that cat

    is cruel because she carries her kitten in

    her mouth. The truth is, it is just the ten-

    derest way possible to carry a kitten about

    Old Sue has long been a favorite at the farm.

    She isa proud mother, as she well may be,

    with that beautiful piece of ribbon round

    her neck and that more beautiful kitten in

    her mouth. A very proud and a very gentle
    mother is old Sue,









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    CHARLEY AND HIS PET.



    GYP’S MORNING LESSON,

    NEY Master Gyp, sit up and beg very
    prettily and you shall have this piece
    of sugar. But now mark, my dear little pet,
    I have brought you out into Grandpa’s big
    garden chair, because I want to give you a
    special lesson this morning. You know,

    Gyp, we have company in the house, and I

    want you to behave in the best possible man-
    ner. Specially I want you to leave Kittie
    alone. I’m sure she’s a well-behaved little
    Kittie, and does you no harm, and yet for all
    that I saw you chasing her all over the
    garden yesterday, and finally to escape yon,
    she ran up a tree, and there you sat at the
    foot of the tree barking for more than an
    hour, and you would not let hercome down.
    Gyp, you ought to be ashamed of yourself,
    And I really think by the look of your eyes
    you are. Now do try and be a good dog,
    don’t run out with your tail bristling up
    every time you see a dog go by, as if you
    were dying for afight. Be a good, obedient
    dog, and V’ll take you a walk every day dur-
    ing vacation, and you shall have a lump of
    sugar every morning, as long as there is a
    lump left in Grandma’s sugar bowl.

    e



    A BARREL OF WHISKEY.

    DRAYMAN rolled forth from his cart to
    the street,
    A red-headed barrel, well bound and complete;
    And on it red letters, like forked tongues of flame,
    Emblazoned the grade, number, quality, fame,
    Of this pole Teco yaad whiskey from somebody’s
    still,
    Who arrested the grain on the way to the-mill.

    So there stood the barrel delivered, but I

    Could see that a shadow was hovering nigh,

    A sulphurous shadow that grew as I gazed,

    To the form of Mephisto. Though sorely amazed,
    I ventured to question this imp of the realm,
    Where Vice is the Pilot, with Crime at the Helm;
    And asked him politely his mission to name,

    And if he was licensed to retail the same

    Identical barrel of whiskey which he

    Was fondly surveying with demoniac glee?

    “Oh, I never handle the stuff,” he replied,

    ““My mortal partners are trusty and tried;

    Mayhap, peradventure you might wish to look

    At the invoice complete—I will read from this book.
    You will find that this barrel contains something

    more

    Than forty-two gallons of whiskey galore.”
    _And ere I could slip but another word in,

    He checked it off gaily, this cargo of sin:

    “A barrel of headaches, of heartaches, of woes;
    A barrel of curses, a barrel of blows;

    A barrel of tears from a world-weary wife:

    A barrel of sorrow, a barrel of strife;

    A barrel of all-unavailing regret;

    A barrel of cares and a barrel of debt;

    A barrel of crime and a barrel of pain;

    A barrel of hopes ever blasted and vain;

    A barrel of falsehood, a barrel of cries

    That fall from the maniac’s lips as he dies;
    A barrel of agony, heavy and dull;

    A. barrel of poison—of this nearly full;

    A barrel of poverty, ruin and blight; °

    A barrel of terrors that grow with the night;
    A barrel of hunger, a barrel of groans;

    A barrel of orphans’ most pitiful moans;

    A barrel of serpents that hiss as they pass
    From the bead on the liquor that glowsin the glass,
    My barrel! My treasure! I bid thee farewell,
    Sow ye the foul seed, I will reap it in Hell!”

    THE LEGEND OF THE LOOM AND THE
    HAMMER.

    JOAQUIN MILLER,

    T WAS living in Nazareth, a good many
    years ago, when an old man asked me one
    sweet spring morning to lay my ear to the
    ground and listen to what I might hear.
    There was a dull, soft, far-away sound,
    not much unlike the thrumbing of a grouse
    in a fir tree high up on the wooded hills of
    Oregon. Only this sound here at Nazareth
    was softer, and too, it seemed not so monot-

    - onous,.

    The sound, heard only at rare intervals,
    and when the wind lay very low, was at first
    very faint, and very soft and doubtful. But
    after awhile I heard a heavier and a harder
    stroke. Then the two would blend together
    and then finally be lost, to be lifted up to
    the thick tangle of foliage by the road-
    side, which hung in festoons above and about
    us, where the doves sat and sang, or the
    bluebird flitted along in a line of sapphire.

    But in the morning, if the morning is
    still, and warm and pleasant, go out on the
    hills and listen. Listen and believe, and
    you will hear the low, soft and almost pa-
    thetic monotony of sound of which I have
    spoken. ae

    “‘ And what does it all mean?” T at last
    asked of the half-naked old son of Syria who
    had constituted himself my guide and only
    companion.

    He put a whole pile of dirty fingers to his
    thin, brown lips, and would not answer.
    But as spring advanced, day after day we
    went on the wooded hills to catch the sound.
    Sometimes, not often, however, we were re-
    warded, for in Nazareth, as well as else-
    where, there are cloudy days, and days of
    wind and storm.



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    But to cut the story short, as I was about
    to leave this holiest place on earth to one
    who loves the woods and believes in God,
    the ragged old follower led me once more up
    to the hills to lay my ear for the last time to
    the bosom of the earth. I never heard the
    sound so distinctly before.

    “« What can it mean? ”.

    The old man crept close and whispered in
    his wild and broken way: “Theloom! It

    is Mary at her loom; and then the carpenter’s |

    hammer.”

    You understand? Then let it go at that.
    But it then and there seemed to me as the
    most beauteous thought, the most entirely
    pathetic thing on all this earth, to feel that
    through eighteen hundred years there still
    echoed the sound of Mary’s.loom and the
    stroke of the carpenter’s hammer.

    And I thought if I could teach the toiling
    world that Mary still leans to hear the loom,
    that Christ is still in some sort a carpenter,
    I might maybe bridge over the awful gulf of
    infidelity and lead the world to redemption.

    But even if I could teach each laborer the
    dignity of his labor, show him how God
    worked at a trade, how the echo of the ham-
    mer is still heard—if I could only teach one
    poor broken-hearted old woman bending to
    her toil that Mary toiled the same way, why,
    that would be glory, glory enough and
    enough of good.

    ODD SAYINGS.

    A 8 poor as a church mouse,
    As thin as a rail;
    As fat as a porpoise,
    As rough as a gale;
    As brave.as a lion,
    As spry as a cat;
    As bright as a sixpence,
    As weak as a rat.

    As proud as a peacock,
    As fly as a fox;

    As mad as a March hare,
    As strong as an ox;

    As fair as a lily,
    As empty as air;

    As rich as Croesus,
    As cross as a bear.

    As pure as an angel,
    As neat as a pin;
    As smart as a steel-trap,
    As ugly as sin;
    As dead as a door-nail,
    As white asa sheet;
    As flat as a pancake,
    As red as a beet,

    Asround as an apple,
    As black as your hat;

    As brown as a berry,
    As blind as a bat;

    As mean as a miser,
    As full as a tick;

    As plump as a patridge,
    As sharp as a stick.

    As clean as a penny,
    As dark as a pall;
    As hard as a millstone,
    As bitter as gall;

    As fine as a fiddle,
    As clear as a bell;

    As dry as a herring,
    As deep as a well.

    As light as a feather,
    As firm as a rock;
    As stiff as a poker,
    As calm as a clock;
    As green as a gosling,
    As brisk as a bee;
    Now let me stop,
    Lest you weary of me.

    WHAT THE BEES SAY.

    ss afi WONDER what the bees are trying toe

    say as they go buzz-buzz-buzzing in and
    out of the hive?” said little Effie to her
    Aunt, who had sat down for a little rest at
    the end of their morning walk,

    “I hardly know my dear,” said Miss
    Windsor,” but I think we may easily fancy
    what they would say if they could speak.
    That little fellow who is crowding his way
    into the hive says—‘Dear me, I’m tired, but
    I’ve got such a load of honey. Every flower
    has yielded honey. Honey, honey, honey!
    The world is full of honey.’ And that one just
    settling on the white clover blossom SAYS:
    ‘There’s no time to be lost, winter is com-
    ing, there is no time to be lost!’ And that
    one winging its way in the distance, sings as
    it flies, as if it would teach us that all our
    duties should be discharged with a glad heart.
    So my dear, there are three wise lessons for
    us at the end of our morning’s walk. The
    world is full of honey—There is no time to
    be lost—We should do our work with a glad
    and merry heart.



    HOW THE FARMER PACKS APPLES,

    And now the cunning farmer packg
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    WHAT THE BEES SAY.



    : CLOTHILDE AND THE FLOWERS.

    HERE is no more common sight in the
    villages of the South of France than
    that which our artist has sketched for us on
    the following page. Pere Dumond and his
    little daughter, Clothilde, are on their usual
    daily rounds. He playing the hand-organ
    while the little girl sings and then spreads
    out her apron to catch here and there a sou
    that generous souls toss into her lap, while
    Trix, Clothilde’s favorite poodle, sits in sol-
    emn silence by Pere Dumond’s side. But
    there is one little girl, the daughter of a
    French soldier, who having no sou to give,
    plucks a bunch of flowers as soon as she
    hears Pere Dumond’s organ in the distance,
    and throws them into Clothilde’s wide-open
    apron. Of course, the flowers will not buy
    fish or garlic, but they help to sweeten and
    beautify a life that without them would
    often be dulland sad. Clothilde does not
    know the name of the fair girl who makes
    this daily gift of flowers, but she has placed
    her amongst her saints and calls her, ‘‘My
    Lady of the Flowers.”

    THE SONG OF THE CRICKET.
    GRACE DENIO LITCHFIELD.

    ys. the world is big; but I'll do my best;

    Since I happen to find myself in it;

    And Tl sing my loudest out with the rest,
    Though I’m neither a lark nor a linnet,

    And strive toward the goal with as tireless zest,
    Though I know I may never win it.

    For shall no bird sing but the nightingale?
    No flower bloom but the rose?

    Shall little stars quench their torches pale
    When Mars through the midnight glows?

    Shall only the highest and greatest prevail?
    May nothing seem white but the snows?

    Nay, the world is so big that it needs us all
    To make sweet music in it,

    God fits a melody e’en to the small;
    We have nothing to do but begin it;

    So I'll chirp my merriest out to them all,
    Though I’m neither a lark nor a linnet!

    FIVE LUMPS OF SUGAR,

    HEN Ethel May waked on Monday
    morning, her mind was filled with an
    idea given by her teacher in Sunday-school
    the day before. She had that rare style of
    teacher who managed to interest her class in
    the lesson, and who gave, in a bright, cheer-
    ful manner, many hints which lodged firmly
    in the minds and hearts of her young
    hearers.

    Yesterday she had said to them:

    «TJ think almost everybody in this world is
    either sugar or lemon. They sweeten things
    for other people, or make them sharp and
    sour. Now, I want every girl in this class to
    make up her mind to be sugar; and whenever
    she sees anyone in trouble, or cross, or tired,
    or in any way wrong, just pop a great, big
    lump into that person’s mouth, and see what
    will happen.”

    The girls had laughed, but the impression
    remained, and Ethel May, waking that dis-
    mal, cold Monday morning, had quite made
    up her mind to try the plan. Being an im-
    aginative child, she improved upon the idea
    in her mind, and by the time she was dressed,
    had decided to take five lumps of sugar with
    her that day, and if success warranted it, to
    double the number to-morrow.

    She soon used her first lump. Tom, her
    younger brother, was grumbling away like an
    ill-natured bear. It was hard to go toschool
    in this sleety rain, and, somehow, things al-
    ways seemed harder for Tom than for anyone
    else; at least, he thought so. Just now it
    was his books he could not find, and he was
    dashing about in that helpless, masculine
    manner which develops so early.

    Although a good-natured child, Ethel
    ever concerned herself much. with Tom’s
    worries. There was always something for
    him to grumble over; but this morning, with
    a little feeling of curiosity as to the result,
    she decided to give her first lump of sugar to

    om.

    “Tl help you to find them,” she said,
    cheerily. ‘‘I think they are on the table.in
    the library.”

    Notwithstanding his emphatic assurance
    of having looked there “a dozen times al-
    ready,” the missing books were found and.‘
    given into his hands: without the tempting
    “I told you so”—that slice of lemon we slip
    so often into the mouth of our neighbor.

    His looks of relief and gruff thanks were
    her only rewards; but she did not mind that,
    and started off with a cheery ‘“‘good-by” to
    mother, who stood watching her from the
    window.

    It was not pleasant out of doors; for the
    sleety rain beat against her face, and she had
    a long walk befor her. So she scarcely
    heeded a little child who was timidly trying
    to cross a swollen drain, and the ‘“‘ Please
    help me over” struck her as rather an un-
    pleasant interruption. Suddenly she remem-
    bered the sugar, and took out another lump.









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    With ready hand and strong arm, she
    jumped the little girl over the gutter, and
    helped her to cross the slippery pavement,
    landing her safely on her own doorstep;
    then, not waiting for thanks, hurried off to
    school.

    We all know how many opportunities of
    sweetening are given here. A kind word, a
    lesson help, a lunch shared, and you will not
    be surprised to find that when Ethel started
    for home, she had but one lump left of the
    five she had taken with her in the morning.
    Thinking of this as she walked slowly along,
    determined to save it up for some great oc-
    casion, she was startled by such a. prodigous
    roar near by that she nearly dropped her
    books in the street. The explanation was
    ludicrous. In the middle of a sloppy, half-
    frozen pool, a little boy was seated, and it
    was wonderful to see how much noise could
    come from such a small cause.

    Farther up the street ran a larger boy,

    dragging a sled, and prancing in imitation
    of half a dozen wild horses, apparently un-
    conscious of the fact that there was a “pas-
    senger aboard who had been left behind.’;

    “Oh dear!” Ethel thought, half regretful-
    ly, *‘must my last lump go to comfort that
    little rascal?”

    Her hesitation was but momentary, then,
    stooping down, she lifted the small traveler
    to his feet, and sent a call after the runaway
    steed, which brought him to a full stop.

    But it was not easy to comfort the little
    fellow; he was completely under way, and
    his mouth opened again for another roar,
    which closed abruptly, for into the yawning
    cavern was pushed something soft and sweet,
    and the yell could be postponed until that
    was settled.

    The other boy now joined them, and to
    him Ethel delivered a little lecture, sweet-
    ened with another chocolate drop, then
    started the pair off again, seemingly on the
    - best terms.

    ““ Now I am out sugar,” she said to her-
    self, ‘‘and must hurry home as fast as I
    can for fear of seeing some one I can not
    help.”

    That night, while talking things over with
    mother, she told her of the teacher’s idea,
    and her own manner of carrying it out.

    “But, dear me, mother,” she added with
    a merry laugh, ‘‘it will never do to limit
    one’s self to five, or ten, or twenty lumps.

    One must just carry the whole sugar-bowl

    along.”

    THE BROWN THRUSH.
    LUCY LARCOM.

    pees a merry brown thrush sitting up in the
    tree:

    He’s singing to me; he’s singing to me!
    And what does he say, little girl, little boy? ©

    “Oh, the world’s running over with joy!

    Don’t you hear? Don’t you see?
    y Hush! Look! In my tree
    I’m as happy as happy can be!”

    And the brown thrush keeps singing, “A nest, do
    you see,
    And five eggs hid by me in the juniper tree?
    Don’t meddle, don’t touch! little girl, little boy,
    Or the world will lose some of its joy:
    Now I’m glad! now I’m free!
    And I always shall be,
    If you never bring sorrow to me.”

    So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree,
    To you and to me, to you and to me;
    And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy:
    “Oh, the world’s running over with joy!
    But long it won’t be—
    Don’t you know? don’t you see?—
    Unless we are as good as can be!”

    THE HEART WAS MASTER OF THE
    GUN.

    ie Varney had begged his father
    many times to give him a gun. His
    father was a sportsman, and told Lewis
    that he should have a gun just as soon as he
    was old enough to use one carefully. Well,
    on his twelfth birthday, the gun came, and
    it was a beauty. Lewis was very proud of
    it, and very anxious to use it. So, after
    many warnings and instructions, he made
    his way into the woods. He aimed at sever-
    al birds, but they were too quick for him.
    At last his attention was attracted by a
    squirrel sitting on the limb of a tree munch-
    ing away at a nut with great delight. Lewis’s
    first impulse was to fire, but the squirrel
    looked so harmless and happy, that he could
    not find in his heart tokillhim. He thought
    he would save his gun for rats and other
    vermin. The squirrel went on munching
    his nut, unconscious of his danger. When
    Lewis got home and told his story, his father
    laughed, but his mother kissed his forehead,
    and said she should always be proud of a
    boy whose heart was bigger than his gun.

    NETTLES AND CLOUDS. ’

    HERE are nettles everywhere,
    But smooth green grasses are more common
    still;
    The blue of heaven is larger than the cloud,


















    HANNAH F. GOULD.



    A BLIND BOY’S SONG.



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    That tosses so gently the curls of my hair!

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    "Till pleasure—

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    The perfumes of flowers-that are hovering nigh
    What are they? On what kind of wings do they

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    moon and stars are to me undefined,

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    Oh! tell me what light is! I’m blind! Oh! I’m

    The sun,













    blind!





    HOW A PRACTICAL JOKE FAILED.

    GENTLEMAN who has a steam-mill in

    Waldo, Me., came to Chelsea on a visit,
    and while there purchased a large steam-
    whistle, which he carried home and placed
    on his mill. .

    ' A-number of boys conceived the idea of
    stealing the whistle, and the owner, hear-
    ing of their plan, remained in his mill all
    night. Sixty pounds of steam was kept up.
    About midnight the boys put in an appear-
    ance, and climbed up on the roof of the
    building. Just as one applied a wrench to
    the whistle, Mr. Sanborn opened the throt-
    tle wide, and there went up into the stillness
    of the night such a screech as was never be-
    fore heard in Waldo. People jumped from
    their bedsin affright, and wondered what
    wasup. The boys tumbled off the roof of
    that mill as though shot, and departed as
    rapidly as their legs could carry them, while
    Mr. Sanborn fired agun after them to hasten
    their retreat. The whistle is still on the
    mill, and the boys will probably think twice
    before they again undertake to steal any-
    thing as noisy as a steamboat whistle.

    BABY’S WALK.
    OLIVE A. WADSWORTH.

    O* a bright and beautiful summer’s day

    Mr. Baby thought best to go walking away;
    His little white sacque he was well buttoned in,
    And his shady hat was tied under his chin.

    Onehand was tight clasped in his nurse’s own,
    And the other held fast a little white stone;
    There hung by his side his new tin sword,
    And thus he began his walk abroad. _

    He walked and he walked, and by and by

    He came to the pen where the piggy wigs lie;
    They rustled about in the straw in front,

    And every piggy said, ‘‘ Grunt, grunt, grunt!”

    So he walked and he walked, and what do you
    think!

    He came to the trough where the horse was at
    drink;

    He cried, ‘‘Go along! Get up, old Spot!”

    And the horse ran away with a trot, trot, trot!

    So he walked and he walked, and he came at last

    To the yard where the sheep were folded fast;

    He cried, through the crack of the fence, ‘‘ Hur-
    rah!”

    And all the old sheep cried, ‘‘ Baa! baa! baa!”

    So he walked, and he walked, till he came to the

    pond,
    Of which all the ducks and the ducklings were
    fond;

    He saw them swim forward, and saw them swim
    back,

    And all the ducks said was ‘‘Quack, quack!

    quack!”

    So he walked and he walked, and it came to pass,
    That he reached the field where the cows eat grass;
    He said, with a bow, ‘‘ Pray, how do you do?”
    And the cows all answered, ‘‘ Moo, moo, mo!”

    So he walked and he walked to the harvest ground,
    And there a dozen turkeys he found;
    They were picking the grasshoppers out of the

    stubble,

    And all the turkeys said, ‘Gobble! gobble! gob-
    ble!”

    So he walked and he walked to the snug little
    house

    Where Towser was sleeping, as still as a mouse;
    And the baby cried out, ‘‘ Hello, old Tow!”
    And the dog waked up with a ‘‘ Bow, wow, wow!”

    So he walked and he walked till he came once
    more

    To the sunshiny porch and the open door;

    And Mamma looked out with a smile and said,

    “It’s time for my baby to go to bed.”

    So he drank his milk and he eat his bread,

    And he walked and he walked to his little bed;
    And with sword.at his side, and stone in his hand,
    He walked and he walked to the Sleepy Land!

    THE WORST-AND THE BEST.

    VICTOR HUGO.

    ET us fear the worst, but work with
    faith ; the best will always take care of

    _ itself.

    THE SHADOW OF A RAINBOW.

    Bi NEVER knew a day so drear,
    But on its leaden sky was hung
    Some shadow of a rainbow clear,
    From vanished joy in farewell flung.

    JESSICA’S FOUR O'CLOCK TEA.

    N | ISS ARMITAGE has become quite

    fashionable since her return from
    Hurope. She now invites her young friends
    to what she calls ‘* Four-O’Clock Tea; ” and
    very pleasant times they are. You remem-
    ber how little May followed her sister’s ex-
    ample and had a “boudoir” for her doll
    Jessica. She has now determined to give
    Jessica a ‘‘ Four-O’Clock Tea;” she has a
    little table and her doll is seated there as
    you see, and May is giving her very careful
    instructions as to how she shall behave when
    *“company” comes. It is really almost a
    pity that Jessica is not alive that she might
    know how much interest her little mistress
    takes in her well being,





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    WAITING FOR PA.

    eee Ruth has gone with her mother,
    who is somewhat of an invalid, to spend
    the summer inthe mountains. Every Satur-
    day afternoon her Pa comes by the mountain
    coach to spend Sunday with his wife and
    little daughter. And if the afternoon is
    fine Ruth is taken to a pleasant little resting

    place where she waits and watches for Pa. |

    Just as soon as the coach turns the corner of
    the road Pa waves his hat and Ruth claps
    her hands in childish gladness.

    MORE GOOD THAN EVIL.
    ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.

    eS fragrance and the beauty of the rose
    Delight me so, slight thought I give the thorn;
    And the sweet music of the lark’s clear song
    Stays with me longer than the night-hawk’s cry.
    And even in this great throe of pain called life
    I find a rapture, linked with each despair,
    Well worth the price of anguish. :

    I detect
    More good than evil in humanity.
    Love lights more fires than hate extinguishes,
    And men grow better as the world grows old.

    MODERN JAPAN.
    J. M. DANDY.

    APAN, the land of beautiful islands has
    long slept peacefully in her Northern
    Pacific home. An occasional wanderer like
    Mungo Park, seeking to compass a knowl-
    edge of the globe, has, for a moment, rested

    upon some outer islet of the group, to be -

    dismissed as ignorantashe came. A Portu-
    guese vessel in the year 1540, bound for
    Macaw, driven out of her course by tempest
    finally arrived at a spot on the. most south-
    erly of the islands. The captain and crew
    kindly received, were enabled to learn some-
    thing of the productiveness of the land, and
    they returned to their own country to excite
    the cupidity of the nation and the zeal of the
    church. The Dutch in 1600, jealous of the
    rich trade monopolized by the Portuguese,
    sought the islands and soon established lucra-
    tive traffic. An intercourse so peacefully
    initiated seemed to give promise of opening
    this undiscovered country to the knowledge
    of Europeans and of bringing this hitherto
    secluded people into the companionship of
    mankind; but St. Xavier and his follow-
    ers, by their intolerance and political in-
    termeddling soon excited the jealousy of
    the rulers and the great body of the people,

    so that all foreigners were banished and ail
    Japanese Catholics put to death. As Aineas
    enveloped in a cloud and hidden from all
    eyes until temporarily disclosed in the pres-
    ence of Dido, so Japan for a moment ap-
    peared to the nations to be as suddenly ob-
    secured. To-day, this nation with a popula-
    tion of 40,000,000, a civilization unique.
    and interesting, long secluded from the so-
    ciety of nations, is startling the world by
    the advances she is making for recognition
    and fraternity. The supreme power, from
    the seventh century before, to the sixteenth
    after Christ was under the control of two
    Emperors, ruling conjointly. The Mikado
    had charge of the spiritual welfare of the
    nation and the Tycoon of the secular inter-
    ests. This copartnership still existed up to
    the present century, but the Mikado was so
    engrossed with his ecclesiastical duties that
    he left the management of the potitical af-
    fairs of the nation almost entirely to the Ty-
    coon.

    Western ideas working upon the better
    class of minds, including many princes,
    brought about the revolution of 1867-68, in
    which the duality of the government was de-
    atroyed and the Mikado, a young man of
    great intelligence and of liberal commerciai
    and. political opinions, was invested with the
    sole sovereignty. This act of the chief
    princes of the Empire stands unparalleled in
    the annals of nations as a surrender of power
    and emolument for the public good. Hold-
    ing the Chinese, her nearest neighbors, in
    contempt, satisfied with hereditary ideas and
    institutions, the temperament of the people
    being ease-loving and unambitious, the cen-
    turies have passed unmarked by any radical
    change in Japan. The gradually acquired
    knowledge of the higher civilization of
    Western Powers has first awakened respect
    for those so greatly her superiors, and sec-
    ond, is exciting a desire to introduce among
    themselves, the ideas, the science, and the
    institutions that have contributed to this
    envied superiority.

    In striking contrast with India and China,
    who have felt but little sympathy with West-
    ern thought and manners, and among whom
    Western ideas and institutions have been
    planted with the bayonet, Japan has shown
    a sensibility to the excellencies of other
    Powers, and is now with an almost unequalled
    abandon surrendering herself to those in-
    fluences which must inevitably place her in
    the front rank of nations. This nation is of





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    peculiar interest to Americans. © The policy
    of the United States being very liberal, is
    calculated to inspire a nation struggling for
    new ideas with confidence, and the manner
    in which the United States has acted toward
    - Japan causes her to look with marked favor
    upon both our commercial and political in-
    stitutions. The fact that the commercial
    barrier between Japan and the outside world
    was broken by the United States has not
    been forgotten by the people of that country.

    For advancement in domestic arts Japan
    looks across the ocean to America. Some
    even think that the English language will
    some day supersede the Japanese as being
    adapted to the uses of civilization.

    What nation ever made greater strides in
    progress? Already, throughout the land,
    she has established schools with the most
    competent foreigners as instructors. She
    has sent hundreds of her sons and daughters
    to receive educational advantages in the best
    European and American colleges, and hun-
    dreds more are coming every year. Japan
    has ship-yards, where European and Amer-
    ican mechanics are constructing vessels on
    the most improved modern models. Rail-
    road building is rapidly going on, and even
    now the electric telegraph is no longer a
    mystery. Many of the most simple forms
    of machinery, steam engines, agricultural
    implements and American manufactures
    and products have already been introduced.
    The Emperor has forsaken his ancient se-
    clusion and moves among his people in a
    manner worthy of an American President.

    The Japanese are keen observers and learn
    quickly, and we expect from them a marvel-
    ous advancement in a comparatively short
    time. We cannot, as yet, foretell the des-
    tiny of Japan, but this much is certain, that
    its admission into the great brotherhood of
    nations must ultimately advance the great
    interests of our common humanity.

    AN ANECDOTE OF JOHN WESLEY.

    A N old man and a young man were riding

    inastagecoach. The old man was grave
    but sprightly, short of stature, spare, with
    a smooth forehead, a fresh complexion and
    a bright, piercing eye. The young man
    swore a great deal; until once, when they
    stopped-to change horses, the old man said
    to him: “I perceive by the registry books,
    that youand I are going to travel together a
    long distance in this coach. I kave a favor

    to ask of you. Iam getting to bean old
    man, and if I should so far forget myself as
    to swear, you will oblige me if you will
    caution me about it.”” The young man in-
    stantly apologized, and there was no more
    swearing heard from him during that jour-
    ney. The old man was John Wesley.

    LO! PEACE ON EARTH.

    JOAQUIN MILLER.

    O! peace on earth. Lo! flock and fold,
    Lo! rich abundance, fat increase,
    And valleys clad in sheen of gold.
    O, rise and sing a song of peace !
    For Theseus roams the land no more,
    And Janus rests with rusted door.

    DON’T.

    5 O not all that you can; spend not all
    that you have; believe not all that you
    hear; and teil not all that you know.

    CALLING THEM UP.

    “C\ HALL I go and call them up—
    Snowdrop, daisy, buttercup?”
    Lisped the rain; ‘they've had a pleasant winter’s
    nap.”
    Lightly to their doors it crept,
    Listened while they soundly slept,
    Gently woke them with its rat-a-tap-a-tap!
    Quickly woke them with its rap-a-tap-a-tap.
    Soon their windows opened wide,
    Everything astir inside;
    Shining heads came peeping out, in frill and cap.
    “Tt was kind of you, dear Rain,”
    Laughed they all, ‘‘to come again;
    We were waiting for your rap-a-tap-a-tap!
    Only waiting for your rat-a-tap-a-tap!”

    “WAKE UP, ROB, IT’S SIX O'CLOCK.”

    OB was going with his father and
    mother to spend Thanksgiving Day
    at Grandpa’s, so he went to bed early the
    night before in order that he might be
    ready early in the morning to start on the
    journey, for it was more than a hundred
    miles from the farm where his father was
    born. No sooner had Rob fallen asleep than
    he began to dream—such a dream, —all
    about turkey and pumpkin pie, and roasted
    apples. He was just in the midst of the
    most delightful of Thanksgiving feasts when
    his father woke him, saying, ‘‘ Wake up,
    Rob, it’s six o’clock!” How glad Rob was
    when he woke, to find that his dream wag
    only a dream and that all the real Thanke-
    giving delight had to come.



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    “WAKE UP ROB. IT’S SIX O’CLOCK 1”



    THE CHORUS OF THE FLOWERS,

    eRee flowers of many climates,
    That bloom all seasons through,
    Met in a stately garden

    Bright with the morning dew.

    For praise and loving worship,
    The Lord they came to meet;

    Her box of precious ointment
    The Rose broke at His feet.

    The Passion-Flower His symbols,
    Wore fondly on her breast;

    She spoke of self-denial’
    As what might please Him best,

    The Morning-Glories fragile,
    Like infants soon to go,

    Had dainty toy-like trumpets,
    And praised the Master so.

    “ His word is like to honey,”
    The Clover testified,

    “© And all who trust Thy promise
    Shall in Thy love abide.”

    The Lilies said, ‘ Oh, trust Him,
    We neither toil nor spin,

    And yet, His house of beauty,
    See how we enter in!”

    The King-cup and her kindred
    Said, ‘‘ Let us all be glad;

    Of his abundant sunghine,
    Behold how we are clad.”

    ** And let us follow Jesus,”
    The Star of Bethlehem said,
    And all the band of flowers
    Bent down with rev’rent head.

    The glad Sunflower answer’d,
    And little Daisies bright,

    And all the cousin Asters,
    “* We follow toward the light!”

    ** We praise him for the mountains,”
    The Alpine roses cried;

    “« We bless Him for the valleys,”
    The Violets replied.

    * We praise Him,” said the Air-plant,
    ‘« For breath we never lack;”

    ** And for the rocks we praise Him,”
    The Lichens answered back.

    “We praise God for the waters,”
    _ The gray Sea-mosses sighed;
    AnG all His baptized Lilies
    “ Amen! Amen!” replied.
    “« And now for the green, cool woodlands,
    We praise and thanks return,” :
    Said Kalmias and Azaleas,
    And graceful Feathery Fern.

    “* And for the wealth of gardens,
    And all the gard’ner thinks,”

    Said Roses and Camellias,
    And all the sweet-breath’d Pinks R

    ‘* Hosanna in the highest,”
    “ The Baby-Bluets sang;
    And little trembling Harebells
    With softest music rang.

    ** The winter hath been bitter,
    The sunshine follows storm,
    Thanks for His loving kindness
    The earth’s great heart is warm.”

    So said the pilgrim May-Flower,
    That cometh after snow,

    The humblest and the sweetest
    Of all the flowers that blow,

    “« Thank God for every weather,
    The sunshine and the wet,”

    Spoke out the cheerful Pansies
    And darling Mignonette,

    And then the sun descended,
    The heavens were all aglow;

    The little Morning-Glories
    Had faded long ago.

    and now the bright Day-Lilies
    Their love watch ceased to keene

    ** He giveth,” said the Poppies—
    “To His beloved sleep.” :

    The gray of evening deepened,
    The soft wind stirred the corn,

    When sudden in the garden
    Another flower was born,

    It was the Evening Primrose,
    Her sisters followed fast;

    With perfumed lips they whispered,
    “« Thank God for night at last,”



    SUNDAY MORNING TALKS,

    VII. ALWAYS READY.—A LESSON FROM THR
    LIFE OF DAVID.

    THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    oe Shepherd King of Israel was a hero.
    His name went forth to the ends of the
    earth as a man of fearless courage, who had
    torn asunder a lion and a bear when they
    had come to molest his father’s flock 3; who
    had smitten to the death Goliath, the giant
    of Gath, who had swept the last Jebusite
    from the walls of Zion; concerning whom,
    in carlier days, the daughters of Israel had
    sung:

    Saul hath slain his thousands,

    But David his tens of thousands!

    This David, who had been as mighty in war











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    as he was gifted in song, became a fugitive
    from home and throne and power, and, sad-
    dest of all, the foe before whom he fled was
    his own son, the beautiful, the spoiled, the
    gifted Absalom! Surely the cup of Ahitho-
    pel’s revenge was full to the brim as he saw
    David running like a coward from Jerusa-
    lem. But there is power in evil courses to
    palsy the strongest arm. And David, the
    warrior, the poet, the king, had fled from
    his throne! But he was not wholly friend-
    less. Ahithopel and Joab were conspirators,
    and, using Absalom as their tool, they had
    stirred up a rebellion. But David had some
    friends left, and when the dark hour came
    they rallied to his side and said, with the
    accent of whole-hearted loyalty: “‘ We are
    ready. Do you command, we will obey. We
    are ready to do whatsoever the King may
    appoint.” One cannot look back upon this
    old-world picture of life without feeling
    the unspeakable value of genuine friendship.
    A dozen stars are enough to illuminate the
    darkest sky. And when some wild blast of
    winter has driven away all one’s summer
    friends, it is unspeakably good to feel the
    grasp of some trusty hand, and to know that
    there are some at least whom neither fate
    nor fortune, life nor death, things present
    nor things to come, can ever separate froma
    beautiful fidelity. To know the full value
    of such fidelity, a man must stand where
    David stood. Above all the turmoil and
    clamor of rebellion there was one strain of
    music for the venerable monarch’s ear. The
    servants of David’s household, armor-clad
    and sword in hand, stood ready to obey his
    commands, to follow wherever he might lead.
    This quality of loyal readiness is an element
    of true nobility. It takes more than courage
    to make a perfect soldier. A man may be
    valiant, and yet most unwise in his valor.
    A soldier may rashly rush on death, and men
    may think him a hero when he is only an
    impetuous fool. The true soldier is ready
    to fight and ready to wait, ready to march
    and lead the forlorn hope, or to guard the
    vantage ground already won—just as the
    general may command. And in the pres-
    ence of the certain uncertainties of life, this
    readiness is of unspeakable value. Nothing
    can come ill-timed to the man who is ready,
    There is a world of deep spiritual meaning
    in Hamlet’s reply to Horatio: ‘If it be now,
    *tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will
    be now; if it be not now, yet it will come.
    _ The readiness is all.” Readiness for al)

    duty, and for all consequences of duty, is a
    sublime attribute. The bridegroom can not
    call at an inopportune hour if we are ready,
    lamps trimmed and lights burning. The
    so-called disasters of life acquire double force
    if they find us not ready. And even the
    good things of life are shorn of half their
    gracious strength because we are not ready.
    It is good to be ready for the worst, and
    equally good to be ready for the best. Good
    to be ready, well housed, well clad, well pro-
    visioned—when winter snows begin to fall,
    and equally good to be ready, with good seed
    and with plowed furrows, when the genial
    springtime smiles and the early rains begin
    to fall. Spasmodic getting ready for great
    times often ends in never being ready at all.
    Great times!

    All times are great !
    To the sentinel, that hour is regal
    When he mounts on guard.

    The last Napoleon lost Sedan, and died in
    exile, because he went to fight before he was
    ready. Others greater than he have lost
    kingdom, and fame, and all, because they
    were not ready when the tocsin sounded.
    The old Roman fable of the ox between the
    altar and the plow—ready for sacrifice or for
    service, has not lost its force yet. Happy
    motto this, for the young to bind about their
    brows and write upon their hearts: ‘‘ Ready!
    —whatsoever my Lord the King shall ap-
    point.”

    THE WIND.
    ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

    TL SAW you toss the kites on high

    And blow the birds about the sky ;

    And all around [ heard you pass,

    Like ladies’ skirts across the grass —
    O wind, a-blowing all day long,
    O wind, that sings so loud a song !

    I saw the different things you did,

    But always you yourself you hid.

    I felt you push, [ heard you call,

    LT could not see yourself at all —
    O wind, a-blowing all day long,
    O wind, that sings so loud a song

    O you that are so strong and cold,
    O blower, are you young or old?
    Are youa beast of field and tree,
    Or just a stronger child than me?
    O wind, a-blowing -all day long,
    4 wind, that sings so loud a song 2













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    HRs so still and shady herve where the willows nod, |

    A |

    | Wont you Tél me have one peep, pretty GoldenRod ? A



















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    SKIPPING TILLIE.

    - Matilda Isabel Clay
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    Alas! poor Isabel Clay!











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    AVENGED!

    HERE is a look of intense satisfaction in the eye of Topsy as she leaps over the fence with Liz-

    beth’s new doliin her mouth. Again and again Topsy’s precious little puppies have been
    taken away and drowned. And now her time of vengeance has come! Lizbeth’s brand-new doll
    ig making quite a sensation in the family. Everybody praises its beauty and the splendor of its
    clothes. Now is Topsy’s time! Aud she has seized the new favorite and is over the fence, while
    Lizbeth comes screaming after. In a few minutes Topsy will have torn and dissected this very
    beautiful doll, and then she will be avenged.



    ME LY P A h

    ee a Sa



    A MONKEY SUSPENSION BRIDGE.

    CAPTAIN REID.

    ““FTXHEY are coming toward the bridge;
    they will most likely cross by the rocks
    yonder,” observed Raoul.

    “Oh, no!” answered the Frenchman.
    “‘Monkeys would rather go through fire
    than water. If they cannot leap the stream
    they will bridge it.”

    “Bridge it!—and how?”

    «*You will see in a moment,” my com-
    panion replied.

    Presently the monkeys appeared on the
    opposite bank, headed by an old gray chief-
    tain, officered like so many soldiers. One,
    an aide-de-camp, or chief pioneer, perhaps,
    ran out upon a projecting rock, and after
    looking across the stream, as if calculating
    the distance, scampered back and appeared
    to communicate with the leader. This pro-
    duced a movement in the troops. Mean-

    while several of the monkeys (engineers, no’

    doubt) ran along the bank, examining the
    trees on both sides of thearrayo. Atlength
    they all collected around a tall cotton-wood
    that grew over the narrowest part of the
    stream, and twenty or thirty of them scam-
    pered up its trunk. On reaching a high
    point the foremost, a strong fellow, ran out
    upon a limb, and taking several turns of his
    tail around it, slipped off and hung head
    downward. The next on the limb, also a
    stout one, climbed down the body of the
    first, and whipped his tail tightly round the
    neck and forearm of the latter, dropped off
    in hig turn, and hung head downward. The
    third repeated this manceuver upon the sec-
    ond, and the fourth upon the string rested
    his forepaws upon the ground. The living
    chain now commenced swinging backward
    and forward like a pendulum of a clock.
    The motion was slight at first, but gradually
    increased, the lower monkey striking his
    hands violently on the earth as he passed
    tangent of the oscillating curve. Several
    others upon the limbs above aided the move-
    ment. This continued till the monkey at
    the end of the chain was thrown among the
    branches of a tree on the opposite bank.
    Here, after two or three vibrations, he
    clutched a limb and held fast. ‘This move-
    ment was executed adroitly, just at the cul-
    raination point of the oscillation, in order to
    save the intermediate links from too sudden
    a jerk. The chain was now fast at both
    ends, forming a complete suspension bridge,

    over which the whole troop, to the number
    of four or five hundred, passed. It was a
    comical sight to witness the quizzical expres-
    sion of countenances along the living chain.

    After the troops had passed, one monkey
    attached his tail to the lowest end of the
    bridge, another girded him in the same man-
    ner, and another, until a dozen or more
    were added to the string. These last were
    powerful fellows, and running up a high
    limb, they lifted the bridge into a position
    almost horizontal. Then a scream from the
    monkey of the new formation, warned the
    tail end that all was ready, and the whole
    chain was swung over and landed safely on
    the opposite bank. The lowermost link now
    dropped off like a melting candle, while the
    higher ones leaped to the branches and came
    down by the trunk. The whole troop then
    scampered off into the chapparal and dis-
    appeared.

    THE BRAVEST OF BATTLES.
    JOAQUIN MILLER.

    Bee bravest battle that ever was fought,
    Shall I tell you where and when?

    On the maps of the world you'll find it not;
    ’T was fought by the mothers of men.

    Nay, not with cannon or battle shot,
    With sword, or nobler pen;

    Nay, not with eloquent word or thought
    From mouth of wonderful men,

    But deep ina walled-up woman’s heart—
    A woman that would not yield—

    But bravely, silently bore her part—
    Lo! there is that battlefield.

    No marshalling troop, no bivouac song,
    No banner to gleam and wave!

    But, oh, these battles! they last so long—
    From babyhood to the grave!

    PUNCH AND JUDY.

    UNCH AND JUDY is one of the oldest
    forms of amusement in the world, It

    is quite wonderful how many men have made
    large fortunes exhibiting this simple merry
    show. This kind of entertainment is very
    common at seaside resorts. All kinds of
    people young and old seem to delight in
    Punch and Judy. There is comedy and
    tragedy allin one. You see the clergyman
    at the left hand side of the picture—who is
    at the seaside for his vacation is just taking
    a quiet peep. And really Punch and Judy
    well done, isa very enjoyable performance-























































































































































































































































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    PUNCH AND JUDY.



    LARRY’S ONLY FRIEND.

    ee was the gardener at Captain Os-
    borne’s, and he declared he had only
    one friend in the whole family on whom he
    could rely, and that was Master Bernard.
    He was ordered here and ordered there, and
    as he said in his quaint way, he was nearly
    always ‘‘in hot water.” The Captain was a
    cross man and the ladies of the house never
    had patience enough to let a seed grow ora
    flower bloom. They wanted spring flowers
    long before the frost had gone and expected
    grapes to be ripe and asters to bloom in June.
    But Larry said Bernard was a gentleman if
    ever there was one’in the world. Bernard
    was really a kind thoughtful boy and spoke
    kind words to Larry, whenever he had an
    opportunity. And you may be sure that
    Bernard didn’t often go to school without
    one of the most beautiful flowers Larry
    could find in the garden.

    NIGHTFALL.
    JOSIAH ALLEN’S WIFE.
    One o’er the meadow, and murmuring mere;
    Falleth ashadow, near and more near;
    Day like a white dove floats down the sky;

    Cometh the night; love, darkness is nigh,
    So dies.the happiest day.

    Slow in the dark eye riseth a tear,

    Hear I thy sad sigh, Sorrow is near;

    Hope smiling bright, love, dies on my breast,

    As day like a white dove flies down the West;
    So dies the happiest day.

    JOHNNIE WAITE.
    ANNIE M. LIBBIE.

    OHNNIE WAITE— the boys called him
    ““Couldn’t Waite,” he used those words
    so often — went home from school one night
    and gave his. weekly. report to his father.
    The family were at supper. Mr. Waite took
    the report after he had finished his biscuit
    and looked at it. There were five black
    marks on it. He turned to Johnnie:
    “* What was this mark for Monday?” :
    ‘Tran by Phil Black going out in the
    ine.”
    “* What was that for? ”
    “IT couldn’t wait for him to go along,”
    said Johnnie, ‘‘and—”
    “‘That will do’ said his father, “and
    Wednesday’s mark? ”
    “‘T upset some ink on my writing-desk.”
    ** And the two on Thursday?”

    ‘¢Y wanted to tell Phil something, and I
    whispered to him.”

    “‘Couldn’t wait till recess, I suppose,”
    said Mr. Waite, stroking his moustache to
    hide a smile.

    <‘ And I took out my sling shot —”’ John-
    nie’s cheeks were growing redder than usual.

    ‘* And to-day?”

    “‘T ate an apple,”
    dropped.

    «Another ‘couldn’t wait,’ ” said his father;
    “‘and you went to school this morning with-
    out sweeping the steps, and this afternoon
    without giving Ponto his dinner; you didn’t
    take the note your mother asked you to carry
    to Mrs. Bracket, you tipped the baby over in-
    stead of going round him, and you left the
    front door open and somebody came in and
    took my silk umbrella, and all because you
    couldn’t wait. Well, you’ll have to have a
    lesson, young man, that will break up this
    habit of yours.”

    Mr. Waite ate a cookie, played a few min-
    utes with the baby, and then went down
    town.

    Johnnie ate four cookies, and then went
    into the parlor. Great-aunt Mary Sherwin
    sat in the bay window knitting.

    «* Did you ever hear of your great-great-
    uncle Titus Foss?” she asked, peering
    through her glasses at Johnnie.

    Jonnie said “‘No’m,” ‘and wondered how
    old a great-great-uncle could be.

    “* He couldn’t wait,” continued great-aunt
    Mary. ‘I'll take you over to Lyme some
    day, and show you the nick in the door of
    the old house where he threw the stove hook
    at the cat because he couldn’t wait for her to
    step along. That mark’s been there fully
    fifty years. ‘

    “One night Uncle Titus was driving home
    from Camden, and he came to a bar with a

    and Johnnie’s head

    “lantern hanging from it, right across the.”

    road. “T'was just before he got to the toll
    bridge. Uncle Titus couldn’t wait. He
    leaped his horse over the bar. The tollman
    said he ran out to tell him part of the bridge
    was up for repairs, but Uncle Titus couldn’t
    wait. The river was high and he and the
    horse were washed down stream and

    . drowned.”

    Great-aunt Mary rattled her knitting
    needles swiftly, and Johnnie, seeing that the
    story was done, ran away to play.

    When he came into the dining-room the
    next morning he found breakfast’ cleared
    away and mamma feeding the canaries. She



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    said they thought they couldn’t wait for
    him, and Johnnie went into the kitchen and
    begged some bread and milk from Mary. He
    went back to ask if his father left the quarter
    of a dollar he promised the day before, that
    Jobnnie might pay for a share in the new
    foot-ball elub some of the boys in his class
    were getting up, but Mrs. Waite said, “‘ Papa
    went to the office early, and he told me to
    tell you he couldn’t wait.”

    The boys thought they couldn’t wait for
    Johnnie to see his father, and as Lew
    Dunton, a boy whom Johnnie especially dis-
    liked, had twenty-five cents ready, they took
    him into the club and left Johnnie out. He
    felt sure of sympathy when he began to tell
    his father about his trouble at noon, . but
    greatly to his surprise, he was cut short by a
    curt, *‘ Thatll do, I can’t wait.”

    “*T can’t wait for you, John, said the
    teacher, when he hesitated for the right
    word in his geography lesson that afternoon,
    and Johnnie was marked down, though he
    had studied hard and knew his lesson.

    He met Mary on his way home. She told
    him the rest of the family had gone to Uncle
    Byron’s and he would find his supper on the
    kitchen table, ‘‘for I’d not be waitin’ for
    one lone boy to ate,” said Mary, as she walk-
    ed heavily away.

    This was the greatest disappointment of
    all. Johnnie had counted on the ride to
    Uncle Byron’s for weeks. He ate a little sup-
    per, and lay down on the sofa in the parlor.
    The tears trickled down his face in the dark.
    - “Touess ’m getting that lesson papa meant,”

    he said, with a little sob, and then he must
    have dropped asleep, for when he opened his
    eyes the lamp was lighted, and he looked up
    into his mamma’s face. She sat down onthe
    edge of the sofa by him. '

    ‘‘Well, Johnny, do you like ‘couldn’t
    wait?’”

    “‘ No, ma’am,” said Johnnie, emphatically
    sitting up straight and punching the sofa
    pillow with a stout little fist. ‘I think it’s
    just mean when — when other folks do it!”

    Mrs. Waite laughed. ‘‘There are four
    puppies out at Uncle Byron’s, Johnnie,” she

    said, ‘‘and I happen to know that if you
    don’t use those dreadful words, and if you
    do wait for two weeks, papa means to take
    you out to see them, and if you break your-
    self entirely of this bad habit you are to
    have one of those puppies for your own.”

    Johnnie put his arms around his mother’s

    neck and kissed her. . «‘ I'll try just as hard
    as I can.”

    *‘And TV’ll help you allI can,” said his
    mother, kissing him back. John ran out to
    the front gate, and meeting his father, slip-
    ped his hand into the bigger one held out to
    him and said, ‘‘That dog’s mine, sir.” ~

    “When you’ve gained the victory, young
    man,” laughed his father. -

    And Johnnie did win the victory, and
    that’s why the handsome brown spaniel is
    Victor — to commemorate Johnnie’s learning
    to wait.

    THE MOTHER-GLANCE OF GOD.
    E. P. ROE.

    NLY God can give to the whole of his

    creation the all-seeing gaze that we be-

    stow upon some familiar scene. His glance

    around the globe is that of a mother around

    her nursery, with her little children grouped
    at her feet.

    IN THE MORNING.
    MARY KNAPP.

    T was at morning when sad Mary found
    The grave was empty and the stone away;
    The sorrow of the night passed wlth the dusk,
    And joy awoke with the new rising day.

    Each dayisnew The weight upon the heart
    May slip with darkness into Lethe’s stream,

    And hope and strength come in the hours of rest,
    To point the sun’s first beam.

    And not alone the pain and ill of life—
    _ The life itself may ebb at night away;
    He may call for usin the midnight watch,
    And we awake to an Eternal Day!

    THE HAPPY FAMILY.

    EREisahappyfamily. But nota family
    of cats, as you might imagine at a first
    glance. The home of this family is not in
    America but in the grassy brakes and jungles
    of Central Africa. This family is composed
    of a leopardess and her cubs. The father
    leopard is away gathering provisions for his
    family. The leopard is as cunning as a fox,
    and will hide from the hunter as long as
    possible, but if brought to bay its fury is
    something terrible to contemplate. That
    young cub on the ground just ready for a
    spring, gives some idea of the stealthy char-
    acter of his race.



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    COPYRIGHTED 1894, BY ROBERT O. LAW.

    W. W. HOUSTON & COMPANY,
    46 AND 48 NORTH FOURTH ST,
    PHILADELPHIA, PA.










































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































    “THE SULTRY DAY IS WELL-NIGH DONE,”






































































































































    JENNIE'S CROSSING.
    MUSIC OF THE MONTHS.
    JANUARY.

    HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

    ANUS am I; oldest of potentates!
    Forward I look and backward and below.

    I count—as God of avenues and gates—
    The years that through my portals come and go.
    I block the roads and drift the fields with snow,
    I chase the wild fowl from the frozen land;
    My frosts congeal the rivers in their flow,
    My fires light up the hearths and hearts of men.

    HOW STOCKINGS GROW.

    {= was New Year’s Day! Grandmother had

    finished her cup of tea, and was ready
    for a quiet nap in her high-backed chair; but
    to-day she had to forego the pleasure, as she

    had promised to show little Polly ‘‘how it »

    was done.” How what was done? Listen.

    The day before Polly had asked Granny a
    dozen or more questions about stockings, to
    all of which questions Granny only nodded
    her head, and said, ‘‘Stockings grow.”

    “Grow! grow! but they don’t grow like
    cherries on acherry-tree; they don’t grow
    like mushrooms in the meadow; and I have
    never, never seen any stockings growing any-
    where, I am quite sure, quite sure,” said
    Polly, with confidence.

    So when Granny ended the dispute by say-
    ing, “‘ You come to me to-morrow afternoon
    and I’ll show you how stockings grow,” Polly
    was delighted.

    -Whata picture they make! Fora long time
    -she could not see how, bit by bit, the tiny
    thread of worsted lapping over the bright knit-
    ting-needles was making the stocking grow
    longer and tonger. But at last the patient

    erseverance of the teacher was rewarded, and

    olly exclaimed, ‘‘I see it all now, Granny.
    You can’t nohow make a stocking all at once:
    you must do it bit by bit; and it is really just
    like growing.” ;

    Granny was very wise, as most Grannies
    are. Quicker than I can write it, she drop-
    ped the knitting needles and unraveled the
    stocking all at once. To Polly’s great dis-
    may there was nothing left on the floor but
    acrumpled, tumbled-about pile of worsted.

    “Oh, Granny! It isa shame! How could
    you!” And poor Polly was ready to burst
    into tears.

    ““T’ve done it on purpose, child,” said
    Granny, gravely. ‘It is quite true, as you
    have seen, that we can only make a stocking
    bit by bit; out look there, and learn that we

    39

    can spoil it all ina moment. So it is with
    our characters. We make them bit by bit
    every day, and we can spoil them in a mo-
    ment. Granny is an old woman, and she has
    often seen the work of a lifetime ruined in a
    few minutes. ‘Watch and Pray.’

    ‘Watch, as if on that alone
    Hung the issue of the day ;
    Pray, that Help may be sent down—
    Watch and Pray!”

    SUNSET.

    FANNIE ISABEL SHERRICK.

    eco gold, gold!
    Gold in the meadows of God,
    Gold in the blossoming sod,
    Gold in the crown of the yellow sun.

    Rest, rest, rest!

    Rest in the purple sky, :

    Rest where the cloudlands lie,
    Rest for the lands of the wind and sun.

    Dreams, dreams, dreams!
    Dreams for the ones that we love,
    Dreams for the star-souls above, .
    Dreams for the world when the day is done.

    LITTLE FEET.
    FLORENCE PERCY.

    ARS little feet so small that both may nestle,
    In one caressing hand, —
    Two tender feet upon the untired border

    Of life’s mysterious land.

    Dimpled and soft, and pink as peach-tree blossoms,
    In April’s fragment days,

    How can they walk among the briery tangles,
    That edge the world’s rough way.

    These white-rose feet, along the doubtful future
    Must bear a woman’s load; i

    Alas! Since woman bears the heaviest burden
    And walksthe roughest road.

    Love, for a while, will make the path before them
    All dainty, smooth and fair,—

    ‘Will cut away the brambles, letting only
    The roses blossom there.

    Will they go up Ambition’s summit,
    The common world above?

    Or in some nameless vale securely sheltered,
    Walk side by side love? -

    How shall it be with this dear gentle stranger,
    Fair-faced and gentle-eyed; _
    Before whose unstained feet, the world’s rude high-
    way.
    Stretches so strange and wide.

    Ah! who may read the future? For our darling,
    ‘We crave all blessings sweet — F

    And pray that he who feeds the crying ravens
    Will guide the baby’s feet.
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    LITTLE FEET.


    “THE LAND OF LITTLE PEOPLE.”
    COOPER WILLIS. i

    ES ; the land of little people is a lovelier land
    than ours,

    With its mine of new-found treasures, mossy glades,
    and fairy bowers ;

    Harth her robe of choicest beauty spreads to woo the
    tender feet,

    And the angels whispering round them thrill the air
    with accents sweet.

    Memory brings no pang of sorrow, troubles lightly
    pass away,

    Hope’s horizon 1s to-morrow, and the sun is bright
    to-day ;

    Every moment has its blessing, sweeter thoughts,
    and fairer flowers.

    Yes ; the land of little people is a lovelier land than
    ours.

    But from o’er the silent river comes to us a purer
    glow—

    Purer even thun the sunbeams that the little people
    know ;

    And the love song of the heavens steals upon the
    wearied ear,

    Sweeter than the angels’ whisper that the little peo-
    ple hear;

    And the wanderer, overstriven, humbled as a little
    child, :

    Knows the past is all forgiven, and his God is recon-
    ciled,

    When around his faltering footsteps comes the
    blessing of the dove,

    From the fairest world of any, from the home of
    peace and love. ‘



    “DON'T YOU THINK WE LOOK VERY
    PRETTY.”

    LD. you think we look very pretty ?
    Why of course you do. You never
    saw five handsomer kittens in all your life,
    now did you? But perhaps Lette — that’s
    the tall serious one inthe middle of the back
    row —can hardly be called a kitten; she is
    older even than Belle and Saucy, those are
    the kittens on either side of her. Roxie
    and I, are twins. You will know Roxie by
    the beautful leather collar she wears around
    her neck. And a cunning, wicked Roxie

    she is, though she does look so demure. I’m
    sure Ishouldn’t get into half the trouble I
    flo, if it were not for Roxie. You will see
    that I have a beautiful old gold satin-ribbon
    bow, tied under my left ear, which is fash-
    ionable—and you will also observe that I
    have a very beautiful bushy tail. I asked
    Ma one day how long kittens could be kit-
    tens, and she said she could hardly tell. She
    said she understood chickens were chickens
    until they were cooked, and so she supposed

    kittens were kittens as long as they were
    kittenish. That’s just what makes me
    think Lette’s kittenhood has come to an end,
    for she is cross and very stupid, and when
    we went to have our photographs taken in
    what the photograph man called “A Feline
    Group,” Lette winked and blinked and
    looked half asleep. Well, I’ve just made
    up my mind to be a kitten as long as ever I
    can. Some people don’t like kittens, but I
    know agentleman who wrote a long poem,
    all out of his own head, about kittens. I
    only remember two verses, but Im sure

    yow’ll say with me that it’s real beautiful |

    poetry, and that he was a real nice geutle-
    man.

    A small bright face, two round green eyes,
    A fluffy head as soft as silk,

    Two ears pricked up in swift surprise,
    Two whiskered lips to drink the milk, °

    So sleek, so quick, so fair, so fat,
    There’s nothing like the youngest cat. .

    She’s here, she’s there, she’s everywhere ;
    No spot is sacred from the pet.
    Of food she takes the lion’s share :
    She rushes where the saucer’s set ;
    The mouse she claims ; she beards the rat
    Within his hole—the youngest cat.

    THE BOY WHO PROMISED MOTHER.
    GEORGE COOPER.

    HE school was out, and down the street
    A noisy crowd came thronging;
    The hue of health, and gladness sweet,
    To every face belonging.

    Among them strode a little lad,
    Who listened to another,

    And mildly said, half grave; half sad.
    “YT can’t—I promised mother.”

    A shout went up, a ringing shout,
    Of boisterous derision;

    But not one moment left in doubt
    That manly, brave decision.

    “Go where you please, do what you will,”
    He calmly told the other;

    “But I shall keep my word, boys, still;
    I can’t—I promised mother.”

    Ah! who could doubt the future course
    Of one who thus had spoken?

    Through manhood’s struggle, gain and loss,
    Could faith like this be broken?

    God’s blessings on that steadfast will,
    Unyielding to another,

    That bars all jeers and laughter still,
    Because he promised mother.
    SS pes ers

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    “DON’T YOU THINK WE LOOK PRETTY ?”



    SUNDAY MORNING TALKS.

    I. A LESSON FROM THE COLISEUM.
    THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    E are not quite certain who wrote the
    Epistle to the Hebrews. The popular
    impression that Paul was its author is not
    sustained by sufficient evidence to make that
    impression certain. Whoever wrote it, was
    aman of very remarkable skill, of wide
    scholarship, and of keen powers of observa-
    tion. This letter was, in the first instance,
    addressed to the Hebrew converts to Christi-
    anity, and its main purpose was to show
    them that in giving up Judaism for this faith
    of the Nazarene, they were not in any real
    sense giving up the sacred faith of their
    fathers, but were accepting the larger spirit-
    ual development of the promise made of God
    untothe fathers. It was the business of this
    epistle to show that ‘‘ Christianity was Juda-
    ism gone to blossom and fruit;” that the
    “law” which came by Moses was but the fore-
    runner of ‘‘the grace and truth,” which at
    last came by Jesus Christ. The author of
    this epistle sees Christ exalted as head over
    all. Ile is higher than the angels, greater
    than Moses, a greater priest than Aaron or
    Melchisedec. But the writer of this letter,
    who wrote as though he had been baptized
    into Jewish: modes of thought, into Jewish
    hopes and Jewish dreams—‘‘a Hebrew of
    the Hebrews”—was also greatly moved by
    the Greek love of athletic sports and the
    grand endurance of the Roman gladiator.
    And from remembrances of what he had
    geen in the Coliseum at Rome, he suggests a
    few wise lessons, that we should be quite
    willing to learn. In the days of Tiberias
    the Roman amphitheater was capable of hold-
    ing fifty thousand spectators. The Coliseum
    was well filled at the Olympian races, but
    when gladiators fought with gladiators or
    with wild beasts it was crowded. Whata
    sight for the poor wretch—who was being
    “butchered to make a Roman holiday ”—it
    must have been to see fifty thousand pairs of
    cruel eyes looking down upon his torture!
    But when the scene was only one of compe-
    titive skill, as in the Greek races, it was both
    pleasant and humane. It must have been
    an inspiration to those swift runners to have
    seen that great cloud of witnesses, and, per-
    chance, to have heard voices that were dear
    to them cheering them on. The ambitious
    racer, eager to gain the prize, unclasped his

    mantle, and, freeing himself from all en-
    tanglements, sped on, ‘‘ laying aside every
    weight”; inspired by the witnessing multi-
    tude, but not allowing their presence to dis-
    tract him, his eye fixed on the goal, and om
    the laurel crown that was to gird the brow
    of him who was fleetest of foot. Every
    atom of power was pressed into the service,
    and so he reached forth and ran for the prize
    that was set before him. From such ascene
    what may we not learn of the kind of life
    our life should be, if we are to win, not a
    crown of fading laurels, but a crown of char-
    acter that shall shine pure and bright in the
    light of the great white throne. For this is
    the great end of the Christian race, not the
    mere attainment of position, but the acqui-
    sition of a Christ-like disposition and
    character. There are those who seem to
    think that the highest guerdon of the
    Christian life would be to be ‘‘ nearest the
    throne and first in song.” Better far is the
    ambition of the psalmist, ‘I shall be satis-
    fied when I awake in Thy likeness.” Te
    attain such a prize is worth all it can ever
    cost through all the trying years of time.
    With an eye ever fixed on the goal let us run
    with all patient continuance, for the crown
    we seek is not the fading crown of honor,
    but the unfading crown of character.

    Live for something, live in earnest, |
    Though thy work may humble be,
    By the world of men unnoticed,
    Known alone to God and thee.
    Every act has priceless value
    To the architect of fate:
    Tis the spirit of thy doing,
    This alone that makes it great.

    EULA’S MORNING RIDE.

    ULA is an early riser. Often before
    the birds are wide awake, or the sun.
    flowers have turned their hearts of gold to
    the sun, or the morning-glories have blown

    their trumpets of beauty wide open, Eula’s

    voice may be heard singing through the
    dewy.morning. As soon as she hears the
    ring of the milking pail, she is out of bed
    and throws her window wide open, and be-.
    fore her father has finished milking Curly
    Bess she is down stairs for her morning
    ride. Greatly as Eula enjoys her ride from
    the milking-shed to the meadow, it would
    almost seem asif Curly Bess was equally de-
    lighted to bear so fair a burden.


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    PLAYING BROWNIE.

    TZ was a very dismal, rainy Saturday, anda
    very dismal little girl, with something
    that looked like a raindrop running over
    each cheek, stood at the sitting-room win-
    dow drumming drearily on the pane, through
    which there was nothing to be seen but a
    rubber coated grocery-boy with a basket on
    his arm.

    ‘What a horrid, horrid day!’ pouted Alice
    Kent.

    ‘What a little Miss Grumblekin?” ex-
    claimed busy Aunt Julia, as she hurried
    through the room clad in her waterproof,
    en route for the market.

    “But, Auntie, I haven’t anything to play
    with.”

    Aunt Julia stopped a moment. ‘I know
    a nice game you can play all by yourself,”
    she said.

    “What isit?” asked Alice.

    “Play you are a good brownie,” replied
    he Aunt. ‘Your mother has a great deal
    to attend to this morning.”

    ‘‘What do good brownies do, Aunt Julia?”

    Things to help people when nobody sees,”
    was the reply—‘“‘surprises you know.” Then
    she was gone,

    Alice stood and watched the umbrella turn
    the corner; then her face brightened, and
    sheran up stairs as fast as her feet could
    carry her.

    As the family sat at the cozy tea-table that

    -evening mamma remarked, “‘I believe there
    has been a good fairy around today. Some-
    body dusted my room and put my work-
    basket to rights and arranged my top-drawer
    beautifully. 3

    “Why, thatis strange Ellen,” said grand-
    ma; ‘‘I had asimilar experience. Somebody
    found my spectacles, and saved me the
    trouble of coming down after the morning
    paper.”

    “I wish you would notice the hall-closet,”
    interjected Aunt Julia. ‘You knowit’s a
    catch-all for the family.”

    “Yes,” sighed mamma; “‘when everything
    else is in order that closet rises up before me
    likea nightmare. I must straighten it out
    this evening.”

    “Butit looks very nice to-night,” con-
    tinued Aunt Julia—‘‘shawls all folded on
    the shelves, hoods and gloves and hats and
    rubbers in their proper places. I could
    hardly believe my eyes.” |

    «There is a certain little girl,” said papa,

    “who often forgets to put my gown ang
    slippers by the fire, but my fairy must have
    done it-tonight. Have you had adull day,
    Puss?” .

    “The pleasantest Saturday I can remems
    ber,” replied Alice. or

    Noone would have thought her to be the
    child who pouted at the rain that morning.

    HOW MUCH THERE IS THAT’S BEAUTI-
    FUL. i

    OW much there is that’s beautiful,
    In this fair world of ours!
    The verdure of the early spring,
    The sweetly blooming flowers.
    The brook that dances in the light,
    The birds that carol free,
    Are objects beautiful and bright,
    That everywhere we see.

    MONUMENT TO LINCOLN, IN LINCOLN
    PARK, CHICAGO.

    LI BATES a wealthy citizen of Chicago,

    who died some years ago, left alargesum
    of money for the erection of a suitable monu-’
    ment to the memory of Abraham Lincoln,
    After some years spent in perfecting the
    wishes of the donor the statue was ready for
    unveiling. Thousands of people gathered to-
    gether to witness the ceremony. Afteran ad
    dress from Leonard Swett, one of Lincoln’s
    law partners, and a brief speech by Mayor
    Roche in which hesaid, ‘‘Herein the metrop-
    olis of the great state that nurtured him from
    boyhood to ripened manhood, and saw him, by
    the nation’s suffrage, consecrated to leader-
    ship and invested with more than kingly
    power; here in the beautiful park commem-
    orating his name, by the waters of this great
    inland sea, it is fitting that we raise a mon-
    ument to his memory where future genera-
    tions may come and see the likeness of the
    hero who died for liberty;” Master Abraham
    Lincoln, grandson of the martyr President
    stepped to the base of the statue and unloos-
    ing the string that held the American colors
    in which the statue was enveloped, unveiled
    the beautiful monument amid loudand long
    continued applause. While this impressive
    scene was transpiring in Lincoln Park, the
    Hon. Elihu Washburne, one of the most
    honored and gifted of American citizens lay
    dying, and before the cannonade of the cere-
    mony had wholly ceased, the man who had
    so distinguished himself as minister to the ,
    court of France had passed away.
    ah



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    LENA’S GOSSIP WITH THE MOON.
    R. W. LOWRIE.

    L met the moon the other night,
    Out by the chestnut tree;
    Pl teil you, if you'll listen all,
    Some things she told to me.

    She says that ong ago she was
    As blooming as the sun.

    Though now so pale her cheeks, and blanched
    Her roses one by one.

    She says she sees the frost before
    It comes upon the ground;

    And hears the footsteps of the snow
    While men are sleeping sound.

    She says she sees the babies smile
    When no one else can see;

    And that she loves to see them dream,
    And dimple prettily.

    She told me many a pretty tale,
    And many a secret, too.

    And made me promise yester-night
    Vd never tell it you!

    But if to-morrow night, my dears,
    You'll seek the chestnut tree,

    No doubt she’ll tell you every word,
    Just as she did to me!

    REAL COWBOY FUN.

    THEODORE ROOSEVELT.

    ee the head men are gathered in
    a little knot, planning out the work,
    the others are dispersed over the plain in
    every direction, racing, breaking rough
    horses, or simply larking with one another.
    If a man has an especially bad horse, he
    usually takes such an opportunity, when he
    has plenty of time, to ride him; and while
    saddling he is surrounded by a crowd of
    most unsympathetic associates who greet
    with uproarious mirth any misadventure. A
    man on a bucking horse is always considered
    fair game, every squeal and jump of the
    bronco being hailed with cheers of delighted
    irony for the rider and shouts to “stay with
    him.” The antics of a vicious bronco show
    infinite variety of detail, but are all modeled
    on one general plan. When the rope set-
    tles round his neck the fight begins, and it
    is only after much plunging and snorting
    that a twist is taken over his nose, or else a
    hackamore—a species of severe halter, usu-
    ally made of plaited hair—slipped on his
    head. While being bribed he strikes vici-
    ously with his fore feet, and perhaps has to
    be blindfolded or thrown down; and to get

    the saddle on him is quite as difficult,
    When saddled he may get rid of his exuber-
    ant spirits by bucking under the saddle, or
    may reserve all his energies for the rider. -
    Tn the last case, the man, keeping tight hold
    with his left hand of the check-strap, so as
    to prevent the horse from getting his head
    down until he is fairly seated, swings him-
    self fairly into the saddle. Up rises the
    bronco’s back into an arch; his head, the
    ears laid straight back, goes down between
    his fore feet, and squealing savagely, he
    makes a succession of rapid, stiff-legged,
    jarring bounds. Some times he isa ‘* plung-
    ing” bucker, who runs forward all the time
    while bucking; or he may buck steadily in
    one place, or ‘‘sunfish,”—that is, bring first
    one shoulder down almost to the ground and
    then the other—or else he may change ends
    while in the air. A first-class rider will sit
    throughout it all without moving from the
    saddle, quirting his horse all the time,
    though his hat may be jarred off his head
    and his revolver out of itssheath. Aftera
    few jumps, however, the average man grasps
    hold of the horn of the saddle—the delighted
    oniooker meanwhile earnestly advising him
    not to ‘go to leather”—and is contented to
    get through the affair in any shape provided
    he can escape without being thrown off. An
    accident is of necessity borne with a broad
    grin, as any attempt to resent the raillery of
    the bystanders— which is perfectly good
    humored—would be apt toresult disastrously.

    “YOURS, DEAR HEARTS, AND MINE.”
    FANNIE ISABEL SHERRICK.

    -[ ET us look in our hearts and count the gifts
    That the Father in heaven has given ;

    'The poorest among us has life at least

    And hope of a future heaven.
    We each have a blessing that others have not,
    Some gift that is sweeter than all,
    And the guiding hand of a Savior near
    Whatever our lives befall.
    We all have sorrows that we must bear,
    And a cross that is hid from sight:
    But though in darkness we walk to-day,
    To-morrow we'll find the light.
    Though we see them not in the cloudy sky,
    The stars inthe heaven still shine,
    And beyond them all is the Father’s Love
    That is yours, dear hearts and mine.

    THE UNRULY MEMBER.

    There are many men whose tongues might
    govern multitudes if they sould govern their

    tongues.
    ANY
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    A SURE RECIPE FOR HAPPINESS.

    nce there was a king who had a little
    boy whom he loved. He gave him beau-
    tiful rooms to live in, and pictures and toys
    and books. He gave him a pony to ride and
    ‘a row boat on a lake, and servants. He
    provided teachers who were to give him
    knowledge that would make him good and
    great. But for all this the young prince
    was not happy. He wore a frown wherever
    he went, and was‘always wishing for some-
    thing he did not have. At length, one day,
    - a magician came to the court. He saw the
    boy, and said to the king: ‘I can make
    your son happy, but you must pay me a
    great price for telling the secret.” . <‘ Well,”
    said the king, “what you ask I will give.”
    So the price was paid. The magician took
    the boy into a private room. He wrote
    something with a white substance on a piece
    of paper. Next he gave the boy a candle and
    told him to light it and hold it under the
    pee and then see what he could read. Then

    e went away. The boy did as he was told,
    and the white letters on the paper turned
    into a beautiful blue.

    _ They formed these words: ‘*Do a kind-
    ness to some one every day.” ‘The prince
    made use of the secret and became the hap-
    piest boy in the kingdom.

    LONGINGS FOR THE SPRING.
    GEORGE COOPER. :

    Wi you never wake up little brook?
    You are sleeping so cold and still:
    Have you nothing to say,
    Till the snow flies away,
    And the daisies the springtime fill?
    “Wait,” the little brook lisped, very low,
    “‘T have wonderful things to tell;
    Though the winter seems long,
    I shall break into song
    we tars bluebirds that flash through the
    ell.

    «You look withered and lonely, poor tree!
    ‘Will you soon wear your crown of green?
    Only icicles fall -
    From your boughs, dark and tall,
    Where a torn empty nest is seen.”
    “Wait!” thetree murmured softly “still wait!
    Though the snow all around me lies deep,
    ‘When the warmer wind brings
    The flutter of wings,
    T shall rock the sweet birdies to sleep.

    ** Are you stirring below, tiny seed?
    For I am longing to see you peep,
    When the storm blusters near,
    Are you frightened to hear? ”

    ** Wait,” the tiny seed whispered, ‘‘I’ll eome
    When the rain-drops above me cali;
    Then, in gold, pink and blue,
    With a sweet ‘ How d’ye do,’
    I shall welcome the little ones all!”

    “WELL-ENOUGH JONES.”

    «¢ Have you got your lesson, Will?” asked
    Harry Mayo, standing outside the open sit-
    ting-room window of the Jones’ farmhouse.

    ‘Pye got it well enough.” And the tat-
    tered, coverless spelling-book was thrown
    into the farthest corner of the room, as the
    lad crammed his new but battered straw hat
    upon his curly, half-combed hair, and started
    to join his comrade in the yard.

    “Tt is not well enough unless it is per-
    fect,” replied Harry; ‘‘and I am in no
    hurry.”

    «Well enough’ is my motto, and ‘ Per-
    fect’ is yours,” laughed Will.

    “And that is why Harry is always at the
    head of your classes, and you are at the
    foot,” put in Aunt Hannah, with a sigh;
    while Mrs. Jones called after her son, “‘ That
    onion bed is not thoroughly weeded by any
    means.”

    “It is weeded well enough,”, retorted
    Will, as he vaulted over a rail fence on the
    brow of-a hill, from which point a broad
    sheet of water, glistening inthe sunlight, was
    visible a mile away.

    “Have you mended your boat?” asked
    Harry, as the two lads ran swiftly down the
    grassy pasture slope.

    «Yes, well enough,” replied Will, reach-
    ing the water’s edge, and pushing the paint-
    ed skiff out upon the mirror-like surface.

    “A well-enough boat will not do for my
    mother’s only boy,” said Harry, stoutly.
    “Let us give up going upon the water to-
    day, and throughly mend and tar The Speed-
    well, then we can take some comfort going
    out in her.”

    ‘Oh, nonsense! You are such a notional
    chap! The boat is well enough. - Come on!”
    And, jumping in, he took up the oars.

    Harry sat down upon a rock, saying, “‘Go
    on, and I will stay here to render you what
    assistance I can when the boat sinks.”

    Will laughed heartily as he paddled away,
    and his laughter ran back over the water at
    intervals for haif an hour. Then he shouted,
    making a trumpet of his hands: ‘‘ She’s fill-
    ing and sinking! I can’t get ashore!”

    “‘Put for Brush Island,” Harry shouted










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    back; and knew his advice was being taken
    by the changed course of the little boat.

    “He won’t drown—he can swim,” said
    Harry to himself. But he watched with in-
    tense anxiety, there being nothing else that
    he could do, until the boat disappeared, and
    the owner struck out for the island, now
    only a few rods away from him. Not until
    he had scrambled upon the rocks, and
    waved his hat in triumph, did Harry leave
    his own exposed position; then, waving his
    hat in reply, he turned and ran as fast as
    possible for the house.

    “There is only one thing for me to do,”
    he said, breathlessly, to Mrs. Jones, “and
    that is to go as fast as I can for Tom Fisher’s
    boat. Iam afraid we can’t get him off be-
    fore dark, and it is awfully lonely over
    there.”

    “JT don’t care at all,” said Aunt Hannah.
    “TI don’t pity him one bit. I think it would
    be a good lesson for him to stay there all
    night. It might teach him that nothing
    partly done is done well enough.”

    The kind old lady, however, as Harry sped
    away, took her knitting work and went and
    sat upon the rocks by the boat landing where
    she could see her nephew and he could see
    _ her, although the distance was too great for
    either to hear the voice of the other.

    “ He’s well enough,” she said to the fam-
    ily, a8 one and another came down to keep
    her company; “but there would be no harm
    in making a bonfire here, so he will know
    we have not forgotten him.”

    The sun went down, the daylight faded
    away in the west, one by one the stars came
    out; but still there was no sign of the ap-
    proaching boat.

    When the flames of the bonfire shot up
    against the sky, an answering flame shone
    out from the island.

    “Oh, he had his metallic match-safe with
    him that he uses when he goes fishing even-
    ings,” said his sister.

    “Now, if he. only had something to cook,
    he would be all right; but he has not, and,
    oh dear, how hungry he must be!” and the
    little girl sobbed bitterly.

    The hours dragged along, one, two, three
    of them, and then from out of the darkness,
    at the upper end of the pond, astar appeared,
    coming gradually nearer and nearer. It was
    a boat with a lantern, but it was not coming
    from the direction of Tom Fisher’s,

    They all watched breathlessly as it rounded

    the point and shot up into the rays of
    light. It was a boat with two men, and it
    took off the adventurer and sped to the
    shore.

    “Tt seems as if I had been gone as long as
    Rip Van Winkle,” said Will, as he jumped
    onshore. “I think my hair must be turned
    quite gray. I am hungry asa wild Indian;
    and I am sure I could write a book, if I could
    put down all the thoughts that have run
    through my mind, and all the good resolu-
    tions I have made. There is one thing sure,
    I never will say, ‘Well enough,’ again.”

    “And how are you, Harry?” asked Aunt
    Hannah, gently, of the lad who stood quietly
    b

    %Oh, well enough,” laughed Harry, good-
    naturedly. “Tom Fisher was not at home,
    and I had to tramp three miles further, clear
    to the head of the pond.”

    “You were as much alone as I was, tramp-
    ing alone through the pine woods,” said
    Will, with unusual thoughtfulness,

    “Why, yes, so I was; but I did not think
    of it, because I was doing something for
    somebody, and you had nothing to do but
    wait.”

    “Have you had supper?” asked Aunt
    Hannah. Harry shook his head. “Neither
    have I,” said the other lady. “I didn’t
    think of it, I was so anxious for both you
    boys.”

    Will was cured of his bad habit; but the
    schoolboys insisted that the initials W. E.
    stood not for William Everett, but for Well
    Enough; and “ Well-Enough Jones” he has
    been called all his life.

    The pond where the little red boat can
    still be seen on the clear, sandy bottom, is
    known as Well-Enough Pond; and the short
    cut through the pinewoods that leads from
    the pond to the village is known as Well-
    Enough Lane.



    A GOOD TIME TO BE DEAF,
    SIR T, BROWNE.

    Be deaf unto the suggestions of tale-
    bearers, caluminators, pick-thanks or
    malevolent detractors, who, while great
    men sleep, sow the tares of discord and
    division; distract the tranquility of charity
    and all friendly society. These are the
    tongues that set the world on fire—cankerers
    of reputation, and, like that of Jonah’s gourd,
    wither a good name in a single night.


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    THE WELCOME SINGE
    il every street in the old town rang
    With liquid notes from the silver bill.
    And an added softness gently lay

    Twitter and warble and softest trill
    Through pastures green and meadows

    Moisture from cheeks where it seldom lay,

    As pictures arose of valley and hill

    Entered houses through window and door,
    Of forest nook and mountain rill

    A wandering bird dropped lightly down;
    On a swinging spray he sat and sang
    And filled every shop from roof to floor.
    And many a hard hand brushed away
    Of beautiful youths and maidens fair,
    The dear old home and mother’s chair.
    The unconscious bird flew far away,
    On the little town with houses gray.
    Made each ‘become as a little child.”

    Into the heart of a dusty town
    Every one wondered

    The jubilant melody,

    Men spoke more softly,

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    BABY JO.
    KATE HARRINGTON.

    UT from heaven's portals, those flood-gates of
    light,

    Came ee soul in the hush of the night.
    On, past the star-isles that floated on high:
    . On, past the moonbeamis that goldened the sky:
    Truant from Eden it wandered away
    Down to the edge of the dawn of the day.
    No one could tell how the pathway was known,
    Or how, unguided, it came to its own.
    This we but knew — that a heaven of love
    Came to our home with this gift from above,
    This we but felt — that a transport of joy
    Burst in each heart at the birth of our boy.

    Just while we mourned o’er the vanishing flowers
    One from the summer-land floated to ours.

    Just when we sighed that the song-birds had fled
    Came our sweet nestling to cheer us instead.

    Just when earth’s shadows its sunlight concealed,
    Lo! to our spirits this bliss was revealed.

    Soft, dimpled hands we can hide in our own,
    What will you do when our baby is grown?
    Promise me, now, when your work has been planned,
    Ever to cheerfully heed His command.

    Strike, if need be, for Justice and Right,

    Lead back misguided ones into the light.
    Constant in friendship and steadfast in love,
    Hand-clasp and heart-throb in concert will move.

    Small, tender feet! O, so daintily flushed,

    Dyed with a tint as of rose petals crushed,

    Wilkyou not carry our darling alway

    Onward and upward, but never astray?

    Will you not bear him, with tenderest care?

    Over each pitfall and past every snare? .

    Whether his path lie through thorns or through
    flowers

    Hold from temptation this treasure of ours!

    Lips like twin blossoms a-quiver with dew,

    When will the sweet, lisping words tremble
    through?

    When, O how long must I wait ere I see

    Answering smiles in the blue eyes for me?

    Questioning glances and looks of surprise

    Brighten and flash in those wondering eyes.

    Sueh a large world for a baby so small!

    Wenuld he might tell what he thinks of it al?!



    GOOD HUMOR’S VISIT TO PESKY JIM.

    ESKY JIM was a good boy generally,
    and had plenty of toys, such as nine-
    pins, blocks, drums, a boy doll, a lovely
    horse, and he liked to play with all those
    things and scatter them over the floor, which
    his mamma allowed him to do all day, until
    evening. Then mamma said: “Now, Jim,
    ick up your toys and put them in the
    rawer.” But Jim, being tired and a little
    eross, would say with a pout:

    “T don’t want to put them away. Mam.
    ma, pick them up.”

    Well, one evening Jim was sitting on the
    carpet with his toys all around him, when
    there was a brisk rat-a-tat at the door, and
    in walked a little man who said,

    “Good evening, Jim. Why, what is the
    matter? You look so cross. I see you don’t
    know me to-day. My name is Good Hu-
    mor.”

    Jim said, ‘“‘I don’t want to pick up all
    these things every evening.”

    Then Good Humor laughed and said,
    “‘ Well, I will have to introduce you to two
    friends of mine. I expect them here every
    minute.”

    While he was yet speaking there came a
    “rat-a-tat, tat” at the door, and in walked
    two little gentlemen. One of them went to
    Jim and said,

    ““Good evening, Jim; my name is Cheer-
    fulness. Allow me to introduce you to my
    friend, Werk. We have called this evening
    to help you put away all your toys in their
    proper places for to-night. Come, show us
    the drawer.” -

    “‘Here it is,” said Good Humor with a
    laugh.

    So Jim went with Cheerfulness to work,

    and they piled up the toys on Work’s back,

    and they put them away in the drawer very
    carefully. Then Good Humor shouted,
    “Hurrah, hurrah!” and Cheerfulness
    shook hands with Jim, and Work said,
    “Good evening. I am going to bed;”
    and they all went away and left Jim laugh-
    ing.
    Dear. little boys and girls, whenever you
    feel cross or sulky, and don’t wish to obey
    your parents, call on Good Humor and
    Cheerfulness, and they will help you with
    your work.

    TAKE YOUR HANDS OUT OF YOUR
    POCKETS, MY BOY.

    O begin with, it does not look well when
    a young man crooks his arms and
    thrusts his hands into his pockets, making a
    figure eight of himself, and then stands up
    against the sunny side of the house, like a
    rooster in December. :
    How would the girls look all turned to
    eights and leaning against the wall? How
    would your mother look in that posture?






































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    a

    Catch her doing it! You don’t find her
    hands in her pockets. Your mother’s hands!
    While you are loafing, they are the hands
    that sew, and bake, and stew, and fry, and
    sweep, and darn, and nurse, but she does not
    sink them in her pockets and then loll against
    a building.

    Are your hands cold? Warm them up at

    the end of the hoe handle and scythe. Swing -

    the hammer; drive the plane; flourish the
    axe. There is untold caloric about a spade,
    a trowel, a wrench. :

    Besides, pocket. heat is not profitable.

    Have you money there though? Are your.

    pockets the safes in which you have hid
    treasure, and shands the:bolts:th
    : eth



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    have planted
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    A SONG OF WORK,
    E. W. BATCHELDER.

    A charming tale was that of old,
    For lazy folks by poets told, .
    That ’tis Love that makes the world go round—
    Round and round,
    With never a sound;
    Over and over,
    From Sydney to Dover,
    Here we go, there we go, till the brain reels;
    Now on our heads and now on our heels;
    But we know it is not Love atall
    That keeps agoing this cosmic ball;
    : For oh!
    Tis Work that makes the world go round,
    And Love only oils the wheels!


















    Then prate no more of a ‘‘ primal curse;”
    With Eden kept, things might have been worse;
    For ’tis Work that makes the world go round;
    : So day by day
    We'll work away,
    Plowing and sowing,
    Reaping and mowing,
    Spinning and weaving and getting of meals,
    Forging and building and laying of keels;
    Slaves and prisoners labor; free men disdain
    A word so fraught with crime and pain!
    Yet oh!
    ’Tis hard to make the world go round
    If Love do not oil the wheels!








    it know they of rest who never work,
    ithe duties of manhood and womanhood shirk,
    Work that makes the world go round!
    2 When work is done
    *Tis time for fun—

    Father and mother,
    . Sister and brother,
    d all, with the merriest peals,
    ‘éeting the joys home life reveals,
    Day's work brings peace and rest at night;
    For, Work means Duty, and Duty is Right!
    an _ And oh!
    is easy to make the world go round
    ove will but oil the wheels!



    AN ALPHABET OF PROVERBS.

    Attend carefully to details of your business.
    Be prompt in all things.

    Consider well, then decide positively.
    Dare to do right, fear to do wrong.
    Endure trials patiently.

    Fight life’s battle bravely, manfully.

    Go not into the society of the vicious.
    Hold integrity sacred.

    Injure not another’s reputation nor business,
    Join hands only with the virtuous.

    Keep your mind from evil thoughts.

    Lie not for any consideration,

    Make few acquaintances. ~

    Never try to appear what you are not.
    Observe good manners.

    Pay your debts promptly.

    Question not the veracity of a friend.
    Respect the counsel of your parents.
    Sacrifice money rather than principle.
    Touch not, taste not, intoxicating drinks,
    Use your leisure time for improvement.
    Venture not upon the threshold of wrong.
    Watch carefully over your passions.
    *Xtend to every one a kindly salutation.
    Yield not to discouragement.

    Zealously labor for the right.

    And success is certain.
    iu
    Al at



























































































































































































































































































































    THEA FIRST LASSON,
    LITTLE THINGS.

    T CANNOT do great things for Him
    Who did so much for me, .
    But I would like to show my love,
    Dear Jesus, unto Thee.
    Faithful in every little thing,
    O, Saviour, may I be!

    There are small crosses I may take,
    Small burdens I may bear,

    Small acts of faith and deeds of love,
    Small sorrows I may share,

    And little bits of work for Thee,
    I may do everywhere.

    And so I ask Thee, Give me grace
    My little place to fill,

    That I may ever walk with Thee,
    And ever do Thy will,

    And in each duty, great or small,
    May I be faithful still.



    INDEPENDENT PIERRE,

    A MONG the French aristocrats who es-
    caped the guillotine, in the days when
    it was a crime to have been born with a title,
    was the Marquise de Sourcy, who fled to
    England, and thence to this country, with
    her son, a boy of fourteen. Her husband
    having keen executed, this boy, Pierre, in-
    herited the title; estates there were none.
    His mother landed penniless in Wilming-
    ton, Del., and found refuge in a little
    cabin on Sixth street. The influential peo-
    ple of the town called on Madame de Sourcy,
    and offered her aid; many houses were
    opened to her, but Pierre refused all help.
    “We are poor, but not beggars,” he said,

    proudly. “I have hands. [ will support
    my mother.” —
    He had no profession, trade or capital.

    In the garden attached to their cottage
    grew a gourd vine. He cut the smaller
    gourds and made of them boxes, which he
    stained and decorated with black figures.
    These boxes sold rapidly at high prices. He
    then invented an ice-boat, which drew large
    crowds to the banks of Christiana Creek
    when it was frozen over,

    There the young marquis was waiting
    with toy boats which he had made for sale.
    When spring came he had several small boxes

    . ready to dispose of.
    In the garden he raised poultry and vege-
    tables enough to supply his mother’s table.
    Two years passed. Pierre had wider ambi-
    tions. He built, after many failures, a boat

    so large that in it he was able to cross the
    Delaware, and to bring from New Jersey
    sand, which he sold for building purposes,
    He had from this a steady.income, and began
    to look with contempt on his toy boxes and
    boats.

    But one day the poor little Marquis.
    weighted with his cargo of sand, was over-
    taken by a storm on the Delaware, his boat
    was capsized, and he was drowned within
    sight of his home. His mother sank under
    her trouble and died the next day.

    They were buried together in the old
    Swedes’ churchyard, and the grave is still
    shown to strangers, of the little nobleman
    who played his part in the world, in the
    midst of cruel misery and pain, more bravely,
    perhaps, than any of his ancestors.

    MAXIMS FOR THE YOUNG.

    EVER be idle. When your hands are
    not usefully employed, attend to the
    cultivation of your mind.
    Always speak the truth.
    Keep good company or none at all.
    Make few promises.
    Live up to your engagements.
    When you speak to a person look him in
    the face.
    Good company and excellent conversation
    are the very sinews of virtue.
    Good character is above all things else.
    Never listen to loose or idle conversation.
    You had better be poisoned in your blood
    than in your principles.
    Your character cannot be essentially in-
    jured except by your own acts.
    Early in life secure a practical business
    education.
    Do not make too great haste to be rich if
    you would prosper.
    Small and steady gains give competency
    with tranquility of mind.
    Never play games of chance, or make bets
    of any description. :
    Avoid temptation through the fear that
    you may not withstand it at last.
    Drink no intoxicating liquors.
    Never run in debt, unless you see a way
    to get out again.
    Keep yourself innocent if you would be
    happy.
    Save when you are young to spend when
    you are old.
    Aim high in this life, but not so high that

    “you cannot hit anything.










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    HIS MESSENGER.

    M. B. CULVER.

    ,

    A H! Robin red breast, here you are!
    Back from the southern clime afar.

    What is the news you chirpingly bring,

    Returning tous oneager wing?

    How did you leave that summer land,
    Where flowers bloom on every hand?
    Do soft winds whisper a lullaby
    To nature fair in earth and sky?

    Do the roses bloom with beauty rare,
    Yielding perfume to all the air?
    Lifting to God in their purity

    An incense glad to His deity?

    Why did you leave your sunny home,—
    Were you quite ready and anxious to come?
    Tell us, sweet robin, what do you bring?
    Dear little robin, poor little thing!

    “Summer is coming!” you chirpingly say~
    ‘Tam coming to show her the way.
    Qoming with roses and violets blue,
    Flowers and grasses baptized with dew.

    This is thy message, O birdie, to-day,
    Heralding summer, showing the way.
    Oh, it is joyous, this message you bring,
    Glad robin red-breast, sweet little thing!

    THE SONG OF THE BREEZE.

    J. M. Ke

    A UNT Jemima’s flower-bed certainly

    did need weeding. Tommy had prom-
    ised to keep it in order, and it looked very
    well the first part of the summer, but later
    on there were so many things more delight-
    ful to do than weeding. There was fishing,
    and Tommy had such a beautiful new rod,
    and such good luck fishing! Then there
    were picnics, and excursions down the river
    to the seashore, and the blackberry parties,
    and base-ball,matches, and tennis, and arch-
    ery, and foot-ball. The summer days went
    by so fast! At first the weeds were a little
    timid about starting up, fearful of attract-
    ing attention; but as no one noticed their
    - little shy advances, they became bolder, and
    they grew, and they grew, and they grew,
    until the little discouraged geraniums and
    rose bushes just hid their heads, and could
    not be seen at all.

    ““ Why, Ido declare!” said Tommy, one
    bright morning as he was hurrying by, and
    caught sight of the tall flaunting weeds.
    Aunt Jemima had made some particularly
    nice apple-turnovers, and Tommy’s con-

    science gave a decided twinge at the
    thought of her unfailing kindness to him.
    “Tt is too had,” said he, pulling off his
    jacket; “‘’ll go to work right off, and clean
    out that bed before noon!” : :

    But the sun was very hot, and the weeds
    were very large and their roots very long,
    and it took many a strong tug to pull even
    one up.

    “My!” exclaimed Tommy, the perspira-
    tion rolling down his face, ‘* what tough old
    customers these are! How did they ever get
    such a start?”

    At length the shade of a neighboring
    apple-tree seemed very inviting, and Tommy
    threw himself down on the grass beneath the
    branches for a moment’s rest. A breeze hap-
    pened to be wandering by, and stopped to
    cool off Tommy’s hot face. ‘* How nice!”
    he sighed. ‘I wish I were a breeze, just to
    fly about all the time, and play among the
    leaves and grasses, and have nothing else to
    do!”

    “Dear little boy!’ the breezes seemed to
    murmur, ‘‘now listen and hear. [’ll whisper
    a secret just into your ear. You think

    - *twould. be lovely to dance and play, and

    frolic about the whole long day, but it would
    be tiresome to you, with nothing else in the
    world to do.”

    “Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Tommy, “I'd
    like to try it just once; no dull school-room,
    no sums, no weeding inthe hot sun.” Here
    the breeze playfully tickled his ear witha
    spear of grass as it whispered: ‘‘It is cer-
    tainly hard, all the weeding you’ve done be-
    neath the hot beams of the summer sun!
    Let me see how long—one hour or two—you
    have been working here, and are not yet
    through! Don’t you think you’d better
    return to your charge?—for the weeds are
    strong and the bed is large. For when at
    length the task is done, the rest of the vaca-

    tion is nothing but fun!”

    “No,” said Tommy, “I’m not going back
    quite yet; you don’t know how hard it is.”

    “ But, dear little boy, I’d have you know,
    this is true of all the breezes that blow:—
    through all the moments of bright daylight,
    and on through the silent hours of night,
    we are busy and working, each doing his
    share, no rest or vacation for us anywhere.”

    ‘* Why! what on earth have you got te
    do?” asked Tommy. ‘‘ You’re joking!
    there’s nothing for you to do!”

    The breeze began softly rocking the












    SS
    SS







    HIS MESSENGER.
    ranches of the old apple-tree, and seemed
    to sing among the rustling leaves. ‘ Noth-
    ing to do, nothing to do! Indeed, my work
    is never through. From ‘lands of sun to
    jands of snow,’ over the whole wide world I
    go. I marshal the clouds that bring the
    showers, and hurry them on to the thirsty
    flowers, and when they have given the blessed
    rain, then I must scatter them all again, and
    show the depths of the sky so blue with the
    beautiful sunlight shining through. Lazily
    rocking upon the sea, the ships are waiting
    and watching forme. ‘The sailor sighs for
    the favoring gales, when lo! I come and fill
    the sails, and off and away they swiftly glide,
    dashing the water on either side, bearing
    rich cargo from far and near, or carrying
    home some loved one dear. Then on I fly
    to that distant land, where, gaunt and grim,
    great windmills stand. They beckon to me
    to hurry and blow, helpless they are without
    me, they know. Then off to the city’s nar-
    - row street I travel to drive away the heat,
    and bring new life and fresher air to those
    who are toiling and stifling there,—a breath
    from the country, of pastures that lie sweet
    and green ’neath the summer sky, or a cool-
    ing whiff from the neighboring sea, that
    quickens the pulses to life more free.

    ‘Then over the hills I hurry with speed
    to plants, where I promised to carry their
    seeds to a different soil or a richer field that
    shall an abundant harvest yield. By a
    window an invalid sits in her chair, and I
    come to bring her a breath of air, and blow
    softly in that she may get the scent of the
    blossoming mignonette. Then on to the
    North with fiercer blast, I whirl the snow-
    flakes thick and fast, and over the plants,
    an their winter’s sleep, I lay a white cover,
    soft and deep, and tuck them in snugly, to
    keep them warm, away from the King
    Frost’s mighty arm. Down chimneys wide
    I whistle and sing, and up start the bright
    flames quivering on the farmhouse hearth
    from birch-logs dry, and the children laugh
    at the sparks that fly. I watch their faces
    redden and glow, as the fire to brighter flames
    I blow; then around the house I shout and
    roar, and rattle the windows and shake the
    uoor, The farmer’s wife stops her work to
    hear, and smiles at thought of the comfort
    near, and her loved ones sheltered from
    stormy blast, and I laugh and shout as I
    hurry past. I lash the waves into seething
    foam, and hurry the lingering fisherman

    os,

    home. Now I am stopping and idling here,
    just to whisper a secret into your ear. From
    early morn to set of sun, there’s always work
    that must be done; and, little boy, you
    should do your share in this world of nature
    so wide and fair, and learn a lesson from
    birds and bees, from murmuring brooks and
    murmuring breeze. The rest is sweetest
    that toil has won, and the happiest play
    when the task is done.”

    At that moment a little green apple drop-
    ped down on Tommy’s face. He jumped up
    and rubbed his eyes. The wind was blow-
    ing, and a cloud had covered the sun.
    ‘‘ Well!” said Tommy, looking all around,
    “it certainly is queer; how very queer it all
    was!” He went thoughtfully back to the
    garden-bed and the tall weeds, and worked
    with such good will that by afternoon they
    were all cleared out, and the bed was raked
    carefully over, and the rose-bushes looked
    as if they could hold up their heads.

    Tommy had a beautiful time fishing next
    day in the reservoir, and caught a bass and
    six perch, while the words kept ringing in
    his ears :

    ‘Rest is sweetest that toil has won,
    And the happiest play when the task is done.”

    LITTLE BOPEEP AND LITTLE BOY
    BLUE.

    A ROMANCE.

    I T happened one morning that little Bopeep, |
    While watching her frolicsome, mischievous sheep.
    Out in the meadow, fell fast asleep.

    By her wind-blown tresses and rose-leaf pout,

    And her dimpling smile, you’d have guessed, no
    doubt,

    *T was love, love, love, she was dreaming about.

    As she lay there asleep, came Little Boy Blue,
    Right over the stile, where the daisies grew ;
    Entranced by the picture, he stopped in the dew.

    So wildly bewitching that beautiful morn
    Was little Bo-peep, that he dropped his horn,
    And thought no more of the cows in the corn,

    Our sorrows are many, our pleasures are few;
    Oh, moment so lucky! What could a boy do?
    He kissed the wee lassie, that Little Boy Blue!

    Each sheep heaved a sigh as they stood iu a row,
    And said as their heads they wagged srlemnly, slow,
    “Such conduct is perfectly shocking—let’s 9.”
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    GOOD NIGHT.
    MERCIE M. THIRDS.

    Shadows have crept into every nook
    Where the sunbeams sported to-day,
    And the pure moon chased with her saintly look
    The tumult of toil away;
    The bird has folded its dew-wet wing,
    And gone to its welcome nest;
    It awoke with the first light ray to sing,
    So is wearily seeking rest.
    Good-night, sweet bird, good-night.

    How oft in my busy work to-day
    I have thought, dear love, of thee,
    And still when the day has passed away,
    Thy image comes back to me.
    Ere I seek repose with slumber blest,
    I will pray the Power above
    To send good spirits to guard thy rest,
    And weave thee bright dreams of love.
    Good-night, my love, good-night.

    WORTH OF A GOOD NAME.

    MAN of very pleasing address, but
    very dishonest in his practices, once
    said to an honorable merchant: “I would
    give fifty thousand dollars for your good
    name.”
    ““Why so?” asked the other, in sur-
    prise.
    “Because I could make a, hundred thou-
    sand dollars out of it.”
    The honorable character, which was at the

    bottom of the good name, he cared nothing.

    for; it was only the reputation, which he
    could turn to account in a money point of
    view, which he coveted.

    But a good name can not be bought with
    silver. It, of all other possessions, must be
    fairly earned. When it is. possessed; jt is
    better business capital than a great sum of
    money. It isa fortune any boy or girl may
    secure. Honesty must be its foundation,
    even in the smallest particulars. When an
    employer says: “‘There is a boy I can
    trust,” that youth will always find himself
    in demand, provided he joins industry with
    honor. ‘The hand of the diligent maketh
    rich.”

    It seems hard at the time, perhaps, to be
    bound to a ceaseless round of work while
    other boys are lounging, or playing on the
    green. But the reward will come if you are
    faithful. While idlers are dragging out a
    miserable life-time in privation and poverty,
    the hard-working boy lives at his ease, re-
    spected and honored.

    Remember that if you desire to make
    your way in the world, there is nothing
    that can serve your purpose likea name for
    honesty and industry; and you will never

    _ acquire either if you are a loiterer about the

    streets, and neglectful of your business.
    <‘A good name is rather to be chosen than
    great riches, and loving favor rather than
    silver and gold.”

    WORTH REMEMBERING.

    That the tongue is not steel, yet it cuts.

    That cheerfulness is the weather of the
    heart. .

    That sleep is the best stimulant; a nervine
    safe for all to take. :

    That cold air is not necessarily pure, nor
    warm air necessarily impure.

    That a cheerful face is nearly as good fox
    an invalid as healthy weather.

    That there are men whose friends are more
    to be pitied than their enemies.

    That advice is like castor oil—easy enough
    to give but hard enough to take.

    That wealth may bring luxuries, but that
    luxuries do not always bring happiness.

    That grand temples are built of small
    stones, and great lives made up of trifling
    events.

    That an open mind, an open hand, and an.
    open heart would everywhere find an open
    door. %

    WE ARE BUT YOUNG PEOPLE YET.

    E are but little children yet—
    Young people yet.
    But as we grow, the more we know;
    We hope we may be wiser yet.
    We wish to learn to read and spell;
    We wish to know our duty well,
    And every one who asks we'll tell
    That we shall soon be wiser yet.

    Perhaps we are but naughty yet,
    Naughty yet.
    But every day we try to say
    We'll be a little better yet.
    ‘We mean to mind what we are told,
    And if we should be rude or bold,
    We'll try to mend as we grow old;
    We'll wish that we were better yet.

    You think we are too giddy yet,
    Giddy yet,

    But wait awhile; you need not smile,
    Perhaps you'll see us steady yet.

    For though we love to run and play,

    And many a foolish word we say,

    Just come again on some fine day,
    You'll find us all quite steady yet..
    LOOK WHERE SHE COMES!”

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    LITTLE PROBABILITIES.

    HEN he frowns his mother cries;
    “Clouds to-day and gloomy skies!”

    When he roams in noisy play,
    “‘Boisterous winds and high to-day.

    When he’s sweet and still and grave,
    «* Fair and clear—a warmer wave.”

    When he cries with might and main,
    «* Storms and cyclones, wind and rain.”

    When he’s bright and blithe and gay,
    “Sunshine, breeze—a perfect day!”

    Ah, you look so grave and wise, -
    ‘Little Probabilities.”

    Since you make for us our day,
    Listen, baby, when we pray.

    Give us only pleasant weather,
    Banish frowns and tears together.

    SUNDAY MORNING TALKS, '
    Il. WHAT THE WORLD OWES TO REUBEN,

    THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    The world owes a great deal to men whose
    names have never become very famous. The
    obscure men and women, the unseen toilers
    and sufferers, have done the world’s best
    work in every age. How small a place the
    name of this young man Reuben, son of the
    patriarch Jacob, fills in the world’s history,
    and yet, if we think of it, if we ponder a lit-
    tle on the life and character of this noble
    elder brother, we shall see that he did the
    world grand service. For if it had not been
    for the gentleness and faithfulness of Reuben
    the world would never have heard much of

    Joseph. Jacob was the father of Joseph but.

    Reuben was his savior. The world has a very
    lofty place in its temple of fame for this
    young dreamer of ancient Israel, who after-
    ward became the best friend of Egypt and
    the world. But Hgypt and the world
    owe Reuben a debt of gratitude, for if it had

    ‘not been for Reuben’s brotherly tenderness, -

    Joseph would have found a bloody grave on
    the plains of Dothan, a martyr to his youth-
    ‘ful vanity. Let us pause here a moment and
    ‘look in upon this family of Jacob. Four
    ‘thousand years have passed since the spoiled,
    yproud Joseph wassold into slavery, but there
    ‘are fruits and lessons that are worth garner-
    ‘ing to-day. Jacob’s family was big enough
    ito be very troublesome, and Jacob was not

    ph

    very wise in his old age. He was foolish
    enough to have favorites in his family. This
    boy Joseph was young and fair and gifted.
    There was a touch of the poetic in his nature. .
    He had. many dreams—day dreams, some of
    which he would have been wise to have kept
    to himself. Joseph was spoiled and petted,
    the old man made a favorite of him, bought
    him a coat of many colors, which, but for
    Reuben would have cost him his life. Favor-
    itism in a family is sure to work evil, be-
    cause it is founded in injustice. No doubt
    Joseph was vain and overbearing. His
    dream of the sun, moon and stars bowing be-
    fore him, was straw quite big enough for his -
    less favored brothers to see, and seeing to
    know which way the tide was flowing. Then
    he was very proud of that fine coat, as most
    spoiled boys would be, and when ‘his father
    sent him with a message to his brothers, he
    must needs go—not in the dress of a farmer’s
    boy, but in this coat of many colorsand much
    mischief. The sight of this fine gentleman
    irritated his farmer brethren; they had borne
    enough of his arrogance and conceit; he had
    the best place and the best of everything
    always—they were tired of this sort of thing,
    and not, valuing human life as men value it
    to-day, they conspired to kill the young
    dreamer, and take the fine coat, all dabbled
    in blood, to Jacob, and tell him that some
    evil. beast had devoured hisfavorite son. But
    Reuben had a brother’s heart and a brother’s
    tenderness. He saw Joseph’s faults, and,
    being a true brother, he saw more than his
    faults, and with as much wisdom as gentle-
    ness, he interposed. He did not openly
    champion Joseph’s cause, that would have
    awakened stronger opposition, and he was
    only one against ten of them. He proposed
    to leave the proud lad in a pit to die, with
    the secret purpose of delivering him after a
    little while. Reuben did not accomplish all
    the good he wanted to do. What Reuben
    ever did? But he saved Joseph. Reuben’s
    plan failed in part. He meant to restore
    Joseph to his father. Joseph was sold into
    Egypt, but the very part of Reuben’s plan
    that failed was the gateway through which
    God led the young captive Israelite to a
    larger and wider destiny. Therefore let all
    Reubens lay this to heart, that in His wise
    love God often over-answers Reuben’s broth-
    erly purposes by making failure in detail
    the occasion of divine success. It was
    Shakespeare who, seeing the far-reaching






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    : . GIBSON, THE GUIDE,OF WATKINS GLEN.
    radiance of a feeble taper in a dark night,
    said:

    ‘* So shines a good deed in this naughty world.”

    This kind, brotherly deed of Reuben’s
    many centuries ago shines in beauty through
    the world’s history. We owe Reuben much.
    He spared Joseph to the world. And there
    are few pages of buried history more inter-
    esting than that which records the wise ad-
    ministration of the Hebrew statesman Jo-
    seph, through the years of Kgypt’s peril.
    The fields of Troy are constantly yielding
    secrets of the Homeric age; why should not
    the banks of the Nile whisper some day the
    secrets of the wise policy of Joseph? When
    we know more of this hidden history, we
    shall know better what a debt we owe to
    Reuben. Reuben has set us the pattern of
    true brotherhood, of that brotherhood that
    spite of all faults and failings, and even
    sins, holds on to the brother’s heart and love.
    And all through these thousands of years
    the voice of Reuben comes to us saying:
    “‘Don’t let them kill Joseph! He is vain
    and foolish, but don’t let. them kill him!
    You don’t know what wonderful work God
    has in store for him. Do all you can, strain
    every nerve, be sure and save Josenh!”

    HOME.
    HELEN HUNT JACKSON.

    HEN the long day’s work is over,
    When the light begins to fade,
    Watching, waiting in the gloaming,
    Weary, faint, and half afraid,
    Then from out the deep’ning twilight,
    Clear and sweet a voice shall come,
    Softly through the silence falling—
    ‘Child, thy Father calls, come home.”

    GIBSON, THE GUIDE OF WATKIN’S
    GLEN.

    HE guest at the Jefferson House in
    Watkins’ Glen, is almost sure to be
    greeted on his arrival by a large, handsome,
    well-fed dog. Thisis Gibson, famed far and
    near as the only living guide to Watkins
    Glen, Gibson isa remarkable animal, with
    more sagacity even than the dog which the
    girl with the laughing eyes possessed in
    Glenville Murray’s tale. For the past eight
    years Gibson has made daily trips to the glen,
    and has been petted and caressed by thou-
    sands of women and children, for Gibson is
    avery gallant dog, and a great admirer of

    the ladies, whom he is particularly proud to
    pilot through the glen, watching after their
    safety with great care. The dog is an aris-
    tocratic fellow, too, and only likes well-
    dressed people. He will growl at the ap-
    proach of a man in poor clothes, and when
    escorting ladies he has been known tospring
    on a workman who passed, so zealous was he
    in the protection of the fairtourist. But ordi-
    narily Gibson is one of the best natured dogs
    in the world, and will allow ladies and chil-
    dren to pet him all day long, accepting their
    attentions with quiet dignity. He never
    plays with the other dogs about the street,
    but holds himself apart from all canine com-
    panionship. A curious trait is that, al-
    though ever ready to guide a guest of the
    Jefferson House, to the glen and through it,
    he will never go with a resident of the vil-
    lage. He seems to know the tourist and
    pleasure seeker by instinct, and will come
    up to them and draw their attention by a
    rub of the nose or a touch of the paw. He
    seems to know that the commercial traveler
    does not want to visit the glen, and he
    makes no attempt to cultivate his acquaint-
    ance. If a visitor says to the dog: ‘‘ Gib-
    son, I want to go to the glen.” Gibson is at
    once by his side, and even his master can not
    call him away when once a tourist has been
    placed under his guidance. He will lead the
    way to the entrance of the glen as sedately
    as though he knew the responsibility of his
    duty, and will conduct him through unerr-
    ingly, going a few steps in advance, and
    stopping now and then as if to call attention
    to the beauties of thescenery. He will never
    desert any one whom he sets out to escort,
    and if avisitor from the Jefferson House de-
    cides to take a meal in the glen, Gibson will
    wait until he is ready to return. He is more
    fond of ice cream than a school girl, and
    giving him some of this delicacy isthe surest
    way to win his favor. When he rides he al-
    ways sits upright on the seat of the carriage
    by the side of the person in whose company
    he has started out. In going through the
    glen if a tourist gets on the wrong path Gib-
    son will at once drop a few steps behind,
    and nothing can induce him to go ahead
    again until the way has been retraced and
    the right path regained, when he will bound
    ahead with every manifestation of pleasure.
    It is no unusual thing with him to catch the ,

    person he is with by the clothes and pull him —

    the right way.










































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    BE THOROUGH.

    THOMAS CARLYLE.

    ss YOU want to succeed in life, be thor-
    ough in your work, whatever it is. It is
    sometimes convenient to be Jack-of-all-trades,
    but it is always profitable to be master of
    one. A workman who thoroughly under-
    stands his business is seldom in danger of
    coming to want. While the mass of the
    inefficient suffer, the few who do the best
    work, whether men or women, are always
    sought for. Young men, you can not prepare
    yourselves for life’s duties too thoroughly or
    stick to your vocations too persistently after
    having chosen them. But before adopting
    any calling educate yourselves practically in
    order that there may be some certainty of
    puccese attending your faithfulness to your
    work.

    CHRIST AND THE LITTLE ONES.
    URANIA LOCKE BAILEY.

    ss HE Master has come over Jordan,”
    Said Hannah, the mother one day;
    ‘‘He is healing the people who throng him,
    With a touch of his finger, they say.

    “And now I shall carry the children—
    Little Rachel, and Samuel, and Joha;
    I shall carry the baby, Esther,
    For the Lord to look upon.”

    The father looked at her kindly,
    But he shook his head and smiled:

    ‘“Now who but a doting mother
    Would think of a thing so wild?

    “Tf the children were tortured by demons,
    Or dying of fever, ’twere well;

    Or had they the taint of the leper,
    Like many in Israel.”

    “Nay, do not hinder me, Nathan,
    I feel such a burden of care;

    If I carry it to the Master,
    Perhaps I shall leave it there.

    “Tf he lay his hand on the children,
    My heart will be lighter, I know;

    For a blessing forever, and ever,
    Will follow them as they go.”

    So, over the hills of Judah,
    Along by the vine-rows green,
    With Esther asleep on her bosom,
    And Rachel her brothers between.

    *Mong the people who hung on his teaching,
    Or waited his touch and his word,

    Through the row of proud Pharisees listening,
    She pressed to the feet of the Lord.

    “Now, why shouldst thou hinder the Master?"
    Said Peter, ‘‘ with children like these?

    Seest not how, from morning till evening,
    He teacheth and healeth disease?”

    Then Christ said, ‘‘Forbid not the children—
    Permit them to come unto Me;”

    And He took in His arms little Esther,

    And Rachel He set on His knee.

    And the heavy heart of the mother
    Was lifted all earth-care above,

    As He:laid His hands on the brothers
    And blessed them with tenderest love

    As He said of the babes on His bosom,
    “Of such is the kingdom of Heaven;”

    And strength for all duty and trial
    That hour to her spirit was given.

    WONDERFUL TOOLS.

    R. W. EMERSON.

    WwW have a pretty artillery of tools now
    in our social arrangements: we ride
    four times as fast as our fathers did; travel,
    grind, weave, forge, plant, till and excavate
    better. . . . We have the calculus, we
    have the newspaper, which does its best to
    make every square acre of land and sea give
    an account of itself at your breakfast-table;
    we have money, and paper money; we have
    language, the finest tool of all, and nearest
    to the mind. :

    I AM GREAT AND YOU ARE SMALL.

    A SPARROW swinging on abranch,
    Once caught a passing fly;

    “Oh, let me live!” the insect prayed,
    With trembling, piteous cry.

    ‘*No,” said the sparrow, ‘‘ you must fall,
    For Iam great and you are small.” -

    The bird had scarce begun his feast
    Before a hawk came by;
    The game wascaught. ‘ Pray let me live!”®
    ‘Was now the sparrow’s cry.
    “No,” said the captor, ‘‘ you must fall,
    For I am great and you are small.”

    An eagie saw the rogue, and swooped
    Upon him from on high ; ;
    ‘* Pray let me live! why should you kill
    So small a bird as 1?”
    * Oh,” said the eagle, ‘‘ you must fall,
    For I am great and you are small.

    But while he ate the hunter came;
    He let his arrow fly.
    “Tyrant!” the eagle shrieked, ‘‘ you have
    No right to make me die!”
    “Ah,” said the hunter, “‘you must fall,
    For I am great and you are small,”


    “T AM GREAT AND YOU ARE SMALL.”


    THE BABY AND THE SOLDIERS.

    ie ae and ready the troopers ride,

    Great bearded men with swords by side;
    They have ridden long, they have ridden hard,
    They are travel stained and battle scarred ;

    The hard ground shakes with their martial tramp,

    And course is the laugh of the men of the camp.

    They reach a spot where a mother stands,
    With a baby clapping its little hands,
    Laughing aloud at the gallant sight

    Of the mounted soldiers fresh from the fight.
    The captian laughs out: ‘‘I’ll give you this,
    A handful of gold, your baby to kiss.”

    Smiles the mother: ‘‘ A kiss can’t be sold,

    But gladly he’ll kiss a soldier bold.”

    He lifts up the babe with a manly grace,

    And covers with kisses its smiling face,

    Ite rosy cheeks and its dimpled charms,

    And it crows with delight in the soldier’s arms.

    “Not all for thecaptian,” the soldiers call :
    ‘«The baby we know, hasa kiss for all.”

    To the soldiers’ breasts the baby is pressed

    By the strong rough men, and by turns caressed
    And louder it laughs, and the mother fair
    Smiles with mute joy as the kisses they share.

    «Just such a kiss,” cries one trooper grim,
    ““When Ileft my boy I gave to him;”

    «* And just such a kiss on the parting day

    I gave to my girl as asleep she lay.”

    Such were the words of the soldiers brave,
    And their eyes were moist as the kiss they gave.



    PLEASANT PEOPLE.

    IZAT a boom to all his friends and

    acquaintances a pleasant person is!
    ‘It may be hard to define pleasantness,
    but we find no difficulty in recognizing it
    when we meet with it. Pleasant people are
    not always by any means the most admirable
    of mankind, nor the most interesting; for it
    often happens that the qualities in a man
    which are worthiest of esteem are, for lack
    of other modifying elements, the very ones
    which make against his agreeableness as a
    companion ; and a person who does not im-
    press us as particularly pleasant may, never-
    theless, interest us very much by the display
    ef unusual mental or moral characteristics,
    or trom a complexity of nature which seems
    to offer itself as an enigma we are curious to
    solve. Pleasant people may not even be the
    most truly lovable, but they are likable; we
    perhaps have no desire to make friends of
    them, in the deeper sense of friendship, but
    we are glad when we meet them, and enjoy
    ourselves while in their society. The tie

    thus formed, though slight, is a real one, and
    I beiieve that we should all do well to re-
    member, in the interest of our closer friend-
    ships, the attractive and cohesive force of
    mere pleasantness. The highest virtues and
    offices of friendship we are not called on to
    exercise every day,and in familiar intercourse
    we have not less, but rather the more, need
    ef making ourselves pleasant, because of the
    times when our friends will have to answer
    our drafts on their patience and sympathy.



    ONE GOOD LIFE.

    A SUNBEAM piercing the forbidden shade

    Of some drear prison cell, has often brought
    Quiet to troubled spirits, and has made
    Dark, morbid brooding change to peaceful thought.

    So one good life will prove a guiding light,

    To brighten paths weak mortals oft find drear—
    A beacon in the narrow way of Right,

    To lure the fallen to a higher sphere.

    “SMART ALEC.”

    UGH Brent won the name of ‘‘ Smare
    Alec” so thoroughly that he was never
    called byany other name by his intimate com-
    panions. He was not really clever, he was
    only ‘“‘smart,” and as boastful as he was
    “smart.” His boasting and his smartness
    brought him very few real friends. Very
    often his smart tricks failed so utterly that
    those who really liked him could not help
    laughing at him. One day there was a pic-
    nic held in Royston Woods, and Hugh Brent
    was there, and of course took every oppor:
    tunity to do smart things. After lunch the
    whole company rambled down to the bank
    of a very narrow stream, across which a huge
    tree was thrown. No sooner did Hugh seg
    this rustic bridge than he announced his in-
    tention of walking across it. It was very
    slippery and his friends urged him not to
    try. They told him there was nothing eas-
    ier than “falling offa log,” but it was in
    vain. ‘‘Smart Alec” started, and before he
    had proceeded more than three yards, his foot
    slipped, he lost his balance, and down he fell
    into the mud and slime of the river. He
    was met with only the laughter of his com-
    rads as heclimbed up the river bank, and the
    ery of itis “Smart Alec!” was all the pity
    he got. Boys, its worth while to struggle to
    be clever, but America has had ali the
    “smart” boys she needs.






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    TEN ROBBER TOES.
    LILLIAN BARR.

    dares is a story that I have been told,

    And it’s just as old as babies are old,
    For sweet. mother Eve, as every one knows,
    Told the babies the tale of the toes.

    Told to her babies how ten little toes— ‘
    Each one as pink as the pinkest pink rose —
    Once on a time were naughty and bad,

    And sorrow and trouble in consequence had *

    How this big toe wanted butter and bread,
    After his mamma had put him to bed.
    And this lying next said: ‘‘Sposen we go
    Down to the pantry, and get it, you know.”

    And this wicked toe cried, ‘‘ Come along, quick,

    Let’s sugar the butter ever so thick.”
    And this naughty toe said, ‘‘ Jelly for me,
    Top of the butter and sugar, you see.”

    And this little toe cried, ‘‘ Goody, let’s go,
    We'll slip down the stairs so quiet and slow.”
    So ten robber toes, all tipped with red,

    Stole silently out of their snowy-white bed.

    While this wicked toe, so jolly and fat,
    Helped nine naughty toes to pitty-pat, pat
    Along the big hall with pillars of white,
    And down the back stairs devoid of light.

    Then this little toe got a terrible scare,

    For he thought in the dark of a grizzly bear
    And this little toe said : ‘‘ Nurse must be right
    "Bout gobbles and witches living at night.”

    And this little toe said, ‘‘ A fox may be hid
    In the hat rack box, right under the lid.”
    And this little toe said, ‘‘ Dearie me, oh!
    Lions and tigers is coming, I know.”

    Then mamma came out with the beautiful light,
    Caught ten robber toes all ready for flight.
    Yes, she caught and she kissed those ten robber

    toes
    Till redder they were than any red rose.

    THE GENERAL AND THE CORPORAL.

    NE day during the American Revolu-

    tion, an officer was passing on horseback |

    by some military works that were being pre-
    pared by a small squad of soldiers, and he
    found the leader of the party merely standing
    by and looking on at the operations, which
    were being carried on with difficulty owing to
    small number of men. The officer, seeing the
    ‘the state of affairs, and that assistance was
    much needed, inquired of the man why he
    did not render a little aid instead of only
    standing idle. The latter, in great astonish-
    ment, turned around, it is said, “with all
    the pomp of an emperor,” and replied, “Sir,

    Iam a corporal?!” “You are, sre you ef
    said the officer; “I did not know that,” ané
    raising his hat in solemn mockery, he con-
    tinued, ‘‘I ask your pardon, Mr. Corporal.”
    He dismounted from his horse, threw off his
    coat, aud not until he was tired out with
    sheer hard work did the stranger cease to
    render his assistance to the squad, and then,
    turning round to the corporal, he said,
    “‘ Mr. Corporal, when you have another such
    @ job as this, and have not men enough,
    send for your General, and he will come
    and help you a second time.” And, to the
    amazement of the poor corporal, he found
    that the unknown cfficer who had addressed
    him was indeed, no other than his own
    Commander-in-Chief.

    THE WAY TO SING.

    Ae birds must know. Who wisely sings,
    Will sing as they.
    The common air has generous wings:
    Songs make their way.

    No messenger to run before,
    Devising plan;

    No mention of the place, or hour,
    To any man.

    No waiting till some sound betrays
    A listening ear,

    No different voice—no new delays
    If steps draw near.

    ‘What bird is that? The song is good.”
    And eager eyes

    Go peering through the dusky wood
    In glad surprise.

    Then, late at night, when by his fire
    The traveler sits,

    Watching the flame go brighter, higher,
    The sweet song flits

    By snatches through his weary brain,
    To help him rest. ©

    When next he goes that road again,
    An empty nest

    On leafless bough will make him sigh,
    Ah me! last spring,

    Just here I heard, in passing by,
    That rare bird sing.”

    But while he sighs, remembering
    How sweet the song,

    The little bird, on tireless wing, .
    Is borne along

    In other air; and other men,
    With weary feet,

    On other roads, the simple strains
    Are finding sweet.

    The birds must know. Who wisely sings
    Will sing as they;

    The common air has generous wings;
    Songs make their way.






    SS

    SS



    THE GENERAL AND THE. CORPORAL |!




    BOYS MAY WHISTLE.

    Cl Goff said a curious thing—

    “‘ Boys may whistle but girls must sing.”
    That's the very thing [ heard her say

    To Kate, no longer than yesterday.

    “Boys may whistle.” Of course they may,
    If they pucker their lips the proper way,
    But for the life of me I can’t see

    Why Kate can’t whistle as well as me,

    ‘‘Boys may whistle, but girls must sing,”
    Now I call that a curious thing.

    If boys can whistle, why can’t girls too?
    It’s the easiest thing in the world to do.

    First you do that, then you do this—
    Just like you were fixing up for a kiss.
    It’s a very poor girl, that’s all I say,
    Who can’t make out to do that way.

    “Boys may whistle, but girls may not ;”

    A whistle’s a song with the noise knocked out,
    Strayed off somewhere down in the throat,
    Everything lost but the changeful note.

    So if the boys can whistle and do it well,
    Why cannot girls, will somebody tell ?
    Why can’t they do what a boy can do ?
    That is the thing I should like to know.

    I went to father and asked him why

    Girls couldn’t whistle as well as I.

    And he said ‘‘ the reason that girls must sing
    Is because a girl’s a sing—ular thing.”

    And grandma laughed till I knew she’d ache,
    When I said I thought it all a mistake.

    “Never mind, little man.” I heard her say,
    “They will make you whistle enough some day,”

    COMMON SENSE.

    ETTER bend the neck promptly than
    to bruise the forehead.

    An evil intention perverts the best actions
    and makes them sins.

    A coxcomb is ugly allover with the affec-
    tation of the fine gentleman. ‘

    Cleverness is asort of genius for instru-
    mentality. Itis the brain of the hand.

    Men who live without religion live always
    in a tumultuary and restless state.

    _ When respiration ceases our education is
    finished, and not a moment sooner.

    Most of the shadows that cross our path
    through life are caused by standing in our
    own light.

    Even reckoning makes lasting friends, and
    the way to make reckonings even is to make
    them often.

    Many men claim to be firm in their prin-
    ciples, when really they are only obstinate
    in their prejudices.

    True friends visit us in prosperity only
    when invited, but in adversity they come
    without invitation.

    Frugal and industrious men are friendly
    to the established government, as the idle
    and expensive are dangerous.

    JUDY AND THE GEESE.
    MRS. H. N. CADY.

    6¢ TUDY,” we called her; the pretty red

    calf, all over spotted with white,
    which came to us in the spring, and a de-
    lightful playfellow she proved to be. It
    seemed as if we must always have the gentle
    creature, so she soon became a part of our
    very lives. We never tired of admiring her
    beautiful coat and soft velvety eyes, and
    would play with her by the hour, when she
    was kept in the lot behind the barn. But,
    as summer advanced, father needed that
    pasture for other purposes, and poor Judy
    was carried down to the woodland lot at the
    lower end of the farm. We children didn’t
    let that keep us from seeing our pet how-
    ever, and scarcely a day passed on which the
    wood-lot did not hold some of us within its
    borders.

    .One morning, as we jumped the bars, we
    were surprised at not finding Judy in her
    accustomed place near the gate, waiting for
    us, and for a minute we feared that some-
    thing had happened to our pet, but a bend
    in the path brought us in full view of the
    dear creature, and we all burst into the most
    uproarious laughter at the sight before us.
    There was Miss Judy, in a small open space
    among the tall trees, charging upon a flock
    of geese, which had evidently swam the
    brook from the neighboring farm, and were
    then noisily investigating the animal before
    them. Poor Judy! She was quite overcome
    by her strange guests, and evidently found
    it hard to decide what manner of creatures
    they were; and it was some hours before we
    could calm her manifest fright, or make her
    forget her snappish visitors. So strong
    indeed was the impression they left on her
    mind, that for years afterward the sight of
    a flock of noisy, hissing geese would drive
    her into an insane kind of fury entirely

    - foreign to her usually gentle self.


    JUDY AND..THE GEESE.






    “COME SIT ON MY KNEE, LITTLE
    CHILDREN.”

    Gre sit on my knee, little children, _
    Too tired for laughter or song,
    The sports of the daylight are over,

    And evening is creeping along.

    The snow-fields are white.in the moonlight,
    The winds of the winter are chill,

    But under the sheltering roof-tree
    The fire shineth ruddy and still.

    You sit on my knees little children,
    Your cheeks are ruddy and warm ;
    But out in the cold of the winter,
    Is many a shivering form.

    There are mothers who wander for shelter,
    And babes that are pining for bread;

    Oh! Thank the dear Lord, little children,
    From Whose tender hand you are fed.

    He heareth the cry of the sparrow .
    And careth for great and for small,
    Tn life and in death, little children,
    His love is the truest of all.

    LEGENDS OF THE ROSE.

    ee are several legends to account
    for the origin of the rose.
    Mandeville relates a very beautiful one. A
    certain Jewish maiden, Zillah, rejected the
    advances of a lover, Hammal, a degraded
    and cruel man. In revenge he accused her
    of offenses for which she was condemned to
    be burned at the stake. When brought to
    the spot the flames did no harm to the
    maiden, but consumed the false lover. ‘¢ And
    when the fyre began to burn about her, she
    made the prayers to oure Lord, and anon
    was the fyre quenched and oute, and
    brandes that were brennynge becomen white
    roses, and theise werein the first roses that
    any man saughe.” The burning brands
    thus became red roses—the others white
    ones. :

    According toa Greek myth, red roses were
    white ones, tinged with the blood of Venus,

    who wounded her foot in a thorn while

    hastening to the aid of the dying Narcis-
    sus. According to another legend, they
    sprang from the bath of Aphrodite. A
    later Christian tradition asserted that the
    crown of thorns was one of the rose-thorns,
    and that the red roses sprang from the blood
    of Christ.

    Men saw the thorns on Jesus’ brow,
    But angels saw the roses.

    A still different origin is given to the

    Sir John.

    “

    «queen of flowers” by Mussulman tradition.
    According to it, white roses sprung from
    the sweat of the prophet Mohammed during
    his journey to heaven, and yellow ones
    dripping from the mane of Al Borak, his
    steed. It is further reported that the red

    flower is colored with drops of his blood, .

    and the faithful will never suffer one to
    lie on the ground. There is an Arab tra-
    dition that a certain King Shaddad planted
    a field of roses in the desert, which are
    still flourishing, but no man can find them.

    A popular tradition asserts that in Para-

    ‘ dise the rose grew without thorns, basing

    the statement upon the third chapter of
    Genesis, eighteenth verse: ‘‘ Thornsalso and
    thistles shall it bring forth unto thee.”
    Early Christian writers maintain that there
    were no thorns in Eden, and Milton says in
    it there bloomed “flowers of all hue, and
    without thorn the rose.”

    The rose has always been an important
    flower in folk legends. It has several
    emblematic meanings. It is, to begin with,
    the symbol of beauty:

    Whatsoe’r of beauty

    Yearns and yet reposes,

    Blush and bloom and sweet breath,
    ; Took a shape in roses.
    - Anciently it was the emblem of silence.
    Eros gave to Harpocrates, son of silence, a
    rose to keep the secrets of Venus. On the
    ceiling of banquet rooms to remind strangers
    that what was ‘‘sub-rosa,” was not to be re-
    peated, was anciently sculptured a rose.

    Red as the rose of Harpocrate.

    For the same reason it was placed over
    confessionals in 1500. Doubtless its place
    on Greek and Roman tombs was given to it
    as the flower of silence. It was the symbol
    of the mystic Rosicrucians (sub-rosa crux).
    As diplomacy is secret, it becomes a
    national emblem. Roman soldiers bore it
    as an insignia on their shields. Adopted as
    an emblem of England, and each political
    faction having selected his color, the rose
    figured conspicuously in English history.
    The wars of the roses lasted thirty years,
    with the white rose asthe badge of York,
    and the red one of Lancaster.

    The rose of Jericho, also called the rose of
    the Virgin Mary, become the symbol of resur-
    rection. It is not really a rose, however. A
    tradition reported that it marked every spot
    where the holy family rested during the
    journey to Egypt.



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    ‘‘COME SIT ON MY KNEE, LITTLE CHILDREN.”
    HOW MOTHER EARTH GOT A NEW
    DRESS.

    OM Mother Earth woke up from sleep,
    And found she was cold and bare;
    The winter was over, the spring was near
    And she had not adress to wear!
    ‘‘ Alas!” she sighed with great dismay,
    “© Oh where shall I get my clothes?
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    “T’]] make you a dress,” said the springing grass,
    Just looking above the ground;
    ‘© A dress of green of the lovliest sheen,
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    And the best that we have to give,”

    Old Mother Earth was thankful and glad,
    As she put on her dress so gay;

    And that is the reason, my little ones,
    She is looking so lovely to-day.



    “WHAT IS WORTH DOING IS WORTH
    DOING WELL.”

    bea HARGRAVES was the son of a

    clergyman, and as there were three
    other brothers all older than himself, and all
    of them studying for professions, he thought
    he would vary things a little, and try and
    learn a trade. Harry was to be a doctor,
    Joe was studying land surveying, and Austin
    was to follow in his father’s footsteps and be
    apreacher. So Fred made up his mind he
    would go to the Manual Training School and
    afterwards take up a trade. He went to
    work with a will, and though he felt a little
    strange for a while in a workingman’s square
    paper cap and leather apron, his heart was
    in his work, and the ring of the anvil was
    really musical. Mr. Melson, the Principal of
    his department of the Manual School, after
    some general instructions, congratulated
    Fred on his decision to become thoroughly
    master of a trade, said: ‘‘ Fred, my boy,
    keep this thought in your mind, that the
    certain way to gain proficiency in any trade,
    is to attend to all the details of your work
    thoroughly. Look well after the little

    things, and you won’t be likely to forget the
    more important matters. With every stroke
    upon that ringing anvil, remember, that
    ‘what is worth doing is worth doing well.’
    Do your best in small things as well as
    great, and you will succeed.”

    JUNE IN THE COUNTRY.
    LOUISE E, LEWIN.

    ODDING daisies ’mid the grass
    Hide their faces when we pass;

    Cups of gold that grow beside
    Hold their heads with lofty pride,
    Blossoms sweet of clover red
    Nestle in their grassy bed,
    While the butterfly and bee
    Seek the sweets so fresh and free.
    All the birds their ruffled throats
    Fill with joy, their sweetest notes;
    By the meadow’s winding stream
    In the woodland’s misty gleam,
    Purple flags in marshy lots
    Cover up the barren spots
    And upon the silvery lake
    Lilies white unfold and wake;
    While among their leaves of green
    Timid fish delight to swim.
    At the closing of the day
    Whip-poor-will begins his lay;
    From the dark and lonesome dell
    Come his notes of woe to tell.
    How much pleasure, how much joy,
    Could men have would they employ
    Only things of truth and worth,
    Not so much of pride and birth:
    And like nature’s children dear,
    Make the best of what is here.

    WORK AND PROSPERITY.
    THOMAS CARLYLE.

    T takes a sound body to make a sound
    mind. Work is not vulgar. So longas
    the brain needs the juices of the body, so
    long will hard work be the fundamental
    element in the developement of the mind.
    Business is eminently fit for a man of
    genius, and to earn a livelihood is the best
    way to sharpen one’s wits. Besides, business
    affairs offer better opportunities at present
    than the so-called professions. Therefore
    our youth should be thoroughly and prac-
    tically trained for business, in order that
    they may succeed and become a credit to
    whatever calling they may choose to adopt.
    At the same time they should be educated
    not to despise labor; for, after all, it is only
    by hard work that we achieve any success
    worthy of the name.


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    “WHAT IS WORTH DOING IS WORTH DOING WELL.”
    ‘THE CALMNESS OF TRUTH.
    HORATIUS BONAR.

    LL truth is calm,
    Refuge and rock and tower,
    The more of truth the more of calm,
    Its calmness is its power.

    . Calmness is truth,
    And truth is calmness still—
    Truth lifts its forehead to the storm,
    Like some eternal hill.

    SUNDAY MORNING TALKS.

    Ill. SONGS OF THE MORNING.

    THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    OETS of all ages have sung sweet songs
    concerning the morning. They have
    found in the dawn of day a symbol of youth
    and beauty. In the growth of the morning
    form the first gray glooms to the golden sun-
    rise, they have seen a parable of those mystic
    days through which a youth passes from the
    fair garden of his early years to climb the
    hill of manhood. If in these later days our
    great teachers would inspire our hopes con-
    cerning the world’s future, they tell us that
    _ the darkness of the ages is passed, and the
    morning of the world’s brighter day has
    dawned. And whenthey would picture for
    us the peacefulness and serenity of that land
    that lies beyond the boundaries of time they
    tell us of a ‘‘ morning without clouds” that
    shall never know the shadow of the setting
    sun, for there is ‘“‘no night there.” The
    Psalmist David loved the morning and so
    recorded a vow, ‘‘ My voice shalt thou hear
    in the morning, O Lord; to Thee will I di-
    rect my prayer and look up.” The godly
    poet resolves to begin the day with praise, he
    will fill the morning hours with songs of
    gratitude. While yet the day is young he
    will lift his hands and heart in prayer. A
    later poet utters the same sentiment in these
    words:
    ‘“O timely happy, timely wise,
    Hearts that with rising morning arise;
    Eyes that the beam celestial view
    ‘Which evermore makes all things new.”
    Many of our acknowledged divisions of
    time are to a large extent arbitrary, but day
    and night are ordinances of nature that
    never change. ach day rounds off a sepa-
    rate and complete period of time; and that
    was a very beautiful conception that thought
    of each morning as a new creation, and our
    rising from sleep as adaily resurrection from

    Sh TT SER a

    the dead. Every morning we turn over a

    fresh page of life’s eventful history. The
    page of to-day is linked with the page of
    yesterday, and will be linked with to-mor-
    row’s page, but these pages are nevertheless
    complete in themselves. Through the shin-
    ing gateways of each and every morning
    there come to us new blessings, new cares,
    new opportunities.

    New every morning is the love

    Our waking and uprising prove:

    Through sleep and darkness safely brought,

    Restored to life and power and thought.

    Since each new morning comes thus loaded
    with new benedictions, it is mete that each
    morning should find us with songs of thanks-
    giving on our lips. Of all the hours of the
    day, the morning hours are most suitable for
    devotion. When the mind is fresh and clear
    and when the heart is untouched by the
    cares of the day.

    An hour spent with God every morning
    would make men conquerors all the day long.
    It is worth while to make and keep such a
    vow as we are considering now on another
    ground. As the morning is so the day is.
    There is much ina good start. And the man
    who begins the day with God will have
    divine companionship all the day long. The
    man who begins the day with songs of praise
    will hear all day long strains of heavenly
    music above the roar of the crowded street
    or the clamor of the mart. Our days are
    often dull and gloomy, but the fault is ours.
    The day will not often rise above the key-
    note of the morning hours. Almost every-
    thing depends on the use we make of the
    first hour of the day.

    A great man said: “The mouth of the
    morning is full of gold.” Let us wake be-
    times and gather that gold, that we may be
    rich all the day. Mornings thus attuned to

    . the Divine harmonies, will be the portals

    through which we shall pass to. happy, useful
    days. The pathway of our common life will

    be illumined with a brightness which will

    be ‘‘above the brightness of the sun.”

    If on our daily course, our mind

    Be set to hallow all we find,

    New treasures still of boundless price,
    God will provide for sacrifice.

    Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,
    As more of heaven in each we see,
    Some softening gleam of love and prayer
    Will dawn on every cross and care.
    The trivial round; the common task,
    Will furnish all we ought to ask.

    Room to deny ourselves—a road

    To bring us daily nearer God


























































































































































































































































































































































    BASS CATCHING AT NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND.
    HOW INDIANS POISON THEIR ARROWS

    VENERABLE Indian arrow-maker
    explained how arrows were poisoned,

    in the following words:
    “First we take a bloated yellow rattle-
    snake in August, when he is most poisonous,
    and tie him with a forked stick to a stake;

    . then we tease him until he is ina great rage.

    This is done by passing a switch over his
    body from his head to his tail. When he
    thrashes the ground with his tail and his
    eyes grow bright and sparkle like diamonds,
    we kill a deer, antelope or some other small
    animal, and, tearing out the liver, throw
    it to the snake while it is warm and the
    blood still coursing through it. The reptile
    will strike it again and again, and pretty
    soon it will begin to turn black. When he
    tires, the snake is teased again, and he is in-
    duced to sink his fangs into the soft flesh
    until all the poison has been extracted from
    him and the liver is reeking with it. He is
    then killed and the liver lifted with a sharp
    pole; for so dangerous is it no one dares

    _ touch it. The liver is let lie for about an
    -hour, when it will be almost jet black and

    emit a sour smell. Arrowsare then brought
    and their iron heads pushed into the liver up
    to the shaft. They are left sticking there

    for about one hour and a half, when they

    are withdrawn and dried in the sun. A
    thin, glistening, yellow scum adheres to the
    arrow, and if it but so much as touches raw
    flesh it is certain to poison it to death.”

    I asked if Indians still used poisoned ar-
    rows. ‘* No,” he replied; ‘‘no man, Indian
    or white man, for years past has been shot
    with these arrows, and they are no longer
    made.”

    AGAIN.

    Oe. and over again,

    No matter which way I turn,

    I always see in the book of life
    Some lesson that I must learn.

    I must take my turn at the mill.
    I must grind out the golden grain.

    I must work at my task with resolute will—
    Over and over again. f

    Over and over again,
    The brook through the meadow runs;
    And over and over again
    The ponderous mill wheel turns,
    One doing will not suffice— -
    Though doing be not in vain—
    And a blessing failing us once or twice,
    May come if we try again.

    THE GOLD DOG.

    ROF. McALLISTER, the ventriloquist.

    happened to be traveling across Lower
    Idaho some years ago on his way from one
    town to another. It was in the days of
    early stage coaching, before railroads were
    quite as plentiful as at the present time.
    The professor one afternoon, before the
    show commenced, in wandering about the
    streets of, I think it was Lewiston, encoun-
    tered on the outskirts of the town a small
    band of Indians. Two or three companions
    were with him. While chatting together,
    looking about and observing things generally,
    McAllister became quite familiar with a
    mongrel dog owned by the redskins, whom
    he proceeded to pet.

    «Fine dog,” said the professor.

    “Ugh,” grunted an Indian.

    ‘* How much you sell him for?” asked the
    magician.

    “‘Ugh! two dollar,” replied the Indian
    holding up a pair of dirty fingers to indicate
    the amount.

    “* Him very fine dog,” said McAllister,
    stroking the cur down the back and taking
    a gold piece from the end of his tail.

    <¢ Hi! hil” exclaimed the redskin, looking
    on in astonishment, his eyes ready to start
    from his head in excitement.

    “* Him very fine dog indeed,” quitely con-
    tinued the professor, this time taking a
    whole handful of coin from the cur’s tail,
    and picking stray pieces from his mouth,
    nose and ears, which he transferred to his
    pockets.

    Strange noises were heard proceedin
    from the interior of the brute. He aioanel
    and laughed and howled and barked, at all
    of which the poor deluded redskins stood
    in the utmost awe and astonishment, and
    couldn’t for the life of them understand
    what had come over the spirit of the animal.
    It was hard to tell which was the most sur-
    prised—the Indians or the dog. After
    filling his pockets with gold and taking
    another fistful from the cur’s tail, the pro-
    fessor left the redskins in peace. He had
    not been gone ten minutes before the latter
    pounced upon the poor doomed animal and
    cut him wide open.. Like the goose that
    laid the golden egg, there was nothing inside,
    and it was only fair to presume that the only
    reward was a fine feast upon ribs of roast
    dog, browned tea turn.
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    HOW INDIANS POISON THEIR ARROWS.


    MY TYRANT QUEEN.
    My lady she bids me go, and I go;
    My lady says ‘‘ Come!” and | come;
    My lady says ‘‘ Sing!” and I sing to her;
    My lady says ‘‘ Stop!” and I’m dumb.

    Whatsoever she does I find her fair,
    Whatsoever she says is good;

    Her word to me is the breath of my life,
    Her most foolish fancy is food.

    One day she is cruel, one day she is kind,
    This dear little lady of mine;

    One day her pretty brow puckers with frowns,

    One day with love her eyes shine.

    ‘But now she was sunny, all smiles and all wiles,
    And now she is off in a pet.

    She’s an angel, I’ll vow, but oh, and alas!.
    My lady’s an arrant coquette.

    To-day she will crown me a king with a kiss
    From her honey-sweet rosy-lips;

    To-morrow, mayhap, my lady’ll not deign
    To grant me her finger tips.

    Her bond-slave? Yes. But I hug my chains
    Till pleasure flows out of pain.

    © love it is better than liberty; O
    I would never be free again!

    With a rod of iron she rulesme. She knows

    I'll do whatsoever I’m told.
    A tyrant? No doubt of that— but then
    y lady’s but twelve years old.

    “DAN,”
    GEO. H. SARGENT.

    A WAY out in western Nebraska, where

    the sluggish North Platte rolls its tur-
    bid waters down through arich valley withthe
    land on either hand rising until it gradually
    merges into a series of low sandhills, the
    country is but thinly settled, and the
    scream of the locomotive never disturbs the
    solitude of the Great Plains. This country,
    half garden and half desert, is, however, full
    of animal life. Here the great American
    eagle makes its home, and the prairie dog
    and rattlesnake live and rear their kind in
    peace. The native grasses growing on the
    sandy soil furnish grazing for cattle all the
    year round, and so the country is for the
    most part given up to the sturdy ranchmen
    and the wild animals.

    On a certain ranch in this region, some
    years ago, a party of herdsmen caught a young
    eagle which was unable to fly. Its mother
    had been killed, so they took it home to their
    cabin, and kept it confined in a cage.

    There was a boy named Charley on this
    raneh, who entreated his father to let him

    keep the eagle. His father finally did so,
    and Charley took great pleasure in caring for
    his new pet, naming him Dan. After a
    while, Dan became so tame that the boy no
    longer kept him in the cage, but had a
    small collar put around one leg and fastened
    him by a small chain to a post.

    For a long time Dan chafed and fretted.

    under his confinment and refused to eat, but
    finally came to the conclusion that his cap-
    tivity was to be permanent, and began to
    make the best of his situation. As he grew
    less uneasy under restraint, the boy allowed
    him a longer chain, until finally Dan had
    quite an extensive range in front of the
    cabin,

    Dan soon learned to come at the call of his
    name and would eat from Charlie’shand. He
    would follow the boy as far as his chaiu
    would permit, when Charlie went away any-
    where, and on his return Dan would be
    waiting on the edge of his circular range te.
    welcome his master back. He would shake
    hands, turn somersaults and perform many
    other curious tricks. . But all the time Dan
    was as solemn and grave as a judge. He
    never smiled or even made the attempt.

    Sometimes Charlie would lie down in
    front of the cabin and pretend to be asleep,
    and Dan would come over very cautiously
    and pull Charlie’s watch from his vest.
    pocket, and when the boy jumped up and
    said. ‘‘Give it up, you thief,” Dan would
    stand on one leg and hold out the watch in:
    one claw, hanging down his head and look-
    ing very guilty.

    One summer day, Charlie had been run-
    ning about in the morning and was very
    tired. All the men had gone away from the:
    ranch, and Charlie was left alone with Dan.
    He did not mind this, however, for his very
    solitude made him safe, and as he knew
    there were no wild animals near he lay down.
    in the warm sunlight in front of the cabin,
    and was soon fast asleep. Dan came up and
    stole his watch, but Charlie did not say,
    *‘Give it up, you thief,” which somewhat.
    surprised the bird, so he played with it for

    a while, but finally becoming tired of the

    sport replaced it in Charlie’s pocket and lay
    down near him.

    Very soon, Dan became interested in a.
    long, black object that crawled along slowly
    through the tufts of prairie grass, in the
    direction of the sleeping boy. In a moment
    his native instinct for fighting with small
    animals was aroused, and Dan made a rusk





    for tne intruder. A warning, ominous rat-
    tle halted him but for an instant, then he
    struck at the serpent with both of his claws.
    The rattlesnake coiled itself ready to strike,
    but Dan, with a harsh shriek, was upon him.
    The noise awakened Charlie, who recognized
    the danger, and sprang outside of the circle.

    It was a desperate encounter; the snake
    coiled itself around Dan’s body, and strove
    to strike him with its powerful fangs, but
    Dan eluded these attempts, and seizing the
    rattlesnake in his powerful talons tore it
    with his strong beak and in a few moments
    the snake was writhing in agony at Dan’s

    feet, when a few blows from Charlie dis- -

    patched it.

    And Dan! Alas! the light chain had
    proven too much of an encumbrance ; the
    poor eagle had been bitten in the fray, and
    despite Charlie’s efforts to save the bird by
    bathing it in whisky poor Dan died. When
    the men returned at night they found the
    trio in front of the cabin ; the dead rattle-
    snake lay on the ground, while Charlie was
    shedding unavailing tears over the body of
    the dead eagle.

    Charlie has grown to manhood now, and
    only goes to Nebraska occasionally for pleas-
    ure; but in his elegant New York home,
    over the door of one of the parlors, there is
    a large stuffed specimen of an American
    eagle, with a rattlesnake in its claws, while
    underneath is the legend,

    “Faithful Unto Death.”

    “WE THOUGHT TO WEEP, BUT SING
    FOR Joy.”

    LOUISA M, ALCOTT.

    These beautiful lineswere written by the poet onthe death
    of her mother.

    N { YSTERIOUS death ! who in a single hour
    Life’s gold can so refine
    And by thy art divine :
    Change mortal weakness to immortal power!

    Bending beneath the weight of eighty years,
    Spent with the noble strife
    Of a victorious life,
    ‘We watched her fading heavenward through our
    tears.

    But, ere the sense of loss our hearts had wrung,
    A miracle was wrought,
    And swiftas happy thought

    ‘She lived again, brave, beautiful and young.

    Age, pain and sorrow dropped the veils they wore,
    And showed the tender eyes
    Of angels in disguise,

    "Whose discipline so patiently she bore.



    The past-years brought their. harvest richand fajy!
    While memory and love
    Together fondly wove

    A golden garland for the silver hair.

    How could we mourn like those who are bereft,
    When every pang ef grief
    Found balm for its relief

    In counting up the treasures she had left?

    Faith that withstood the shocks of toil and time,
    Hope that. defied despair,
    Patience that conquered care,

    And loyalty whose courage was sublime.

    The great, deep heart that was a home for all,
    Just, eloquent and strong,
    In protest against wrong ;

    Wide charity that knew no sin, no fall.

    The Spartan spirit that made life so grand,
    Mating poor, daily needs
    With high, heroic deeds,

    That wrested happiness from fate’s hard hand.

    We thought to weep, but sing for joy instead,
    Full of the grateful peace
    That follows her release;

    For nothing but the weary dust lies dead.

    Oh! noble woman! never more a queen
    Than in the laying down
    Of sceptre and of crown,

    To win a greater kingdom yet unseen.

    Teaching us how to seek the highest goal;
    To earn the true success;
    To live, to love, to bless,

    And make death proud to take a royal soul,

    WONDERS OF SPIDER LIFE.

    ce On here is a spider! Mean thing! kill
    it!” said little Tom.”

    “Stop!” said papa; ‘what harm has he
    done?”

    “Well, papa,” said Mary, coming to little
    Tom’s aid, ‘‘does he not entrap and kill the
    flies? He’s a cruel, sly, spiteful thing!’
    Ugh! Ishudder to look at it!”

    Papa by way of reply, took upa plate with
    a poison fly-paper, on which were several
    dead flies. Mary understood the silent re
    proof.

    “Oh, papa! you know the flies must not:
    have it all their own way. If we did not
    use the fly-papers we should be quite over:
    run with flies.” “ |

    “T do not blame you, my dear, for using}
    fly-papers; but on the same ground I must |
    speak a word for the despised spider; they
    are God’s fly-papers to check the excessive
    abundance of flies. All kinds of animal and



    sacaiete

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    MY TYRANT QUEEN,


    vegetable life also, if left to increase without
    check, would soon overrun the earth, and
    instead of the harmony and variety now ex-
    isting we should have the earth monopolized
    by afew animals and plants.”

    “Well, papa, but spidersare such repul-
    sive ugly things.”

    “That is no reason why they should be
    killed as a matter of course whenever we see
    them; but I don’t think they are very repul-
    sive, and they have a beauty of their own,
    like everything that God has made, and ful-
    fil a useful purpose in nature. Perhaps you
    would like me to tell you a little about
    them?”

    “Yes, papa, please do!”

    “‘ Well, my dears, the spider is, in the first
    place, very skillful.
    is itsweb! How fine! how perfect! Whena
    spider cannot fasten all parts of its web to
    corners or twigs or posts, he attaches his web
    to asmall bit of gravel, which hangs down
    as a weight to balance and keep the mass of
    the web stretched out. If a bee or a wasp is
    caught in the web, the spider will help it to
    get free, for he does not like to attack such
    big insects.”

    ““How clever!” said Mary.

    “By a microscope I could show you the
    spider’s eyes. He has six or eight, and you
    would be surprised to find how bright they
    are. His skin too is very beautiful, often
    covered with bright spots; and when this skin
    gets worn and dull, he sheds or changes it,
    and comes out in a new suit of clothes.”

    “‘Dear me, how wonderful!” said little
    Tom.

    ““Yes,” continued papa, “‘and he also has
    anew set of legs now and then, and if one
    is pulled off or broken, a new one grows in
    again, so that he never has to limp about with
    a wooden leg. I have heard the same of the
    crabs.”

    ““Oh papa! and the lobster,” said Mary.

    ‘* Yes, the spider is very much like the crab.
    It has claws at the end of its legs, and two
    short fore-arms that enable it to grasp its
    prey tightly. | Now you see that the spider
    can do many things besides crawl.” |

    “*Oh, yes,” said Mary, “‘ he can drop down
    from his web like a stone just as far as he
    likes, and then run up again as quick asa
    monkey up a pole; and he can swing himself
    by his wonderful web in all directions; really,
    pape; he is very clever! but what else can he

    oP?

    “* He can feel and taste,” said little Tom.

    What a wonderful thing .

    _ “Yes,” said papa. ‘and how exquisite
    must be his power of feeling, to be able to
    pull his web like a lot of ropes; and each
    thread of his web, though so fine, is com-
    posed, like a rope, of several strands. But
    the spider can also hear very well, and is
    also able to foretell the weather.”

    “* How do we know that?” inquired Mary.

    “When a storm or frost is coming, he goes
    away from his web, and remains snugly in
    his nest,” replied papa.

    ““T wonder that he has not sense enough
    to be taught,” remarked Mary.

    “Tt really can be tamed. A poor prisoner
    once had no companion but a poor spider,
    and he was so gentle and patient with it,
    that in time it came and ate out of the pris-
    oner’s hand. Now, Mary, do you think the
    poor prisoner would have been pleased to kill
    the poor spider?”

    “Oh no, papa! I don’t think I should
    like to kill one now. Poor thing! It has as
    much right to live as Ihave. But is there
    no fear of spiders becoming too numerous?”

    ‘*T think not,” replied papa; ‘: spiders can
    not live without food, and they require a
    great deal. A spider will eat six or eight
    times his own weight in a day, so that you
    see he keeps flies in check by destroying
    great numbers. If pressed by hunger, spi-
    ders will also destroy one another, so that
    there is no fear of their becoming pests, and
    and no need, I think, for little boys and girls
    to crush them whenever they see them.”

    ROSY MORN.

    pees morning sits and swings
    In her hammock of rose and gold,
    Her feet just touch the sea
    And the edge of her garments fold;
    She wafts a breath to me
    Of the blossoms of hope and love,
    As swinging to and fro
    Ske croons like the brooding dove.
    Sing soft, swing Iow,
    Oh, rosy morn!
    Clasp to thy breast
    The day, new born.

    The morning swings far out
    O’er the foam of the misty seas,
    And lights with rosy glow
    The tops of the tallest trees;
    The sleeping flowers wake
    At the touch of her quick’ning lips,
    And drink the dewy showers
    That fall from her finger tips.
    Sing soft, swing low,
    Oh, rosy morn!
    Clasp to thy breast
    The day, new born.










    LIB PER) EMERGE









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    “THEY DO NOT DIE!”

    FRANK N. SCOTT.

    nes do not die ;—
    Our loved ones fade, droop, and sink to rest,
    We cross tired hands above the pulseless breast,
    We kiss cold lips that warmly ours have prest ;
    The love-lit eye
    Whose glanees cheered our lives, and made earth
    blest.
    We close and sigh,
    And strive in faith to say ‘‘ God doeth best,
    He knowth why ;—
    For though in robes funereal they are drest,
    They do not die.”

    The flowers bloom,
    All their fresh, budding glories to display
    To cheer the heart and glad the toiling way,
    Then droop, and yield their sweetness to decay,
    *Tis Nature’s doom. i
    The cloud dissolves amid the lightning’s play,
    And stormy gloom,
    Darkness weaves up into the sun’s bright ray,
    In airy loom,
    And glorious light fades into twilight gray,
    And finds a tomb.

    But nothing dies ;-—

    That we call death is but progressive aim ;—

    As gold is tried and purified by flame,

    Soearthly loves are purged of taint or shame,

    And higher rise.

    Tho’ for a time the tomb our loved may claim,
    And rend all ties,

    It only holds the worn-out earthly frame,—

    ’*Tis that which dies—

    The soul mounts upward to a grander fame

    Above the skies,



    SUNDAY MORNING TALKS.
    V. ONESIPHORUS: THE FAITHFUL FRIEND.
    THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    ie isa very sad thing to hear people say, as
    many do, that the world is all a hollow

    mockery, and there is no such thing as

    genuine friendship to be found. Such com-
    plainings speak but poorly for those who
    complain, for the man who can go through
    life without finding at least a few genuine,
    disinterested friends is not only unfortunate,
    but must be himself of a most unfriendly
    disposition. His bitterness’“must have reé-
    pelled what a gentler spirit would have
    attracted. Because true friendship is not
    ostentatious, because love blows no trumpets,
    flaunts no banners in the air, but breathes
    out its life in quite unseen paths, therefore
    some men judge that there is very little
    genuine friendship. But their judgement is
    aot just. The violets bloom in secret dells

    and the gentlest friendships have always
    sought a hiding-place from the rude gaze of
    acritical and censorious world. The student
    of the Bible never calls in question the exist-
    ence of genuine friendships. He has no
    need to ask the poets of the classic age for
    some cunningly devised fable of friendship,
    he needs only to turn the sacred page, and
    lo, the clinging fidelity of Ruth, the love of
    David and Jonathan—passing the love of
    women—the divine friendship of the Christ
    for all men, but especially for those who
    formed the first little band of disciples,
    these examples and many more serve to show
    how men and women understood true friend-
    ship when the world was young. The
    Apostle Paul—that noblest spirit of the apos-
    tolic age—had hosts of friends. Read the
    last paragraph of his letter to the Romans,
    and see how tenderly he thinks of them; not
    sending his ‘* kind regards to all,” but nam-
    ing them one by one—Priscilla and Aquila,
    the well-beloved Epenetus, Andronicus and
    Junia, Amphlias and Appeles, Herodian and
    Narcicus, Tryphena and Tryphosa, and a
    host of others. How they had loved him,
    and how he loved them! And in this letter
    to Timothy, his well-beloved son in the
    gospel, he tells of a genuine friend, a man
    whose very name is not known to one man in
    ten thousand. And, indeed, the world
    would never have heard of Onesiphorus, but
    that he was worthy to stand for all time as
    an example of the true and faithful friend.
    He was probably an Ephesian merchant,
    whose business occasionally brought him te
    Rome. Christianity was not popular in Rome
    in those days, and because Paul had dared
    to lift the standard of the cross in the palace
    of the Caesars he was cast into prison. And one
    day the gloom of his dungeon was changed
    into gladness, for Onesiphorus of Ephesus,
    after a long and diligent search through all
    the prisons of Rome, had at last found his
    old friend and pastor. Paul was most likely
    allowed some brief liberty on his word of
    honor, and so, accompanied by a slave to
    whom he was chained, he was allowed a brief
    respite. A strange trio that, walking the
    streets of Rome 2000 years ago! A prisoner
    chained to a slave, and a gentleman of
    Ephesus on the other side. And Paul says .
    he was “‘ not ashamed of my chain.” That
    one phrase covers all the ground, the friend
    who is not ashamed of our chains is the
    friend to cling to and trust in. Heaven has
    no greater gift for us, in this life at least,


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    THE SLEEPING CHILD.
    EUGENE FIELD.

    My baby'slept; how calm his rest
    As o’er his handsome face a smile
    ike to an angel’s flitted, while
    He lay so still upon my breast.

    My baby slept; his baby head 6
    Lay all unkissed neath pa!l and shroud.



    did not weep or cry aloud;
    Tonly wished I, too, were dead.

    My baby sleeps; a tiny mound,
    All coverd by the little flowers,
    Woos me in all my waking hours,
    Down in the quiet burying ground.

    And when I sleep I seem to be
    With baby in another land, a
    I take his little baby hand,

    He smiles and sings sweet songs to me. |’

    Sleep on, O baby, while I keep
    My vigils till this day be past,
    Then shall I, too, lie down at last
    And with my darling baby sleep.

    SSS
    than a friend who is true when the days are
    dark, and the way is rugged, and the chain
    clangs its rude music at every step we take.
    One such friend in such an hour is enough
    to redeem us from despair. And it should
    be remembered that was an example of
    Christian friendship. ‘The world chooses to
    be very merry sometimes in its criticisms of
    church friendships, and it is sad that there
    should be any foundation in truth for such
    criticisms, but when all is said and done,
    there are no truer friendships in the world
    than church friendships. Onesiphorus was
    the kind of a friend that Christianity makes;
    the friend whom no chain can scare away,
    the friend who thinks that if one be in
    sorrow or pain, in prison or disgrace, then
    there is so much more the need of gentleness
    and love. There is much true friendship in
    the world and in the church, and if a man is
    friendless in days like these the fault is his
    own. Let us cherish dearly those who love
    us. . Let us count our wealth not in acres or
    stocks or gold alone, but in friends. Happy
    is the man, and wealthy is the man, though
    he never own an acre who can count amongst
    his treasures a host of faithful friends.
    Life’s burdens will be light if love keeps
    equal step with us in the march, and heaven
    itself will have little better to bestow than
    the reunion of sundered friendships.

    DUTIES LEFT UNDONE.
    MARGARET E. SANGSTER,

    ie isn’t the thing you do, dear,
    It’s the thing you leave undone,
    Which give you a bit of heartache
    At the setting of the sun.
    The tender word forgotten,
    The letter you did not write,
    The flower you might have sent, dear,
    Are your haunting ghosts to-night.

    The stone you might have lifted
    Out of a brother’s way,
    A bit of heartsome counsel
    You were hurried too much to say;
    The loving touch of the hand, dear,
    The gentle and winsome tone,
    That you had no time nor thought for,
    With troubles enough of your own.

    These little acts of kindness,
    So easily out of mind,
    These chances to be angels
    Which even mortals find—
    They come in night and silence,
    Each chill, reproachful wraith,
    When hope is faint and flagging,
    And a blight has dropped on faith,

    For life is all too short, dear,
    And sorrow is all too great,
    To suffer our slow compassion
    That tarries until too late.
    And it’s not the thing you do, dear,
    It’s the thing you leave undone,
    Which gives you the bitter heartache
    At the setting of the sun.

    MOTHER’S TOILING SAINT.

    Cee is a girl, and I love to think of

    her and talk of her, who comes in late
    when there is company, who wears a pretty
    little air of mingled responsibility and anxiety
    with her youth, whom the others seem to
    depend upon and look to for many comforts,
    She is the girl who helps mother.

    In her own home she is a blessed little
    saint and comforter. She takes unfinished
    tasks from the tired, stitf fingers that falter
    at their work; her strong young figure is a
    staff upon which the gray-haired, white-
    faced mother leans and is rested. She
    helps mother with the spring sewing, with
    the week’s mending, with a cheerful conver-
    sation and congenial companionship that
    some girls do not think worth while wasting
    on only mether. And when there comes a
    day when she must bend over the old, worn-
    out body of mother lying unheeded in her
    coffin, her rough hands folded, her long dis-
    quiet merged in rest, something very sweet
    will be mingled with her loss, and the girl
    who helped mother will find a benediction
    of peace upon her head and in her heart.

    The girl who works—God bless her!—is
    another girl whom I know. She is brave
    and active. She is not too proud to earn her
    own living, or ashamed to be caught at her
    daily task. She is studious and painstaking
    and patient. She smiles at you from be-
    hind counter or desk. There is a memory
    of her own sewn into each silken gown. She
    is like a beautiful mountaineer already far
    up the hill, and the sight of her should be
    a fine inspiration for us all. It is an honor
    to know this girl—to be worthy of her re-
    gard. Her hand may be stained with factory
    grease or printer’s ink, but it is an honest
    hand and a helping hand. It stays misfor-
    tune from many homes; it is one shield that
    protects many a forlorn little family from
    the almshouse and the asylum.

    FIVE ESSENTIAL POINTS.
    WILLIAM PENN.
    Five things are requisite to a good officer—
    ability, clean hands, dispatch, patience and
    impartiality.
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    AB
    “CARRY YOUR GIFTS OF FLOWERS.’
    MRS. F. S. LOVEJOY.

    Ca your gifts of flowers,
    In memory of the brave;

    Strew them thickly, like summer showers,
    Over each soldier's grave.

    Bravely they fought, and well,
    Nor feared the battle’s strife,

    And bravely for their country fell,
    Dearer to them than life.

    Then carry gifts of flowers,
    And over graves ‘‘ Unknown ”

    Strew the fairest from spring’s fair bowers,
    For God has marked each one.

    “Unknown”! No mother’s tears,
    Or wife’s or sister’s care,

    These graves have known thro’ changing years;
    So place the fairest there.

    Within our Nation’s grounds
    Are sleeping, side by side,

    The friends and foes; in all your rounds
    Let no grave be denied.

    Through the soft summer hours
    They rest in quiet sleep,

    While waving trees and blooming flowers
    Above their vigils keep.

    No more war’s clarion cry
    Will call them into strife;
    ‘They've gained a glorious victory
    And passed from death to life;

    ‘While over our fair land,
    Kven from sea to sea,

    Floats undisturbed, on every hand,
    Our flag of Liberty.

    Then carry gifts of flowers,
    In memory of the brave,

    Who fought so well through weary hours,
    This blessed land to save. :

    HOW TO CLIMB SAFELY.

    eee safety of a mountain climber depends
    4_ upon being well shod; therefore, the Swiss
    uides wear heavy shoes with sharp spikes
    in the soles. On a bright July morning a
    famous man of science started with two gen-
    tlemen to ascend Piz ‘Morteratsch, a steep
    and lofty snow mountain in Switzerland.
    Though experienced mountaineers, they
    took with them Senni, the boldest guide in
    . the district. After reaching the summit of
    Morteratsch, they started back, and soon
    arrived at a steep slope covered with a thin
    snow. They were lashed together with a
    strong rope, which was tied to each man’s
    waist,

    ‘Keep carefully in my steps, gentlemen,”
    said Senni, “for a false step here might start
    the snow and send us down in an avalanche.”
    He had hardly spoken when the whole field
    of ice began to slide down the icy mountain
    side, carrying the unlucky climbers with it
    ata terrible pace. A steeper slope was be-
    fore them, and 24 the end of it was a preci-
    pice. The three foremost men were almost
    buried in the whirling snow. Below them
    were the jawsofdeath. Everything depend-
    ed on getting a foothold. Senni shouted
    loudly, ‘Halt! Halt!” and with desperate
    energy drove his iron nail boots into the firm

    _ice beneath the snow. Within a few rods of

    the precipice Senni got a hold with his feet,
    and was able to bring the party all up stand-

    ing, when two seconds more would have.

    swept them into the chasm.

    The narrow escape shows the value of be-
    ing well shod when in dangerous places.
    The lesson is especially needed by the young.
    No boy is well prepared for rough climbing,
    unless he is ei shod with Christian princi-
    ples. Sometimes temptation ices the track
    under him, and then he must plant hig foot
    down with an iron heel or he is gone.

    THE PICTURE OF A MAN.

    W. SHAKSPEARE.
    i | IS words are bonds, his oaths are oracles;
    His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate;

    His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart;
    His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.

    “ARE YOU HURT, WALLACE?”

    66 A RE you hurt Wallace, dear?” asked

    Panzie, as she came running down
    the bank the moment she saw Wallace fall
    from his bicycle.

    “Hurt! no, only shaken just a little,”
    answered Wallace, who had just “come a
    cropper” through, not looking out for
    stumps and snags.

    “You see,” Wallace added as he picked
    himself up from the ground, “ Pride must
    have a fall, and the boys tell me that I shall
    never be an expert manager.of the bicycle
    till I have had a dozen falls. And this is
    only my third, so you see I have nine more
    to have.”

    With this Wallace remounted his trund-
    ling wheels and was off whistling merrily.

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    “ARE YOU HURT, WALLACE?”
    OLD DOBBIN GRAY.

    HE merciful man is merciful to his beast.

    The man or boy who is merciful to poor
    dumb beasts will never be very unkind to
    any one.. Farmer Armstrong was more than
    merciful to his poor o1a horse Dobbin Gray.
    Dobbin had been a faithful servant for many
    years, and. now that he had grown old and
    feeble he was not permitted to work any
    more. Once a day the children brought him
    out for a little exercise and Oscar, the farm-
    er’s little grandson, was allowed a short ride.
    ‘Poor old Dobbin has a very happy old age
    for everybody is kind to one who has been a
    faithful servant for so many years.

    LESSONS OF STEM AND LEAF.

    E. P. ROE.

    Eee purple-tipped strawberry run-
    ner, every bud forming at the stem of
    the leaf, every ripening seed, should teach us
    that it is God’s will that we should live and
    be happy in the future as well as in the
    present.

    EASTER LILIES.
    AGNES MAUDE MACHAR.

    H, where are the sweet white lilies,
    - Stately and fair and tall?
    And why don’t they grow for Easter,
    Down by our garden wall?

    Dear, in the bare, brown garden,

    - Their roots lie hidden deep,

    And the life is pulsing through them,
    Although they seem to sleep.

    And the gardener’s eye can see them,
    In germs that buried lie,

    Shine in the spotless beauty
    That will clothe them by and by.

    So may Christ see in us growing
    The lillies he loves best—

    The faith, the trust, the patience
    He planted in the breast.

    Not yet their crown of blossom,
    But he sees their coming prime,
    As they will smile to meet him
    In earth’s glad Easter time.

    The love that striveth toward him,
    Through earthly gloom and chill;
    The faithful, meek obedience,
    In darkness following still—

    These are the Easter lilies,
    Spotless and fair and sweet,

    We would bring to the risen Saviour,
    And lay at his blessed feet.

    EASTER EGGS.

    1 is not altogether easy to establish the.
    connection between eggs and Haster Day,
    as we have a number of superstitions te
    choose from. The Persians, for instance,
    used eggs asa New Year’s gift, assymbolizing
    prosperity. The Romans had egg games in
    honor of Castor and Pollux, who were said te
    have been hatched from an egg of the swan
    Leda. form of an oval, and decorated eggs were
    given as prizes to the victors. As the new
    year, with the Romans, began at Haster,
    nothing was easier than to transfer the egg
    custom from the Pagan to the Christian fes-
    tival. Furthermore, eggs formed a part of
    the Passover feast of the Jews, being put on
    the table, we are told, ‘“‘in honor of the
    bird, Ziz,” a fowl holding as important a part
    in the rabbinical legends as the Roc does
    in the tales of the Orient. Itis quite possi-
    ble, however, that our modern Haster eggs
    had no such far-fetched beginning. In the
    fourth century the eating of eggs during
    Lent was forbidden. But as the unothodox
    hens continued to lay, there was naturally a
    large accumulation of eggs by the close of
    Lent. On Easter Day, then, they formed the
    first ‘‘ flesh food” eaten, and they were set
    out in great platters upon the tables. As
    the appetite was soon cloyed upon them, and
    they were so plenteous, the suggestion prob-
    ably followed to give them to the children
    to play with, for which purpose, of course,
    it was necessary to boil them hard, The
    simple fact of the plenteousness of the eggs
    at these medieval Hasters seems to account
    readily enough for the fancy for decorating
    them, giving them away, or using them for
    sports. Later came in the emblematic idea,
    which accepted the egg as an emblem of the
    resurrection. The custom became very pop-
    ular in Europe and continued to modern
    times. In France, eggs gilded and painted,
    were brought as tribute to the King in

    _ heaped baskets, and after being blessed by

    the chaplain or bishop they were distributed.
    The decorated eggs, filling the toy shops and
    hawked about in the streets, are now one of
    the sights of Paris in Easter week, and
    everybody gives everybody else an egg or a
    picture of an egg in honor of the occasion.
    In Russia Easter Day is Calling Day, as New
    Year’s Day with us, and each swain who
    sallies forth has his pockets full of hard-boiled
    eggs. Meeting a friend, he salutes him
    he i
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    THE HERITAGE OF THE RICH
    AND THE POOR.

    JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

    Mt t ION N is HE rich man’s son inherits lands,
    a} pa |S aI i And piles of brick and stone and gold,
    Ws And he inherits soft, white hands,
    And tender flesh that fears the cold,
    Nor dares to wear a garment old;
    A heritage, it seems to me,
    SI One would not care to hold in fee,

    The rich man’s son inherits cares:
    The bank may break, the factory burn;
    \| Some breath may burst his bubbles hares;
    And soft, white hands would hardly earn
    A living that would suit his turn;
    A heritage, it seems to me,
    One would not care to hold in fee.

    What does the poor man’s gon inherit?
    Stout muscles and a sinewy heart;
    2 \ A hardy frame, a hardier spirit;
    NLS _ King of two hands; he does his part
    In every useful toil and art;
    A heritage, it seems to me,
    A king might wish to holdin fee.

    What does the poor man’s son inherit ?
    Wishes o’erjoyed with humble things;
    A rank adjudged by toil-worn merit;
    Content that from employment springs;
    A heart that in his labor sings;
    6 A heritage, it seems to me,
    A king might wish to hold in fee.

    Both heirs to some six feet of sod,
    Are equal in the ground at last;

    Both children of the same dear God;
    Prove title to your heirship vast,
    By records of a well-filled past:

    A heritage, it seems to me,

    Well worth a life to hold in fee,


    after the manner of the early Christains:
    “Christ is risen!” To which the reply is
    made; “‘ He isrisen, indeed!” Then the two
    exchange eggs, and usually rub their beards
    together in token of good will. Ladies who
    “receive” have platters of gaily colored eggs
    to give away, and always a kiss can be
    claimed with the exchange of eggs, if either
    party desires. In Scotland, where Haster
    prener has been suppressed for centuries,

    aster Monday. is unfailingly celebrated
    among the young people by rolling hard-
    boiled cggs down hill. In England and in
    the continental countries for centuries a
    feature of the same day has been ball playing
    with eggs, the hardest and the toughest one
    proving the winner of the game. In the
    villages of the continent another old custom
    was to scatter a number of eggs on the village
    green, when the young couples would dance
    among them, and if any pair concluded the
    figures without stepping upon an egg they
    were to be regarded as affianced. This cus-
    tom once brought about a very happy royal
    marriage between Philibert the Handsome,
    King of Savoy, and the fair Marguerita of
    Austria, who successfully performed the egg
    dance at Bresse on Easter Day, 1501, and
    were married the same year. The absurd
    fiction which connects the rabbit or hare with
    Raster eggs comes from a German nursery
    tale, and originated, no doubt, in the desire
    of some parent or nurse to hoax the children
    as to the origin of their favorite eggs.

    BONES! BONES! NOTHING BUT BONES!

    Fee many bones in the human face?
    Fourteen, when they’re all in place.

    How many bones in the human head?
    Eight, my child, as I’ve often said.

    How many bones in the human ear?
    Three in each, and they help to hear.

    How many bones in the human spine?
    Twenty-six, like a climbing vine.

    How many bones in the human chest?
    Twenty-four ribs, and two of the rest.

    * How many bones the shoulders bind?
    Two in each: one before, one behind.

    How many bones in the human arm?
    In each arm onc¢; two in each fore-arm.

    How many bones in the human wrist?
    Eight in each, if none are missed.

    How many bones in the palm of the hand?

    . Five in each, with many a band.

    How many bones in the fingers ten?
    Twenty-eight, and by joints they bend.

    How many bones in the human hip?
    One in each; like a dish they dip.

    How many bones in the human thigh?
    One in each, and deep they lie.

    How many bones in the human knees?
    One in each, the knee-pan please.

    How many bones in the leg from the knee?
    Two in each, we can plainly see.

    How many bones in the ankle strong?
    Seven in each, but none are long

    How many bones in the ball of the foot?
    Five in each, as in the palms were put.

    How many bones in the toes half a score?
    Twenty-eight, and there are no more.

    And now, all together, these many bones fix

    And they count in the body two hundred and six, Lei:

    And then we have in the human mouth,
    Of upper and under, thirty-two teeth.

    And we now and then have a bone, I should think,
    That forms on a joint, or to fill up a chink.

    A seamoid bone, or a wormian we call,
    And now we may rest, for we’ve told them all.

    TRUTH IN A STRAIGHT LINE.

    THOMAS BASFORD.

    RUTH lies in a straight line, following

    which a man may always stand erect in
    the full dignity of his manhood; but false-
    hood ever has a zigzag, underground course,
    pursuing which he must bend his judgment,
    twist his conscience and warp his manhood.
    till he ceases to be a man.

    CONCERNING MONEY.
    BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.

    ND as for money—Don’t you remember
    -\. the old saying, ‘“‘ Hnough is as good as.
    feast’? Money never made a man happy
    yet, nor will it. There is nothing in its
    nature to produce happiness. The more a
    man has, the more he wants. Instead of its
    filling a vacuum, it makes one. If it satis-
    fies one want, it doubles and trebles that
    want another way. That was a true proverb
    of the wise man, rely upon it: “ Better is
    little with the fear of the Lord than great
    treasure, and trouble therewith.”




















































    THE MUSIC OF THE MARSH.

    Wien the sun is going down and the stars are at a twinkle,
    And the drapery of night falls down without a wrinkle,
    A quaint and curious chorus in the twilight is agog,

    = And "tis then we hear the music of the fair and festive frog.

    Oh, Froggie, sing your song in peace—lift up your chorus shrill—

    And make the evening’s musical, though they be warm or chill, |E
    We'd miss you in the May time with your tiny pollywog, i
    If we didn’t hear your music, Ok, festive, merry frog. ; 34


    ON DUTY.

    EMMA L. BURNETT.

    TNCLE ALEX came out on the back pi-
    azza with his newspaper, and was just
    going to seat himself in one of the arm chairs,
    when a very large spider, weaving its web
    among the vines, attracted his attention. He
    went closer to look atit, and presently called
    ‘to Neddie, who was playing in the yard:
    *‘Neddie come and see this huge spider.”

    “TI can’t come now, Uncle Alex,” replied
    Neddie; “Iam on duty.”

    Uncle Alex stopped looking at the spider
    and looked at Neddie. He had a paper sol-
    dier-cap on, and, carrying his toy gun, was
    gravely pacing up and down before his tent,
    which was pitched on the grass under the
    big cherry-tree. Will Ramsey and two or
    three other boys were in the adjoining
    meadow galloping around on sticks and
    flourishing wooden swords. There was prob-
    ably a battle going on, though the cows
    chewing their cud under the trees didn’t
    seem a bit frightened.

    ‘“‘What are you doing ?” asked Uncle
    Alex.

    “‘l’m a sentinel keeping guard,” said
    Neddie.

    “«Can’t you come over here just a minute
    if I watch the tent ?”

    “No indeed,” answered Neddie decidedly.
    “Soldiers mustn’t go away a second when
    they’re on duty.”

    ‘Well, well,” said Uncle Alex, seeming
    quite amused as he sat down to his paper.

    Towards the close of the afternoon, when
    the tent was deserted, and the boys were
    playing something else at the other side of
    the house, Neddie’s mother came out on the
    porch from the kitchen carrying a small
    basket. She looked hastily around, and
    then called, ‘‘Neddie, Neddie! where are
    you ?”

    “‘Here, mamma!” he shouted, bounding
    around the corner of the house and up the
    steps.

    ““T want you to go over to the store and
    get me two pounds of sugar and half a
    pound of raisins” said his mother, adding,
    as she gave him the basket and some money,
    “‘Now don’t be gone long. I’m making

    something good for supper, and want those

    things as soon as possible.”

    About ten minutes after Neddie had gone,
    Uncle Alex started to the post-office. When
    he reached the little brook which had to be

    crossed to get to the village, he saw Neddie
    standing on the bridge throwing pebbles in-
    to the water.

    “¢ Hello, Neddie!” he said, ‘“‘I thought you
    were on duty.”

    “No sir,’ replied the boy, looking up in
    surprise; ‘“‘we’re not. playing soldier any
    more. Mamma sent me on an errand.”

    «©Did she send you here to throw pebbles
    inthe brook?”

    ““No, sir; she sent me to the store for
    something.”

    “T thought I heard her giving you a com-
    mission which was to be executed with
    promptness and dispatch, and knowing you
    to be such a soldierly fellow, who could not
    be tempted away from duty a moment, I
    wonder, rather, to see you standing here.”
    and Uncle Alex stroked his whiskers medi-
    tatively and knit his brows as though he
    was trying to study the matter out.

    Neddie, with a puzzled expression, looked
    steadily in his uncle’s face for a moment or
    two, and then turning toward the village
    was off like a flash.

    Uncle Alex was standing on the post-
    office steps reading a letter, when he hap-
    pened to see Neddie come out of the grocery
    store with his basket and walk rapidly home-
    ward. Some little boys on the other side
    of the street also spied him, and running
    over, surrounded him, evidently wanting
    him to stop with them a little while, but he,
    though in a very good-natured way, de-
    clined there invitation, and kept on his way.
    He realized that he was on duty.

    JESSICA’S BOUDOIR.

    AY ARMITAGHE?’S sister Emily has

    spent a summer in Europe and on her
    return brought May the loveliest doll from
    Paris with a little trunk of doll’s clothes.
    There were at least seven different dresses and
    asmany beautiful little hats. Since herreturn
    from abroad Miss Armitage had changed
    the name of her pretty little dressing room
    tothe fine French name “boudoir.” May
    soon caught up the new name and said her
    doll could have.a “‘ boudoir ” just as well as
    Emily. She called her little doll Jessica,
    and the quiet little spot at the foot of the
    big elm tree wheroc May used to dress and’
    undress her beautiful doll was known as
    «* Jessica’s Boudoir.”
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    JESSICA’S BOUDOIR.
    “NO YOU DON’T!”

    Sree has gone to sleep. She is thor-
    oughly tired out, too tired to eat the
    piece of cake that remains on her plate.
    Master Tip has avery fine nose for cake,
    and if there was no one else around he would
    soon have that piece of cake between his teeth.
    But Miss Malty, Susie’s little cat, ison guard,
    and says just as plain as alittle cat can say:—
    “No you don’t Master Tip! Not while I’m
    here. You’re a nice sort of a dog to take
    advantage of your little Mistress being asleep,
    if you were a boy you’d be mean enough to
    try and win a pair of gloves.”

    THE STOUTEST. HEARTS ARE THOSE
    THAT BLEED.

    BY FATHER RYAN.

    ee summer rose the sun has flushed
    With crimson glory, may be sweet—

    *Tis sweeter when its leaves are crushed
    Beneath the winds’ and tempests’ feet,

    The rose, that waves upon its tree,
    In life, sheds perfume all around—
    More sweet the perfume floats to me
    Of roses trampled on the ground.

    The waving rose, with every breath, .
    Scents, carelessly the summer air—
    The wounded rose bleeds forth in death
    A sweetness far more rich and rare.

    It is a truth beyond our ken—
    And yet a truth that all may read—
    It is with roses as with men,
    The sweetest hearts are those that bleed,

    The flower which Bethlehem saw bloom
    Out of a heart all full of grace.

    Gave never forth its full perfume
    Until the cross became its vase.-

    SUNDAY MORNING TALKS,

    VI. THE FOOL’S CREED.
    THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    A eee is no great difficulty in under-
    standing what the Bible means when it
    speaks of a man as a fool. The phrase is
    never used in the Bible in scorn of a man
    of weak or imperfect intellect. The fool of
    the Bible is not a man of unbalanced mind,
    a mental weakling, or an imbecile; but one
    who, blessed with reason, wilfully runs coun-
    ter to the teachings of sound judgment.
    The poor demented child who puts his hand
    in the fire, not knowing that the fire will

    burn, is to be pitied and cared for most ten-
    derly. But the man who, knowing that the
    fire burns, still plays with fire, is a fool, and
    has only himself to thank for the scorching
    and the scars. In short, the fool of the Bible
    is one who, blessed with the inestimable
    treasure of a sound mind, will not follow its
    teachings. The fool of the Bible will sow
    the wind, though he knows perfectly well he
    must sooner or later reap the whirlwind; he
    will turn aside from the fountain of living
    waters, and spend his life and strength in
    hewing out broken cisterns that he knows
    can hold no water; he will make a mock at
    sin, though he knows that the wages of sin
    are death; he will look upon the wine when.
    it is red, though he knows that at the last it
    biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an ad-
    der. There can be no reasonable complaint
    against the Bible for calling such men fools 3
    on the contrary, there should be great thank-
    fulness that the Bible lifts its voice of warn-
    ing with such clearness and fidelity. But
    there is another kind of folly that takes very
    largely the form of stubbornness, and be-
    cause the impossible ig not made possible
    and easy, utterly refuses to give credence,
    not to say faith, to that which is shrouded
    in mystery. This folly says: “* What I can
    not know I will utterly reject. There shall
    be no place in my creed for anything that is.
    not capable of the most complete demon-
    stration.” This is the arrogance of ignor- |
    ance. ‘This is folly of the emptiest kind.
    And there are many who are foolish enough
    to boast that they are so far removed
    from credulity and superstition that they de-
    cline to believe anything that is not made
    perfectly clear to them. Such a creed will
    be very brief; in fact there will be nothing
    torecord. The final step of such folly is to
    complete the picture David saw. Folly per-
    fected says: ‘*There is no God” That a
    man may have serious doubts about the ex-
    istence of a personal God, is quite easy to
    understand. Some thingsseem too good to
    be true, and faith stands faltering by. Some
    things are too great for mortal grasping, and
    not infrequently the-blazing light in which
    one stands so dazzles the feeble orbs of vis-
    ion that the landscape about our fect is for
    the time being hidden from our eyes. But
    the man is a fool who, in the face of all
    the ten thousand probabilities that stand be-
    fore him, avows the sad negation as his creed.
    Let us never forget that religion, ‘to be
    worth the name of religion, must always be








































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    “NO YOU DON'T!”
    a hope rather than a demonstration. This
    was enough for the Apostle Paul,a man whose
    ‘mind was so far-reaching and colossal in its

    rasp that no man need be ashamed to fol-

    ow where he trod. He declared on the
    plainest grounds the utter inexcusableness
    of atheism. In his wonderful letter to the
    Romans he says: <‘ Because that which may
    be known of God is manifest in them; for
    God has shown it unto them. For the in-
    visible things of Him, from the creation of
    the world, are clearly seen, being under-
    stood by the things that are made, even His
    eternal power and God-head; so that they
    are without excuse.” In other words, the
    seen is wholly inexplicable, save on the
    ground that it points to the unseen; and the
    known is wholly unaccountable, save as it
    points to a wide and boundless realm of the
    unknown. The folly of men who take a
    negation for their creed is only seen when we
    come to think of the poverty of such a creed.
    Without God we are without hope, for the
    life that is and for the life that is to be. We
    can not dream of a world without God. God
    can not be retired from our life, from our
    world, from our homes. He is interwoven
    in the warp and woof of the world’s history.
    The creed of Atheism is the nightmare of
    disordered souls.

    Could I for a moment deem
    God is not in all I see,
    O how awful were the dream,
    Of a world devoid of Thee!
    But since Thou are ever near,
    Ruling all that comes to me,
    Ican smile at pain or tears,
    For they come in love from Thee.

    _ HOW DIMES ARE MADE.

    pee United States Mint in San Fran-
    cisco is said to be the largest of the
    kindin the world. Just at the present time
    there is a lively demand for silver dimes,

    and twe of the money presses have been for ~

    some tiwe running exclusively on this coin.
    The dex und is so great that these machines
    are not even stopped on Sunday. The pro-
    cess of dime making is an interesting one.
    The silver bullion is first melted and run
    into two-pound bars. These in turn are
    run through immense rollers and flattened
    out to the thickness of the coin. These sil-
    ver strips are then passed through a machine,
    which cuts them into proper size for the
    presses, the strips first having been treated

    with a kind of tallow to prevent their being
    scratched in their passage through the cut
    ters. The silver pieces are then put into —
    the feeder of the printing presses, and are

    fed to the die by automatic machinery at

    the rate of 100 per minute, 48,000 dimes

    being turned outin a regular working day

    of twelve hours.

    As the smooth pieces are pressed between
    the ponderous printing dies, they receive
    the lettered and figured impression in a
    manner similar to that’ of a paper pressed
    upon a form of type; at the same time the
    piece is expanded in a slight degree, and the
    small corrugations are cut in its rim. The
    machine drops the completed coin into a
    receiver, and it is ready for the counter’s
    hands. The instrument used by the count-
    er is not a complicated machine by any
    means, as one might suppose. It is a sim-
    pla, copper-colored tray, having raised edges
    running across its surface ab a distance
    about the exact width of a dime. From the
    receiver the money is dumped on the board
    or tray, and as it is shaken rapidly by the
    counter the pieces settle down into the
    spaces between the ridges,

    All these spaces being filled, the surplus
    coin is brushed back into the receiver, and
    the counter has exactly 1,250 silver dimes,
    or $125 on the tray, which number is re-
    quired to fill the spaces. The tray is then
    emptied into boxes, and the money is ready
    for shipment. The dime does not pass
    through the weigher’s hands, as does the
    coin of a larger denomination. One and
    one-half grains is allowed for variation, or
    ‘*tolerance,” in all silver coins from a dollar
    down, and the deviation from the standard
    in the case of the ten-cent pieces is so
    trifling that the trouble and expense of
    weighing coins of this denomination is dis-
    pensed with.



    A GENTLE MOTHER.

    ON’T imagine fora moment that that cat

    is cruel because she carries her kitten in

    her mouth. The truth is, it is just the ten-

    derest way possible to carry a kitten about

    Old Sue has long been a favorite at the farm.

    She isa proud mother, as she well may be,

    with that beautiful piece of ribbon round

    her neck and that more beautiful kitten in

    her mouth. A very proud and a very gentle
    mother is old Sue,






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    CHARLEY AND HIS PET.
    GYP’S MORNING LESSON,

    NEY Master Gyp, sit up and beg very
    prettily and you shall have this piece
    of sugar. But now mark, my dear little pet,
    I have brought you out into Grandpa’s big
    garden chair, because I want to give you a
    special lesson this morning. You know,

    Gyp, we have company in the house, and I

    want you to behave in the best possible man-
    ner. Specially I want you to leave Kittie
    alone. I’m sure she’s a well-behaved little
    Kittie, and does you no harm, and yet for all
    that I saw you chasing her all over the
    garden yesterday, and finally to escape yon,
    she ran up a tree, and there you sat at the
    foot of the tree barking for more than an
    hour, and you would not let hercome down.
    Gyp, you ought to be ashamed of yourself,
    And I really think by the look of your eyes
    you are. Now do try and be a good dog,
    don’t run out with your tail bristling up
    every time you see a dog go by, as if you
    were dying for afight. Be a good, obedient
    dog, and V’ll take you a walk every day dur-
    ing vacation, and you shall have a lump of
    sugar every morning, as long as there is a
    lump left in Grandma’s sugar bowl.

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    A BARREL OF WHISKEY.

    DRAYMAN rolled forth from his cart to
    the street,
    A red-headed barrel, well bound and complete;
    And on it red letters, like forked tongues of flame,
    Emblazoned the grade, number, quality, fame,
    Of this pole Teco yaad whiskey from somebody’s
    still,
    Who arrested the grain on the way to the-mill.

    So there stood the barrel delivered, but I

    Could see that a shadow was hovering nigh,

    A sulphurous shadow that grew as I gazed,

    To the form of Mephisto. Though sorely amazed,
    I ventured to question this imp of the realm,
    Where Vice is the Pilot, with Crime at the Helm;
    And asked him politely his mission to name,

    And if he was licensed to retail the same

    Identical barrel of whiskey which he

    Was fondly surveying with demoniac glee?

    “Oh, I never handle the stuff,” he replied,

    ““My mortal partners are trusty and tried;

    Mayhap, peradventure you might wish to look

    At the invoice complete—I will read from this book.
    You will find that this barrel contains something

    more

    Than forty-two gallons of whiskey galore.”
    _And ere I could slip but another word in,

    He checked it off gaily, this cargo of sin:

    “A barrel of headaches, of heartaches, of woes;
    A barrel of curses, a barrel of blows;

    A barrel of tears from a world-weary wife:

    A barrel of sorrow, a barrel of strife;

    A barrel of all-unavailing regret;

    A barrel of cares and a barrel of debt;

    A barrel of crime and a barrel of pain;

    A barrel of hopes ever blasted and vain;

    A barrel of falsehood, a barrel of cries

    That fall from the maniac’s lips as he dies;
    A barrel of agony, heavy and dull;

    A. barrel of poison—of this nearly full;

    A barrel of poverty, ruin and blight; °

    A barrel of terrors that grow with the night;
    A barrel of hunger, a barrel of groans;

    A barrel of orphans’ most pitiful moans;

    A barrel of serpents that hiss as they pass
    From the bead on the liquor that glowsin the glass,
    My barrel! My treasure! I bid thee farewell,
    Sow ye the foul seed, I will reap it in Hell!”

    THE LEGEND OF THE LOOM AND THE
    HAMMER.

    JOAQUIN MILLER,

    T WAS living in Nazareth, a good many
    years ago, when an old man asked me one
    sweet spring morning to lay my ear to the
    ground and listen to what I might hear.
    There was a dull, soft, far-away sound,
    not much unlike the thrumbing of a grouse
    in a fir tree high up on the wooded hills of
    Oregon. Only this sound here at Nazareth
    was softer, and too, it seemed not so monot-

    - onous,.

    The sound, heard only at rare intervals,
    and when the wind lay very low, was at first
    very faint, and very soft and doubtful. But
    after awhile I heard a heavier and a harder
    stroke. Then the two would blend together
    and then finally be lost, to be lifted up to
    the thick tangle of foliage by the road-
    side, which hung in festoons above and about
    us, where the doves sat and sang, or the
    bluebird flitted along in a line of sapphire.

    But in the morning, if the morning is
    still, and warm and pleasant, go out on the
    hills and listen. Listen and believe, and
    you will hear the low, soft and almost pa-
    thetic monotony of sound of which I have
    spoken. ae

    “‘ And what does it all mean?” T at last
    asked of the half-naked old son of Syria who
    had constituted himself my guide and only
    companion.

    He put a whole pile of dirty fingers to his
    thin, brown lips, and would not answer.
    But as spring advanced, day after day we
    went on the wooded hills to catch the sound.
    Sometimes, not often, however, we were re-
    warded, for in Nazareth, as well as else-
    where, there are cloudy days, and days of
    wind and storm.
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    GYP’S MORNING LESSON
    But to cut the story short, as I was about
    to leave this holiest place on earth to one
    who loves the woods and believes in God,
    the ragged old follower led me once more up
    to the hills to lay my ear for the last time to
    the bosom of the earth. I never heard the
    sound so distinctly before.

    “« What can it mean? ”.

    The old man crept close and whispered in
    his wild and broken way: “Theloom! It

    is Mary at her loom; and then the carpenter’s |

    hammer.”

    You understand? Then let it go at that.
    But it then and there seemed to me as the
    most beauteous thought, the most entirely
    pathetic thing on all this earth, to feel that
    through eighteen hundred years there still
    echoed the sound of Mary’s.loom and the
    stroke of the carpenter’s hammer.

    And I thought if I could teach the toiling
    world that Mary still leans to hear the loom,
    that Christ is still in some sort a carpenter,
    I might maybe bridge over the awful gulf of
    infidelity and lead the world to redemption.

    But even if I could teach each laborer the
    dignity of his labor, show him how God
    worked at a trade, how the echo of the ham-
    mer is still heard—if I could only teach one
    poor broken-hearted old woman bending to
    her toil that Mary toiled the same way, why,
    that would be glory, glory enough and
    enough of good.

    ODD SAYINGS.

    A 8 poor as a church mouse,
    As thin as a rail;
    As fat as a porpoise,
    As rough as a gale;
    As brave.as a lion,
    As spry as a cat;
    As bright as a sixpence,
    As weak as a rat.

    As proud as a peacock,
    As fly as a fox;

    As mad as a March hare,
    As strong as an ox;

    As fair as a lily,
    As empty as air;

    As rich as Croesus,
    As cross as a bear.

    As pure as an angel,
    As neat as a pin;
    As smart as a steel-trap,
    As ugly as sin;
    As dead as a door-nail,
    As white asa sheet;
    As flat as a pancake,
    As red as a beet,

    Asround as an apple,
    As black as your hat;

    As brown as a berry,
    As blind as a bat;

    As mean as a miser,
    As full as a tick;

    As plump as a patridge,
    As sharp as a stick.

    As clean as a penny,
    As dark as a pall;
    As hard as a millstone,
    As bitter as gall;

    As fine as a fiddle,
    As clear as a bell;

    As dry as a herring,
    As deep as a well.

    As light as a feather,
    As firm as a rock;
    As stiff as a poker,
    As calm as a clock;
    As green as a gosling,
    As brisk as a bee;
    Now let me stop,
    Lest you weary of me.

    WHAT THE BEES SAY.

    ss afi WONDER what the bees are trying toe

    say as they go buzz-buzz-buzzing in and
    out of the hive?” said little Effie to her
    Aunt, who had sat down for a little rest at
    the end of their morning walk,

    “I hardly know my dear,” said Miss
    Windsor,” but I think we may easily fancy
    what they would say if they could speak.
    That little fellow who is crowding his way
    into the hive says—‘Dear me, I’m tired, but
    I’ve got such a load of honey. Every flower
    has yielded honey. Honey, honey, honey!
    The world is full of honey.’ And that one just
    settling on the white clover blossom SAYS:
    ‘There’s no time to be lost, winter is com-
    ing, there is no time to be lost!’ And that
    one winging its way in the distance, sings as
    it flies, as if it would teach us that all our
    duties should be discharged with a glad heart.
    So my dear, there are three wise lessons for
    us at the end of our morning’s walk. The
    world is full of honey—There is no time to
    be lost—We should do our work with a glad
    and merry heart.



    HOW THE FARMER PACKS APPLES,

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    WHAT THE BEES SAY.
    : CLOTHILDE AND THE FLOWERS.

    HERE is no more common sight in the
    villages of the South of France than
    that which our artist has sketched for us on
    the following page. Pere Dumond and his
    little daughter, Clothilde, are on their usual
    daily rounds. He playing the hand-organ
    while the little girl sings and then spreads
    out her apron to catch here and there a sou
    that generous souls toss into her lap, while
    Trix, Clothilde’s favorite poodle, sits in sol-
    emn silence by Pere Dumond’s side. But
    there is one little girl, the daughter of a
    French soldier, who having no sou to give,
    plucks a bunch of flowers as soon as she
    hears Pere Dumond’s organ in the distance,
    and throws them into Clothilde’s wide-open
    apron. Of course, the flowers will not buy
    fish or garlic, but they help to sweeten and
    beautify a life that without them would
    often be dulland sad. Clothilde does not
    know the name of the fair girl who makes
    this daily gift of flowers, but she has placed
    her amongst her saints and calls her, ‘‘My
    Lady of the Flowers.”

    THE SONG OF THE CRICKET.
    GRACE DENIO LITCHFIELD.

    ys. the world is big; but I'll do my best;

    Since I happen to find myself in it;

    And Tl sing my loudest out with the rest,
    Though I’m neither a lark nor a linnet,

    And strive toward the goal with as tireless zest,
    Though I know I may never win it.

    For shall no bird sing but the nightingale?
    No flower bloom but the rose?

    Shall little stars quench their torches pale
    When Mars through the midnight glows?

    Shall only the highest and greatest prevail?
    May nothing seem white but the snows?

    Nay, the world is so big that it needs us all
    To make sweet music in it,

    God fits a melody e’en to the small;
    We have nothing to do but begin it;

    So I'll chirp my merriest out to them all,
    Though I’m neither a lark nor a linnet!

    FIVE LUMPS OF SUGAR,

    HEN Ethel May waked on Monday
    morning, her mind was filled with an
    idea given by her teacher in Sunday-school
    the day before. She had that rare style of
    teacher who managed to interest her class in
    the lesson, and who gave, in a bright, cheer-
    ful manner, many hints which lodged firmly
    in the minds and hearts of her young
    hearers.

    Yesterday she had said to them:

    «TJ think almost everybody in this world is
    either sugar or lemon. They sweeten things
    for other people, or make them sharp and
    sour. Now, I want every girl in this class to
    make up her mind to be sugar; and whenever
    she sees anyone in trouble, or cross, or tired,
    or in any way wrong, just pop a great, big
    lump into that person’s mouth, and see what
    will happen.”

    The girls had laughed, but the impression
    remained, and Ethel May, waking that dis-
    mal, cold Monday morning, had quite made
    up her mind to try the plan. Being an im-
    aginative child, she improved upon the idea
    in her mind, and by the time she was dressed,
    had decided to take five lumps of sugar with
    her that day, and if success warranted it, to
    double the number to-morrow.

    She soon used her first lump. Tom, her
    younger brother, was grumbling away like an
    ill-natured bear. It was hard to go toschool
    in this sleety rain, and, somehow, things al-
    ways seemed harder for Tom than for anyone
    else; at least, he thought so. Just now it
    was his books he could not find, and he was
    dashing about in that helpless, masculine
    manner which develops so early.

    Although a good-natured child, Ethel
    ever concerned herself much. with Tom’s
    worries. There was always something for
    him to grumble over; but this morning, with
    a little feeling of curiosity as to the result,
    she decided to give her first lump of sugar to

    om.

    “Tl help you to find them,” she said,
    cheerily. ‘‘I think they are on the table.in
    the library.”

    Notwithstanding his emphatic assurance
    of having looked there “a dozen times al-
    ready,” the missing books were found and.‘
    given into his hands: without the tempting
    “I told you so”—that slice of lemon we slip
    so often into the mouth of our neighbor.

    His looks of relief and gruff thanks were
    her only rewards; but she did not mind that,
    and started off with a cheery ‘“‘good-by” to
    mother, who stood watching her from the
    window.

    It was not pleasant out of doors; for the
    sleety rain beat against her face, and she had
    a long walk befor her. So she scarcely
    heeded a little child who was timidly trying
    to cross a swollen drain, and the ‘“‘ Please
    help me over” struck her as rather an un-
    pleasant interruption. Suddenly she remem-
    bered the sugar, and took out another lump.






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    With ready hand and strong arm, she
    jumped the little girl over the gutter, and
    helped her to cross the slippery pavement,
    landing her safely on her own doorstep;
    then, not waiting for thanks, hurried off to
    school.

    We all know how many opportunities of
    sweetening are given here. A kind word, a
    lesson help, a lunch shared, and you will not
    be surprised to find that when Ethel started
    for home, she had but one lump left of the
    five she had taken with her in the morning.
    Thinking of this as she walked slowly along,
    determined to save it up for some great oc-
    casion, she was startled by such a. prodigous
    roar near by that she nearly dropped her
    books in the street. The explanation was
    ludicrous. In the middle of a sloppy, half-
    frozen pool, a little boy was seated, and it
    was wonderful to see how much noise could
    come from such a small cause.

    Farther up the street ran a larger boy,

    dragging a sled, and prancing in imitation
    of half a dozen wild horses, apparently un-
    conscious of the fact that there was a “pas-
    senger aboard who had been left behind.’;

    “Oh dear!” Ethel thought, half regretful-
    ly, *‘must my last lump go to comfort that
    little rascal?”

    Her hesitation was but momentary, then,
    stooping down, she lifted the small traveler
    to his feet, and sent a call after the runaway
    steed, which brought him to a full stop.

    But it was not easy to comfort the little
    fellow; he was completely under way, and
    his mouth opened again for another roar,
    which closed abruptly, for into the yawning
    cavern was pushed something soft and sweet,
    and the yell could be postponed until that
    was settled.

    The other boy now joined them, and to
    him Ethel delivered a little lecture, sweet-
    ened with another chocolate drop, then
    started the pair off again, seemingly on the
    - best terms.

    ““ Now I am out sugar,” she said to her-
    self, ‘‘and must hurry home as fast as I
    can for fear of seeing some one I can not
    help.”

    That night, while talking things over with
    mother, she told her of the teacher’s idea,
    and her own manner of carrying it out.

    “But, dear me, mother,” she added with
    a merry laugh, ‘‘it will never do to limit
    one’s self to five, or ten, or twenty lumps.

    One must just carry the whole sugar-bowl

    along.”

    THE BROWN THRUSH.
    LUCY LARCOM.

    pees a merry brown thrush sitting up in the
    tree:

    He’s singing to me; he’s singing to me!
    And what does he say, little girl, little boy? ©

    “Oh, the world’s running over with joy!

    Don’t you hear? Don’t you see?
    y Hush! Look! In my tree
    I’m as happy as happy can be!”

    And the brown thrush keeps singing, “A nest, do
    you see,
    And five eggs hid by me in the juniper tree?
    Don’t meddle, don’t touch! little girl, little boy,
    Or the world will lose some of its joy:
    Now I’m glad! now I’m free!
    And I always shall be,
    If you never bring sorrow to me.”

    So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree,
    To you and to me, to you and to me;
    And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy:
    “Oh, the world’s running over with joy!
    But long it won’t be—
    Don’t you know? don’t you see?—
    Unless we are as good as can be!”

    THE HEART WAS MASTER OF THE
    GUN.

    ie Varney had begged his father
    many times to give him a gun. His
    father was a sportsman, and told Lewis
    that he should have a gun just as soon as he
    was old enough to use one carefully. Well,
    on his twelfth birthday, the gun came, and
    it was a beauty. Lewis was very proud of
    it, and very anxious to use it. So, after
    many warnings and instructions, he made
    his way into the woods. He aimed at sever-
    al birds, but they were too quick for him.
    At last his attention was attracted by a
    squirrel sitting on the limb of a tree munch-
    ing away at a nut with great delight. Lewis’s
    first impulse was to fire, but the squirrel
    looked so harmless and happy, that he could
    not find in his heart tokillhim. He thought
    he would save his gun for rats and other
    vermin. The squirrel went on munching
    his nut, unconscious of his danger. When
    Lewis got home and told his story, his father
    laughed, but his mother kissed his forehead,
    and said she should always be proud of a
    boy whose heart was bigger than his gun.

    NETTLES AND CLOUDS. ’

    HERE are nettles everywhere,
    But smooth green grasses are more common
    still;
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    HANNAH F. GOULD.



    A BLIND BOY’S SONG.



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    blind!


    HOW A PRACTICAL JOKE FAILED.

    GENTLEMAN who has a steam-mill in

    Waldo, Me., came to Chelsea on a visit,
    and while there purchased a large steam-
    whistle, which he carried home and placed
    on his mill. .

    ' A-number of boys conceived the idea of
    stealing the whistle, and the owner, hear-
    ing of their plan, remained in his mill all
    night. Sixty pounds of steam was kept up.
    About midnight the boys put in an appear-
    ance, and climbed up on the roof of the
    building. Just as one applied a wrench to
    the whistle, Mr. Sanborn opened the throt-
    tle wide, and there went up into the stillness
    of the night such a screech as was never be-
    fore heard in Waldo. People jumped from
    their bedsin affright, and wondered what
    wasup. The boys tumbled off the roof of
    that mill as though shot, and departed as
    rapidly as their legs could carry them, while
    Mr. Sanborn fired agun after them to hasten
    their retreat. The whistle is still on the
    mill, and the boys will probably think twice
    before they again undertake to steal any-
    thing as noisy as a steamboat whistle.

    BABY’S WALK.
    OLIVE A. WADSWORTH.

    O* a bright and beautiful summer’s day

    Mr. Baby thought best to go walking away;
    His little white sacque he was well buttoned in,
    And his shady hat was tied under his chin.

    Onehand was tight clasped in his nurse’s own,
    And the other held fast a little white stone;
    There hung by his side his new tin sword,
    And thus he began his walk abroad. _

    He walked and he walked, and by and by

    He came to the pen where the piggy wigs lie;
    They rustled about in the straw in front,

    And every piggy said, ‘‘ Grunt, grunt, grunt!”

    So he walked and he walked, and what do you
    think!

    He came to the trough where the horse was at
    drink;

    He cried, ‘‘Go along! Get up, old Spot!”

    And the horse ran away with a trot, trot, trot!

    So he walked and he walked, and he came at last

    To the yard where the sheep were folded fast;

    He cried, through the crack of the fence, ‘‘ Hur-
    rah!”

    And all the old sheep cried, ‘‘ Baa! baa! baa!”

    So he walked, and he walked, till he came to the

    pond,
    Of which all the ducks and the ducklings were
    fond;

    He saw them swim forward, and saw them swim
    back,

    And all the ducks said was ‘‘Quack, quack!

    quack!”

    So he walked and he walked, and it came to pass,
    That he reached the field where the cows eat grass;
    He said, with a bow, ‘‘ Pray, how do you do?”
    And the cows all answered, ‘‘ Moo, moo, mo!”

    So he walked and he walked to the harvest ground,
    And there a dozen turkeys he found;
    They were picking the grasshoppers out of the

    stubble,

    And all the turkeys said, ‘Gobble! gobble! gob-
    ble!”

    So he walked and he walked to the snug little
    house

    Where Towser was sleeping, as still as a mouse;
    And the baby cried out, ‘‘ Hello, old Tow!”
    And the dog waked up with a ‘‘ Bow, wow, wow!”

    So he walked and he walked till he came once
    more

    To the sunshiny porch and the open door;

    And Mamma looked out with a smile and said,

    “It’s time for my baby to go to bed.”

    So he drank his milk and he eat his bread,

    And he walked and he walked to his little bed;
    And with sword.at his side, and stone in his hand,
    He walked and he walked to the Sleepy Land!

    THE WORST-AND THE BEST.

    VICTOR HUGO.

    ET us fear the worst, but work with
    faith ; the best will always take care of

    _ itself.

    THE SHADOW OF A RAINBOW.

    Bi NEVER knew a day so drear,
    But on its leaden sky was hung
    Some shadow of a rainbow clear,
    From vanished joy in farewell flung.

    JESSICA’S FOUR O'CLOCK TEA.

    N | ISS ARMITAGE has become quite

    fashionable since her return from
    Hurope. She now invites her young friends
    to what she calls ‘* Four-O’Clock Tea; ” and
    very pleasant times they are. You remem-
    ber how little May followed her sister’s ex-
    ample and had a “boudoir” for her doll
    Jessica. She has now determined to give
    Jessica a ‘‘ Four-O’Clock Tea;” she has a
    little table and her doll is seated there as
    you see, and May is giving her very careful
    instructions as to how she shall behave when
    *“company” comes. It is really almost a
    pity that Jessica is not alive that she might
    know how much interest her little mistress
    takes in her well being,


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    Swe



    ;
    WAITING FOR PA.

    eee Ruth has gone with her mother,
    who is somewhat of an invalid, to spend
    the summer inthe mountains. Every Satur-
    day afternoon her Pa comes by the mountain
    coach to spend Sunday with his wife and
    little daughter. And if the afternoon is
    fine Ruth is taken to a pleasant little resting

    place where she waits and watches for Pa. |

    Just as soon as the coach turns the corner of
    the road Pa waves his hat and Ruth claps
    her hands in childish gladness.

    MORE GOOD THAN EVIL.
    ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.

    eS fragrance and the beauty of the rose
    Delight me so, slight thought I give the thorn;
    And the sweet music of the lark’s clear song
    Stays with me longer than the night-hawk’s cry.
    And even in this great throe of pain called life
    I find a rapture, linked with each despair,
    Well worth the price of anguish. :

    I detect
    More good than evil in humanity.
    Love lights more fires than hate extinguishes,
    And men grow better as the world grows old.

    MODERN JAPAN.
    J. M. DANDY.

    APAN, the land of beautiful islands has
    long slept peacefully in her Northern
    Pacific home. An occasional wanderer like
    Mungo Park, seeking to compass a knowl-
    edge of the globe, has, for a moment, rested

    upon some outer islet of the group, to be -

    dismissed as ignorantashe came. A Portu-
    guese vessel in the year 1540, bound for
    Macaw, driven out of her course by tempest
    finally arrived at a spot on the. most south-
    erly of the islands. The captain and crew
    kindly received, were enabled to learn some-
    thing of the productiveness of the land, and
    they returned to their own country to excite
    the cupidity of the nation and the zeal of the
    church. The Dutch in 1600, jealous of the
    rich trade monopolized by the Portuguese,
    sought the islands and soon established lucra-
    tive traffic. An intercourse so peacefully
    initiated seemed to give promise of opening
    this undiscovered country to the knowledge
    of Europeans and of bringing this hitherto
    secluded people into the companionship of
    mankind; but St. Xavier and his follow-
    ers, by their intolerance and political in-
    termeddling soon excited the jealousy of
    the rulers and the great body of the people,

    so that all foreigners were banished and ail
    Japanese Catholics put to death. As Aineas
    enveloped in a cloud and hidden from all
    eyes until temporarily disclosed in the pres-
    ence of Dido, so Japan for a moment ap-
    peared to the nations to be as suddenly ob-
    secured. To-day, this nation with a popula-
    tion of 40,000,000, a civilization unique.
    and interesting, long secluded from the so-
    ciety of nations, is startling the world by
    the advances she is making for recognition
    and fraternity. The supreme power, from
    the seventh century before, to the sixteenth
    after Christ was under the control of two
    Emperors, ruling conjointly. The Mikado
    had charge of the spiritual welfare of the
    nation and the Tycoon of the secular inter-
    ests. This copartnership still existed up to
    the present century, but the Mikado was so
    engrossed with his ecclesiastical duties that
    he left the management of the potitical af-
    fairs of the nation almost entirely to the Ty-
    coon.

    Western ideas working upon the better
    class of minds, including many princes,
    brought about the revolution of 1867-68, in
    which the duality of the government was de-
    atroyed and the Mikado, a young man of
    great intelligence and of liberal commerciai
    and. political opinions, was invested with the
    sole sovereignty. This act of the chief
    princes of the Empire stands unparalleled in
    the annals of nations as a surrender of power
    and emolument for the public good. Hold-
    ing the Chinese, her nearest neighbors, in
    contempt, satisfied with hereditary ideas and
    institutions, the temperament of the people
    being ease-loving and unambitious, the cen-
    turies have passed unmarked by any radical
    change in Japan. The gradually acquired
    knowledge of the higher civilization of
    Western Powers has first awakened respect
    for those so greatly her superiors, and sec-
    ond, is exciting a desire to introduce among
    themselves, the ideas, the science, and the
    institutions that have contributed to this
    envied superiority.

    In striking contrast with India and China,
    who have felt but little sympathy with West-
    ern thought and manners, and among whom
    Western ideas and institutions have been
    planted with the bayonet, Japan has shown
    a sensibility to the excellencies of other
    Powers, and is now with an almost unequalled
    abandon surrendering herself to those in-
    fluences which must inevitably place her in
    the front rank of nations. This nation is of


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    peculiar interest to Americans. © The policy
    of the United States being very liberal, is
    calculated to inspire a nation struggling for
    new ideas with confidence, and the manner
    in which the United States has acted toward
    - Japan causes her to look with marked favor
    upon both our commercial and political in-
    stitutions. The fact that the commercial
    barrier between Japan and the outside world
    was broken by the United States has not
    been forgotten by the people of that country.

    For advancement in domestic arts Japan
    looks across the ocean to America. Some
    even think that the English language will
    some day supersede the Japanese as being
    adapted to the uses of civilization.

    What nation ever made greater strides in
    progress? Already, throughout the land,
    she has established schools with the most
    competent foreigners as instructors. She
    has sent hundreds of her sons and daughters
    to receive educational advantages in the best
    European and American colleges, and hun-
    dreds more are coming every year. Japan
    has ship-yards, where European and Amer-
    ican mechanics are constructing vessels on
    the most improved modern models. Rail-
    road building is rapidly going on, and even
    now the electric telegraph is no longer a
    mystery. Many of the most simple forms
    of machinery, steam engines, agricultural
    implements and American manufactures
    and products have already been introduced.
    The Emperor has forsaken his ancient se-
    clusion and moves among his people in a
    manner worthy of an American President.

    The Japanese are keen observers and learn
    quickly, and we expect from them a marvel-
    ous advancement in a comparatively short
    time. We cannot, as yet, foretell the des-
    tiny of Japan, but this much is certain, that
    its admission into the great brotherhood of
    nations must ultimately advance the great
    interests of our common humanity.

    AN ANECDOTE OF JOHN WESLEY.

    A N old man and a young man were riding

    inastagecoach. The old man was grave
    but sprightly, short of stature, spare, with
    a smooth forehead, a fresh complexion and
    a bright, piercing eye. The young man
    swore a great deal; until once, when they
    stopped-to change horses, the old man said
    to him: “I perceive by the registry books,
    that youand I are going to travel together a
    long distance in this coach. I kave a favor

    to ask of you. Iam getting to bean old
    man, and if I should so far forget myself as
    to swear, you will oblige me if you will
    caution me about it.”” The young man in-
    stantly apologized, and there was no more
    swearing heard from him during that jour-
    ney. The old man was John Wesley.

    LO! PEACE ON EARTH.

    JOAQUIN MILLER.

    O! peace on earth. Lo! flock and fold,
    Lo! rich abundance, fat increase,
    And valleys clad in sheen of gold.
    O, rise and sing a song of peace !
    For Theseus roams the land no more,
    And Janus rests with rusted door.

    DON’T.

    5 O not all that you can; spend not all
    that you have; believe not all that you
    hear; and teil not all that you know.

    CALLING THEM UP.

    “C\ HALL I go and call them up—
    Snowdrop, daisy, buttercup?”
    Lisped the rain; ‘they've had a pleasant winter’s
    nap.”
    Lightly to their doors it crept,
    Listened while they soundly slept,
    Gently woke them with its rat-a-tap-a-tap!
    Quickly woke them with its rap-a-tap-a-tap.
    Soon their windows opened wide,
    Everything astir inside;
    Shining heads came peeping out, in frill and cap.
    “Tt was kind of you, dear Rain,”
    Laughed they all, ‘‘to come again;
    We were waiting for your rap-a-tap-a-tap!
    Only waiting for your rat-a-tap-a-tap!”

    “WAKE UP, ROB, IT’S SIX O'CLOCK.”

    OB was going with his father and
    mother to spend Thanksgiving Day
    at Grandpa’s, so he went to bed early the
    night before in order that he might be
    ready early in the morning to start on the
    journey, for it was more than a hundred
    miles from the farm where his father was
    born. No sooner had Rob fallen asleep than
    he began to dream—such a dream, —all
    about turkey and pumpkin pie, and roasted
    apples. He was just in the midst of the
    most delightful of Thanksgiving feasts when
    his father woke him, saying, ‘‘ Wake up,
    Rob, it’s six o’clock!” How glad Rob was
    when he woke, to find that his dream wag
    only a dream and that all the real Thanke-
    giving delight had to come.
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    “WAKE UP ROB. IT’S SIX O’CLOCK 1”
    THE CHORUS OF THE FLOWERS,

    eRee flowers of many climates,
    That bloom all seasons through,
    Met in a stately garden

    Bright with the morning dew.

    For praise and loving worship,
    The Lord they came to meet;

    Her box of precious ointment
    The Rose broke at His feet.

    The Passion-Flower His symbols,
    Wore fondly on her breast;

    She spoke of self-denial’
    As what might please Him best,

    The Morning-Glories fragile,
    Like infants soon to go,

    Had dainty toy-like trumpets,
    And praised the Master so.

    “ His word is like to honey,”
    The Clover testified,

    “© And all who trust Thy promise
    Shall in Thy love abide.”

    The Lilies said, ‘ Oh, trust Him,
    We neither toil nor spin,

    And yet, His house of beauty,
    See how we enter in!”

    The King-cup and her kindred
    Said, ‘‘ Let us all be glad;

    Of his abundant sunghine,
    Behold how we are clad.”

    ** And let us follow Jesus,”
    The Star of Bethlehem said,
    And all the band of flowers
    Bent down with rev’rent head.

    The glad Sunflower answer’d,
    And little Daisies bright,

    And all the cousin Asters,
    “* We follow toward the light!”

    ** We praise him for the mountains,”
    The Alpine roses cried;

    “« We bless Him for the valleys,”
    The Violets replied.

    * We praise Him,” said the Air-plant,
    ‘« For breath we never lack;”

    ** And for the rocks we praise Him,”
    The Lichens answered back.

    “We praise God for the waters,”
    _ The gray Sea-mosses sighed;
    AnG all His baptized Lilies
    “ Amen! Amen!” replied.
    “« And now for the green, cool woodlands,
    We praise and thanks return,” :
    Said Kalmias and Azaleas,
    And graceful Feathery Fern.

    “* And for the wealth of gardens,
    And all the gard’ner thinks,”

    Said Roses and Camellias,
    And all the sweet-breath’d Pinks R

    ‘* Hosanna in the highest,”
    “ The Baby-Bluets sang;
    And little trembling Harebells
    With softest music rang.

    ** The winter hath been bitter,
    The sunshine follows storm,
    Thanks for His loving kindness
    The earth’s great heart is warm.”

    So said the pilgrim May-Flower,
    That cometh after snow,

    The humblest and the sweetest
    Of all the flowers that blow,

    “« Thank God for every weather,
    The sunshine and the wet,”

    Spoke out the cheerful Pansies
    And darling Mignonette,

    And then the sun descended,
    The heavens were all aglow;

    The little Morning-Glories
    Had faded long ago.

    and now the bright Day-Lilies
    Their love watch ceased to keene

    ** He giveth,” said the Poppies—
    “To His beloved sleep.” :

    The gray of evening deepened,
    The soft wind stirred the corn,

    When sudden in the garden
    Another flower was born,

    It was the Evening Primrose,
    Her sisters followed fast;

    With perfumed lips they whispered,
    “« Thank God for night at last,”



    SUNDAY MORNING TALKS,

    VII. ALWAYS READY.—A LESSON FROM THR
    LIFE OF DAVID.

    THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    oe Shepherd King of Israel was a hero.
    His name went forth to the ends of the
    earth as a man of fearless courage, who had
    torn asunder a lion and a bear when they
    had come to molest his father’s flock 3; who
    had smitten to the death Goliath, the giant
    of Gath, who had swept the last Jebusite
    from the walls of Zion; concerning whom,
    in carlier days, the daughters of Israel had
    sung:

    Saul hath slain his thousands,

    But David his tens of thousands!

    This David, who had been as mighty in war








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    as he was gifted in song, became a fugitive
    from home and throne and power, and, sad-
    dest of all, the foe before whom he fled was
    his own son, the beautiful, the spoiled, the
    gifted Absalom! Surely the cup of Ahitho-
    pel’s revenge was full to the brim as he saw
    David running like a coward from Jerusa-
    lem. But there is power in evil courses to
    palsy the strongest arm. And David, the
    warrior, the poet, the king, had fled from
    his throne! But he was not wholly friend-
    less. Ahithopel and Joab were conspirators,
    and, using Absalom as their tool, they had
    stirred up a rebellion. But David had some
    friends left, and when the dark hour came
    they rallied to his side and said, with the
    accent of whole-hearted loyalty: “‘ We are
    ready. Do you command, we will obey. We
    are ready to do whatsoever the King may
    appoint.” One cannot look back upon this
    old-world picture of life without feeling
    the unspeakable value of genuine friendship.
    A dozen stars are enough to illuminate the
    darkest sky. And when some wild blast of
    winter has driven away all one’s summer
    friends, it is unspeakably good to feel the
    grasp of some trusty hand, and to know that
    there are some at least whom neither fate
    nor fortune, life nor death, things present
    nor things to come, can ever separate froma
    beautiful fidelity. To know the full value
    of such fidelity, a man must stand where
    David stood. Above all the turmoil and
    clamor of rebellion there was one strain of
    music for the venerable monarch’s ear. The
    servants of David’s household, armor-clad
    and sword in hand, stood ready to obey his
    commands, to follow wherever he might lead.
    This quality of loyal readiness is an element
    of true nobility. It takes more than courage
    to make a perfect soldier. A man may be
    valiant, and yet most unwise in his valor.
    A soldier may rashly rush on death, and men
    may think him a hero when he is only an
    impetuous fool. The true soldier is ready
    to fight and ready to wait, ready to march
    and lead the forlorn hope, or to guard the
    vantage ground already won—just as the
    general may command. And in the pres-
    ence of the certain uncertainties of life, this
    readiness is of unspeakable value. Nothing
    can come ill-timed to the man who is ready,
    There is a world of deep spiritual meaning
    in Hamlet’s reply to Horatio: ‘If it be now,
    *tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will
    be now; if it be not now, yet it will come.
    _ The readiness is all.” Readiness for al)

    duty, and for all consequences of duty, is a
    sublime attribute. The bridegroom can not
    call at an inopportune hour if we are ready,
    lamps trimmed and lights burning. The
    so-called disasters of life acquire double force
    if they find us not ready. And even the
    good things of life are shorn of half their
    gracious strength because we are not ready.
    It is good to be ready for the worst, and
    equally good to be ready for the best. Good
    to be ready, well housed, well clad, well pro-
    visioned—when winter snows begin to fall,
    and equally good to be ready, with good seed
    and with plowed furrows, when the genial
    springtime smiles and the early rains begin
    to fall. Spasmodic getting ready for great
    times often ends in never being ready at all.
    Great times!

    All times are great !
    To the sentinel, that hour is regal
    When he mounts on guard.

    The last Napoleon lost Sedan, and died in
    exile, because he went to fight before he was
    ready. Others greater than he have lost
    kingdom, and fame, and all, because they
    were not ready when the tocsin sounded.
    The old Roman fable of the ox between the
    altar and the plow—ready for sacrifice or for
    service, has not lost its force yet. Happy
    motto this, for the young to bind about their
    brows and write upon their hearts: ‘‘ Ready!
    —whatsoever my Lord the King shall ap-
    point.”

    THE WIND.
    ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

    TL SAW you toss the kites on high

    And blow the birds about the sky ;

    And all around [ heard you pass,

    Like ladies’ skirts across the grass —
    O wind, a-blowing all day long,
    O wind, that sings so loud a song !

    I saw the different things you did,

    But always you yourself you hid.

    I felt you push, [ heard you call,

    LT could not see yourself at all —
    O wind, a-blowing all day long,
    O wind, that sings so loud a song

    O you that are so strong and cold,
    O blower, are you young or old?
    Are youa beast of field and tree,
    Or just a stronger child than me?
    O wind, a-blowing -all day long,
    4 wind, that sings so loud a song 2










    | Af ee a aes a
    ie. ‘ee, relly Golden-Rod, leaning ver tie brook,
    Mow I wish that at your face I myght catcha look.! |
    Ver you never let me peep, tho’ ] know'is fain, - %
    Hid completely out of sight by your yellow hain |
    Shake those sunny tresses back,why are you so shy ? si
    None to see except myself and a bufterfly !s-2s|
    HRs so still and shady herve where the willows nod, |

    A |

    | Wont you Tél me have one peep, pretty GoldenRod ? A



















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    SKIPPING TILLIE.

    - Matilda Isabel Clay
    Skipped all through the livelong day,
    She forgot in her play there were lessons to say,
    Alas! poor Isabel Clay!








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    AVENGED!

    HERE is a look of intense satisfaction in the eye of Topsy as she leaps over the fence with Liz-

    beth’s new doliin her mouth. Again and again Topsy’s precious little puppies have been
    taken away and drowned. And now her time of vengeance has come! Lizbeth’s brand-new doll
    ig making quite a sensation in the family. Everybody praises its beauty and the splendor of its
    clothes. Now is Topsy’s time! Aud she has seized the new favorite and is over the fence, while
    Lizbeth comes screaming after. In a few minutes Topsy will have torn and dissected this very
    beautiful doll, and then she will be avenged.



    ME LY P A h

    ee a Sa
    A MONKEY SUSPENSION BRIDGE.

    CAPTAIN REID.

    ““FTXHEY are coming toward the bridge;
    they will most likely cross by the rocks
    yonder,” observed Raoul.

    “Oh, no!” answered the Frenchman.
    “‘Monkeys would rather go through fire
    than water. If they cannot leap the stream
    they will bridge it.”

    “Bridge it!—and how?”

    «*You will see in a moment,” my com-
    panion replied.

    Presently the monkeys appeared on the
    opposite bank, headed by an old gray chief-
    tain, officered like so many soldiers. One,
    an aide-de-camp, or chief pioneer, perhaps,
    ran out upon a projecting rock, and after
    looking across the stream, as if calculating
    the distance, scampered back and appeared
    to communicate with the leader. This pro-
    duced a movement in the troops. Mean-

    while several of the monkeys (engineers, no’

    doubt) ran along the bank, examining the
    trees on both sides of thearrayo. Atlength
    they all collected around a tall cotton-wood
    that grew over the narrowest part of the
    stream, and twenty or thirty of them scam-
    pered up its trunk. On reaching a high
    point the foremost, a strong fellow, ran out
    upon a limb, and taking several turns of his
    tail around it, slipped off and hung head
    downward. The next on the limb, also a
    stout one, climbed down the body of the
    first, and whipped his tail tightly round the
    neck and forearm of the latter, dropped off
    in hig turn, and hung head downward. The
    third repeated this manceuver upon the sec-
    ond, and the fourth upon the string rested
    his forepaws upon the ground. The living
    chain now commenced swinging backward
    and forward like a pendulum of a clock.
    The motion was slight at first, but gradually
    increased, the lower monkey striking his
    hands violently on the earth as he passed
    tangent of the oscillating curve. Several
    others upon the limbs above aided the move-
    ment. This continued till the monkey at
    the end of the chain was thrown among the
    branches of a tree on the opposite bank.
    Here, after two or three vibrations, he
    clutched a limb and held fast. ‘This move-
    ment was executed adroitly, just at the cul-
    raination point of the oscillation, in order to
    save the intermediate links from too sudden
    a jerk. The chain was now fast at both
    ends, forming a complete suspension bridge,

    over which the whole troop, to the number
    of four or five hundred, passed. It was a
    comical sight to witness the quizzical expres-
    sion of countenances along the living chain.

    After the troops had passed, one monkey
    attached his tail to the lowest end of the
    bridge, another girded him in the same man-
    ner, and another, until a dozen or more
    were added to the string. These last were
    powerful fellows, and running up a high
    limb, they lifted the bridge into a position
    almost horizontal. Then a scream from the
    monkey of the new formation, warned the
    tail end that all was ready, and the whole
    chain was swung over and landed safely on
    the opposite bank. The lowermost link now
    dropped off like a melting candle, while the
    higher ones leaped to the branches and came
    down by the trunk. The whole troop then
    scampered off into the chapparal and dis-
    appeared.

    THE BRAVEST OF BATTLES.
    JOAQUIN MILLER.

    Bee bravest battle that ever was fought,
    Shall I tell you where and when?

    On the maps of the world you'll find it not;
    ’T was fought by the mothers of men.

    Nay, not with cannon or battle shot,
    With sword, or nobler pen;

    Nay, not with eloquent word or thought
    From mouth of wonderful men,

    But deep ina walled-up woman’s heart—
    A woman that would not yield—

    But bravely, silently bore her part—
    Lo! there is that battlefield.

    No marshalling troop, no bivouac song,
    No banner to gleam and wave!

    But, oh, these battles! they last so long—
    From babyhood to the grave!

    PUNCH AND JUDY.

    UNCH AND JUDY is one of the oldest
    forms of amusement in the world, It

    is quite wonderful how many men have made
    large fortunes exhibiting this simple merry
    show. This kind of entertainment is very
    common at seaside resorts. All kinds of
    people young and old seem to delight in
    Punch and Judy. There is comedy and
    tragedy allin one. You see the clergyman
    at the left hand side of the picture—who is
    at the seaside for his vacation is just taking
    a quiet peep. And really Punch and Judy
    well done, isa very enjoyable performance-




















































































































































































































































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    PUNCH AND JUDY.
    LARRY’S ONLY FRIEND.

    ee was the gardener at Captain Os-
    borne’s, and he declared he had only
    one friend in the whole family on whom he
    could rely, and that was Master Bernard.
    He was ordered here and ordered there, and
    as he said in his quaint way, he was nearly
    always ‘‘in hot water.” The Captain was a
    cross man and the ladies of the house never
    had patience enough to let a seed grow ora
    flower bloom. They wanted spring flowers
    long before the frost had gone and expected
    grapes to be ripe and asters to bloom in June.
    But Larry said Bernard was a gentleman if
    ever there was one’in the world. Bernard
    was really a kind thoughtful boy and spoke
    kind words to Larry, whenever he had an
    opportunity. And you may be sure that
    Bernard didn’t often go to school without
    one of the most beautiful flowers Larry
    could find in the garden.

    NIGHTFALL.
    JOSIAH ALLEN’S WIFE.
    One o’er the meadow, and murmuring mere;
    Falleth ashadow, near and more near;
    Day like a white dove floats down the sky;

    Cometh the night; love, darkness is nigh,
    So dies.the happiest day.

    Slow in the dark eye riseth a tear,

    Hear I thy sad sigh, Sorrow is near;

    Hope smiling bright, love, dies on my breast,

    As day like a white dove flies down the West;
    So dies the happiest day.

    JOHNNIE WAITE.
    ANNIE M. LIBBIE.

    OHNNIE WAITE— the boys called him
    ““Couldn’t Waite,” he used those words
    so often — went home from school one night
    and gave his. weekly. report to his father.
    The family were at supper. Mr. Waite took
    the report after he had finished his biscuit
    and looked at it. There were five black
    marks on it. He turned to Johnnie:
    “* What was this mark for Monday?” :
    ‘Tran by Phil Black going out in the
    ine.”
    “* What was that for? ”
    “IT couldn’t wait for him to go along,”
    said Johnnie, ‘‘and—”
    “‘That will do’ said his father, “and
    Wednesday’s mark? ”
    “‘T upset some ink on my writing-desk.”
    ** And the two on Thursday?”

    ‘¢Y wanted to tell Phil something, and I
    whispered to him.”

    “‘Couldn’t wait till recess, I suppose,”
    said Mr. Waite, stroking his moustache to
    hide a smile.

    <‘ And I took out my sling shot —”’ John-
    nie’s cheeks were growing redder than usual.

    ‘* And to-day?”

    “‘T ate an apple,”
    dropped.

    «Another ‘couldn’t wait,’ ” said his father;
    “‘and you went to school this morning with-
    out sweeping the steps, and this afternoon
    without giving Ponto his dinner; you didn’t
    take the note your mother asked you to carry
    to Mrs. Bracket, you tipped the baby over in-
    stead of going round him, and you left the
    front door open and somebody came in and
    took my silk umbrella, and all because you
    couldn’t wait. Well, you’ll have to have a
    lesson, young man, that will break up this
    habit of yours.”

    Mr. Waite ate a cookie, played a few min-
    utes with the baby, and then went down
    town.

    Johnnie ate four cookies, and then went
    into the parlor. Great-aunt Mary Sherwin
    sat in the bay window knitting.

    «* Did you ever hear of your great-great-
    uncle Titus Foss?” she asked, peering
    through her glasses at Johnnie.

    Jonnie said “‘No’m,” ‘and wondered how
    old a great-great-uncle could be.

    “* He couldn’t wait,” continued great-aunt
    Mary. ‘I'll take you over to Lyme some
    day, and show you the nick in the door of
    the old house where he threw the stove hook
    at the cat because he couldn’t wait for her to
    step along. That mark’s been there fully
    fifty years. ‘

    “One night Uncle Titus was driving home
    from Camden, and he came to a bar with a

    and Johnnie’s head

    “lantern hanging from it, right across the.”

    road. “T'was just before he got to the toll
    bridge. Uncle Titus couldn’t wait. He
    leaped his horse over the bar. The tollman
    said he ran out to tell him part of the bridge
    was up for repairs, but Uncle Titus couldn’t
    wait. The river was high and he and the
    horse were washed down stream and

    . drowned.”

    Great-aunt Mary rattled her knitting
    needles swiftly, and Johnnie, seeing that the
    story was done, ran away to play.

    When he came into the dining-room the
    next morning he found breakfast’ cleared
    away and mamma feeding the canaries. She
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    said they thought they couldn’t wait for
    him, and Johnnie went into the kitchen and
    begged some bread and milk from Mary. He
    went back to ask if his father left the quarter
    of a dollar he promised the day before, that
    Jobnnie might pay for a share in the new
    foot-ball elub some of the boys in his class
    were getting up, but Mrs. Waite said, “‘ Papa
    went to the office early, and he told me to
    tell you he couldn’t wait.”

    The boys thought they couldn’t wait for
    Johnnie to see his father, and as Lew
    Dunton, a boy whom Johnnie especially dis-
    liked, had twenty-five cents ready, they took
    him into the club and left Johnnie out. He
    felt sure of sympathy when he began to tell
    his father about his trouble at noon, . but
    greatly to his surprise, he was cut short by a
    curt, *‘ Thatll do, I can’t wait.”

    “*T can’t wait for you, John, said the
    teacher, when he hesitated for the right
    word in his geography lesson that afternoon,
    and Johnnie was marked down, though he
    had studied hard and knew his lesson.

    He met Mary on his way home. She told
    him the rest of the family had gone to Uncle
    Byron’s and he would find his supper on the
    kitchen table, ‘‘for I’d not be waitin’ for
    one lone boy to ate,” said Mary, as she walk-
    ed heavily away.

    This was the greatest disappointment of
    all. Johnnie had counted on the ride to
    Uncle Byron’s for weeks. He ate a little sup-
    per, and lay down on the sofa in the parlor.
    The tears trickled down his face in the dark.
    - “Touess ’m getting that lesson papa meant,”

    he said, with a little sob, and then he must
    have dropped asleep, for when he opened his
    eyes the lamp was lighted, and he looked up
    into his mamma’s face. She sat down onthe
    edge of the sofa by him. '

    ‘‘Well, Johnny, do you like ‘couldn’t
    wait?’”

    “‘ No, ma’am,” said Johnnie, emphatically
    sitting up straight and punching the sofa
    pillow with a stout little fist. ‘I think it’s
    just mean when — when other folks do it!”

    Mrs. Waite laughed. ‘‘There are four
    puppies out at Uncle Byron’s, Johnnie,” she

    said, ‘‘and I happen to know that if you
    don’t use those dreadful words, and if you
    do wait for two weeks, papa means to take
    you out to see them, and if you break your-
    self entirely of this bad habit you are to
    have one of those puppies for your own.”

    Johnnie put his arms around his mother’s

    neck and kissed her. . «‘ I'll try just as hard
    as I can.”

    *‘And TV’ll help you allI can,” said his
    mother, kissing him back. John ran out to
    the front gate, and meeting his father, slip-
    ped his hand into the bigger one held out to
    him and said, ‘‘That dog’s mine, sir.” ~

    “When you’ve gained the victory, young
    man,” laughed his father. -

    And Johnnie did win the victory, and
    that’s why the handsome brown spaniel is
    Victor — to commemorate Johnnie’s learning
    to wait.

    THE MOTHER-GLANCE OF GOD.
    E. P. ROE.

    NLY God can give to the whole of his

    creation the all-seeing gaze that we be-

    stow upon some familiar scene. His glance

    around the globe is that of a mother around

    her nursery, with her little children grouped
    at her feet.

    IN THE MORNING.
    MARY KNAPP.

    T was at morning when sad Mary found
    The grave was empty and the stone away;
    The sorrow of the night passed wlth the dusk,
    And joy awoke with the new rising day.

    Each dayisnew The weight upon the heart
    May slip with darkness into Lethe’s stream,

    And hope and strength come in the hours of rest,
    To point the sun’s first beam.

    And not alone the pain and ill of life—
    _ The life itself may ebb at night away;
    He may call for usin the midnight watch,
    And we awake to an Eternal Day!

    THE HAPPY FAMILY.

    EREisahappyfamily. But nota family
    of cats, as you might imagine at a first
    glance. The home of this family is not in
    America but in the grassy brakes and jungles
    of Central Africa. This family is composed
    of a leopardess and her cubs. The father
    leopard is away gathering provisions for his
    family. The leopard is as cunning as a fox,
    and will hide from the hunter as long as
    possible, but if brought to bay its fury is
    something terrible to contemplate. That
    young cub on the ground just ready for a
    spring, gives some idea of the stealthy char-
    acter of his race.
    THE HAPPY FAMILY.


    SUNDAY MORNING TALKS.

    IX. THE DEAD BOY IN THE PROPHET’S
    CHAMBER,
    $ THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    HEN Elijah passed to the heavens in
    a chariot of fire, his mantle fell upon
    Hlisha, the son of Shaphat. The clothing
    of Elisha with the mantle of Elijah was the
    symbol by. which it was understood that he
    was to succeed Elijah as God’s prophet in
    Israel. The first time Elisha is met in the
    Bible story, he is found at work in his
    father’s fields in Abel-meholah, a farming
    district in the valley of the Jordan. Elijah
    was passing on one occasion from Sinai to
    Damascus through this fertile valley, when
    he saw Hlisha at work, and moved. of God, he
    went and cast his mantle about him, which
    was undoubtedly the first intimation the
    young farmer received of the great destiny
    that awaited him. He prayed that a double
    posnen of the spirit of Elijah might rest upon
    him, and the Bible tells us in brief, impres-
    sive words, that the spirit ot Elijah did rest
    upon Elisha. It would be very difficult to
    think of two men more widely different in
    character than these two men. Elijah was
    stern, unbending and severe, the incarnate
    conscience of his age; Elisha was of gentle
    ‘spirit, full- of pathos, tenderness and love.
    There were magnificent, heroic scenes, inthe
    life of Elijah, but none in the life of Elisha.
    Still there are some touching stories in the
    life of this more gentle prophet. Just as
    Christ found a home and welcome in the
    little cottage home of Bethany, so Elisha
    founda peaceful and pleasant resting place
    _in the little village of Shunem. There was
    a devout woman who served the God of Is-
    rael, who, with her husband, urged the
    prophet to make their house his home when-
    ever,in his prophet wanderings he came near.
    The prophet’s chamber on the wall furnished
    with bed and table, with stool and candle-
    stick, was sacred to his service.
    the peaceful hours Elisha spent in Shunem.
    From the window of his chamber on the
    wall Elisha could see the verdant slopes of
    Mount Tabor, for Tabor was but five miles
    away. But the home of Shunem could not
    charm death from the threshold any more
    than from the home of Lazarus and Martha
    and Mary.
    The. pious Shunammite had an only
    son—the son of her mature age—and one
    day as he was’ busy in his father’s fields

    Many were .

    among the reapers the sun smote him, and .
    with a wild, sad cry he fled home and died.
    By a strange instinct the sorrowing mother
    took her dead boy into the prophet’s chamber
    and laid him upon the prophet’s bed. She
    called to the boy, but he did not answer; she
    kissed his cold lips but there was no response.
    The balmy breeze from Mouat Tabor blew in
    from the open window, but it brought no
    color back to the cold, dead face. And as
    Martha and Mary in later years wished for
    the coming of the Christ when Lazarus was
    dead, so this sad-hearted woman wished for
    the coming of the man of God. And at
    last Elisha came. Entering his chamber on
    the wall and closing the door, he gazed fora
    moment upon the dead boy, who had always
    been the first to welcome him and the last to
    bid him farewell. Then he prayed for power,
    and stretching himself upon the child, hand
    to hand, heart to heart, mouth to mouth, he
    breathed his very life into the child, and he
    revived, and his heart began to beat, and his
    eyes were filled with wondering glances, and .
    he lived. Little more is known of Elisha’s
    nameless hostess. Tradition says this. boy
    was afterward a constant companion of
    Elisha, and became hiniself in turn a
    prophet, the prophet Jonah, at whose
    preaching Niveveh repented and was saved.
    However this may be we know not. But the
    pathetic story of the dead boy, the sorrowing,
    broken-hearted mother and the praying
    prophet will make the lowly chamber of
    Shunem a sacred place forever; for death,
    and love, and prayer, make sacred the low-
    liest scenes.

    THREE WISE WORDS.

    ence reading and conversation may
    furnish us with many ideas of men and
    things, yet ourown meditation must form
    judgment.

    Love is not altogether a delirium, yet it
    has many points in common therewith. I
    call it either a discerning of the infinite in:
    the finite, or the ideal made real.

    Truth is the object of our understanding;
    as good is of our will; and the understand-
    ing can no more be lighted with a lie than

    the will can choose an apparent evil.

    The greatest thoughts are wronged, if not
    linked to beauty; and they win their way
    most surely into the soul when arranged in
    this, their natural attire. ;
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    THE DEAD BOY IN THE PROPHET’S CHAMBER.


    PICKING THE APPLES
    LAURA E. RICHARDS.

    PPLES to pick! Apples to pick!
    Come with a basket, and come with a stick.
    Rustle the trees and shake them down,
    And let every boy take care of his crown.

    There you go, Tommy! Up with you, Jim!
    Crawl to the end of that crooked limb.
    Carefully pick the fairest and best;

    Now for a shake, and down come the rest.

    Thump! plump! down they come raining!
    Shake away! shake, till not one is remaining.
    Hopping off here, and popping off there,
    Apples and apples are everywhere.

    Golden russets, with sunburnt cheek, .

    Fat, ruddy Baldwins, jolly and sleek;
    Pippins, not much when they meet your eyes,
    But wait till you see them in tarts and pies!

    Where are the Pumpkin Sweets? oh, here!

    Where are the Northern Spys? oh there!

    And there are the Nodhaads, and here are the Snows,
    And yonder’s the Porter, best apple that grows.

    Sort them and pile them, the red and the brown—
    What! are-the Blue Pearmains not down?
    They’re blushing purple with rage, I see,

    And the Oxfords are black with jealousy.

    Beautiful Bellefleurs, yellow as gold,

    Think not we're leaving you out in the cold;
    And dear, fat Greenings, so prime to bake,
    TL eat one of you now for true love’s sake.

    Ob! bright is the autumn sun o’erhead,

    And bright are the piles of gold and red!

    And rosy and bright as the apples themselves ©
    Are Jim,.Tom and Harry, as merry as elves.

    It’s plenty of work and plenty of play,

    And plenty of apples the livelong day.

    Oh, the time and the place for boys, I maintain,

    Is the month of October, in the good State of Maine.

    A WORD TO THE BOYS.
    FRANCES E. WILLARD.

    I HAVE made up my mind to speak to you
    about a little matter, for I believe you
    want to do what is fair. Now, when the girls
    study the same books you do, and often go
    far ahead of you at school; when so many of
    them study stenography, telegraphing, and
    other kinds of business, become teachers,
    doctors, missionaries, etc., as they are doing
    more and more each year, what right have
    you to sit about, as lazy as a cat, and let
    these girls work and tug till they are tired out,
    for your comfort, and to do things which
    you should attend to yourself? Don’t they
    like to run and play as well as you do? Don’t

    they need the exercise and fun that, you get
    in the great, splendid out-doors, just as
    much? Are you not physically stronger and
    better able to bear the heat of the kitchen,
    and the breathed over-and-over air of in-the
    house, than they? Ought you not, then, in
    your big, hearty, good-natured fashion, to
    “give them a lift,” every time, when the
    work presses on them, and to take care of
    your own room, if they do of theirs? It
    seems to me this is just ‘‘a fair divide.”

    Let me tell you about three splendid boys
    I know once on atime. Their father died,
    and their dear mother was left to bring them
    up and to earn the money with which to do
    it. So these young fellows set in to help
    her. By taking a few boarders, doing the
    work herself and practicing economy, this
    blessed women kept out of debt, and gave
    each of her sons a thorough college educa-
    tion. Butif they hadn’t worked like beav-
    ers to help her, she never could have done
    it. Her eldest boy—only fourteen—treated
    his mother as if she was the girl he loved
    best. He took the heavy jobs of house
    work off her hands, put on his big apron
    and went to work with a will; washed
    the potatoes, pounded the clothes, ground
    the coffee, waited on table—did any-
    thing and everything that he could coax her
    to let him do, and the two younger ones fol-
    lowed his example right along. Those boys
    never wasted their mother’s money on to-
    bacco, beer, or cards. They kept at work,
    and found any amount of pleasure in it.
    They were happy, jolly boys, full too, of fun,
    and everybody not only liked, but respected
    and admired them; and I don’t know any
    better fortune for a boy than to be praised
    by good girls, nor anything boys like better.
    They all married noble and true women; and
    to-day one of these boys is president of a
    college, goes to Europe every year, almost,
    and isin demand for every good work; an-
    other lives is one of the most elegant houses
    in Evanston, and is my very “‘ beloved phy-
    sician;” while the third is a well-to-do
    wholesale grocer in Pueblo, Cal., and a mem-,
    ber of the city council.

    I tell you, boys who are good to their
    mother and to their sisters in the house,
    always grow up to be nice men. Now I’m
    not blaming you, boys, nor anybody else.
    I know that any number of you are good
    and generous as you can be, and I know,
    too, that you haven’t been taught to think
    about these things.


    x
    AAW
    aM \ te 4A

    cl f
    RK il Ne

    Nie

    Dy)



    PICKING THE APPLES.
    SCENE IN SAMOA,

    ; ERE is a scene in Samoa in the South

    Sea Islands, and here are two young
    American artists who have been sent out to
    sketch the country. There are some very
    beautiful spots in that far away region of the
    world. The mountains and the sea, and the

    lofty paims that spread their branches high ~

    overhead. But the people are rude and un-
    couth, and these young men are weary of
    their journey and long for home. ‘Chey be-
    guile the time often by singing ‘‘ There’s no
    place like home,” and they are both of the
    opinion that America is not only a land of
    Freedom, but that its mountains and rivers,
    its prairies and hills make it as beautiful as
    any land on earth.

    TO THE MEMORY OF PETER COOPER.
    JOAQUIN MILLER.

    | ONOR and glory forever more
    To this great man gone to rest;
    Peace on the dim Plutonian shore—
    Rest in the land of the blest.

    Treckon him greater than any man
    That ever drew sword in war—

    Greater, indeed, than King or Kahn,
    Nobler, and better by far.

    Aye, and wisest, too, in this whole wide land,
    Of hoarding till bent and gray—

    For all you can hold. in your cold, dead hand
    Is what you have given away. ;

    So return to wander the stars, or to rest,
    Forever hushed and dumb—

    He gave his best, and gave with a zest,
    Give him the best to come.



    WINFRED’S VISIT TO THE MOON.
    JULIA D. PECK. - :
    Wee was playing dominoes with
    his sister Kate when the clock struck
    eight,

    “‘ Winfred,” said his mother.

    The little boy knew very well what that
    meant, but he didn’t understand why he
    should have to go to bed at eight o’clock
    every night, when he wasn’t sleepy—not at
    all; and besides Katie, who was two years
    older, could sit up half an honr longer. It
    was the great trial of his life.

    ** Please, mamma, can’t I play one more
    game?’ he asked, though he knew very well
    it wasn’t of the slightest use.

    “Your five minutes of grace is almost
    gone, Winfred,” was his mother’s answer.

    So there was nothing left for him to do
    but to hurry off to bed; and when he had
    asked God to keep him safely through the
    night, and his mamma had kissed him and
    gone away with the lamp he could hardly
    keep from crying. nes

    The moon shone brightly into his room,
    and as he lay looking atit his heart was very
    rebellious.

    ‘“‘T don’t believe the little boysin the moon
    have to go to bed at all,” he said to himself.
    I just wish I was there, I’m not sleepy a
    single speck, and I don’t s’pose I can go to
    sleep before midnight.”

    It wasn’t two minutes after when he heard
    a whisper—or thought he did—and when he
    looked at the window there sat the queerest
    little man with a tall pointed red cap on his
    head, and a round, jolly face.

    He was beckoning .to Winfred, and the
    little boy jumped out of bed in a twinkling,
    and into hisclothes, and went to the window
    and what do you think he saw? :

    As true as you live he saw a rope ladder—
    at least he says he did—reaching way up to
    the moon, and the queer little man was run-
    ning up the rounds, beckoning for Winfred
    to follow. -

    You would not think he would do it—now
    would you? for to tell the truth, he was asad
    eoward, though I would not have him know
    I told you, so don’t lisp it. But he did—he
    truly did hurry up the ladder, and he thought
    it was the greatest fun he ever had.

    It was a long way, but Winfred never
    thought of being tired. When he was part
    way up he stoppeda moment. and looked
    down. Such a view he never saw before.
    His father’s house looked like a little toy

    house, and the trees seemed no taller than

    his finger. He wanted to look longer, but
    his queer guide touched him on the shoul-
    der, and again he followed on. They reached
    the moon at last, and climbed up through a
    hole, and the man pulled the ladder up
    after him, and shut down the trap-door.

    It was summer on the earth, but it seemed
    to be winter there, for the ground was
    covered with something that looked like
    snow, only it was pink instead of white. A
    small sleigh was near, to which four rein-
    deers were harnessed, and Winfred and the
    man got in, and were carried swiftly away.
    They passed palaces which glistened like
    gold, and trees covered with pink ice spark-
    ling brightly in the sun.

    At last they stopped before a grand palace,
    4 ace ayy
    gis, yy











    LIP BL : os ph
    3 5 IG 3 Li
    yp PO Shee FZ C2 y/t ; A ey LL LL
    aay ph bs CPt LEONE) Le MEG

    ve 7, ifs
    Des ype? LL
    5 AL

    By CLA






    A SCENE IN SAMOA..
    and Winfred followed the man inside. A
    beautiful little woman met them at the door
    and taking Winfred’s hand she kissed him,
    and led him over the house, showing him all
    the strange and beautiful things it contained.
    He had never seen or dreamed of all the
    strange and beautiful things he saw. There
    was almost everything that anyone could de.
    sire, but singularly enough there was not a
    bed in all the palace.

    Then he heard the sweetest music and the
    lady opened a glass door and led him into a
    garden, where a great many children were
    playing and dancing among the flowers.
    Fountains and statues were all about, and
    many large trees. Some of them were cov-
    ered with luscious fruit, while from others
    hung many kinds of candy. The merry
    children picked the fruit and candy, and ate
    and gave to Winfred until he could eat no
    more. I hear he played and danced with
    them, and thought he was perfectly happy,
    though he could not understand a word they
    said.

    Presently he heard a voice—it sounded
    miles away—calling his name. He knew
    at once it was his mother’s voice and a great
    longing to see her came over him. He slipped
    through a gate, and found the pink snow
    covered the ground everywhere outside the
    garden.

    The reindeer and sleigh still waited, and
    the little boy jumped into the sleigh, and was
    swiftly carried back over the road he had
    come.

    He reached, in a short time, the piace from
    which he started. There was the trap-door,
    and the rope ladder beside it.

    He heard the voice still calling him, and
    he tried with all his small strength to open
    the door—when suddenly he felt it sinking
    down under him.

    He screamed, and lo! he found himself
    lying upon the floor in his little room and
    his mother was bending over him.

    “You. had bad dreams, dear,” she was
    saying, “and you rolled out of bed. I
    think it must be because you ate an apple
    after supper. Don’t do it again.”

    “TJ fell down from the moon,” said Win-
    fred, rubbing his eyes.

    Then he was sound asleep again, but the
    next morning he told them all about his
    strange visit. /

    “Tt was just beautiful,” he said. “You
    needn’t laugh, for I don’t believe ’twas a

    dream, and anyway I wish I lived there, for
    the little boys don’t have to go to bed at all,
    "cause there wasn’t any bed in the whole big
    house—not one. But I guess, maybe, I
    should want to have you live there, too,
    mamma.”

    OVER THE PURPLE SEAS.
    LOUISE PHILLIPS,
    Q)YER the purple seas
    A fragrant wand’ring breeze

    Comes from some sunny island of the South;

    Where tall and vernal pine

    Gives out a breath like wine,
    And stoops to kiss the creeper’s scarlet mouth.

    Across the limpid lakes
    The light in blushes breaks
    From roseate sky with white clouds mottled o’er;
    - While billows rise and fall
    Against the breaker’s wall,
    Or greet with coy caress the circling shore.

    Afar in musky wood,
    Where stately trees have stood,

    And kept their watch and ward for ages past,
    Dead leaves of burnished brown
    Reluctantly drop down,

    As if they knew on earth they’d looked their Jast.

    A dreamy, golden haze
    Broods over all the days,
    And softens outlines that will soon be bleak;
    While in our breasts will wake
    A thirst we cannot slake
    For a vague something that we vainly seek.

    A DAY’S SHOPPING IN THE CITY.

    ANNY EGGLESTON had come to
    spenad few days with her uncle and
    aunt in New York. ‘She was not enough of
    a country girl to appear awkward in her
    manners, but she was enough of a girl to be
    rejoiced when Cousin Eva proposed a day’s
    shopping in the city. Whata day they had!
    Fanny thought New York must be the most
    wonderful place in the world, Her Cousin
    George met them at noon and took the two
    young ladies to lunch, and then begged to be
    excused, and as he went away buttoning up
    his coat he said he couldn’t see for the life
    of him what pleasure girls could find in
    shopping. Perhaps some of George’s pleas-
    ures would be as hard for the girls to under-
    stand. Anyway Fanny and Eva had a glor-
    ious day of shopping.

    CLOUD CURTAINS.

    LOUDS are curtains which God, with
    motherly care, hangs over the bed of
    His children to give His beloved sleep.
































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































    THE CORN PALACE, SIOUX CITY, IOWA
    TO-MORROW.
    NORA PERRY.

    O-MORROW, and to morrow,
    Oh, fair and far away
    What treasurers lie, when hope is high,
    Along your shining way.

    What promises fulfilled,
    What better deeds to do

    Than ever yet, are softly set
    Beneath your skies of blue.

    To-morrow, and to-morrow,
    Ob, sweet and far away
    Still evermore lead on before
    Along your shining way.

    Still evermore lift up your eyes
    Above what we have won, :

    To higher needs and finer deeds
    That we have left undone.

    SUNDAY MORNING TALKS.
    X. MIRIAM THE SISTER OF MOSES,

    THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    Ae is not often that three illustrious peo-
    ple are born in the same house, and yet

    to two pious Jewish parents of the tribe of |

    Levi, there were born in the old Egyptian
    days, two sons and a daughter, who bore
    three of the greatest names known $9 the
    Hebrew race. First of all, Moses, the great
    Lawgiver and Leader of Israel’s wandering
    tribes, whose life from his cradle on the Nile
    to his unknown grave amid the solitudes of
    gray Beth-Peor’s Mountains was full of sac-
    red romance ; next came Aaron, the great
    High Priest of the desert wanderings, whose
    burial at Mount Hor was in many respects a
    more sublime scene than the departure of
    Moses ; and last of the three, came Miriam—
    the Poet, the Prophetess of Israel, who led
    forth in grand procession with timbrels and
    dances, the loud thanksgiving of a redeemed
    people. Happy the home that had such sons
    and such a daughter. And yet what sad-
    ness there was in the early days. The terri-
    ble decree went forth that every son born of
    Hebrew parents should be drowned, and the
    sluggish Nile became the remorseless grave
    of thousands of fair Hebrew boys. But a
    mother’s love is often more than a match for
    a tyrant’s plans, and the wife of Amram, the
    Levite, was moved to make a bulrush cradle
    for her boy, and as she floated her priceless
    cargo in its frail boat on the waters, we may
    be sure that it was with tears and prayers that
    some good fortune might befall her child.

    -is a God like unto thee ?”

    ‘full of teaching as it is of romance.

    And here we first meet Miriam, the sister of
    the Sacred Vigil, half-hidden amid the tall
    reeds of the river, watching with intense
    anxiety the fortunes of the frail bark that
    bore her infant brother. And when Pharo-
    ah’s daughter resolved to have the laughing
    infant carried to her palace home, it was
    Miriam who, with the instinct of sisterly
    love, suggested a Hebrew nurse, and sped
    homeward to tell the joyful news and bring
    the mother of the child so strangely saved,
    to be its happy nurse. Years pass by, and
    marvelous changes take place. The child -
    saved from a watery grave by Egypt’s daugh-

    ter, has become the great Emancipator of
    his enslaved brethren. Safe landed on the

    further shore of the Red Sea, the stately

    form of Miriam is seen, leading with tim-
    brel and dance and song, the procession of
    the free. A grander war song than that has
    never trembled on mortal lips. Not to the
    courage and sagacity of her heroic brother, not
    to chances or the fortunes of war, but to the
    God of Israel this great deliverance is wholly
    ascribed, “The Lord hath triumphed glori-
    ously, His right hand and His holy arm
    have gotten him the victory. With singular
    poetic force Miriam marks the completeness
    of the overthrow of the Egyptians by lan-
    guage that accumulates in strength. ‘‘ They

    _ sank ;” “they sank to the bottom like a

    stone ;” “they sank like lead in the mighty
    waters !? Well might she cry aloud, ‘‘ Who
    For Egypt had
    lords many and gods many, but they had all
    failed. Every barrier erected to keep the
    Hebrews in bondage had been broken down.
    Every hindrance had been overcome. The
    voice of God had shaken the palaces of Miz-
    raim’s ancient splendor, ‘‘Let my people
    go!” And now witha high hand and an
    outstretched arm, God brought His people
    forth. The scene by the Red Sea shore is as
    The
    history of the world has been a story of mar-
    velous growth, and not a chapter of acci-
    dents. The song of these happy thousands,
    led by the inspired Poetess of their race, was
    the first song of freedom the world had ever
    heard. It was the birth song of a new na-
    tion, the loud hallelujah of a ransomed peo-
    ple that made the desert ring with its free,

    -wild airs of liberty. While we toss our ban-

    ners of freedom in the blue heavens to-day,
    let us not forget how this first anthem of the
    ransomed Israelites ascribed to’ the God of
    Battles the overthrow of Egyptian bondage.
    By

    LESES
    LSS

    ih (pe, 3

    BR ati HH
    TRS SR











    THE ITALIAN IMAGE BOY,
    at night.

    MUSIC OF THE MONTHS.
    NOVEMBER.
    E. EDITH SOPER.

    HE brilliant carnival of the year is ended,
    The merry maskers all denuded stand,
    Their gorgeous robes in common ruin blended,
    And tossed in fragments o’er a wind-swept land.

    Brown-coated oaks, with Titan brows uplifted
    Over bleak hill fortresses, are standing guard,
    Dead leaves, like wraiths, in spectral squadrons
    drifted,
    The progress of the fretting brook retard.

    *Sconced in a giant pine’s high wind-rocked tower,
    The shivering birds discuss their southern trip;
    While loud repinings at the frost king’s power
    Are passed in spiteful tones from lip to lip.

    Weird, hoarse-voiced winds, through mead and for-
    est roaming,
    Thrill with desire at thought of June’s red rose,
    And ’mid the shadows of the purple gloaming
    Shriek out their hatred of the coming snows,

    Sad memories o’er my gloomy heart are thronging;
    They whisper of a mound fresh-paved with sod,
    And all my soul calls out in bitter longing
    For her whose dear feet walk the vales of God.

    HOW A CAT SAVED A SOLDIER'S LIFE.

    URING the Crimean war, a little cat

    reared in his mother’s cottage, followed
    a young French soldier when he left his
    native village. The lad’s heart clung to
    this small dumb member of his family,
    and he gave pussy a seat on his knapsack by
    day on the march and a corner of his couc
    She took her meals on her
    master’s knee and was a general pet in the
    company.

    On the morning that his regiment was
    first ordered into action, the soldier bade his
    little cat farewell, and left her in charge of a
    sick comrade. He had marched about a
    mile from the camp, and what was _ his sur-
    prise to see Miss Puss running beside him.
    He lifted her up on her usual seat. and soon
    the engagement commenced. ‘Twice did
    the soldier fall, but the cat clung fast hold.
    At last a severe wound stretched him bleed-
    ing on the field. No sooner did pussy
    catch sight of the blood flowing from her
    master, then she seated herself upon his
    body, and began to lick his wound in the
    most assiduous manner. Thus she remained
    for some hours, till the surgeon came to the
    young lad, and had him carried off to the
    tent of the wounded. When he recovered

    consciousness, his first question was ‘‘ Shall
    I live?” ‘Yes my good fellow,” was the
    surgeon’s answer,, “thanks to your little
    cat; for if she had not used her tongue so
    intelligently, you would have been too ex-
    hausted by loss of blood to recover.”

    You may be sure that pussy was well cared
    for, and, contrary to all regulations, she was
    allowed to accompany the young soldier to
    the hospital, where she was regaled with
    the choicest morsels from his plate, and be-
    came avery distinguished character.

    GOD AND THE TAILOR.

    Wie judge a man by the clothes he
    wears; God made one and the tailor
    the other.

    THE TENANTS OF THE WOOD.
    PAUL H. LEAR.

    I LOVE these gentle tenants of the wood,
    The timid hare, the filibustering jay,
    Who, flitting here and there throughout the day,
    Fill with discordant notes the solitude.

    The chattering squirrel, with plumes of red and
    gray;
    The woodpecker, beating off his reveille;
    The partridge, whirring rapidly away
    To denser coverts where no eye can see,

    And often, when beneath the silver moon,
    Placid and still the basking river lies,
    _ The far-off wail of some belated loon
    Floats faintly up to purple evening skies;
    While swaying pine, with soft Aolian tune,
    Forever join in Nature’s symphony.

    A JAGUAR CATCHING FISH.

    ee jaguar is a magnificent animal, a
    native of South America, resembling
    the African leopard, in many respects, but
    possessed of greater strength. Its muscular
    force is wonderful. Itis known often to de-
    stroy, and then drag to her hiding-place,
    an animal as large as a horse; indeed it
    makes more havoc with horses than with
    any other class of animals. The jaguar is
    also fond of fish, and in order to induce the
    fish to come to the surface it will wave its
    tail gently over the surface of the water, and
    then, with a dash, pluck the fish from the
    water and eat it alive. The jaguar is a mag-
    nificent animal, but its room is much more
    to be desired than its company.
    Pe

    yi

    oes ie)

    A JAGUAR CATCHING FISH.


    SULKY JANE.

    HAT, sulking again, Jane? You
    foolish little girl. Don’t yeu know
    that sulky children harm themselves more
    than any one beside. And then its so fool-
    ish to sulk. You might just as well take a
    cane and whip yourself till you are sore, it
    would not be a bit more foolish. Give up
    this sulking, my child, or you will grow up
    an unhappy, miserable girl. You ought to
    be like a sunbeam or a morning-glory about
    the house, and here you are, quarrelling with
    your breakfast. Even the cat looks aston-
    ished, and I think a little bit ashamed. If
    I were your mother, my dear, and you per-
    sisted in quarrelling with your breakfast, I
    would try how it would work to let you go
    without breakfast for a few mornings. Give
    up sulking, Jane. Sulky girls are not want-
    ed. in this beautiful world.

    MARGARITE.
    JOHN R. TABB.

    ARGARITE was born at sea—~
    Thence her name, -
    - Never rarer pearl than she
    From ocean came,
    Nor doth a fairer dwell
    Within its cloister shell.

    Wind and wave her playmates were,
    And the storm— :
    Boisterous to all save her—
    Rocked her form
    Upon the cradle-deep,
    Crooning the babe to sleep.

    So, when the treacherous stranger, Land,
    Before her smiled,
    And seaward stretched a pleading hand
    3 To claim the child,
    Proud rose the Warrior Tide,
    And clasped her for his bride.

    A WONDERFUL SNOWBALL.

    HE snow fell thickly, and in the morn-

    ing, there was nothing but white to be
    seen. ‘Two days passed; more snow came,
    but then the weather cleared; and Lily, put-
    ting on her thickest boots and warmest
    clothes, went into the garden with her
    brothers to make ‘“‘the biggest ‘snow-bak
    that ever was seen!” Of course Tim, the
    cat, looked on. Nothing can be done unless
    Tim has a share in the fun of this happy
    family. Perhaps, as it turned out, it was a
    good thing that Tim was looking on.

    The children kept rolling the snow about
    until the ball had got much bigger than Lily
    herself. They were scooping it out in the
    middle to make it into a house when dinner-
    time came, and the children went indoors
    with such red hands and faces, and looking
    as well as possible.

    After dinner the boys went out walking.
    Lily kept quiet for a while thinking. Soon
    she crept down-stairs and out into the gar-
    den to see her big snow-ball, and to play at
    being a Laplander. She had heard that
    Laplanders lived in cold countries in snow-
    houses; so she wasa ‘‘ Lap.” She dug out
    more snow, until the hole was large enough
    here to get in and sit comfortably down.
    Lily was very hot as she crept in and piled
    the snow by degrees in front of her; her
    gloves got very wet, and her hands burned
    when she struck them together. At last she
    got drowsy and fell asleep.

    Tea-time came. ‘‘ Where is Miss Lily ?”
    asked nurse. No one could tell. No one
    had seen her since dinner, except the
    parlor-maid, who said: ‘Perhaps she is in-
    the garden.” The nurse looked ont. It
    was then getting dark. She put on her

    rubbers and walked all around the gar-

    den seeking Lily. She looked at the snow-
    ball. No Lily was there; she could see
    nothing but the snow-mass. Then she be-
    came frightened; where could ‘Lily be!
    There were no marks in the snow to show
    that she had gone out into the road. Per-
    haps she had gone with her brothers to see
    the sliders on the common. =

    Five o’clock. No Lily. Now it was dark.
    Father and mother would be home soon.
    The nurse, cook and parlor maid searched
    all over the house—up-stairs, down-stairs.

    But no Lily. As they were searching, a

    knock came to the door. Father.and moth-
    er had come home. In a few minutes the
    two boys came in, too, but without Lily.

    Their mother at once noticed the pale
    and pallid face of the parlor-maid, but said
    nothing until she reached the nursery, when
    she saw the nurse just as frightened, and
    even paler. ’ é

    “What is the matter?” cried Mrs. Smith.
    “Ts anything wrong? You and Fannie are
    both looking as frightened as if there had ©
    been thieves in the house. What has hap-
    pened? Speak !”
    _*O ma’am, Miss Lily—is—lost !”

    «Lost !”? screamed Mrs. Smith. ‘ Lost,
    and you sit here quietly? Have you search-






















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    SULKY JANE. iS
    ed ? Did you send for the police ? Where
    was she lost!”
    The poor mother’s alarm and distress

    were terrible to see. She was so fond of all
    her children that she was nearly distracted ;
    she rushed into every room, dashing the cup-
    boards and presses open, and unlocking the
    trunks; she looked into the cistern, into a
    great sofa-box in the bedroom, under all the
    beds.

    Willie and Ernest also searched. Mr.
    Smith went off to the police station to de-
    scribe the little girl and to inquire. Poor
    little Lily was lost—perhaps dead, and no
    one could think where the child had got to!
    The garden was searched with lanterns ; and
    when the boys with their father were look-
    ing around for the last time, up came Tim,
    the cat, and mewed. :

    “I believe Tim misses Lily,” said Ernest.

    Tim mewed again, turned around, walked
    down the garden, and made a dreadful noise.
    Then, to the astonishment of all, the cat
    leaped on the big snow-ball and scratched at it.

    “«T do believe Lily’s buried in the snow,
    father,” cried Willie. “‘Come along, let’s
    see.”

    Mr. Smith said nothing, but with a tre-
    mendous shove turned the ball over. The
    boys clutched it, and there in the center lay

    Lily—insensible or asleep, but alive cer-

    tainly.

    Tim mewed and raced into the house in
    front of Mr. Smith, who, with his little girl
    in his arms, came running into the kitchen.
    The cook screamed. Mrs. Smith came rush-
    ing down when the boys cried, ‘ Lily’s
    found.”

    The doctor came, and poor Lily was in
    bed with terrible chilblains for many days;
    but she never was really ill.

    “«T fell asleep,” she said, ‘‘and I remem-
    ber no more. I pretended to be a Lap-
    lander. I never heard any one call me.”

    But they were so glad to find her that no
    one scolded her. ‘Tim was praised for being
    so sensible, and he purred his thanks. But
    if Lily had not been kind to him she might
    never have been found.

    And so ended Lily’s strange adventure
    and the story of the “‘ biggest snow-ball that
    ever was seen.”

    ~ THE HAPPY DEAD.

    Bees is sorrow, sorrow for the pulses that are
    beating,
    But unutterably blessed are the dead.

    ~ HONORABLE OLD MEN.

    R. DOLLINGER is 88; Moltke and

    Bancroft the historian are each 87; Kos-
    suth is 85, and professor Owen is 88; but it
    is not easy to extend the list. Yet it is as-
    tonishing to note the large number of living
    great men who have passed the ordinary
    limit of human life. Of sovereigns, the
    Pope is 87, and King William, of the Neth-
    erlands, is well and in his 81st year. Of
    Statesmen, Mr. Gladstone is 79, Mr. Bright
    is 76, Prince Bismarck is 72, M. Jules Grevy
    is 74. M. Leon Say and M. Leroyer are each
    71, Lord Shelborne is 75 and Lord Granville
    is 72. Of Generals, MacMahon is 79, Le-
    beef is 78 and Bazaine and Cialdina are each
    76. Of poets, Lord Tennyson is 78, Mr.
    Browning is 75 and Dr. Oliver Wendell
    Holmes is 78. Of musicians, M. Verdi is 73.
    Of engineers, Lord Armstrong is 77, and
    Sir John Hawkshaw is .76. Of painters,
    Messonier is 72; and finally, a showman,
    Barnum, is 77. Perhaps, however, M.
    Chevreul, who is fairly started on his 102d
    year ought not to be omitted.

    A CLEVER LITTLE MAIDEN,

    ( NCH, in a class of little maids,

    ._/ The teacher vainly sought

    Their catechism to instill ;
    And chain the wandering thought.

    - * Now who has been baptized?” she asked,
    “ Just answer with a word.”
    They shouted, “I” and‘‘I” and “I,”
    All clamoring to be heard.

    Then one small maid so eager seemed
    And guite important grew—

    **O, Ihave been baptised,” she said,
    “And vaccinated, too!”

    GEORGE’S MISTAKE,

    Ce was only a little boy, and when
    J he found in the shrubbery a nest with
    four little birds in all alive, he thought what
    fun it would be to take them into the barn
    and feed them with bread and milk, and go
    digging for wormsfor them. So he brought
    the nest to his sister, who explained to
    him what a mistake he had made, for shes
    told him the hirds would surely die, and the
    poor mother bird would be broken-hearted.
    George saw his mistake and took the aest
    back again at once, and put it just where he
    had found it. :
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    GEORGE’
    OUR MOTHER.
    JOSEPHINE POLLARD.

    N | OTHER'S so good to us, what can we do?
    How can we ever repay her?
    O, ’twould be better for me and for you
    ‘Were we more prompt to obey her.
    Ready to lighten her burdens of care,
    Ready our tempers to smother;
    Striving each day, in a delicate way,
    To prove our affection for mother.

    Mother has always been thoughtful and kind,

    On the look-out for our pleasure;

    Deep in her heart are her children enshrined;
    None her devotion can measure.

    What can we do in return for this love,
    Faithful and fond as no other?

    Can we forget how deeply in debt
    We always must be to our mother?

    Mother’s so patient, so quick to excuse
    Each little weakness and failing;

    Ready her comforting powers to use
    When we are troubled or ailing.

    Teaching us more by example than words
    Truly to love one another;

    And in return how we should yearn
    To care in her old age for our mother.

    Mother’s so good to us, day after day,
    Giving us tender protection;

    O, how the thought of her kindness should sway .

    Ever our heart’s recollection.

    Yet there are many who treat her with scorn,
    Grateful emotions they smother,

    And angels—ah me!— must weep when they see
    How cruel they are to their mother.

    Better for us to be faithful and kind
    To mother dear, while she is living;

    Better for us when we bear in mind,
    Kisses and sympathy giving,

    That after her presence is missed from the home,
    And she’s gone from this world to another,

    To weep and lament, and with anguish repent
    Of the way we neglected our mother.

    INDECISION.

    MRS. H. N. CADY.

    ae ishere again! And with
    it the grand old-fashioned feast of turkey
    roast-pork and pumpkin pie. The first
    snowstorm of the season came but yesterday,
    and our friends, the rabbits, have found
    Some difficulty in obtaining a good break-
    fast or dinner in consequence. Perhaps
    they do not know it is Thanksgiving morn-
    ing, but they were truly very thankful when
    they first spied the rosy red apple just inside
    : that little fence. ;
    **How good of somebody !” was the first

    thought of the younger bunny, and he was
    quite inclined to rush in at once and secure
    his prize. f

    “Wait a moment,” said the elder rabbit,
    noting his younger brother’s rash impulse,
    ‘it may be a trap, you know, and in that
    case the apple would have but little charm
    for either.”

    So there they both sit this gray November
    morning, with the tempting apple hanging
    just in front of them, and reasoning in their
    silly little minds how they can secure the
    prize, and still keep their soft furry bodies
    ont of harm’s way. Poor little creatures!
    Every moment of indecision is but a step
    nearer to their fate. If Willie, who ar-
    ranged that ‘‘figure-four” trap yesterday,
    while the snow was falling so thickly around
    him, could see them at this moment, he
    would feel quite confident of eating rabbit
    stew for hisSunday’s dinner. From present.
    appearances, we can confidently predict that
    the younger bunny will be the victim.

    THE SONG OF THE MOSQUITO.
    GRACE DENIO LITCHFIELD.

    Hum! hum! I’m coming, coming,

    Don’t you hear me humming, humming,

    Like some distant drummer drumming
    His tired troops to sleep ?

    Rat-tat-tat, and hum-hum-hum,

    Near, more near, I come, I come,

    ‘With some to dine, to sup with some,
    With all a feast to keep.

    Hum! hum! How neatyou are!
    Hum!hum! How sweet you are! :
    Humm-m! hum-m! Too sweet by far $
    Tl dally for a bit.
    Try you there, and try you here:
    Taste your chin, your cheek, your ear;
    And that line of forehead near ;
    Ere settling down to it.

    Hum! hum! You cannot say
    I sup and dine and slo not pay.
    Behind me, when I go away,

    Just here, and here, and here,
    Till leave a tiny, round, bright spot—
    A brand new coin, laid down red hot,
    In full return for all I got.

    Ipay most dear, most dear.

    Hum! hum! I’ve supped and rarely !
    And you still are sleeping fairly.
    Hum-hum-hum! We twain part squarely;.
    All my dues I pay for.
    One more taste, and one more sip,
    From your eyelid, from your lip,
    Then away Ill skip-skip-skip—
    There’s nothing more to stay for.


    INDECISION,






    THANKSGIVING DAY.
    AURRAH FOR THE PUMPKIN PIE.

    LYDIA MARIA CHILD.

    (Cee te river, and through the wood,
    To grandfather’s house we go;

    The horse knows the way

    To bear the sleigh
    Though the white and drifted snow.

    Over the river and though the wood,
    Now grandmother’s cap I spy;
    Hurrah for the fun:
    Is the pudding done?
    Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!

    WHY WE SHOULD BE THANKFUL.

    THOMAS W. HANFORD.

    Te the Jews had the right to regard their
    history as the unfolding of God’s provi-
    dence, so have we. If they have had great war-
    riors to fight their battles; great poets to sing
    their songs and ballads; great statesmen to
    guide their national affairs, and great pro-
    phets with shining brows to declare the will
    of God, sohave we! The history of America
    is notan idledream. If the footprints of
    God were to be seen from Dan to Beersheba,
    so also are they manifest in America, for
    from Plymouth Rock to the Golden Gate,
    God’s smile fills all the land with glory.
    There has not been a day since the Pilgrims
    ceased their wanderings and found on these
    hospitable shores cities of abiding habitation,
    when the goodness of God has not made
    every hour rich with blessing and every night
    ealm beneath the watchfulness of His un-
    slumbering eye. very line of every page
    of American history is an argument for
    thanksgiving and gratitude. Four times
    in one brief psalm David cries out, “Oh!
    that man would praise the Lord for
    His goodness.” One of the chief points of
    that goodness that attracted the poet’s eye
    in that day was the home-life of the people.
    The wandering, nomad life, was at an end.
    Israel was now no longer dwelliag in tents,
    but every man was now under his own vine
    and under his own fig tree, peaceful and
    unafraid. And this home life of our land is
    our great joy and hope. Out of heaven
    there is nothing more blessed than a happy
    home. We have much to be thankful for,
    and much to be proud of in this great land
    of liberty—great men, great institutions,
    great resources; but the homes of America
    are our greatest Joy and our greatest hope.

    eel
    nk!

    Oh, that we knew how fully to appreciate
    the benediction of a peaceful, happy home!
    When the wheels of labor stand still next
    week, and children stand around the
    well-filled table, let us not forget to praise
    the Lord for His goodness and for all the
    tokens of neve1-failing love and care.
    For Summer's bloom and Autumn's blight,
    For bending wheat and blasted maize,
    For health and sickness, Lord of Light,
    And Lord of darkness, hear our praise.

    We trace to Thee our joys and woes—
    To Thee, of causes still the cause—

    We thank Thee that Thy hand bestows;
    We bless Thee that Thy love withdraws.

    We bring no sorrows to Thy throne;
    We come to Thee with no complaint;
    In Providence Thy will is done.
    And that is sacred to thesaint.

    WHAT A BIBLE COST IN THE OLDEN
    TIMES.

    HE price of a Bible, fairly written, with a

    commentary, was, in the year 1274, from
    $150 to $250, though in 1240 two arches of
    London Bridge were built for $125. In the
    year 1272 the wages of a laboring man were
    less than four cents a day, while the price
    of a Bible at the same period wasabout $180.
    A common laborer in those days must toil on

    _Iindustriously for thirteen long years if he

    would possess a copy of the Word of God.
    Now the earnings of a portion of a day will
    pay the cost of a beautifully printed copy of
    sacred oracles. What a contrast! What an
    illustration of the power of the press!

    SHE-WHO-MUST-BE-OBEYVED.

    A GREAT writer has recently written a

    book which many thousands have read,
    entitled, ““She.” The name of the wonder-
    ful heroine of the story is ‘‘ Ayesha,” a
    name that translated means ‘‘ She-who-must-
    be-obeyed.” The homes of this fair land
    are crowded with little ladies who rule us
    with the sceptre of their loving ways.
    Lord Dufferin said that the greatest tyrant
    in the world was a loving, gentle daughter,
    she must be obeyed. And this is very true.
    This little maiden with her doll, playing on
    the flowery hill-side, is only one of tens of
    thousands of those little queens who rule our
    hearts and homes and gladden all our lives.


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    QUESTIONS.

    Cs you put the spider’s web back in place

    That once has been swept away?

    Can you put the apple again on the bough
    Which fell at our feet today?

    Can you put the lily-cup back on the stem,
    And cause it to live and grow?

    Can you mend the butterfly’s broken wing
    That you crushed with a hasty blow?

    Can you put the bloom again on the grape,
    And the grape. again on the vine?

    Can you put the dewdrops back on the flowers,
    And make them sparkle and shine?

    Can you put the petais back on the rose?
    If you could, would it smell as sweet?

    Can you put the flower again on the husk,
    And show me the ripened wheat?

    Can you put the kernel back in the nut,
    Or the broken egg in the shell?

    _ Can you put the honey back in the comb,

    And cover with wax each cell?

    Can you put the perfume back in the vase
    When once it has sped away?

    Can you you put the corn-silk back on the corn,
    Or down on the catkins? Say!

    You think my questions are trifling, dear?
    Let me ask another one:

    Can a hasty word ever be unsaid
    Or an unkind deed undone?

    NED’S WATER-WHEEL.
    MRS. H. N. CADY.

    aC O for the country!” shouted Ned
    : Warren, as he rushed into the hall
    of his New York home on the last day of
    school. ‘‘ School is out at last, and now we
    can go!” he declared, as he grasped his sis-
    ter Nell around the waist and danced her
    down the passage.

    “Don’t be absurd, Ned!” remarked that
    young lady, trying to free herself from his
    arms.

    Oh, well, perhaps you dont care to go!”
    he replied, letting her go in time to catch
    his mother, who had just reached the foot of
    the stairs. ‘‘ Perhaps you like staying in
    the city all summer, but I dont; I’m ready
    to start this afternoon.”

    “We can start to-morrow, can’t we
    mother?” he asked, caressing the sweet faced
    little woman at his side.

    “* Not quite so soon,” she replied, return-
    ing the caress he had given. ‘‘ We shall
    probably start Monday; you certainly can
    wait that short time when a whole two
    months’ visit is before you,” she added, as
    she saw the look of disappointment which
    momentarily overshadowed his face.

    *“T suppose I’ve got to,” he replied, as he

    made his way up stairs to prepare for dinner.

    Monday came at last, and with it the jour-
    ney in the cars and the subsequent ride over
    the fresh country road to grandfather’s farm
    far up among the New Hampshire hills.
    Never were happier children than those who
    jumped from the long buckboard and rushed
    peil mell into grandma’s open arms. The
    barns and stables were visited, the dogs seen
    and caressed, and even the turkeys and
    chickens had received their share of atten-
    tion before the sun hid himself for the day
    behind the great western mountain top, and
    grandma’s voice called them to supper in
    the long, cool dining-room. What a grand,
    old room it was, with its rafters showing
    overhead, and its great wide fire-place—
    filled with logs which were ready to burst
    into flame when the weather should become
    cool—cutting off one corner of the apart-
    ment. On either side of the chimney-piece
    were the glass-covered cupboards, where
    grandma’s best china and glass was displayed.

    ‘he supper spread upon the heavy oaken
    table, was the final evidence to the children’s
    minds at least, that they were really in
    grandma’s home at last. Nowhere else was.
    the butter so golden, or honey so tempting,
    as here; and the precious seed-cakes, which
    no-one but grandmother knew so well how
    to make, were there in profusion.

    A whole summer before them, and this.
    delightful place to spend it in! Were chil-
    dren ever so blessed as they? ‘* Never!”
    thought they, as they rushed down stairs the
    following morning, and prepared to follow
    the haymakers into the field.

    But hay-making does not last forever, and
    all new things become old in time, so when
    at last a rainy day came, both Ned and his
    little sister Ethel were far from ‘dissatisfied
    with their fate. Now, Ned could make the
    waterwheel Joe Barney had told him about,
    and Ethel might assist him, perhaps. Pos-
    sibly the result would not have been as satis-
    factory, however, if Joe had not come to the
    rescue, and given his active assistance, as
    well as advice, in its construction. Joe was.
    a genuine Yankee, and consequently thor-
    oughly at home with his jack-knife. Havy-
    ing lived many years with grandfather War-
    ren he was much attached to the children,
    and was ever ready to assist them in their
    small undertakings.

    The rain fortunately continued to fall all
    day ; and before night Joe had not only com-
    pleted the wheel, but a small trough ales,
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    through which he was to convey the water
    from the dam.

    “But where are we to get thedam?” asked
    Ethel.

    ‘““Why, make it, of course,” answered
    Ned, as he examined the uprights upon which
    the wheel was to turn.

    ““You think the brook in the lower mea-
    dow lot will be better than that behind the
    barn?” he went on, as he watched Joe sand-
    paper the ends of the axle.

    “Yes,” replied Joe, ‘‘it will be out of
    the way there; and your grandfather might
    object to our filling up that one. The cattle
    water there sometimes, you know.”

    <‘ When do you believe you'll get.a chance
    to help me build it?” asked Ned, full of his
    project.

    “‘ Might havea few minutes to-morrow if I
    don’t have to go to town,” he continued, as
    the thought suddenly came to him, ‘‘you
    and Ethel could fill up.the brook just below
    the old wall with those stones I threw into a
    heap lastspring. You’ll find them close by the
    spot where I mean, and I’llrun down to-mor-
    row morning after breakfast, and show you
    how.

    True to his promise Joe went with the
    children on the following morning, and
    showed them how to pack the stones. The
    spot which he had chosen was one where the
    brook having suddenly narrowed, forced itself
    a channel between two quite steep banks.
    “For,” said he, ‘‘if we took a shallower
    place the water would spread out more, and
    we shouldn’t get enough force on our wheel.”
    Then he lifted a few of the larger stones in
    with thesmaller onesat hand. By noon they
    had filled in quite a wide space,: leaving a
    narrow channel for the water to run through.

    When grandpa heard what they were try-
    ing to make, he let Joe off for the rest of the
    afternoon; and with his assistance they pro-
    gressed much more rapidly with their work.
    After the brook had been filled for some dis-
    tance with the stones, Joe shoveled in some
    coarse gravel, and later, when the passage
    for the water was finally stopped, he covered
    the whole with sods, pounding them in place
    with his foot. Now they built up the face

    of the dam carefully and solidly, like a wall;
    and finally when the trough had been fitted
    or sunk slightly into the structure, the large,
    flat stones Joe had reserved for the purpose
    were placed on top, and the children had the
    satisfaction of seeing a full shimmering
    stream fall from the trough.

    It was but the work of a few minutes to
    place the wheel in position, when it began
    to turn rapidly over and over, making a soft,
    dreamy kind of creaking sound; pleasanter
    to the children’s ears than the most enchant-
    ing music.

    During the long summer, that water-wheel
    was ever a source of amusement to the chil-
    dren; and even the older members of the fam-
    ily shared to some degree in their delight.
    When the fall came, and they were to return
    to their city home, it was taken from its place
    in the brook and stored in the shed loft,
    where it would safely rest until another sum-
    mer brought it into usefulness again. And
    there it rests to-day.

    GROWN-UP LAND.

    6¢ (YX OOD-morning, fair maid, with lashes brown?

    : Can you tell me the way to Womanhood
    town?”

    “‘O, this ‘way and that way—you can never stop.

    Tis picking up stitches that grandma will drop,

    *Tis kissing the baby’s wee troubles away,

    "Tis learning that cross words never will pay,

    ‘Tis helping mamma, ’tis sewing up rents,

    *Tis reading and playing, ’tis saving the cents,

    ’Tis loving and smiling, forgetting to frown—

    O, that is the way to Womanhood Town.”

    ‘* Just wait, my brave lad; one moment I pray.

    Manhood Town lies where—can you tell me the
    way?”

    ‘‘O, by toiling and trying we reach that land.

    A bit with the head, a bit with the hand:

    *Tis by climbing up the rugged hill Work,

    Tis by keeping out of the wide street Shirk,

    *Tis by always taking the weak one’s part,

    *Tis by giving mother a happy heart,

    *Tis by keeping bad thoughts and actions down—

    O, that is the way to Manhood Town.”

    And the lad and the maid ran hand. in hand
    To. their fair estates in the ‘‘ Grown-up Land.”

    _ HETTIE’S THANKSGIVING DAY
    ESCAPADE. :

    MAY BLOSSOM DAVIS.

    er ee is something very lovely in the
    affection between old people and chil-
    dren — the -first are so full of the rich and
    useful experiences of along life, one that has
    solved all the mysteries and surmounted all
    the sorrows of living, and is looking earnestly
    forward into that which is to come with a.
    new and almost longing interest, as if their
    feet had already begun to tread the holy soil
    of the sweet Beula land. What wonder that

    they love to guide and instruct the little
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    ones, and show them how to avoid the dan-

    ers and mistakes along the way of life.
    While the children, in their first strange
    awakening toa new and untried world filled
    with the wonderful and the great, cling to
    the old, who have solved all these mysterious
    secrets, with a reverent admiration that is
    akin to worship.

    So while the one gives loving and hopeful
    connsel, the other gives a trustful affection
    and dependence.

    I remember a story told me by a lady who,
    when a little girl, loved her grandmamma
    very tenderly, They lived in New England,
    where Thanksgiving Day is one in which it
    would be almost heathenish not to. attend
    church and render thanks. So, although
    the day broke cold and threatening and the
    snow lay deep upon the ground, the old
    sleigh, filled with furs and blankets, and the
    faithful horse, were brought out to convey
    the family, even to the old grandma, to
    church.

    The little girl and her younger sister went
    too, but during the service they crept over to
    the back of. the church to get near the fire,
    and over there where the minister’s voice
    sounded indistinct and far away, they forgot
    they must not whisper, and hence began to
    talk about their Thanksgiving dinner that
    was coming, and what wonderful things
    grandma had been preparing in the way of
    pies and cookies.

    “She must be very tired from so much
    work,” said Hettie, the older.

    « Yes, poor grandma!” replied the little .

    one pathetically.

    “Pll tell you what we’ll do to surprise
    her,” said Hettie, her face lighting up glee-
    fully with a new thought; ‘we'll take old
    Jack and drive home, and get the table all
    prepared beautifully, with holly on it and
    ferns, too, and that will surprise her and help
    her ever somuch. Wecan get back before
    church is over.”

    So two childish figures ventured timidly
    out of the church door and found a light
    snow falling; but everything was noiseless
    outside and the soft snow muffled all sound
    as they took old Jack out of the shed and
    drove briskly away. But they soon slack-
    ened their pace because it was so pleasant to
    eatch thesoft, cold flakes on their little faces
    _ upturned to the wintry sky filled with white

    specks slowly falling far as the eye could see
    into the cloudy dome above, They had great
    sport trying to catch the light flakes on thei~

    warm, rosy lips, and letting it slowly melt.

    But when they tired of that sort of play
    they found that old Jack had lost the road
    and had wandered into a shady forest alto-

    gether unlike the tree-lined road that led to

    their home. There was vain striving to find

    their way back, but they became confused in:
    another sleigh-track and finally gave up in
    despair. Vainly they had endeavored to find.
    their road back, when, as the afternnon was
    wearing away, worn out and drowsy with the

    cold they curled up in the furs in the bot-

    tom of the sleigh and went to sleep.

    It was grandma who missed them before
    church was over, and going out found, to her
    consternation, that the sleigh was gone.

    Old and feeble though she was, she did.
    not disturb the church service, but bravely
    started out to track the fugitives through
    the snow. It is useless to try to describe the
    faithful love that bore the hardships which
    she went through for her darlings that day.
    But after long following at last she found
    them, and without waking them drove home
    where the anxious ones were preparing to
    make a great search for the lost ones — grand-
    ma and all.

    I was not informed, but I will venture to
    say that the Thanksgiving dinner was a very
    happy one, and enjoyed in utter forgetful-
    ness of the past troubles of the day. How
    could it fail to be when such gentle self-sac-
    rificing love bound together the hearts of ©
    those at home?

    TACT.

    ACT is the life of the five senses. It is
    the open eye, the quick ear, the judging ©
    taste, the keen smell and the lively touch.
    Talent is power, tact is skill; talent is weight,
    tact is momentum; talent knows what to do,
    tact: how to do it; talent is wealth, tact is
    ready money.

    ANYTHING FOR QUIET.

    ieee came home and found his hoy
    Filling all the house with riot,
    Banging madly on his drum,
    While his mother in the room

    Sat serenely, unmoved by it.

    “‘Madam,” said the irate sire,

    ‘© T would stop this nuise—or try it.”
    ‘“*No, you wouldn’t,” answered she;
    “Were you vexed all day like me,

    You'd do anything for quiet.”












































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































    ee

    HETTIE’S THANKSGIVING DAY ESCAPADE.


    WINTER SONG.
    M. R. WELD.
    \ Ny 7 HY liest thou still and pale now,
    Wiapped in thy snow-white veil now,
    Dear mother earth of ours ?
    ‘Where are Spring’s voices, say now ?
    Where Summer’s plumage gay now ?
    And thy bright festal robe of flowers ?

    Thou sleep’st cf it bereft now,
    Nor lamb nor sheep is left now
    In field or upland bare,
    The bird’s sweet songs are dumb now,
    Hushed is the bee’s soft hum now,
    Yet even in winter art thou fair.

    On twigs and branches dancing,
    A thousand gleams are glancing,
    Where e’er the eye may light.
    Who hath prepared thy bed now?
    The coverlid who hath spread now?
    And decked thee with frost jewels bright?
    The bounteous Lord of Heaven
    To thee thy veil hath given,
    Who sleeps not day nor night.
    Be thy sleep fearless taken,
    He doth the weary waken
    In good time to new strength and light
    Soon to Spring’s breezes pleasant
    Thou 'lt rise rejuvenescent,
    With new life wondrous fair;
    When down their breath floats duly,
    Thou earth wilt prank thee newly
    With wreaths of flowers upon thy hair.

    GOLDEN MOMENTS.
    GBPIRGE ELIOT.
    HE golden moments in the stream of
    rush past us, and we see nothing but
    sand; the angels come to visit us, and we
    only know them when they are gone.

    SOCRATES AND HIS HOUSE.

    DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.

    HEN Socrates was building himself a

    house at Athens, being asked by one
    that observed the littleness of the design, why
    aman so eminent should not have an abode
    more suitable to his dignity, he replied, that
    he would be sufficiently accommodated if he
    could see that narrow habitation filled with
    real friends. Such was the opinion of this
    great master of human life, concerning the
    infrequency of such a union of minds as
    might deserve the name of, friendship, that
    among the multitudes whom vanity or curi-
    -osity, civility or veneration, crowded .about
    him, he did not expect that very spacious

    apartments would be necessary to contain —

    all thatshould regar d him with sincere kind-
    ness or adhere to him with steady fidelity.
    So many qualities are indeed requisite to

    the possibility of friendship, and so many
    accidents must concur to its rise and its con-
    tinuance, that the greatest part of mankind
    content themselves without it, and supply
    its place as they can, with interest and de-
    pendence.

    CAUSES FOR THANKFULNESS.

    LUCY LARCOM.

    OR the hidden scroll, o’erwritten
    With one dear name adored;
    For the heavenly in the human,
    The spirit in the word;
    For the tokens of thy presence
    Within, above, abroad;
    For thine’ great gift of peing,
    I thank thee, O my God!

    FRIENDSHIP LIKE A DEBT OF HONOR.
    OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

    RIENSHIP islike a debt of honor: the

    ment it is talked of it loses its real name,
    and assumes the more ungrateful form of
    obligation. From hence we find that those
    who regularly undertake to cultivate friend-
    ship find ingratitude generally repays their
    endeavors. That circle of beings which de-
    pendence gathers around us is almost ever
    unfriendly; they secretly wish the terms of
    their connections more nearly equal; and,
    when they even have the most virtue, are
    prepared to reserve all their affections for
    their patron only in the hour of his decline.

    Increasing the obligations which are laid _

    upon such minds, only increases their bur-
    den; they feel themselves unable to repay
    the immensity of their debt, and their bank-
    rupt hearts are taught a latent resentment
    at the hand that is stretched out with offers
    of service and relief.

    THE LIONESS AND HER CUBS.

    HE lioness is not always very ferocious.
    There are times when she seems to be
    almost gentle and playful. But when she is
    caring for her little cubs you had better keep
    at a safe distance. One dash of those terri-

    fic paws would be terrible to endure, and if.

    by any chance the lioness should fancy you
    were going to rob her of any of her cub:
    your life would be in danger.
    ful mother and will guard her young ones.
    with her life. At the foot of this illustra-_
    tion you see the lion hunting for his prey’
    in order that his growing family may be f
    You observe that the travellers are ”“
    disposed to give him all the room he~

    Sheisafaith- |

    Tak


    , SQATTIRN AY ARDERRNOAON IN WITNTTD
    THE TRUE FRIEND.

    OMMEND me to the friend that comes
    When Jam sad and lone, .
    And makes the anguish of my heart
    The suffering of his own;
    Who coldly shuns the glittering throng
    At pleasure’s gay levee,
    And comes to gild a sombre hour
    And give his heart to me.

    He hears me count my sorrows o’er,
    And when the task is done

    He freely gives me all I ask—
    A sigh for every one

    He cannot wear a smiling face
    When mine is touched with gloom

    But, like the violet, seeks to cheer
    The midnight with perfume.

    Commend me to that generous heart
    Which, like the pine on high,

    Uplifts the same unvarying brow
    To every change of sky ;

    Whose friendship does not fade away
    When wintry tempests blow,

    But, like the Winter’s icy crown, -
    Looks greener through the snow.

    He flies not with the flitting stork
    That seeks a Southern sky,

    But lingers where the wounded bird
    Hath laid him down to die.

    Oh, such a friend! He is in truth,
    Whate’er his lot may be,

    A rainbow on the storm of life,
    An anchor on its sea.

    AN AUTUMN EVENING.

    E. P. ROE.

    ie around thislovely autumn evening.

    See the crimson glory of those clouds
    yonder in the west. See that brightness shad-
    ing off into paler and more exquisite tints.
    Look, how those many-hued leaves reflect
    the glowing sky. The air is as sweet and
    balmy as that of Eden could have been.
    The landscape is beautiful in itself and
    specially attractive to you. To our human
    eyes it hardly seems as if heaven could be
    more perfect than this.

    “WHAT TIME IS IT?”

    IME to do well,
    Time tolive better— .
    To give up that grudge,
    To answer that letter.
    To speak the kind word
    “That may sweeten some sorrow,
    To do now the good
    You would leave till to-morrow,

    Time to try hard

    In that new situation;
    Time to build up.

    On a solid foundation,

    Giving up needlessly
    Changing and drifting,

    Leaving the quicksands
    That ever are shifting.

    Time to be earnest

    In laying up treasure;
    Time to be thoughtful

    In seeking true pleasure;
    Loving stern justice,

    Of truth being fond,
    Making your word

    Just as good as your bond.

    Time to be happy
    In doing your best;
    Time to be trustful,
    Leaving the rest.
    Knowing, in whatever
    Country or clime,
    Ne’er can you call -back
    One moment of time.

    THE ICE PALACE OF ST. PAUL.

    EE would be exceedingly difficult to imag-
    ine a more romantic scene than is pres-
    ented by the Ice Palace at St. Paul, the
    erection of which has come to be regarded
    as one of the great annual institutions of
    that growing city. Faithful, as is the sketch
    presented by our Artist on the next page,
    the Ice Palace, like the falls of Niagara or
    the Mammoth cave, must be seen to be ap-
    preciated. ‘he Ice Palace erected in St.
    Paul this year surpassed all its predecessors.
    It covered an acre of space, and. the tower
    was 130 feet high. It occupied 200 square
    feet of ground, and was built of 55,000

    blocks of ice 22x28 inches, and about 18

    inches chick. The Ice was taken from a
    lake north, of, the city, and weighed about
    16,000,000 pounds. If this ice had been
    used in building a wall six feet high and
    eight inches thick, the wall would have
    extended fourteen miles.. By day or night,
    this crystal palace was a scene too gorgeous
    for words to describe. And w’-r.the gay
    crowds gathered from far and near da. the
    thousands of electric lights ae
    Shone o’er fair women,
    And brave men,

    in their rich carnival attire, it seemed as
    though the dreams of fairy land were more
    than realized.

    LIFE TOO SHORT.
    CHARLES DICKENS.
    NY christian spirit working kindly in
    its little sphere, whatever it may be,

    will find its mortal life too short for its vast:

    means of usefulness.














































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































    THE LIONESS AND HER CUBS,




    GOD'S AGES ROLL ALONG.
    F. HUNTINGTON RUNNELS.

    ] | ERE in the broad fields of the busy. West,
    A generous harvest waits the tireless hand;
    With peaceful trust the golden days are blest,
    And sweet, unbroken rest’ the nights command;
    Amid brave toil, and hope, aud tsiumph strong,
    ; God’s ages roil along.

    In other lands the calm reflex of heaven
    Is rent ofttimes from cloud and clash of wars,
    To seething strife humanity is given,
    Till pitying earth the ebbing life-tide draws.
    Yet, who can doubt? serene above the Wrong
    : God’s ages roll along!

    ‘Whether the glad earth blossoms teem with fruit,
    Or her fond bosom bear the load of death;
    . Whether the soul in dark distrust be mute,
    Or from its woe give forth immortal breath;
    Whether defeat or victor’s joyful song,
    God’s ages roll along,

    CHRISTMAS DAY IN CALIFORNIA.

    N this land of inverted seasons it is hard
    for him who has wandered hither from
    less congenial climes to realize that to-mor-

    row is Christmas, which this year has a .

    double sanctity, falling as it does on Sun-
    day. In all Christmas countries the anni-
    versary of Christ’s natal day is signalized by
    a general abandoment to merriment and
    revelry; the festive feature of the occasion
    in many instances entirely eclipsing its sa-
    cred aspects. Indeed, the religious element
    is wholly eliminated in many communities,
    and only the yule-logs and the Lord of Mis-
    rule are recognized as having place in the
    program of the hour. But even the tradi-
    tional yule-log is a superfluity in the “ glori-
    ous climate” of California, and its existence
    here is only a pleasing and romantic fiction
    of the imagination. In this respect, it must
    be confessed, the balmy softness of our occi-
    dental skies is a drawback. As the pen
    forms the words over which the reader’s eye
    is now passing, the orb of day is shining
    over the dancing wavelets of the Golden
    Gate with all the glowing ardor of an East-
    ern spring-time. The russet-brown mantle
    which tlfe Oakland hills and Tamalpais and
    the more distant mountains have worn
    through the long, tiirsty summer, is chang-
    ing toari¢h emerald. We are just getting
    glimpses ofthe beauties which Nature’s en-
    chantress, Spring, unfolds to the gladsome
    eyes of the dwellers beyond the Rockies in
    the month of May. But how sadly out of

    consonance is all this with the Christmas as.
    pect of Nature as mirrored in the stories an@
    pictured scenes of childhood’s hapry hours!
    Where is the wintry sky, the snow-laden
    boughs, the sparkling carpet of dazzling
    white, the frosted window-panes, where
    the music of the sleigh-bells, the merry
    uproar of the coasters on the hillside, the
    snap of breaking icicles, and the roaring fire
    to keep ont the cold breath of all-prevading
    Jack Frost? All these we sadly lack, and
    their absence is fatal to the completeness of
    the ideal picture of a Christmas scene. But
    it is not given to all men to have all things.
    We have our full share of Nature’s bounties,
    and with these we ought to be, we must be,
    satisfied. If the question of California’s cli-
    mate could be put to vote, and a change be
    contingent on the result, we do not believe
    it would be altered one jot or tittle from its
    present conditions.

    -LITTLE BOY BLUE.
    EUGENE FIELD.

    Hs little toy dog is covered with dust,

    But sturdy and staunch he stands;

    And the little toy soldier is red-with rust.
    And his musket molds in his hands.

    Time was when the little toy dog was new,
    And the soldier was passing fair,

    And there was the time when our Little Boy Blue
    Kissed them and put them there. :

    “Now, don’t you go till I come,” he said,
    “And don’t you make any noise!”

    So toddling off to his trundle bed
    He dreamed of the pretty toys.

    And as he was dreaming, an angel song
    Awakened our Little Boy Blue—

    Oh, the years are many, the years are long,
    But the little toy friends are true.

    Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
    Each in the same old place,
    Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
    The smile of a little face;
    And they wonder, as waiting these long years
    through, 4
    In the dust of that little chair,
    ‘What has become of Our Little Boy Blue
    Since he kissed them and put them there.

    NOT A PARTICLE TOO MUCH.

    MRS. A. D. T. WHITNEY.

    HERE is not one particle too much, or

    of no consequence, in all the star-dust

    of God’s universe; there cannot be a human

    soul, or a human soul’s experience, too much
    or too little in the making of His heaven.


    — SSS

    an ai NE



    JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.






    ON THEIR WAY TO BETHLEHEM.
    A. T. SLOSSON.

    \ \ 7 HERE are you going my little children,
    Soft-eyed Zillah and brown-faced Seth,
    Little David with cheek so ruddy,
    Dark-haired, slender Elizabeth? ~

    What are the burdens you carry with you,
    Poised on the head and swung in the hand;

    What is the song from your red: lips ringing?
    Whatis your errand, you little band?

    ‘« Sirs, as you know, we are Hebrew children,
    Tam Zillah and this is Seth;

    Here is David, our little brother;
    And this is our sister, Elizabeth.

    “Our father’s sheep are on yonder hill:side,
    He cares for us and he watches them;

    We left our home in the early morning,
    And go our way into Bethlehem,

    «Surely you know that blessed baby,
    Greeted by angels with songs of joy,

    Is lying there with his gentle mother,
    And we are going to see the Boy.

    ‘‘Here in our baskets are gifts we bring him,
    All to lay at his little feet;

    Amber honey our bees have gathered,
    Milk from our goats so white and sweet;

    ‘* Cakes of our figs, and grapes that are purple,
    Olives plucked from our own old trees;
    Savory herbs, and fragrant spices,
    _ All we bring him on bended knees.

    ‘See, this is wool so soft and so fleecy,
    Purple dyes that a king might wear;

    Skins of the goat, and the ram, and the badger,
    All for the baby that’s sleeping there.

    ‘‘ Here are shells from the Red Sea brought us,
    Here are feathers all bright and gay;

    Tell us, good sirs, had ever a baby
    Fairer gifts than we bring to-day?

    ‘Seth gives his dove, though he loves it dearly;
    David these shells for tue Holy Boy;
    Elizabeth wove him this pretty basket,
    But I have only this little toy,—

    «Two sticks of olive wood, carved by my father,
    One standing up and one crossing it—so;

    We have little to offer, we poor little children,
    But we give all we can, and we sing as we go.”

    Singing they went with their simple treasures,
    Sweet rang their voices o’er valley and hill;

    “Glory, oh, glory to God in the highest,
    Peace upon carth, and to men good-will.”

    Still they went singing, these Hebrew children,
    Soft-eyed Zillah and brown-faced Seth;

    “ttle David with cheek so ruddy, and
    Dark-haired, slender Elizabeth.



    THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.
    WADE ROBINSON.

    OR earth our home, is brighter
    That Thou hast touched its clay;

    The very day is lighter :

    For some supremer day; —
    And night is softly ringing

    In all her depths afar,
    With starry armies singing a

    The song of Bethlehem’s Star.

    SUNDAY MORNING TALKS.
    XII. THE CHILD JESUS,

    THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    NCE again Christmas thoughts press
    themselves upon the attention; once
    again Christmas carols leap unbidden to the
    lips; and in all lands beneath the stars,—in
    prisons and palaces,— young men and maid-
    ens, old men and children, join in happy

    concert to sing

    “‘Glory to the new-born king.”

    The world grows old, but its memory is
    unfailing; and it will never forget the day
    when Christ was born. ‘That wondrous ad-
    vent amid the lowliest circumstances in
    David’s ancient city of Bethlehem, is better
    known than any story of the romantic age,
    or the more enchanting tales of classic anti-
    quity. The strange stories of the mystic
    gods who shook the crest of high Olympus
    are for the wonder and entertainment of the
    scholarly, but the story of the birth of Jesus -
    is for the universal earth. The angels who
    broke the midnight silence with their songs
    centuries and centuries ago, did not bring a
    strange story to startle the wondering few ;
    they brought good tidings of great joy for
    all men, for all men on to the remotest years
    of time. The tidings were for the startled
    shepherds on Bethlehem’s plains, and they
    are for the tens of thousands in Chicago and
    New York and London to-day, and they will
    be glad tidings for millions when our graves
    have grown green through many generations.
    There are many points of interest in this
    message from the heavens. Here is a thing
    to be considered. The angel did not regard
    the lowliness of the birth of the Messiah as a
    matter that should be concealed. On the
    contrary, he called attention directly to the
    fact. ‘‘And this shall be a sign unto you: -
    Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swadding
    clothes, lying ina manger.” If Christ had
    been born to the purple and fine linen of the
    ZEEE
    LRU
    i %
    LS
    2

    SS
    Lig STL ILI
    é AoE
    is Ee LL X,
    LSD

    Ley Z LEE RE
    LOLA ILI KER
    iy Te
    yy DAE 2 KK ‘
    Des isi

    oy Wy i :

    ee

    STA

    oS
    Se

    SANTA CLAUS.

    } Your mammas have told you, [haveno doubt,
    Of what the Christmas is all about;

    Wt) How once in the sky a fiery gem
    WM Was called the Star of Bethlehem;
    F HF 1 And you'll soon be older, to understand

    Of the glad new joy in all the land,

    x When the people heard that the Christ was born,
    Ww Just as the night gave way to morn,
    "i And the wise men bent o’er a cot of hay

    i Where the Virgin and the Savior lay.
    KYW And the baby was just like you or me
    y] When first we opened our eyes to sec;
    And, just like us, found food and rest
    mye! As he nestled close to his mother’s breast.

    XN And mamma has told how the baby grew,

    And how there was nothing but what he knew;
    And how grave old men, who were wondrous
    wise,
    ZAKS Found worlds of wisdom in his replies.
    AY And just outside of the open door

    AW ap Of the rude old stable, without a floor,
    WN And never a carpet—so they say—
    F d Except the scattered wisps of hay,

    =

    SSS
    =

    es
    BS.

    SSS

    eS

    @ The wise men turned, and, to their surprise,
    SY

    Yh A tree was growing before their eyes,

    wy
    N Sit And on the top branch, cooing low,

    A WY, AY | A dove was sitting, as white as snow,

    MTV NINH And this was the Christ-tree, which shall bear
    Wy iy} YZ Gifts to good children everywhere.

    )

    Uy

    ean) Then eager children came running about
    t i; Hii To clap their hands and gladly shout,

    \ S if} For high above them they could see
    ws WH} The prettiest gifts on the new-grown tree,
    Hf} And one wise man, who was old and gray,
    Whose snowy beard on his bare breast lay,

    i

    == 3

    Reached upward his hand and handed to all—





    hi i
    \

    Mi (i i } i) Hi i t Wir Vg up Uy WW The oldest and youngest, raph ae thesmall— (
    Nat | NN MW i iH 4 i y yf Yy Hy While over all cooed the white-winged dove,
    FT Ela noughs no nore
    NAAR TS ORO Ve
    NX) \ \ ‘ yl Ay Ht j As the gray old man, when the Savior came;

    AN Ae If ren einen

    i i WW | Cee a a ee Bae reach
    \\ i | \ \ } Now the story is ended, and we shall see
    oe MW ‘ What is hanging for you on the Christmas tree.

    )
    Wy
    He
    ! Mt \ /} Some shining token of God's great love,
    N i \ i i W)) i } hay rl Hat man was Santa Claus, and mamma has
    | (| \ i W Ny H ) f Ley VA How, old though he was, he never seemed old;
    }
    ) i My i Wilh f H 5 Hy And [am Santa Claus, just the same
    ( \ f ji And I bring thesame gladnessand mirth and joy
    ( \ h When in the manger the Christ was born.
    i










    state, he would not have been all men’s
    Christ. The wealthy and the favored would
    have claimed him. But now as we seek the
    star of Bethlehem glimmering gently over
    the lowly cradle of Mary’s son, we cry:
    “*Glory to God! for unto us, the poor and
    lowly, the men of no greatness, the common
    men—unto us a child is born; unto usa son
    is given—the blessed Son of God, the friend
    of the friendless—the Savior of all men.
    Glory to God in the highest!” It should be
    a pleasant thing for all children to remem-
    ber that Jesus Christ was once a little child.
    We know little of those very early days in
    Nazareth, but doubtless they were happy
    days. The child Jesus would have toys as
    other children had, no doubt, and playmates.
    At least so the legends run. -Of course
    there is very little reliance to be placed on
    legends, but some of them are very beautiful.
    Here is a beautiful legend for example about
    Jesus and his playmates and the sparrows.—

    I like that old, old legend,
    Not found in holy writ,

    And wish that John or Mathew
    Had made Bible out of it.

    How the little Jewish children,
    Upon a summer’s day,

    Went down across the meadows
    With the child Christ to play..

    And in the gold green valley,
    Where: low the reed grass lay,

    They made them mock mud sparrows
    Out of the meadow clay.

    So when they were fashioned,
    And ranged in rows about,

    “Now,” said the little Jesus
    We'll let the birds fly out.

    Then all the happv children,
    Did call and coax and cry,
    Each to his own mud sparrow
    “Fly as I bid you! fly ”—

    . But earthen were the sparrows,
    And earth they did remain,
    Except the one bird only
    The little Christ had made.

    Softly he leaned and whispered,
    “Fly up to heaven, fly ”—

    And swift his little sparrow
    Went soaring to the sky.

    And silent all the children,
    Stood awe-struck looking on,
    *Till deep into the heavens
    The bird of earth had gone.

    T like to think for playmate,
    We have the Lord-Christ still,

    And that above our weakness
    He works his mighty will.

    ~ found him out.

    That all our little playthings,
    Of earthen hopes and joys,
    Shall be by His commandment

    Changed into heavenly toys.

    Our souls are like the sparrows,
    Imprisoned in the clay: —

    Bless him who came to give them wings
    To soar to heaven’s bright day.

    THROUGH THE GOSPEL TO THE GATES
    OF PEARL.

    -MRS. A. D. T. WHITNEY.

    HE way to Revelation is all through

    Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

    When you’ve dove all that, then you’ll come
    to the jaspar walls and the gates of pearl.

    LEGEND OF ROBIN REDBREAST.

    Wiki time the Christ to Calvary was led
    /Â¥ And hung all bleeding on the cross of same,
    While frenzied hordes reviled and mocked his
    : name, .
    O’er thorns the golden aureole’s flame was shed.
    When o’erhis face death’s deadly pallor spread
    And one great cry of anguish shook his frame,
    On rapid wings a pitying robin came,
    And fluttered’ sorrowful about his head.:

    From out the wounded brow, with eager beak,
    The robin plucked a thorn, when like a tear,
    ’ Upon its breast one drop of life-blood fell.
    And even now the blessed mark will speak,
    From every robin’s bosom, of the dear
    And tender pity that he knew so well.

    ‘HOW UNCLE DAN WAS FOUND OUT.

    OU. never saw such fun as we had at

    Christmas. Ma said that Santa Claus
    would call upon us just after sunset. Alice
    and I had our doubts about Santa Claus,
    but sure enough at about 7 o’clock a tail
    man with a large buffalo robe and a great
    white beard came into the parlor and asked
    if we had been good children, and began to
    talk about the long journey he had before
    him and all that kind of thing. But I
    I knew it was Uncle Dan.
    You know Uncle Dan sings in the church
    choir, and he has a wonderful voice. And
    it was by his voice I found him out. So
    T said “I know you Uncle Dan,” and then
    he let the robe fall and took off his ‘beard,
    and the very merviest Christmas eve I can.
    remember was wken Uncle Dan was found
    out.







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    HOW UNCLE DAN WAS FOUND OUT.
    CHRISTMAS.

    | | OW did they keep His birthday then,
    -The little fair Christ, so long ago?
    Oh, many there were to be housed and fed,
    And there was no place in the inn, they said,
    So into the manger the Christ must go,
    To lodge with the cattle and not with men.

    The ox and the ass they munched their hay,
    They munched and they slumbered, wondering
    not,
    And out in the midnight cold and blue
    The shepherds slept and the sheep slept too,
    Till the angels’ song and the bright star ray
    Guided the wise men to the spot.

    But onry the wise men knelt and praised,
    And only the shepherds came to see;
    And the rest of the world cared not at all
    For the little Christ in the oxen’s stall; .
    And we are angry and amazed ae
    That such a dull, hard thing should be?

    How do we keep His birthday now?
    We ring the bells and raise the strain,
    We hang up garlands everywhere
    And bid the tapers twinkle fair,
    And feast and frolic—and then we go
    Back to the same old lives again.

    LOVE ON THE THRONE OF GOD.

    ~ OVE is on the front of the throne of
    s God, but justice and judgment, with
    inexorable dread, follow behind; and where
    law is slighted and mercy despised, when
    they have rejected those who would be their
    best friends, then comes justice with her
    hoodwinked eyes, and with the sword and
    scales.

    YOUTH THE TIME OF ENTERPRISE
    AND HOPE.

    DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.

    Y OUTH is the time of enterprise and
    hope: having yet no occasion of compar-
    ing our force with any opposing power, we
    naturally form presumptions in our own fav-
    our, and imagine that obstruction and im-
    pediment will give way before us. ‘The first
    impulses rather inflame vehemence than
    teach prudence; a brave and generous mind
    is long before it suspects its own weakness,
    or submits to sap the difficulties which it is
    expected to subdue by storm. Before dissa-
    pointments have enforced the dictates of
    philosophy we believe ii in our power to short-
    en the.interval between the first cause and
    the last effect: we laugh at the tiromous de-
    lays of ploding industry, and fancy that by
    increasing the fire we can at pleasure accele-
    vate the projection.

    MAN IS BORN TO WORK.

    THOMAS CARLYLE,

    NE is born to expend every particle
    ‘& of strength that God Almighty has
    given him, iu doing the work he finds he is
    fit for. We are called upon to do that; and
    the reward we all get— which we are per-
    fectly sure of if we have merited it —is that
    we have got the work done, and I should
    say there is not very much more reward than
    that going in this world. If the man gets
    meat and clothes, what matters it whether
    he have 10,0007., or 10,000,0002., or ‘700.
    He can get meat and clothes for that; and
    he will find very little difference intrinsi-
    cally, if he is a wise man.

    THE CROWN OF THORNS.
    ELLA G. IVES.

    WONDROUS sight! In Pilate’s hall,
    . The Prince of Peace on mockery’s throne;
    While jeering acclamations fall
    From ribald lips and hearts of stone,
    Oh, bitter irony of scorn,
    The King of Glory crowned with thorn!

    A scarlet robe around Him-flung;
    His scepter but a flimsy reed;
    Knees bent in insult; blows that stung,
    And taunts that made His spirit bleed.
    Oh, sharper than the wounding thorn,
    The scoffs and jeers so meekly borne!

    By suffering crowned, in sorrow’s night;
    His royal lineage ne’er so plain,
    As when upon the Lord of Light
    Sin’s scarlet robe fell in disdain;
    And brow and soul alike were torn
    With seal of kingship,— crown of thorn!

    O Lord of lords! O King of kings!
    More glorious in thy lowliness
    Than when the world thy triumph sings,
    And princes to thy foot-stool press,—
    This, this, thy coronation morn,
    Thy diadem, acrown of thorn! -

    COASTING.

    LBERT and Ned Burton are both of
    (\. them members of a juvenile Coasting
    Club. They livein Montreal, one of the best
    places in the world to live in in the winter.
    For almost all the young people form them-
    selves into little Coasting Clubs, and they go
    out to the mountain and have the merriest
    time you can think of. Beautiful as the
    spring and summer are, it really seems as if
    winter was the most beautiful of all seasons
    in Montreal.
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    THE HOUSE BEAUTIFUL.
    R, L. STEVENSON,

    A NAKED house, a naked moor,

    A shivering pool before the door,
    A garden bare of flowers and fruit,
    And poplars at the garden foot;
    Such isthe place that I live in,
    Bleak without and bare within.

    Yet shall your ragged moor receive
    The incomparable pomp of eve,

    And the cold glories of the dawn
    Behind your shivering trees be drawn;
    And when the wind from place to place
    Doth the unmoored cloud galleons chase,
    ‘Your garden gloom and gleam again,
    With leaping sun, and glancing rain,
    Here shall the wizard moon ascend
    The heavens, in the crimson end

    Of the day’s declining splendor; here
    The army of the stars appear.

    The neighbor hollows, dry or wet,
    Spring shall with tender flowers beset.
    And oft the morning muser see

    Larks rising from the broomy lea.

    And every fairy whéel and thread

    Of cobweb dew-bediamonded.

    When daises go shall winter time

    Silver the simple grass with rime;
    Autumnal frosts enchant the pool

    And make the cartruts beautiful;

    And when snow-bright the moor expands,
    How shall your children clap their hands!
    To make this earth our hermitage,

    A cheerful and a changeful page,

    God’s bright and intricate device

    Of days and seasons doth suffice.

    COLD WEATHER.

    PERSON who has never been in the
    polar region can probably have no

    idea of what cold really is. But by reading
    the terrible experiences of arctic travelers in
    that icy region some notion can be formed of
    the extreme cold that prevails there. When
    we have the temperature down to zero out
    of doors we think it bitterly cold, and if our
    houses were not so warm as, at least, 60
    ' degrees above zero, we should begin to talk
    of freezing to death. Think, then, of living
    where the thermometer goes down to 35
    degrees below zero in the house in spite of
    the stove. Of course, in such a case the fur
    garments are piled on until a man looks

    ’ Tike a great bundle of skins. Dr. Moss, of
    the English polar expedition of 1875 and
    1876, among the other odd things, tells of
    the effect of cold on a wax candle which he
    burned there. -The temperature was 35
    degrees below zero, and the doctor must

    have been considerably discouraged when,
    upon looking at. his candle, he discovered
    that the flame could not melt the wax of the
    candle, but was forced to eat its way down
    the candle, leaving a sort of skeleton of the
    candle standing. ‘There was heat enough,
    however, to melt oddly-shaped holes in the
    thin walls of wax, and the result was a beau-
    tiful lace-like cylinder of white, with a
    tongue of yellow flame burning inside it and
    sending out into the darkness many streaks
    of light. This is not only a curious effect of
    extreme cold, but it shows how difficult it
    must be to find anything like warmth in a
    place where even fire itself almost gets cold.
    The wonder is that any man can have the
    courage to willingly return to such a bitter
    region after having once got safely away
    from it, and yet the truth is that the spirit
    of adventure is so strong in some men that it
    is the very hardship and danger that attract
    them.

    TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD.
    K. F. W.

    HE answer given by a youth
    Who lacked both speech and hearing too,
    When asked by signs, ‘‘ Now what is Truth?”
    Is well worth being told to you.

    He did not doubt or hesitate—
    The answer came without aelay.
    He simply thrust his hand out straight
    - To show Truth has no devious way.

    Of Falsehood, he was asked his view:
    Again he did his hand upraise;

    A zig-zag line he quickly drew
    To show how far from Truth it strays.

    Now, should you ever feel inclined
    To wander from the line of Truth,

    Bear these two answers well in mind,
    And learn a lesson from this youth.

    SAVED!

    NLY those who live on the sea coast
    know how perilous is the sailor’s life,
    and what heroism is manifested by the brave
    members of our Life-saving Service. Here
    is a scene of awful peril. ‘The vessel is fast
    going topieces. No life boat could live ina
    sea like that. A rocket has been sent over
    the doomed vessel with a rope attached, and
    now one by one the crew is being borne
    ashore. The old captain comes last of all.
    What a shout of joy will go up from the
    shore when the old captain is safe landed
    and all are saved!
    —
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    SAVED!
    AFTER THE SHADOWS, THE MORNING.

    ieee may grow darkened, though love has
    thrown
    The strength of its light around it;
    Till longer and deeper the shadows, grown,
    Hide the halo of bliss that crowned it;
    Clouds may float down on our valley of peace
    And crush our meek flowers with scorning,
    ‘Yet never this song in our spirits shall cease—
    After the shadows, the morning.

    SUNDAY MORNING TALKS.

    XI. THE SHADOW OF PETER.
    THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    HE world has never seen a more re-

    ‘markable body of men than the twelve
    apostles. Coming up from lowliness and
    obscurity, with no special gifts or powers to
    arrest attention, they became, in spite of
    much bitter opposition, the mightiest influ-
    ences of their age; ‘‘ they closed the gates of
    heathen temples, they quenched the fires on
    Pagan altars, they gave the world a new
    morality,” and left deep footprints on the
    sands of time, thattwenty centuries have not
    obliterated. Whence had these men this
    wonderful influence? That they received
    from heaven special endowments of wisdom
    and power no reasonable man will deny.
    But we do ourselves wrong if we suppose
    that the outpouring of the spirit of wisdom
    and usefulness was in any sense restricted to
    the apostles. What they had we may have
    in large, if not in perfect measure. What
    they were we may be to a much larger ex-
    tent than we dream. The picture presented
    to us in the record of the Acts of the Apos-
    tles is very remarkable. This man Peter,
    who a few years ago was gaining a precari-
    ous living by fishing in the Galilean waters,
    and was probably not known even by name
    a dozen miles beyond the lake. This man,
    who had no silver, or gold, or eloquence, or
    genius of any kind, has now become a man
    of such influence that people flock in multi-
    tudes to catch a. sight of him, and are
    thankful if even his shadow falls upon them
    as he passes by. We need not stay to dis-
    cuss the exact value of Peters’s shadow, but
    if we are wise we shall take this lesson to
    heart, that a man may so live in this world
    that his very shadow may be a blessing.
    This is as true of thousands of men and
    women in this age as it was of Peter in the
    early eo ven years. It was true a thou-

    sand years before Peter’s time, for in those
    ancient days Moses came down from the
    stormy heights of Sinai with a face so radi-
    ant with the light of God that the men of
    Israel were awed and silent in his luminous
    presence. So it ever has been, so it ever
    will be—men and women walk the earth
    with smiling faces, and they know it not,
    even as Moses who “‘ wist not that his face
    shone.” It becomes us to guard most jeal-
    ously all the avenues through which our
    influence flows, so that even our unconscious
    influence may be all on the side of the useful
    and the good. Itshould be borne in mind
    that it is this unconscious influence that has
    a mightier power than the influence put
    forth of a set purpose. It is not the influ-
    ence that is put forth with grave design on
    set occasions that molds and makes the
    child; but the natural, effortless, unconsci-
    ous influence that makes or mars the bud-
    ding growth. The flowers exhale a thou-
    sand odors, but they know it not. Peter
    knew nothing about his shadow being a
    blessing; he did not control his shadow; he
    made many efforts to do good, and spoke
    words of deepest import, but he made no
    effort about his shadow. The radiant halo
    with which art has girt the heads of saints
    is dim and dark compared with the real
    light which gathers about the brows of good
    and gentlemen. They move among us and
    make our life bright and glad by their very
    presence. Though they speak no word,
    their very silence is eloquent. They diffuse
    an air and atmosphere of blessing wherever
    they go, and all this springs forth:

    As effortless as woodland nooks
    Send violets up and paint them blue.

    There are men whose presence isas a blight
    and amildew. There are men from whose
    presence it were best the children should be
    hidden, men who carry maledictions in their
    speech and pestilence in their breath. It
    is of such that Jesus warns us when he
    says: ‘Beware of men.” The vision of the
    crowded streets comes back to view. Multi-
    tudes throng the streets anxious for a word
    from Peter, or a smile, or even that his
    shadow: may rest on them. As it was with
    Peter, so it may be with us to a large degree.
    We may be, if we will, true successors of
    the apostles. We may so walk the ways of
    life that our words will be music, our smile
    will be sunshine, and our very shadow will
    be a benediction.












































































































































































































































































































































































































































    THE LATE LADY BRASSEY,

    oF “THE SUNBEAM.”

    Onn of the most remarkable and gifted
    ladies of this age was Lady Brassey,
    wife of Lord Brassey, who served through
    two administrations under Hon. W. E.
    Gladstone, and was subsequently raised to
    the Peerage by that distinguished states-
    man. Lady Brassey had an inordinate
    love of travel, and managed to make a
    most spirited yachtsman of her husband.
    The yacht “Sunbeam” was as dear to
    Lady Brassey as her home, indeed she
    wag nowhere so much at home as when on
    board that gallant bark. Her delightful
    volume, “A Voyage in the Sunbeam,”
    has been sold by tens of thousands, and
    remains to-day one of the most delightful
    books of travel ever written. To the
    deep regret of all who had the honor and
    happiness of her friendship this gifted,


    genial lady, died on board the “Sunbeam”
    she loved so well. Besides “A Voyage in the
    Sunbeam” she was the author of “‘Sunshine
    and Storm in the Hast.” She was created a
    “Dame Chevaliere” of the order of St. John
    of Jerusalem; and was invested by the
    King of the Sandwich Islands with the
    Order of Kapiolani.

    MUSIC OF THE MONTHS.
    DECEMBER.

    FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN,

    ECEMBER’S come and with her brought.
    A world in whitest marble wrought;

    The trees and fence and all the posts
    Stand motionless and white as ghosts,
    And all the paths we used to know
    Are hidden in the drifts of snow.
    December brings the longest night
    And cheats the day of half its light.
    No bird song breaks the perfect hush;
    No meadow brook with liquid gush
    Runs telling tales in babbling rhyme
    Of liberty and summer time,
    But frozen in its icy cell
    Awaits the sun to break the spell.
    Breathe once upon the window-glass
    And see the mimic mists that pass—
    Fantastic shapes that go and come
    Forever silvery and dumb.

    December Santa Claus shall bring—
    Of happy children happy king,

    Who with his sleigh and reindeer stops
    At all good people’s chimney-tops.

    Then let the holly red be hung,
    And all the sweetest carols sung,
    While we with joy remember them—
    The journeyers to Bethlehem,
    - Who followed trusting from afar
    The guidance of that happy star
    Which marked the spot where Christ was born
    Long years ago one Christmas morn!

    FREEDOM THE SAFEGUARD OF
    NATIONS.

    JOHN MILTON.

    HEN will rulers learn that where lib-

    érty is not, security and order can

    never be? We talk of absolute power; but
    all power hath limits, which, if not fixed by
    the moderation of the governors, will be fixed
    by the force of the governed. Sovereigns
    may send their opposers to dungeons; they
    may clear out a senate-house with soldiers;
    they may enlist armies of spies; they may
    hang scores of the dissatisfied in chains at
    every cross-road; but what power shall stand
    in that frightful time when rebellion shall

    become a less evil than endurance? Who
    shall desolve that terrible tribunal which, in
    the hearts of the oppressed, denounces
    against the oppressor the doom of its wild
    justice? Who shall repeal the law of self-
    defence? What arms or discipline shall
    resist the strength of famine and despair?
    How often were the ancient Cesars dragged
    from their golden palaces, stripped of their
    purple robes, mangled, stoned, defiled with
    filth, pierced with hooks, hurled into Tiber!
    How often have the Eastern sultans perished
    by the sabres of their own janissaries or the
    bow-strings of their own mutes! For no
    power which is not limited by laws can ever
    be protected by them. Small, therefore, is
    the wisdom of those who would fly to servi-
    tude as if it were a refuge from commotion;
    for anarchy is the sure consequence of
    tyranny. That governments may be safe,
    nations must be free. Their passions must
    have an outlet provided, lest they make one.

    OPEN THE GATES OF THE TEMPLE,

    Ors the gates of the temple:
    Spread branches of palm and of bay;
    Let not the spirit of nature
    Alone deck the Conqueror’s way,
    While Spring from her death sleep arises
    And joyous his presence awaits;
    While Morning’s smile lights up the heaveng,,
    Opens the beautiful gates.

    The altar is snowy with blossoms,
    The font is a vase of perfume;
    On pillar and chancel are hung
    Fresh garlands of eloquent bloom.
    Christ is risen! with glad lips we utter,
    And far up the infinite height
    Archangels the psens re-echo
    And crown Him with lilies of light.

    SATURDAY AFTERNOON.

    AS there ever a grander institution
    than Saturday afternoon holiday,
    especially in the winter when the coasting
    is good? What a scene of merriment is
    here! The winter sun shines cold and clear,
    and boys and girls in happy crowds are
    enjoying themselves to their hearts’ content.
    And even that old gentleman with a fur cap
    on at the bottom of the hill seems to be en-
    joying the scene. We can fancy he is
    repeating the words of the poet:
    “T love to look on a scene like this,
    Of wild and careless play,

    To persuade myself that I am not old,
    And my locks are not yet gray.”
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    DRAWING THE SCHOOL-MARM.

    RNOLD MATHESON was a most

    mischievous boy, but there was noth-
    ing very bad about him, and in spite of all
    his merry pranks, he was generally liked.
    And what is of more importance, those who
    knew the most of him liked him the best.
    He never could miss an opportunity of
    getting into mischief, and very often he
    brought his sister Minnie into sore trouble
    by his merry thoughtless games. Arnold
    was particularly a terror to the School-marm
    of Melton Mowbray school. This School-
    marm—we won’t tell her name—was grow-
    ing a little old, and someway she really was
    not growing much more amiable as she grew
    older. She did not get along with Arnold
    nearly as well as she might have done, for
    he was really a kind boyat heart. But if he
    was ever doing any careless, foolish thing, he
    was sure to see the School-marm looking
    angrily over the rims of her spectacles, and
    often her voice, which was not melodious,
    was heard in a very high key, saying:
    «* Arnold Matheson, I shall be compelled to
    make an example of you sir!” So Arnold
    did not love the School-marm; and when his
    uncle George brought him a box of paints
    from the city, the first thing he did was to
    sketch, what he called, ‘‘ A true and faith-
    ful portrait of our esteemed and_ gracious
    School-marm.” But we don’t believe that
    there was ever a School-marm in the whole
    of America with a hand, or a nose, or a foot
    like that sketched by Arnold Matheson.

    MILLIE’S SIX CLEAN LITTLE
    CHILDREN.
    M. F. NOLAN,
    IX little timid kittens, |
    Out in the cold alone,
    Their mother is always gadding about,
    And brings them not even a bone;
    She’s off in the morning early,
    She’s off till late at night ;
    A mischievous, selfish old pussy,
    That never does anything right..

    The. kittens are always hungry,
    They’re too timid to catch a mouse,
    And their mother is such an old gadder,
    They won't keep her in any house.
    She never petted nor played with them,

    Nor washed them nice and clean,
    Such six little dirty faces

    I’m sure I have never seen.
    Six little sad, sad kittens,

    ‘All sitting in a row,
    Cold and hungry and dirty,

    From the tip of each nose to each toe.
    Twelve little ears and six little tails

    ’ further attention to us.

    Hanging and drooping low,
    So out on the steps I found them,
    Sitting allinarow. -
    And Millie begged hard to keep them,
    And fed them and washed them so clean
    Such six bright, cunning kittens
    I’m sure I have never seen.
    The boys laughed at Millie’s babies,
    She cared not a whit, would you ?
    If she hadn’t adopted those kittens,
    What in the world would they do?

    IDLENESS.

    ee is the bane of body and mind,

    . the nurse of naughtiness, the step-mother
    of discipline, the chief author of all mischief,
    one of the seven deadly sins, the cushion
    upon which the Devil chiefly reposes, and a
    great cause not only of melancholy, but of
    many other diseases: for the mind is natur-
    ally active; and, if it be not occupied by
    some honest business, it rushes into mischief,
    or sinks into melancholy.

    DWELLERS'BY THE ROADSIDE.
    LOUISE ESTELLE HOOK.

    ee country road runs through won-

    derland. The trees that meet overhead
    whisper strange stories; the rail fence, or
    lichen-covered stone wall, half hidden by
    vines and bushes, are the highways of many
    a queer little traveler; and the dusty road-
    side flowers have a mysterious look, as if
    they knew secrets. To the right stretchesthe
    pasture; to the left the deep, shady woods.
    It is an enchanted region.

    ‘‘Chip, chip!” says a voice behind the
    elder-bushes. What is that? Has a bird
    built her nest on the stone wall? No, that
    is no bird’s chirp, for presently out runs the
    prettiest little striped creature, with bright
    eyes and a bushy tail, and hestops and gazes
    at the traveler saucily, as much as to say,
    “Well, what do you want here?” This
    greeting reminds us that Mr. Chipmunk is
    at home, while we are only intruders in his
    territory; and, after satisfying himself that
    we have not come to attack him, he pays na
    Over the wall he
    goes, and down on the ground, and next we
    see him crowding leaves into his mouth ina
    manner that looks very greedy, but, as he is
    not eating them, a little haste is excusable.
    The chipmunk has only come out foraging,
    and he carries in his cheek-pouches the pro-
    visions for hisfamily, which, having secured,
    he starts for home.

    And where is his home? See where he
    goes. Over the wall again and right into



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    DRAWING THE SCHOOL MARY




























































    the ground, darting into his hole so suddenly
    that we can only see a flash of reddish-
    brown fur as he disappears; and if we
    could only follow him, as Alice followed the
    white rabbit to Wonderland, what marvels
    might we not discover! The sly, cruel
    weasel knows all about it, for he winds
    through many such curving passages into
    the earth to find the chipmunk family
    in their grotto and seize the helpless little
    ones for his dinner; and he might tell us, if
    he were better natured, how they live in a
    snug central room, with several tunnels
    leading therefrom in different directions, so
    that when the wily foe enters by one road
    they can escape by another, if he is not too
    quick for them. Thus the ground-squirrel
    hives as snugly in his underground home as
    his cousins of the trees do in their air-cas-
    tles, and but for such enemies as the weasel
    would be as safe.

    But this is not the only subterranean
    dweller by the roadside. Here isa poor lit-
    tle dead mole. Probably some farmer’s boy
    has killed it, for most people object to moles
    in their gardens; but the poor mole has no
    idea of doing harm as he pursues his prey,
    the wriggling earthworms, under the rows
    of young peas, perhaps rooting them up in
    his haste, and making a great furrow in the
    ground. But he never thinks of biting the
    roots that penetrate the earth all around
    him, and where he is so much at home that
    he seldom comes out. You see how com-
    pletely his tiny eyes are hidden by his vel-
    ._vety fur—for what use can he have for eyes
    in the dark? And as to his feet, though
    moles can run fast, their queer pawsare better
    adapted to digging than anything else. He
    lives in an underground castle more wonder-
    ful than that of the chipmunk, but we have
    not time to search for such a secluded re-
    treat just now.

    As we go on, we see all mannerof curious
    or beautiful things. Every plant has its
    guest. The milkweed harbors pretty striped

    Bbw

    caterpillars that will be large orange-colored °

    butterflies by and by, and queer little red
    beetles with long feelers, and jaws that can
    pinch. In fact, the milkweed seems to be a
    general favorite with the insect world, for its
    clusters of dull purplish flowers are constantly
    filled with bees; and on this one the most
    beautiful creature is sunning himself —a
    beetle in golden armor, reflecting all the col-
    -ors of the rainbow from his burnished back.

    Allalong the roadside we see the encamp-
    ment of spiders, that live, gypsy-like, in
    their tents, waiting for travelers to come
    along. What a perilous journey it must be
    through the grass, if one happens to be a
    small insect very much to the spiders’ taste!
    And, behold! while watching them we have
    stumbled upon another highwayman.

    He does not look the character, it must be
    confessed. He has settled down in a little
    hollow, and seems to be asleep, for thenight
    is his favorite time for wandering. He is
    brown, and wrinkled, and ugly; in fact, he
    is just what the children call a *‘ hop-toad.”

    How can this dull-looking creature hurt
    anything ?

    Ask the ants. If we had paid a visit to
    one of these ant-hills early in the morning,
    we might have surprised the toad in the act
    of eating his breakfast. Slow and stupidas
    he looks, there is one thing about him that
    moves with the rapidity of lightning—his
    tongue. Such a tongue! Very long and
    very narrow, and covered with something as
    sticky as glue; and instead of pointing
    toward the front of his mouth, like ordinary
    tongues, it grows from the front and points
    down his throat. As an ant runs by, too
    busy to think of danger, out flies this long
    tongue, touches the ant, which of course
    sticks fast, and the tongue flies back again.
    It is all done so quickly that the other ants
    do not know what to make of it. Another
    runs by, and vanishes in the same unaccount-
    able manner. What can this strangeenemy
    be? More ants come out, and the terrible
    tongue strikes again and again, till the
    toad’s appetite is satisfied.

    Butthe ants are avenged. How many a
    toad, going home after such a meal varied
    with an occasional fly, himself falls a victim
    to the hunger of still another roadside de-
    stroyer! A snake, too, eats his breakfast
    without ceremony, hiding in the grass,
    catching the toad as he hops along, and
    calmly proceeding to swallow him whoie.
    This is a sad state of things, but almost all
    the.animals that prey on others do some good
    by destroying harmful creatures that injure
    plants, and the toad himself is one of our
    best friends in this respect. :

    He did not always live in this way, how-
    ever. His little ones know nothing of the
    road, the grassy hollow, and the ants; but to
    find their homes we must go on to the brook
    and leave our roadside friends.
    bby





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    COASTING.
    CHARLEY’S BIRTHDAY GIFT.

    HARLEY BIRCHAM was as happy a
    boy as could be found in all America,
    when on his eighth birthday, his father
    brought him home amagnificent mastiff with
    a large brass collar round his neck with the
    name ‘‘ Hero” engraved upon it, fora birth-
    day present. Charley had had all sorts of
    presents, boxes of tools, skates and books,
    and once he had a very large rocking-horse.
    But this was areal live present, the grandest
    present he had ever received. Charley and
    Hero soon became fast friends, and taking
    the saddle from the old rocking-horse,
    Charley would mount.the patient mastiff,
    and Hero seemed to be almost as proud of
    his rider as Charley was of his horse.

    THE BABY’S PRAYER.

    HE knelt with her neat hands folded,
    Her fair little head bowed low,

    While dead vines tapped at the window

    And the air was thick with snow.
    Without, earth dumb with winter;

    Within, hearts dumb with care;
    And up through the leaden silence

    Rose softly the baby’s prayer.

    ¢¢ Bless all whom I love, dear Father,

    And help me to be good,” she said,

    Then, stirred up a sudden fancy,
    She lifted the shining head.

    Did she catch on the frozen maple
    Some hint of the April green,

    Or the breath of the woodland blossoms
    The drifts of the snow between?

    «The beautiful trees,” she whispered,

    ‘« Where the orioles used to sing;

    They are tired of the cold white winter,
    O help them to grow inthe spring;

    And the flowers that I love to gather,
    Lord bring them again in May;

    The dear little violet, sleeping
    Down deep in the ground to-day.”

    Ah, earth may be chill with snowflakes, |
    And hearts may be cold with care,

    But wastes of a frozen silence
    Are crossed by the baby’s prayer;

    And lips that were dumb with sorrow
    In jubilant hope may sing;

    For when earth is wrapped in winter,
    In the heart of the Lord ’tis spring.

    SPEAKING TO PEOPLE.

    se HO in the world is that you are

    speaking to ?” said one young lady

    to her companion of the same sex and age,

    as they walked down one of the avenues the
    other day.

    ‘¢That man? He is the man that mends

    my shoes when they need it,” was the reply.

    “Well,” said the first speaker, “I
    wouldn’t speak to him; don’t think it’s:
    nice.”

    ‘‘And why not,” queried the other.
    “He’s a kind, faithful, honest, hard-work-
    ing man. I never pass his window but I see
    him on his bench working away, and when
    I bow to him and give him ‘Good morn-
    ing,’ he looks as pleased as can be. Why
    shouldn’t I speak to him?”

    «‘T never speak to that class of people,”
    said the other; ‘‘they’re not my kind.”

    ‘“*T do,” was the rejoinder.. “‘I speak to
    everybody I know—from Dr. Brown, our
    minister, to the colored man who blacks our
    stoves and shakes our carpets—and I notice
    that the humbler the one in the social scale
    to whom I proffer kindly words, the more
    grateful is the recognition I receive in re- ©
    turn. Christ died for them as much as He
    did for me, and perhaps if some of them
    had had the opportunities my birth and
    rearing have given me they would be a great
    deal better than I. That cobbler is really
    quite an intelligent man. I’ve lent him
    books to read, and he likes quite a high
    style of reading, too.”

    The two girls were cousins, and they
    finally agreed to leave the question as to rec-
    ognizing day laborers, mechanicsand trades-
    men to a young lawyer of whom they had a
    high opinion. So the first time the three
    were together one of the girls asked him:

    “If you met Myers, the grocer, on Broad-
    way, would you speak to him ?”

    “Why, yes, certainly; why do you ask ?”

    _**And would you speak to the man that
    cobbles your shoes ?”

    “Certainly, why not ?”

    «« And the boy that runs the elevator ?”

    “Certainly.”

    “Ts there anybody you know that you
    don’t speak to ?”

    “‘Well, yes; I don’t speak to Jones, who
    cheated a poor widow out of her house; or
    to Brown, who grinds down his employes
    and gives them starvation wages; or to
    Smith, whom I know to be in private any-
    thing but the saint he seems to be in public. °
    I speak to every honest man I know whom I
    chance to meet.”

    It is the privilege of nobility to be gentle
    and courteous to all. Kindly words hurt no
    one, least. of all him or her who speaks
    them.
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    BETTER THINGS.
    GEORGE MACDONALD. F

    Bete to smell the violet cool than sip the
    glowing wine;

    Better to hark a hidden brook than watch a dia-
    mond shine.

    Better the love ofa gentle heart than beauty’s favor
    proud ; j

    Better the rose’s living seed than roses in a crowd

    Better to love in loneliness than to bask in love all
    day ;

    Better the fountain in the heart than the fountain
    by the way. :

    Better be fed by a mother’s hand than eat alone at
    will; j .

    Better to trust in God than say, ‘My goods my
    storehouse fill.” :

    Better to be a little wise than in knowledge to

    . abound ; :

    Better to teach a child than toil to fill perfection’s
    round,

    Better to sit at a master’s feet than thrill a listening
    state ;

    Better suspect that thou art proud than be sure
    that thou art great.

    Bettér to walk the real unseen than watch the hour’s
    event ;

    Better the ‘‘ Well done!” at the last, than the air
    with shouting rant.

    Better to have a quiet grief than a hurrying delight ;

    Better the twilight of the dawn than the noonday
    burning bright.

    Better a death when work is done than earth’s most
    favored birth ; 2
    Better a child in God’s great house than the king of

    all the earth.

    LIVE FOR SOMETHING.

    Tae of men breathe, move and

    live—pass off the stage of life, and are
    heard of no more. Why? They did nota
    particle of good in the world, and none were
    blest by them; none could point to them as
    the instruments of their redemption; not a
    line they wrote, not a word they spoke,
    could be recalled, and so they perished—
    their light went out in darkness, and they

    were not remembered more than the insects ©

    of yesterday. Will you thus live and die?
    Live for something. Do good, and leave
    behind you a monument of virtue that the
    storms of time can never destroy. Write
    your name in kindness, love and mercy on
    the hearts of the thousands you come in
    contact with year by year, and you will
    uever be forgotten. No, your deeds will be
    as legible on the hearts you leave behind as
    the stars on the brow of evening. Good
    ‘deeds will shine as bright on the earth as
    the stars of heaven.

    IT CAN NOT LAST FOREVER.

    Ae a word of comfort for you
    Who on life’s rugged road
    Are toiling ’neath the burden
    Of a heavy, hopeless load.
    It will make your heart grow lighter,
    Whatever be your wrong,
    And give you strength to bear it
    If you take these words along,
    And say when clouds of darkness
    Around your pathway hover,
    “ The sun is shining just beyon4,
    It can not last forever.”

    A LESSON FROM A NEST OF WASPS,

    A N English gentleman lately took asmal}
    wasps’ nest, about the size of an apple,
    and, after stupefyingits inmates, placed it in
    a large case inside of his house, leaving an
    opening for egress through the wall. Here the
    nest was enlarged to a foot in diameter, hold-
    ing thousands of wasps, and he was able to
    watch their movements, and noted one new
    fact—namely their systematic attention to.
    ventilation. In hot weather, from fovr to
    six wasps were continually stationed at the
    hole of egress, and, while leaving space for
    entrance or exit, created a steady current of
    fresh air by the exceedingly rapid motion of
    their wings. After a long course of this vig-
    orous exercise the ventilators were relieved by
    other wasps. During cold weather, only two
    wasps at a time were usually thus engaged.



    MY DOG FLUSH.
    “Gentle Fellow-Creature.

    ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

    een a lady’s ringlets brown,
    Flow thy silken ears adown
    Hither side demurely

    Of thy silver suited breast,

    Shining out from all the rest
    Of thy body purely.

    Darkly brown thy body is,
    Till the sunshine striking this,

    Changes it from dullness,
    When the sleek curls manifold,
    Flash all over into gold,

    With a burnished fullness.
    Underneath my stroking hand,
    Startled eyes of hazel bland,

    Kindling, growing larger.

    Up thou leapest with a spring,
    Full of prank and curvetin g,

    Leaping like a charger.

    Leap! thy broad tail waves a light;
    Leap! thy slender feet are bright

    Canopied in fringes.

    Leap! those tasseled ears of thine
    Flicker strangely fair and fine
    Down their golden inches.


































































































    MY DOG, FLUSH.
    THE FLOWER MISSION.
    FOR THE DAUGHTERS OF THE KING.

    THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    Oey of the happiest and simplest. forms

    of service in which the younger Daugh-
    ters of the King are engaged is known as
    the Flower Mission. -The flowers of the
    garden and the prairie and the field are
    amongst God’s best gifts to men. They are
    amongst the lnxuries that crowd the com-
    mon ways of men. Asthey bud, and bloom,
    and blossom, they perform a ministry as
    -sacred and as silent as it is unobtrusive.
    What a strange, sad world this would be if
    it were not for flowers! How the poets
    have sung of them! —
    worldly must the hearts be that are not in-
    fluenced by their tender graces! How
    sweetly our own Longfellow sings of them:

    Everywhere about us they are glowing,
    Some like stars, to tell us spring is born;
    Others, their blue eyes with tears o’erflowing,
    Stand like Ruth amid the corn,

    Not alone in Spring’s armorial bearing,
    And in Summer’s green-emblazoned field,

    But in arms of brave old Autumn’s wearing
    In the center of his brazen shield.

    Not alone in meadows and green alleys,
    On the mountain-top and by the brink

    Of the sequestered poolsin woodland valleys,
    Where the slaves of Nature stoop to drink.

    Not alonein her vast dome of glory,

    Not on graves of bird and beast alone,
    But in old cathedrals, high and hoary,

    On the tombs of: heroes,. carved in stone.

    In the cottage of the rudest peasant,
    In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers,
    Speaking of the Past unto the Present,
    Tell us of the ancient games of Flowers.

    In all places, then, and in all seasons,

    Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings,
    Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, ~

    How akin they are to human things.

    And with childlike, credulous affection.
    We behold their tender buds expand;
    Emblems of our own great resurrection;

    Emblems of the bright and better land.

    To make the most of this sacred ministry
    of flowers, the young Daughters of the
    King are often engaged. They go out to
    the prairies and the fields and gather wild
    flowers or beg flowers from the garden wher-
    ever they can, for hospitals and homes of
    sorrow. And tens of thousands of weary
    souls are cheered and sad hearts comforted

    And how dull and-

    by this simple service. If the cup of. cold
    water given in His name was not in vain,
    neither is a handful of wild flowers or a bou:
    quet from the garden. Those little girls
    on the opposite page—Jane and Ida—are
    the daughters of one household; they are
    members of a flower circle, and they have
    brought to the cottage of Mrs. Townsend
    every morning through the summer a little
    bouquet of flowers, and sometimes a few new-
    laid eggs in a basket with their mamma’s
    love. With what joy the aged lady goes to
    meet them every day! She says these dear
    girls are God’s good angels to her. And
    truly Jane and Ida do look very happy,
    and even Master Frisk, the little dog seems
    to be enjoying his share of the walk. Happy
    Daughters of the King! Life will grow
    more and more precious and beautiful as its
    morning hours are filled with deeds of love
    and kindness,

    WHY DO CATS HAVE WHISKERS?

    Res one must have observed what are
    usually called the whiskers on a cat’s
    upper lip. The use of these in a state of
    nature is very important. They are organs.
    of touch. ‘They are attached to a bed of
    close glands under the skin, and each of
    these long and stiff hairs is connected with
    the nerves of the lip. The slightest contact
    of these whiskers with any surrounding
    object is thus felt most distinctly by the
    animal, although the hairs themselves are
    insensible. They stand out on each side in
    the lion as well as in the common cat; so that.
    from point to point they are equal to the
    width of the animal’s body. If we imagine,
    therefore, a lion stealing through a covert of
    wood in an imperfect light, we shall at once
    see the use of these long hairs. They indi-
    cate to him, through the nicest feeling, any
    obstacle which may present itself to the pass-
    age of his body; they prevent the rustle of
    boughs and leaves, which would give warn-
    ing to his prey if he were to attempt to pass
    through too close a bush; and thus, in con-
    junction with the soft cushions of his feet
    and the fur upon which he treads (the re-
    tractile claws never coming in contact with
    the ground), they enable him to move
    toward his victim with a stillness greater
    even than that of the snake, that glides
    along the grass and is not perceived till it is
    coiled round its -prey.
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    DAUGHTERS OF THE KING:—THE FLOWEK MISSION.

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    fit.
    OFF TO THE OLD HOME.

    NLY those who have had a pony or a
    horse can tell how much good sense

    and how much affection these dumb creat-
    ures can manifest. -They know how to love
    a good home and a kind friend much better
    than many human beings. Bessie Clifford’s
    father gave his daughter a grand surprise,
    by buying for herfrom a farmer friend about
    seven miles distant a very beautiful white
    pony. Bessie was charmed as well as thank-
    ful. And being a very good rider, she was

    anxious to try the powers of her newly

    acquired treasure. All went well fora while
    and Bessie was delighted, but at last the
    pony, seeming to know the road he was trav-
    eling, suddenly took matters into his own
    hands or rather his legs; and away he went
    like Gilpin’s horse of the olden times, Bes-
    sie’s bonnet flew off, but she held on bravely.
    At last, after more than five miles of a merry
    canter, he pulled up.at the barn which had
    been his home for years, and pranced and
    neighed as if he would say,

    “Be it never so humble
    There’s no place like home.”

    BABY IN THE GARDEN.
    ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.

    ABY, see the flowers!
    —Baby sees
    Fairer things than these,
    Fairer though they be than dreams of ours.

    Baby, hear the birds!
    —Baby knows
    Better songs than those,
    Sweeter though they sound than sweetest words.

    Baby, see the moon!
    —Baby’s eyes
    Laugh to watch it rise,
    Answering light with love and night with noon.

    Baby, hear the sea!
    —Baby’s face
    Takes a graver grace,
    Touched with wonder what the sound may be.

    Baby, see the star!
    5 —Baby’s hand
    Opens, warm and bland,
    Calmin claim of all things fair that are.

    Baby, hear the bells!
    —Baby’s head
    Bows, as ripe for bed,
    New the flowers curl round and close their cells.

    Baby, flower of light!
    Sleep, and see
    Brighter dreams than we,
    Till good day shall smile away good night.

    THE ORIGINAL CINDERELLA.

    HE ancient Cinderella was a beautiful

    Greek; Sappho calls her Doricha, and
    that was most likely her proper name, but-
    the Greek people, with whom fairness of
    skin was one of the highest qualities of
    female beauty, named her from the loveli-
    ness of her.complexion ‘‘Rhodopis,” Rosy
    Cheeks, and as Rosy Cheeks she is known in
    history.

    She is mentioned by several writers, but
    the slipper story rests on the authority of
    Ailian. He relates it as having occurred in
    Psammetichus.

    There were three kings of the name, and
    he probably meant the third (Psametik ITI.
    of the sculptures), the last of the dynasty of
    the Saite kings, who was conquered and
    deposed by Cambyses the Persian.

    Rhodopis was originally a slave and a
    fellowbondswoman of Aisop, the writer of
    fables, in the house of Iadmon of Samos,
    and like the heroine of the modern tale, a
    menial and a drudge, so the parallel holds
    good from the beginning. Like Cinderella,
    too, she had a fairy godmother, but a more
    powerful and lavish one, and her name was
    Aphrodite.

    This patroness procured her liberty, and
    heaped upon her riches; and Rhodopis, to
    make her name immortal by an offering such
    as had never been made before, dedicated,
    with a tenth part of her property, a quantity
    of iron spits in the Temple of Apollo at
    Delphi, and this extraordinary gift was still

    . to be seen there in Herodotus’ time.

    Some also say that she built one of the
    pyramids of Egypt, but, as Herodotus re-
    marks, those who say so evidently know
    nothing about it, and however this may be,
    if Rhodopis was not so simple as our own
    Cinderella, she was, at all events, more lucky,
    and, if her coachman and horses and chari-
    ots were really rats and mice and pumpkins,
    they never resumed their proper shape, and
    no disenchanting clock sent her hurrying
    back to her scullery, one shoe off and one
    shoe on. Midnight never struck for her,
    and she lost her shoe in qnite another way.

    At the time I speak of, she was said to be
    the most beautiful woman in Egypt, and she
    lived at Naucratis, a port on the Canotic
    branch of the Nile, founded in the preceding
    reign by colonists from Miletus, and though
    a born Greek, living in a Greek city, it
    pleased her now and then to play the Egyp-
    Hil





    OFF TO THE OLD HOME.

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    her toilet.

    tian, anu vw adept the manners and fashions
    ef her new country. And so it came about

    that one morning, before the sun was yet

    high, she went down, just as did Pharaoh’s
    daughter, with her maidens to bathe in the
    ile.

    At a short distance from the bank she left
    her litter, and sought a secluded creek,
    where, screened in by the feathering papyrus,
    she would be undisturbed and unseen from
    the busy river, and where her girls unmade
    Now the banks of the Father of
    Rivers are hard in places—a mixture of sand
    and clay baked in the scorching sun, and
    rough to delicate feet. So Rhodopis did not
    quit her sandals until the moment when she
    stepped down into the still, cool water, herself
    as white and rosy as the lotuses around her.

    There, half-wading and half-swimming,
    she played and frolicked, happy in the pure
    joy of living like the gay butterflies that
    fluttered about the rushes. She gathered
    handfuls of lotuses, and threw them away
    again, and then in a lazy fit, she floated on
    her back, and gave herself up to thoughts on
    thingsin general and on herself in particular.
    But to return to her sandals, which she had
    kicked off on the river’s brink. ;

    They lay as she had left them. a pair of
    dainty shoes fit for such dainty feet. They
    were embroiuered 1 gold and brilliant colors,
    with a quaint pattern and with the ever-pres-
    ent lotus, and, most curious of all, the upper
    surface of the sole on which her foot rested
    bore the figure of acaptive with bound arms,
    on one sandal an Egyptain, on the other a
    Greek—a fanciful way of suggesting the
    dominion of their owner over the hearts of
    two nations.

    Now it chanced that just above, sailing

    round in his vast circle, a mere speck in the
    dancing blue sky, was an eagle, and as the
    aandals glittered by the water’s edge they
    caught his eye. Now, whether he thought
    they were good to eat, or whether he was a
    bird of cultivated taste, I know not, but
    atraightway he swooped and seized one.

    Rhodopis, roused from her reverie by the
    rush of wings, caughtsight of the great bird
    as it flew off, and, frightened, set to scream-
    ing and then ducked. By the time she
    had recovered herself and taken in what had
    happened, the eagle and her sandal were in
    the next parish.

    Of course, directly it was al] over, her
    girls, who had been busy telling one another

    ‘dared to touch it.

    secrets, began in their alarm to hiae every-
    thing away in a place of safety, ag if they
    expected a whole phalanx of eagles were
    coming to carry off their mistress’ clothes.
    And no doubt they had some reason for their
    concern, for ancient ladies had a variety of
    amiable little ways of producing sympathy in
    their slaves when things went wrong, and
    Rhodopis, sweet as she was to look at, was
    like therest. But, after all, it was not a
    very serious matter, for Rosy Cheeks had
    cupboards full of sandals at home, and be-
    sides her litter was only round the corner,
    so, after her first astonishment and fright
    was over, she thought little more about it.

    Now this event was in reality the turning
    point of her life, for what did this mysteri-
    ous bird do but fly straight away with his
    prey, over the Delta, far up the long river to
    Memphis, and there, as if his mission ended,
    he dropped the sandal before the judgment
    seat of King Psammetichus.

    The King wassitting in the open air, close
    to the city gate, dispensing justice to his
    subjects. The sun was hot, and the imag-
    inations of plaintiff and defendant equally
    inventive and inexhaustible, so Psammeti-
    chus was bored; his thoughts wandered far
    away, and, he fell to building castles in the
    air. Nowno Oriental could ever build a
    castle in the air or otherwise without giving
    it a mistress; so he pleased himself by imag-
    ining for his ideal palace an ideal beauty.

    He pictured her with the eyes of the
    gazelle, the voice of the nightingale, the
    litheness of the panther, the tread of a god-
    dess, and as his thoughts dwelt still on the
    dainty toes that hardly pressed the ground
    they rested on, the sandal fell from heaven
    plump at his royal feet. Astonished out of
    all dignity, he jumped up, stared up into
    the sky and down at the slipper, and then
    stooped and picked it up—for no one had
    Was it a goddess’? No;
    it was a lovely little shoe, but certainly an
    earthly one, with the print of five little
    earthly toes distinctly marked on it—the
    very little toes he had just been dreaming of.

    Then of a sudden it became plain to him
    It was an answer from the gods to the wishes
    he had just been indulging in—he had
    planned a castle, here was a mistress for it.
    “Let search be made,” cried he, ‘for her
    who owns this sandal, and by these signs
    shall you know her: Whosoever the shoe fits
    and who has the fellow shoe, and who can
    A LITTLE FACE.

    LITTLE face to look at,
    A little face to kiss;
    Is tuere anything I wonder,
    That's half so sweet as this?

    A little cheek to dimple,
    When smiles begin to grow,

    A little mouth betraying
    Which way the kisses go.

    A slender little ringlet,
    A rosy little ear,

    A little chin to quiver
    When falls the little tear.

    A little hand so fragile,

    All through the night to hold,
    Two little feet so tender

    To tuck in from the cold.

    Two eyes to watch the sunbeam,
    That with the shadows play—
    A darling little baby,
    To kiss and love alway.

    A little face to look at,
    A little face to kiss,

    Is there anything I wonder,
    That's half so sweet as this?


    explain the symbol on the sole, she is the
    rightful owner; bring her to me that I may
    make her my queen.” To hear was to obey,
    and the messenger started on his search.
    Many days he traveled down the Nile, mak-
    ing proclamations of the will of Psammet-
    ichus as he went, bearing the sandal on a
    cushion. And wherever he came through
    the whole land of Egypt there was a routing
    out of cupboards and a hunting up of left-
    off shoes, in case by chance there might be
    found among them a match for the wonder-
    ful sandal; but none came to light and the
    maidens were left forlorn.

    At last he came to Naucratis, and when
    the proclamation reached the ears of Rho-
    dopis she remembered the theft of her san-
    dal, and knew herself the one sought for by
    the King. The ambassador was admitted to
    her presence, and then at last the shoe fitted.
    «* And here,” cried Rhodopis, “‘is the fellow
    shoe, and this is why I wear these symbols
    on the soles—as Greece is captive to my
    beauty, so shall Egypt be, and Egypt’s mas-
    ter!” And then she went with him to Mem-
    phis, and when the King, whose heart was
    sick with waiting, saw her, he at once suc-
    cumbed to the charm of her loveliness; he
    did as he had promised, and made her his
    queen. And the rosy-cheeked Greek slave
    sat beside Psammetichus on the throne of
    Pharaoh.



    DO NOT BE A COWARD.
    M. EL

    O not be a coward,
    If your task is long,

    Only try the harder;

    Idleness is wrong.
    In the day of battle

    Should the soldier fly, .
    Would you praise or blame him?

    Child, arise and try!

    For this is the battle
    Which you have to fight—
    Conquering the evil,
    Doing what is right:
    Firmly plant the footstep,
    Firmly fix the eye;
    Work while day remaineth--
    Child, arise and try!

    If you feel the evil
    Of your heart within,

    Orif Satan tempt you,
    Leading you to sin—

    - Stillin prayer remember

    Jesus Christ is nigh;

    Ask, and He will help you
    Child, arise and try!

    “MORITURI SALUTAMUS.” ‘
    About to die we salute you,
    PROFESSOR N. A. BARRETT.
    66 ORITURI Salutamus,”
    So the Roman soldiers cried,
    Bowing to their stately city,
    Marching on with martial stride.

    Heeding not grim death before them,
    Caring naught for war’s alarms,
    Proud alone of Roman glory,
    Won by gallant feats of arms.

    Past the vineyards’ purpling clusters,
    Lordly hall and cottage home,
    Worldward sped the brazen les‘ons,
    Proud to bear Rome’s eagles on,
    * * * * * * * &
    “ Morituri Salutamus,”
    Must at times owr sad hearts cry,
    Passing life’s elysian gardens,
    Marching onward, but to die.

    Far behind lies beauty’s charming,
    Fame’s bright phantoms quickly fly;
    Vain mirage is earthly glory,
    Fading in life’s western sky.

    Strange and dim the road we travel,
    None may know the toils to come.

    Stern endurance, fierce encounter,
    Where, or when the journey’s done,

    March we not to martial music,
    Trumpet-note, nor bugle blast;

    But the white cross shines above us,
    Heaven is won when earth is passed,

    MABEL’S TREASURES,

    ieee has had many treasures in her
    time. Dolls of all sorts. Dolls that
    would wink, and dolls that would go to
    sleep, and. dolls that would cry “Ma” and
    **Pa,” and dolls that were dressed in gar-
    ments fit for a queen. But these two
    little kittens are dearer to her than all her
    treasures besides, and for this estimate of
    them, she gives a very sensible and sufficient
    reason. ‘Dolls can’t know you and love
    you,” she says, “but kittens can, and my —
    little kittens just love me with all their little
    hearts. They purr and never scratch. And
    when they have had their breakfast they
    just snuggle down in my arms as if I was
    their own real, sure-enough mother.” Mabel
    is quite a little philosopher in her way,
    though she don’t know it. Our real treas-
    ures, after all, are those we love and those
    who love us. And it’s better for little girls
    to love a little kitten, than to grow selfish
    and not love anything.
    favors

    MABEL TREASURE




    THE GRAPEVINE SWING.
    A SONG OF THE SOUTH.

    1 K ] HEN I was a boy on the old plantation,
    Down by the deep bayou,

    The fairest spot in all creation,
    Under the arching blue — k

    ‘When the wind came over the cotton and corn,
    To the long, slim loop I’d spring,

    With brown feet bare and a hat brim torn,
    And swing in the grapevine swing.

    Swinging in the grapevine swing,
    Laughing where the wild birds sing—.
    I dream and sigh
    For the days gone by,
    Swinging in the grapevine swing.

    Out—o’er the water lilies bonny and bright,
    Back to the moss-grown. trees;

    T shouted and laughed with a heart as light
    As a wild rose tossed by the breeze.

    The mocking bird joined in my reckless glee,
    I longed for no angel's wing;

    Iwas just as near heaven as I wanted to be,
    Swinging in the grapevine swing.

    . Swinging in the grapevine swing,
    Laughing where the wild birds sing —
    O, to be a boy
    With a heart full of joy,
    Swinging in the grapevine swing.



    M. EIFFEL AND HIS WONDERFUL
    TOWER.

    = THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    GUSTAVE EIFFEL is one of the

    e most wonderful men of modern
    France. France has had many brilliant
    men, but in the long list of her illustrious
    civil engineers, she has never had one to

    compare with the designer and builder of

    the famous Hiffel Tower.

    M. Eiffel was born at: Dijon in 1832, and
    in 1855 passed out of the Central College of
    Art and Manufactures as clerk of the works
    in the building of the great iron bridge at
    Bordeaux. His fine practical talents were
    at once conspicuous, and while quite young

    he designed and constructed the bridge over’

    the Nive, at Bayonne, and those at Capdenac
    and Florac.

    In_ 1868 he distinguished himself by
    introducing iron-in the construction of piles
    for bridges, and in this way he constructed

    the viaducts between Comenentry and Gan- -

    nat.

    Being in the traveling vein, M. Hiffel:

    next went to Cochin-China, if not exactly
    for his pleasure, certainly to the advantage

    of his reputation, for it is a long way out of
    the world of civilized industry to be caleu-
    lating costs and drawing plans. He was
    forced to go from timber yard to depot, to
    be his own elerk of the works, and teach his
    own workmen without knowing a word of
    theirlanguage. And neverthelesshe bridged
    over a gully eighty yards across in the neigh-
    borhood of Fan Han by an inclined bridge
    which amazed his professional brethren. -

    M. Eiffel has designed and built some of
    the most stupendous erections in the world.
    And the tower that bears his name is indeed
    a grand monument to his genius. In 1878
    M. Hiffel was made Chevalier of the Legion
    of Honor, and on the 31st of March last,
    the day on which the flag was hoisted on
    the finished Eiffel ‘Tower, he received the
    Cross of an Officer of the Order from the
    hands of M. Tirad, President of the Council.
    Some impression may be gathered of the
    enormous character of this tower by compar-
    ing it with the group of large buildings that
    lie at its base. The first story is over 200
    feet high and rests on the arches which join
    the four foundation columns that carry upon
    them the entire weight of the huge tower.

    The tower has four distinct sections.
    Each wing is provided with a refreshment
    saloon that may be reached by means of
    winding stair cases under the foundation
    piers. Notwithstanding the center of the
    space has been set apart for the elevator,
    there still remains 4,200 square yards of floor
    room for the accommodation of visitors who
    may desire to promenade and enjoy a view
    of the city from that height.

    The apartments are very roomy, and pre-
    cautions have been taken to insure the visi-
    tors against all possibility of accident.

    An iron railing, about four feet high, with
    an arched roof to exclude the intense rays of
    the sun, surrounds the extreme edge of the
    platform, as it may be called, which has been
    reserved as a promenade forthose who desire
    to walk about. The requirements for the
    comfort of the inner man, too, have not been
    forgotten. Kitchens, store-rooms, ice-chests
    and the like have been fitted up in the most

    _handy manner imaginable, so that there is

    little occasion to fear that the supply of stim-
    ulating refreshments will give out, even in
    the days when such lodgings in the hotels
    and private houses will not be obtainable for
    love or money. Lach one of the four cafes




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    M. EIFFEL AND HIS WONDERFUL TOWER.

    a Wt cee
    is provided with a cellar capable of holding
    two hundred tuns of wine.

    Everything about the structure is abso-
    lutely fire-proof, for iron is the only material
    that has been used in its construction. Two
    thousand persons per hour can ascend and
    descend the stair cases leading to the plat-
    form, and 4,000 can find seats to rest upon
    in the cafes at one time.

    The second story, which is 200 feet above
    the first one, is also reached by four stair
    cases built inside of the supporting columns,
    which make asharp inward curve, leaving
    above 1,400 square yards of surface for the
    platform and promenade. Here, too, in the
    commodious and handsomely decorated cafe,
    the thirsty and tired sightseer may find
    something more potent than Seine: water to
    recuperate his strength.

    This story is 130 feet above the tip of
    Notre Dame steeple, and higher than the
    tower of the palace of the Trocadeo, on the
    other side of the river, and, as may easily
    be imagined, the view of the surrounding
    country to be had from such an altitude is
    almost indescribable. From hereon the col-
    umns of the tower fall in toward each other
    until they ascend a distance of 900 feet
    above the ground, where the third and last
    story is situated.

    Only one staircase leads to the third story,
    which is for the exclusive use of the persons
    employed in the tower, and all visitors are
    expected touse the elevators, two innumber,
    to reach that point. The platform is eight-
    een yards square, still large enough to erect
    thereon acomfortably sized dwelling. The
    view here is simply superb. The story is
    equipped with reflecting mirrors and a large
    supply of. field glasses for those who wish to
    use them. It has been estimated that the
    ordinary eye can discern objects seventy
    niiles away.

    The tower terminates in what is known as
    the lantern, seventy-five feet above the third
    section, but this place has been set aside for
    the use of the scientists for making observa-
    tions.

    WHAT THE SUN SAYS.

    “7 OOK at me,” cried the sun, rising in

    unclouded splendor over the eastern
    hills. “*DoI notcome back to you after the
    darkness of night? So will He, whose light I
    reflect, shine away your sorrow, and He has
    sent me to comfort you.”

    A LITTLE BOY’S TROUBLES.
    CHARLOTTA PERRY.

    THOUGHT, when I'd learned my letters
    That all of my troubles were done;

    But I find myself much mistaken—

    They only have just begun.
    Learning to read was awful,

    But nothing like learning to write;
    I'd be sorry to have you tell it,

    But my copy-book 7s a sight!

    The ink gets over my fingers;
    The pen cuts all sorts of shines,
    And won't do at allas I bid it;
    The letters won’t stay on the lines,
    But go up and down and allover,
    As though they were dancing a jig—
    They are there in all shapes and sizes,
    Medium, little and big. ;
    The tails of the g’s are so contrary,
    The handles get on the wrong side
    Of the d’s and the k’s and the h’s;
    Though I’ve certainly tried and tried
    To make them just right; it is dreadful,
    I really don’t know what to do,
    I'm getting almost distracted—
    My teacher says she is, too.
    There’d be some cowfort in learning,
    If one could get through; instead
    Of that, there are books awaiting,
    Quite enough to craze my head.
    There’s the multiplication table,
    And grammar, and—oh, dear me,
    There’s no good place for stopping,
    When one has begun, I see.
    My teacher says, little by little
    To the mountain tops we climb,
    It isn’t all done in a minute,
    But only a step at a time;
    She says that all the scholars,
    All the wise and learned men,
    Had each to begin as I do;
    If that’s so—where’s my pen?

    HIDE AND SEEK.

    HAT is better than an old-fashioned
    picnic in the country? Away from
    the heat and noise of the city, in the very
    heart of the woodlands. How unrestrained
    the laughter, how genuine the fun! These
    boys and. girls are evidently from the city,
    as you may tell by their trim attire; and
    they are bound to make the very best of the
    time. The grand old trees and tangled un-
    dergrowth form a most excellent opportu-
    nity forthe game of Hide and Seek. Nelly
    stands behind that tree and thinks if she
    keeps perfectly quiet she will not be caught.
    But if Arthur West don’t catch her in less
    than a minute, he is not the kind of .a boy
    we take him for. And perhaps Nelly won’t
    much mind being caught after all.
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    HIDE AND SEEK,


    THE HONEST OLD TOAD.

    H, a queer little chap is the honest old tead,
    A funny old fellow is he;
    Living under the stone by the side of the road,
    Neath the shade of the old willow tree.
    He is dressed all in brown from histoe to his crown,
    Save his vest, that is silvery white.

    _ He takes a long nap in the heat of the day,
    And walks in the cool, dewy night.
    “‘Raup, yaup,” says the frog,
    From his home in the bog,
    But the toad he says never a word;
    He tries to be good, like the children who should
    Be seen, but never be heard.

    When winter draws near, Mr. Toad goes to bed,
    And sleeps just as sound as a, top.
    But when May blossoms follow soft April showers,
    He comes outwith a skip, jump and hop.
    He changes his dress only once, I confess—
    Every spring; and his old worn-out coat,
    With trousers and waistcoat he rollsin a ball,
    And stuffs the wholething down his throat.

    “ K-rruk k-rruk,” says the frog,
    From his home in the bog;
    But the toad he says never a word;
    He tries to be good, like the children who should
    Be seen, but never be heard.

    THE GREAT SHOWMAN’S PROVERBS
    CONCERNING CHILDREN.

    P. T. BARNUM.

    ae you would beas happy as a child, please
    one.

    Childish wonder is the first step in human
    wisdom.

    To best please a child is the highest tri-
    umph of philosophy.

    A happy child is the most likely to make
    an honest man.

    To stimulate wholesome curiosity in the
    mind of a child is to plant golden seed.

    I would rather be called the children’s

    friend than the world’s king.

    Amusement to children is like rain to
    flowers.

    He that makes knowledge most attractive
    to the young is the king of sages.

    Childish laughter is the echo of heavenly
    music.

    The noblest art is that of making others
    happy. .

    Wholesome
    thoughts.

    Innocent amusement transforms tearsinto
    rainbows.

    The author of harmless mirth is a public
    benefactor. ,

    recreation conquers evil

    WHAT A GIRL SHOULD LEARN.

    O sew.
    To cook.
    To mend.
    To be gentle.
    To value time.
    To dress neatly.
    To keep a secret.
    To be self-reliant.
    To avoid idleness.
    To tend the baby.
    To darn stockings.
    To respect old age.
    To make good bread.
    To keep a house tidy.
    To control her temper.
    To be above gossiping.
    To make a home happy.
    To take care of the sick.
    To humor a cross old man.
    To marry a man for his worth.
    To be a helpmate to a husband.
    To take plenty of active exercise.
    To see a mouse without screaming.
    To read some books besides novels.
    To be light-hearted and fleet-footed.
    To wear shoes that will not cramp the feet.
    To be a womanly woman under all circum:
    stances.

    “LET ME CARRY THE LAMB.”

    Rees RADFORD has had a grand
    time with Aunt Frances. She has been
    to the city to buy Christmas presents for her
    little cousins at the white house on the hill,
    There’s a bundle of beautiful things under
    Auntie’s arm, and a big Chinese doll, and a
    lovely fan in a long box, and a box of can-
    dies, and the prettiest and wooliest lamb you
    ever saw, with a blue ribbon and a little
    locket. This little lamb was Roxie’s own
    choice, for as she said she wanted it, *es-
    pressly for Cousin Nette.” And now she
    wants to be the bearer of this particular
    little treasure. ‘‘Let me carry the lamb,
    Auntie!” she cried as they drew near to the
    house. Aunt Frances granted Roxie’s re-
    quest, and the merry little maiden marched
    up to the house in high glee, singing the old
    peddler’s ditty:
    “Young lambs to sell}
    Young lambs to sell!
    Oh, if I had asmuch money as I could tell,
    I wouldn't go singing, ‘young lambs to sell,’™
    web frill—

    But where is the baby face?

    up a little cambric dress

    Trimm ’d with ruffiesand edged with
    lace,

    TAKE
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    MAXIMS OF KINDNESS.

    Cee costs nothing, but it buys
    everything. :

    The seat of knowledge is in the head; of
    wisdom, in the heart. We are sure to judge
    wrongly if we do not feel right.

    Good manners are a part of good morals.

    Politeness is like an air-cushion. If there.

    be nothing in it, it eases our jolts wonder-
    fully.

    Fine manners are the mantle of fair minds.

    No cord or cable can draw so strong or
    bind so fast as love can do with only a sin-
    gle thread.

    Like snow, love levels all inequalities and
    covers all unsightly objects with beauty.

    Children have more need of models than
    of critics.

    In case of doubt, lean to the side of mercy.

    All are not thieves that dogs bark at. Had
    even the wolf stayed in the woods there would
    _ have been no hue and cry about him.

    There are follies which are caught like con-
    tagious diseases.

    Unbecoming forwardness oftener proceeds
    from ignorance than impudence. Therefore
    be patient.

    Every man isa volume if you know how
    toread him. It takes brains to appreciate
    brains.

    The beauty one sees is largely in him who
    sees it.

    If you would make a thief honest, trust him.

    He who has lost confidence can lose noth-
    ing more. :

    We hang little thieves and take off our:

    _ hats to great ones.
    Faint praise is akin to abuse. :
    Love doth sing as sweetly in a beggar’s
    hut as in a king’s palace.

    THE VAGABONDS.
    J. T. TROWBRIDGE,

    Ws are two travelers, Roger and I.
    Roger’s my dog ;—come here, you scamp |
    Jump for the gentleman,—mind your eye!
    Over the table—look out for the lamp!—
    The rogue is growing a little old ;
    Five years we’ve tramped through wind and
    weather,
    And slept out doors when nights were cold,
    And ate and drank, and starved together.

    We've learned what comfort is, I tell you!
    A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin,
    A fire to thaw our thumbs—poor fellow!
    The paw he holds up there’s been frozen —



    Plenty of catgut for my fiddle,—
    This out-door business is bad for the strings;—
    Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle,
    And Roger and I set up for kings!

    No thank ye, sir,—I never drink;
    Roger and I are exceedingly moral,—
    Aren’t we, Roger?—see him wink!— .
    Well, something hot, then,—we wan’t quarrel,

    ‘He’s thirsty too,—see him nod his head?

    What a pity, sir, that dogs can’t talk!
    He understands every word that’s said,—
    And he knows good milk from water and chalk,

    The truth is, sir, now I reflect,
    I’ve been so sadly given to grog,
    I wonder I’ve not lost the respect—
    Here’s to you sir!—even of my dog.
    But he sticks by through thick and thin;
    And this old coat, with its empty pockets,
    And rags that smell of tobacco and gin,
    . He’ll follow while he has eyes in his sockets.

    There isn’t another creature living
    Would do it, and prove through every disaster,
    So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving,
    To such a miserable; thankless master!
    No, sir!—see him wag his tail and grin!
    By George, it makes my old eyes water!
    That is, there’s something in this gin
    -That chokes a fellow. But no matter!

    We'll have some music, if you’re willing,
    And Roger—hem! what a plague a cough is
    sir!—
    Shall march a little. Start, you villain!
    Stand straight! ’Bout face! Salute your officer!
    Put up that paw! Dress! Take your riflel— _
    Some dogs have arms, you see!—Now hold your
    Cap, while the gentlemen give a trifle,
    To aid a poor old patriot soldier,

    March! Halt! Now show how the rebel shakes
    When he stands up to hear his sentence,
    Now tell us how many drams it takes
    To honor a jolly new acquaintance.
    Five yelps,—that’s five; he’s mighty knowin gl
    The night’s before us, fill the glassesi—
    Quick, sir! I’m ill,—my brain is going!
    Some Brandy,—thank you—there!—it passes.

    Why not reform! That's easily said,

    But Pve gone through such wretched treatment,
    Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread,

    And scarce remembering what meat meant,
    That my poor stomach’s past reform:

    And there are times when, mad with thinking,
    Td sell. out heaven for something warm,

    To prop a horrible inward sinking,

    Is there a way to forget to think?
    At your age, sir, home, fortune, friends,
    A dear girl’s love;—but I took to drink,—
    The same old story,—you know how it ends,
    Tf you could have seen these classic features,
    You needn’t laugh, sir; they were not then
    Such a burning libel on God’s creatures ;
    I was one of your handsome men!
    “uy
    nt pit































    THE VAGABONDS.
    If you had seen her so fair and young,
    __ Whose head was happy on this breast!
    if you could have heard the songs I sung
    When the wine went round, you wouldn’t have
    guessed ;
    That ever I, sir, should be straying
    From door to door with fiddle and dog,
    Ragged, penniless, and playing
    To you to-night, for a glass of grog !

    She’s married since,—a parson’s wife;
    "T'was better for her that we should part ;
    Better the soberist, prosiest life
    Than a blasted home and a broken heart.
    I have seen her ?
    On the dusty road. A carriage stopped ;
    But little she dreamed, as on she went,
    _ Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped !

    ‘You've set me talking, sir ; I’m sorry—
    It makes me wild to think of the change !
    ‘What do you care for a beggar’s story?
    Isitamusing? You find it strange?
    _ Thad a mother so proud of me!
    *T-was well she died before—do you know
    If the happy spirits in heaven can see
    The ruin and wretchedness here below?

    Another glass, and strong, to deaden
    This pain, then Roger and I will start.
    I wonder has he such a lumpish, leaden,
    Aching thing in place of a heart?
    He is sad sometimes, and would weep if he could,
    No doxbt, remembering things that were,
    A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food,
    And himself a sober, respectable cur.

    I’m better now; that glass was warming.
    You rascal! limber your lazy feet,
    ‘We must be fiddling and performing
    For supper and bed, or starve in the street.
    Not a very gay life to lead, you think?
    But soon we shall go where lodgings are free,
    And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink—
    The sooner the better for Roger and me!

    & WORLD OF ADVICE IN A COUPLE
    OF WORDS. -

    DR. BURTON.

    HEP still. When trouble is brewing,
    keep still. When slander is getting on

    its legs, keep still. When your feelings are
    hurt, keep still, till you recover from your
    excitement at any rate. Things look differ-
    ently through an unagitated eye. Inacom-
    motion once I wrote a letter, and sent it, and
    wished I had not. In my later years I had
    another commotion, and wrote a long letter;
    but life rubbed a little sense into me, and I
    kept that letter in my pocket against the
    day when I could look it over without agita-
    tion and without tears. I was glad I did.
    Less and less it seemed necessary to send it.

    Once! J was weak and spent .

    I was not sure it would do any hurt, but in
    my doubtfulness I leaned to reticence, and
    eventually it was destroyed. Time works
    wonders. Wait till you can speak calmly,
    and then you will not need to speak may be.
    Silence is the most massive thing conceivable,
    sometimes. It is strength in very grandeur.
    It is like aregiment ordered to stand still in
    the mad fury of battle. To plunge in were
    twiceaseasy. The tongue has unsettled more
    people than anything besides.

    MURMUR NOT.

    A URMUR not—
    ae At nature’s actions,
    Changing all our thoughts and plans;
    Marring now our joyous households,
    As the floods o’erwhelm the lands.

    Murmur not—
    Through pain and sorrow,
    Toiling onward day by day;
    Striving—though it seem but useless—
    Seeking for the perfect way. ©

    TO SCHOOL THROUGH SNOW AND
    STORM.

    ASuaE is no royal road to learning.
    Our young friends on the opposite page
    are finding out by experience, that the path
    to scholarship is sometimes rough and steep
    and stormy. Knee deep in snow they
    plodded to school in the morning, and now
    with the wind and storm happily at their
    backs, they are returning home, their glad
    young hearts undaunted by the blustering
    tempest. It seems a little like stern hard
    work. But in the days and years to come
    these young students will not regret the
    price they had to pay for the priceless boon
    of a good sound education. There are some

    _things not worth having asa gift, but a well-

    grounded education is worth all the long
    patient study, all the time and money, and
    all the endurance it costs. Boys and girls
    blessed with a good education are blessed
    with the kind of wealth that has no wings.
    and with the best possible opportunity of
    making a fair mark in the world. To such
    the song of the poet should be an inspira
    tion: ee
    Deeper, deeper, let us toil
    In the mines of knowledge;
    Learning’s wealth and freedom’s spoil,
    Win from school and college:
    Delve we there for richer gems
    Than the stars of diadems.
    (4 —
    of. message. tor malher ?
    My message.is this:
    dust fell her Isend-her
    My heart in a kiss!”

    Bend then on jhe paper

    A round”O” she traced,
    And:siratght inthe middle

    | A largekiss she placed.








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    (| \\y What love can compare with
    The love of a child ?



    SACRED TO THANKSGIVING.
    GEORGE COOPER.

    66 Grae gobble!” a plump turkey cried,
    The cows looking on very meek;
    ‘Of the barnyard, you see, I’m the pride,
    Your friendship I don’t care to seek,
    Humble cows,
    So don’t notice me while you browse.”

    Little chickens looked up in alarm
    When, puffing, her turkeyship passed;
    And there wasn’t a bird on the farm
    That envious looks didn’t cast,
    As she went,
    Swelled out with triumphant content.

    «Very plain you are, good mother hen,
    You haven’t one touch of the style;
    Your dress is outlandish, and then,
    Your manners occasion a smile.
    Pray, what use
    In this world are you more than a goose?”

    Lowed a thoughtful and innocent cow:
    ‘«To-morrow is Thanksgiving morn;
    Through the gate the old farmer comes now,
    With an ax and a handful of corn,
    : And I guess
    There soon will be one turkey less.”

    SLOWLY BUT SURELY.
    SAMUEL JOHNSON.

    ILIGENCE and moderation are the best
    steps to climb to any excellence. Nay,
    it is rare if there be any other way. The
    heavens send not down their rains in floods,
    but by drops and dewy distillations. A man
    is neither good nor wise nor rich at once;
    yet, softly creeping up these hills, he shall
    every day better his prospects, till at last he
    gains the top. Every year something laid
    up, may in time make his stock great.

    THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY.
    A. D. 1622,
    MARGARET J. PRESTON.

    cs ND now,” said the Governor, gazing abroad
    on the piled-up store

    Of the sheaves that dotted the clearings, and cov-
    ered the meadows o’er,

    ‘Tig meet that we render praises because of this
    yield of grain;

    "Tis meet that the Lord of the harvest be thanked
    for His sun and rain.

    «* And therefore, I, William Bradford (by the grace
    of God to-day,
    And the franchise of this good people), Governor
    _ of Plymouth, say
    Thro’ virtue of vested power—ye shall gather with
    one accord,

    And hold, in the month o’ November, thanksgiving ©

    unto the Lord.

    _ ‘He hath granted us peace and plenty, and .he

    quiet we’ve sought so long;

    He hath thwarted the wily savage, and kept him .
    from doing wrong;

    And unto our Feast the Sachem shall be bidden,
    that he may know

    We worship his own Great Spirit who maketh the
    harvests grow.

    ‘*So shoulder your matchlocks, masters; there is
    hunting of all degrees;

    And fisherman, take your tackle, and scour for spoil
    the seas;

    And maidens and dames of Plymouth, your delicate
    crafts employ ;

    To honor our first Thanksgiving, and make it a
    feast of joy! i

    “We fail of the fruits and dainties so close to our
    hand in Devon;

    Ah, they are the lightest losses we suffer for sake of
    Heaven!

    But see, in our open. clearings, how golden the
    melons lie;

    Enrich them with sweets and spices, and call-them
    Pumpkin-Pie!”

    Atlength came the day appointed; the snow had
    begun to fall,

    But the clang from the meeting-house belfry rang
    merrily out for all,

    And summoned the folk of Plymouth, who has-
    tened with glad accord

    To listen to Elder Brewster as he fervently thanked
    the Lord.

    In his seat sate Governor Bradford; men, matrons
    and maidens fair;

    Miles Standish and ;ail his soldiers, with corselet
    and sword were there; ;

    And sobbing and tears and gladness had each in its
    turn the sway,

    For the grave of the sweet Rose Standish o’ershad-
    owed Thanksgiving Day.

    And when Massasoit, the Sachem, sate down with
    his hundred braves, ;

    And ate of the varied riches of gardens and wooda
    and waves,

    And looked on the granaried harvesi—with a blow
    on his brawny chest,

    He muttered, ‘‘The good Great Spirit loves His
    white children best!”

    And then, as the feast was ended, with gravely
    official air, .

    The Governor drew his broadsword out from its
    scabbard there,

    And smiting the trencher near him, he cried in
    heroic way, ;

    Hail! Pie of the Pumpkin! I dub thee Prince of
    Thanksgiving Day.” -

    FEEDING THREE.
    JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
    OT what we give but what we share,
    For the gift without the giver is bare;
    Who gives himself with his alms feeds three,~-
    Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me.


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    SACRED TO THANKSGIVING.


    NEGRO PHILOSOPRY.

    JOHN RUSSELL FISHER.

    T doan’t pay to do much talkin’ w’en you’m mad
    enuff to choke,

    *Kase de word dat stings de deepes’ am de one dat’s
    nebbah spoke:

    Let the udder fellow wrangle till de stohm am
    blowed away

    Den he'll doa pile ob thinkin’ ’bout de things you

    didn’t say.

    Spec’ de leetle blue-eyed daisy peepin’ fru de med-
    der soil,

    Though it ain’t no tow’rin’ oak tree has its sheer ob
    hones’ toil;

    Spec’ de red rose in de garden, blushin’ neath de
    June-day sun,

    Nebbah scatters o’er de grass tops till its wuck at
    home am done. .

    *Taint de chap dat’s allus kickin’ kase de worl’ ain’t
    jes’ his size.

    Dat’ll lib on roasted ’possum in dat lan’ beyond de
    skies;

    Dar’s a likely soht o’blessin’ eben wid de hardes’

    lot, h
    But de one dat looks de bigges’ am de one you
    habn’'t got.

    Spec’ de gray squir'l snubs de chipmunk kase his
    color ain’t jes’ right,

    But w’en guns bang in de wood lot, chipmunk

    sleeps de bes’ at night.

    *Bout de smahtes’ chap I know on is de one dat
    doan’ git leff.

    ’ Kase he spen’s his loafin’ minnits gittin’ ’quainted
    wid hisseff.

    Nebbah quarrel wid yo’ nabur ’kase his’ligion doan’
    seem soun’,

    Lots ob roads dat staht out dif’rent wriggle roun’ to
    de same town. ;

    Though yo’ lot in life am grubbin’ in a crooked
    ’tater row,

    Allus’ hol' yo’ head up firmly, as you’m trab’lin’ to
    an’ fro.

    SERGEANT JASPER:
    THE YOUNG HERO OF GEORGIA.

    N the history of the State of Georgia one
    of the most heroic figures is that of Ser-
    geant Jasper, who served in the War of the
    Revolution in the Second South Carolina
    Regiment, under General Moultrie..

    Jasper was a freckled, sun-burned, unedu-
    cated country lad, of singularly quiet but
    firm bearing. In the attack made on Sulli-
    van’s Island by the British, a flag-staff, cut
    by a ball, fell outside of the works. Jasper
    sprang forward, and, under a shower of
    bullets, nailed his own colors to the parapet.

    For this act of gallantry he was offered
    promotion, but declined it, saying: ‘‘I have

    not the education nor manners befitting au
    officer.”

    General Moultrie then granted him a rav.
    ing commission and placed six men undex
    him, who were known during the war at
    *‘Jasper’s. Command.” Scarcely a week
    passed that this troop did not bring in
    prisoners captured by the most reckless
    daring.

    On one occasion Jasper, with one comrade,
    Newton, entered the British lines in dis-
    guise. In Savannah he overheard a woman,
    an American, with a child in her arms, bit-
    terly lament the condition of her husband,
    who was held a prisoner in irons for deser-
    tion of the Royal cause. He was deeply
    touched with her distress and with his com-
    rades resolved to free her husband,

    They lay in wait near a spring, about two
    miles from the town, which the guard who
    had the prisoners in charge must pass. The
    guard, consisting of two officers and eight
    privates, arrived about noon with five pris-
    oners in irons. The day being hot, they
    left the prisoners, as Jasper expected they
    would, and hurried to the spring for water,
    having previously stacked their guns by the
    roadside.

    Jasper and Newton crept out from the
    thicket, seized their arms, knocked the irons
    from the prisoners, and brought the guard
    into the American camp.

    A few months after this feat, during the
    attack on Savannah, the country lad fell,
    mortally wounded, while trying to place his
    colors on a redoubt.

    For one of his many bold exploits a sword
    had been presented to Jasper by Governor
    Rutledge. He now unbuckled this sword
    and gave it to Newton, saying, ‘“‘ Take it to
    my father, and tell him I have not dis-
    honored it.”

    THE MOST VALUABLE MEMORIES OF
    LIFE.

    JOHN RANDOLPH.

    HEN, I can just remember, each night:
    before my mother put me to bed, I
    repeated on my knees before her the Lord’s.
    Prayer and the Apostles’ Creed; each morn-
    ing kneeling in bed I put up my little hanas
    in prayer. These lessons 1 am now con-
    scious have been of more value than all I
    have ever learned from my preceptors and
    compeers.


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    SERGEANT JASPER, THE YOUNG HERO OF GEORGIA.
    HURRAH FOR THE OPEN SEA.

    CHARLES J. BEATTIE.

    urrah ! hurrah for the open sea! ©
    ‘Hurrah for the bounding wave _.
    Where the trade winds whistle wild and fre
    And storms o’er the waters rave—
    A brilliant sky,
    A tempest high,
    Hurrah for the brakers roar:
    Hurrah for the gale,
    That fills the suil,
    Scudding out from a sunny shorel

    Hurrah ! hurrah for our gallant craft
    That cork-like skims the tide—
    As trim as a maiden fore and aft,
    And fair as a sailor’s bride.
    ~~ Give her canvas white
    To the breeze to-night,
    Let her fly o’er the waters blue;
    Farewell to the land,
    To Columbia’s strand,
    To our wives and our sweethearts true.

    The sea is the sailor’s hunting ground,
    O’er the waters he loves to roam,
    With never a path, a mark, or bound
    The mariner’s destined home;
    On the ocean’s breast,
    On the waves’ white crest
    He can rock in his bark to sleep;
    And he marks his way
    O’er the white, winged spray
    Like milestones on the deep.

    I love the plains and the bright green woods,
    With the maple, the oak, and the elm,
    But better a bark o’er the sea that scuds,
    That’s true to the compass and helm,
    Yes, I love the hills
    With their bubbling rills,
    Where falls the sparkling dew;
    But better I love,
    O’er the seas to rove,
    With a gallant sailor crew.

    THE OAK TREE AND THE IVY.
    EUGENE FIELD.

    fe the greenwood stood a mighty oak. So
    majestic was he that all who came that
    way paused to admire his strength and beauty,
    and all the other trees of the greenwood
    acknowledged him to be their monarch.
    Now it came to pass that the ivy loved the
    oak-tree, and, inclining her graceful tendrils
    where he stood, she crept about his feet and
    twined herself around his sturdy and knotted
    trunk. And the oak-tree pitied the ivy.
    “Oho!” he cried, laughing boisterously,
    but -good-naturedly. ‘‘Oho!” so you love

    me, do you, little vine? Very well, then; play -

    about my feet, and I will keep the storms
    . from you and will tell you pretty stories
    about the clouds, the birds and the stars.”

    The ivy marveled greatly at the strange
    stories the oak-tree told; they were stories
    the oak-tree heard from the wind that loi-
    tered about his lofty head and whispered to
    the leaves of his topmost branches. Some-
    times the story was about the great ocean in
    the east, sometimes of the broad prairies in
    the west, sometimes of the ice-king who
    lived in the north, and sometimes of the
    flower-queen who dwelt inthe south. Then,
    too, the moon told a story to the oak-tree
    every night — or atleast every night that she
    came to the greenwood, which was very often,
    for the greenwood isa very charming spot, as
    we all know. And the oak-tree repeated to
    the ivy every story the moon told and every
    song the stars sang.

    “Pray, what are the winds saying now?”
    or ‘“‘ What song isthat I hear?” the ivy would
    ask; and then the oak-tree would repeat the
    story or the song, and the ivy would listen in
    great wonderment.

    Whenever the storms came, the cak-tree
    cried to the little ivy: ‘‘ Cling close to me
    and no harm shall befall you! See how
    strong Iam; the tempest does not so much
    as stir me — I mock its fury!”

    Then, seeing how strong and brave he was,
    the ivy hugged him closely; his brown, rug-
    ged breast protected her from every harm
    and she was secure.

    The years went by; how quickly they flew
    —spring, summer, winter, and then again”
    spring, summer, winter —ah, life is short in
    the greenwood as elsewhere! And now the
    ivy was no longer a weakly little vine to ex-
    cite the pity of the passer-by. Her thousand
    bearftiful arms had twined hither and thither
    about the oak-tree, covering his brown and
    knotted trunk, shooting forth a bright, deli-
    cious foliage and stretching far up among
    his lower branches. Then the oak-tree’s pity
    grew into a love for the ivy, and the ivy was
    filled with a great joy. And the oak-tree
    and the ivy were wed one June night and
    there was a wonderful celebration in the
    greenwood, and there was the most beautiful
    music in which the pine-trees, the crickets,
    the katy-dids, the frogs and the nightingales
    joined with pleasing harmony.

    The oak-tree was always good and gentle
    to the ivy. “‘ There is a storm coming over
    the hills,” he would say. <‘‘The east-wind .
    tells me so; the swallows fly low in the air.
    and the sky is dark. Cling close to me, my
    beloved, and no harm shall befall you.”

    Then, confidently and with an always ~


























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































    HURRAH FOR THE OPEN SEA.
    growing love, the ivy would cling more closely
    fo the oak-tree, and no harm came to her.

    “How good the oak-tree is to the ivy,” said
    the other trees of the greenwood. The ivy
    heard them, and she loved the oak-tree more
    and more.

    And, although the ivy was now the most
    umbrageors and luxuriant vine in all the
    greenwood, the oak-tree regarded her still
    as the tender little thing he had laughingly
    called to his feet that spring day, many
    years before—the same little ivy he had
    told about the stars, the clouds and the birds.
    And, just as patiently as in those days he
    had told her of these things, he now repeated
    other tales the winds whispered to his top-
    most boughs — tales of the ocean in the east,
    the prairies in the west, the ice-king in the
    north and the flower-queen in the south.
    Nestling upon his brave breast and in his
    stout arms, the ivy heard him tell these won-
    drens things and she never wearied with the
    lioceing.

    «How the oak-tree loves her!” said the
    ash. ‘The lazy vine has naught to do but
    to twine herself about the arrogant oak-tree
    and hear him tell his wondrous stories!”

    The ivy heard these envious words, and
    they made her very sad, but she said nothing of
    them to the oak-tree, and that night the oak-
    tree rocked her to sleep as he repeated the lul-
    laby a zephyr was singing to him.

    “There is a storm coming over the hills,”
    said the oak-tree one day. ‘ tells me so; the swallows fly low in the air
    and the sky is dark. Clasp me round about
    with thy dear arms, my beloved, and nestle
    close unto my bosom and no harm shall
    befall thee.”

    “ she clasped her arms most closely about him
    and nestled unto his bosom.

    The storm came over the hills and swept
    down upon the greenwood with deafening
    thunder and vivid lightning. The storm-
    king himself rode upon the blast; his horses
    breathed flames and his chariot trailed
    through the air like a serpent of fire. The
    ash fell before the violence of the storm-
    king’sfury, and the cedars groaning fell, and
    the hemlocks and the pines—but the oak-
    tree alone quailed not.

    “«Qho!” cried the storm-king, angrily,
    « not tremble in my presence. Well, we shall
    see.” ,

    With that, the storm-king hurled a mighty

    thunderbolt at the oak-tree, and the brave,
    strong monarch of the greenwood was riven.
    Then, with a shout of triumph, the storm:
    king rode away.

    «© Dear oak-tree, you are riven by the storm-.
    king’s thunderbolt!” cried the ivy, in
    anguish.

    * Ay, ” said the oak-tree, feebly, ““my end
    has come; see, I am shattered and helpless.”

    «But I am unhurt,” remonstrated the
    ivy, ‘‘and I will bind up your wounds and
    nurse you back to health and vigor.”

    And so it was that, although the oak-tree
    was ever afterwards a riven and broken thing,
    the ivy concealed the scars upon his shattered
    form and covered his wounds all over with her
    soft foliage.

    “ grow up to thy height, to live with thee
    among the clouds, and to hear the solemn
    voices thou didst hear. ‘Thou wouldst have
    loved me better then? ”

    But the old oak-tree said: ‘‘ Nay, nay, my
    beloved, I love thee better as thou art, for
    with thy beauty and thy love thou comfort-
    est mine age.”

    Then would the ivy tell quaint stories to
    the old and broken oak-tree — storiesshe had
    learned from the crickets, the bees, the but-
    terflies and the mice when she was an humble
    little vine and played at the foot of the
    majestic oak-tree, towering in the greenwood
    with no thought of the tiny shoot that crept
    towards him with her love. And these sim-
    ple tales pleased the old and riven 0&2-""--.
    they were not as heroicas the tales the winds,
    the clouds and the stars told, but they were
    far sweeter, for they were tales of content-
    ment, of humility, of love.

    So the old age of the oak-tree was grander
    than his youth.

    And all who went through the greenwood
    paused to behold and admire the beauty of
    the oak-tree then; for about his seared and
    broken trunk the gentle vine had so entwined
    her graceful tendrils and spread her fair foli-
    age that one saw not the havoc of the years
    nor the ruin of the tempest, but only the
    glory of the oak-tree’s age, which was the
    iv-’s love and ministering.

    WHY SOME MEN WERE BORN.
    WILL. §. CARLETON. .
    Cone men were born for great things,
    Some men were born for small;
    ‘Some, it is not recorded
    Why they were born at all.


    “LET ME CARRY THE LAMB.”
    THE RAINBOW.

    O* all the beautiful things in God’s beau-
    tiful world, what can compare with the
    rainbow, that child of storm, and sun, and
    rain? That gorgeous arch that. spans the
    cloudy sky is like a divine smile chasing
    away the darkness of the tempest, and giv-
    ing promise of sunny hours. Jean Paul
    Richter tells a thoughtful, suggestive story
    of a little child and a rainbow, in the follow-
    ing words: 5

    *‘A delicate child, pale and prematurely
    wise, was complaining on a hot morning that
    the poor dew-drops had been too hastily
    snatched away, and not allowed to glitter on
    the flowers like other happier dew-drops that
    live the whole night through and sparkle in
    the moonlight, and through the morning on-
    ward to noonday. ‘Thesun,’ said the child,
    ‘has chased them away with his heat, or
    swallowed them in his wrath.’ Soon after
    came rain and a rainbow; whereupon his
    father pointed upward: ‘See,’ said he,
    ‘there stand thy dew-drops gloriously re-set
    —a glittering jewelry —in the heavens. By
    this, my child, thou art taught that what
    withers upon earth blooms again in heaven.’”

    This is a world of storms, but it is also a
    world of rainbows ; and as the merciful sun
    flashes rainbow splendors through the dark-
    est storm, we, too, by gentleness and love,
    may brighten and cheer the lot of the soli-
    tary and the sad.

    If the world’s a vale of tears,
    Smile till rainbows span it; -
    Breathe the love that life endears,
    Clear of clouds to fan it.
    Of your gladness lend a gleam
    Unto souls that shiver ;
    Show them how dark sorrow’s stream
    Blends with hope’s bright river.

    THE WIDOW AND HER LITTLE
    MAIDENS.

    A FABLE,

    WIDOW woman, fond of cleaning, had

    two little maidens to wait on her. She
    was in the habit of waking them early in the
    morning, at cockcrow. The maidens, being
    aggrieved by such excessive labor, resolved
    to kill the cock who roused their mistress so
    early. When they had done this, they found
    that. they had only prepared themselves for
    greater troubles; for their mistress, no longer
    hearing the hour from the cock, woke them
    up to their work in the middle of the night.

    RAIN-DROPS.
    LOUISE E. LEWIN.

    ( } ENTLY on the grass blades falling
    Comes the rain, new life recalling;

    By its warm drops flowers are growing,
    All the earth its freshness knowing.

    Blue birds’ songs sound never sweeter,
    Hillside streams grow broader, fleeter;

    All the atmosphere seems clearer,
    E’en the blue skies look much nearer.

    When again the sun comes shining,
    All earth seems as if reclining;

    ’Neath thy soft drops lowly bending,
    Flowers their perfumes upward sending.

    Bright the sun again is glowing,
    Freshened winds from southward blowing.

    Light clouds come from dark ones frowning,
    Lo! the bow of promise crowning.

    THE BELLOWS OF A SMITH.

    E whose days pass without imparting

    and enjoying, is like the bellows of a
    smith; he breathes, indeed, but he does not
    live.

    CHURCH MICE.
    _H. L. D’ARCY JAXONE.

    A LITTLE church mouse stole out of his house,
    At the top of the pulpit stair,

    And slyly looked down at the folks of the town,

    Professing to kneel in prayer;
    But he saw that many had come to be seen,

    And that more had come to see;
    So he stole inside to his little brown bride,

    And thus to his mate sang he:

    “A very strange world is the world below;
    I haven’t much faith in its faith, you know.”

    The little church mouse looked out of his house,
    Where the tinted sunbeams play;
    While he watched the bride leave her father’s side,
    And December mated with May. :
    Then he heard her whisper her life-long vows,
    As she took his gift of gold;
    So he sadly sang, while the church-bells rang,
    For a heart that was bought and sold,
    “A very strange love is the love below,
    I wouldn’t give much for the lot, I trow.”

    This little church mouse looked out of his house,
    Thro’ the haze of the dying day,
    While the children wept, where a loved one slept,
    To wake in the far away.
    When he heard the message of perfect peace,
    That floated on unseen wings.
    This little mouse stole into his house,
    And still to himself he sings,
    “A very strange life this life would be,
    Were it not for the end that we may not see.”


    yi



















































































































    ‘THE RAINBOW.




















    THE MUSIC OF THE MONTHS.
    MARCH.
    M. E. BLAKE,

    ARCH! you blustering, noisy lout !
    What are you doing? Where do you stay ?
    Winter is flying in broken array ;
    Come! bid her whirl to the right-about :
    Get the fields ready for April and May.

    Thaw the ice from the frozen rill,

    Blow the clouds to their proper places,
    Gather the strong winds loud and shrill,
    To dry the marsh and to clear the hill,

    For spring to display her airs and graces !

    Awkward you are and sharp, no doubt;

    Still are we glad to see you near,

    With cheek so ruddy and eye so clear,
    ‘With lusty humor and joyous shout,

    Calling far off for the summer to hear.

    Bough as your clumsy touch may be,

    It fringes the tassel for alder and larch ;

    Your jolly, gruff laughter rings merry and arch ;
    You are the sort of a fellow for me,

    Come from your hiding piace! Forward, March!

    “MARCH WITH THE VIOLETS.”

    THOMAS W. HANDFORD.

    Tr was Robert Browning who, absent from
    = hisnative land one fickle April-tide, sang
    that brief and simple strain: ‘‘ Oh, to be in
    England, now that April’s here.” But other
    poets have anticipated Browning, and have
    hailed the advent of March as the month of
    Violets. Happily or unhappily for us, we
    must be content if March should bring us
    only the promise of the violets. This is not
    a region blessed with a prolonged Spring-
    time. We leap too suddenly from Winter
    into early Summer. But March, that comes
    with violets for other lands, comes to us with
    its hands full of promise, and with music in
    all its blustering winds. At least, February
    is gone! The dreary, doleful month— the
    month of dullness and of clouded skies; and
    the month of the valentine and the ground-
    hog. With March comes brighter skies and
    fitful sunshine, and spite of Winter’s iron
    rule, a paler light glows in the tops of the
    willows, the waters are babbling in the brooks,
    and the hearts of us all take better cheer if
    only with the promise the wild March morn-
    ings bring. Of course there may be plenty
    of’ stern Winter weather yet, but we have
    heard the promise of the Spring. It may be
    that biting frosts and drifting snows are in
    store for us, but we shall persuade ourselves
    that this is positively “‘the last appearance

    this season.” Winter may linger in the lap

    of Spring, but the days are growing longer,
    and the nights are growing shorter. The
    farmer will wake from his Winter’s sleep,
    and the barren fields will tremble beneath
    the useful plow, and the sower will go forth
    sowing good seed over the warm, yielding
    breast of mother earth. March will not bring
    us Violets, but it brings. us hope and gives
    promises of sunny fields and blossoming
    meadows. So we may gladly welcome the
    «bleak winds of March.”

    ** Ah, March! We know thou art
    Kind-hearted, spite of ugly looks and threats,
    And out of sight art nursing April’s violets.”

    NEVER MIND.
    HENRY BURTON, M. A.

    ne you hear the angry word ?
    Never mind;
    Let it be as never heard—
    Never mind;
    *T will but rankle in the breast,
    ’T will but break the spirit’s rest;
    Cast it from thee, that is best—
    Never mind.

    Have you planned and toiled in vain ?
    Never mind;

    Loss sometimes is highest gain,
    Never mind;

    Honor is not bought and sold,

    Character is more than gold,

    These are yours, a wealth untold—
    Never mind;

    Does the night seem dark and long ?
    Never mind;

    You can cheer it with a song,
    Never-mind;

    Darkness always leads to dawn,

    Night is but the gate of morn,

    Out of griefs our joys are born—
    Never mind.

    Does the east wind rudely blow ?
    Never mind;
    Does the north wind bring the snow ?
    Never mind; :
    ’T- would be south, or ’twould be west,
    If thy Father thought it best;
    Face it like the vane, and rest
    Never mind.

    Ts the future all unknown °
    Never mind;
    Thou wilt never be alone—
    Never mind;
    Turn above thy weeping eyes,
    Heaven is watching through the skies.
    Trust the Love that never dies—
    Never mind.


    , THE ARCTIC EXPLORER,

    NORDENSKJOLD
    ONE COMFORT.

    “(NAN Katie come and play with me?”
    His bashful cheek was glowing,
    Half wearily upon my knee :
    I dropped the endless sewing.

    O Katie! in the clover tops

    Isee your gold head glancing,
    No taller than the buttercups

    Or daisies that you dance in,

    “No, Chauncy, no, she cannot go;
    She’s such a little baby!

    She teases so; and then you know,
    She’ll get in mischief, maybe.

    I'll have to keep her close by me;
    Why ? But that’s no use saying!

    It’s only great big girls, you see,
    Go off with big boys playing.”

    Then quick came Katie’s answer clear
    Across the clover blowing

    “Well, Chauncy, dear,” came to my ear,
    “Well, Chauncy, I’m a-growing.”

    “ROBERT OF LINCOLN.”

    EANING idly over a fence, a few days
    since, we noticed a little four-year-old
    “lord of creation,” amusing himself in the
    grass by watching the frolicsome flight of
    birds which were playing around him. At
    length a beautiful bobolink perched on a
    bough of an apple-tree, which extended
    within a few yards of the place where the
    urchin sat, and maintained his position, ap-
    parently unconscious of his close proximity
    to one whom birds usually consider a danger-
    ous neighbor.

    The boy seemed astonished at his impu-
    dence; and, after regarding him steadily
    for a minute or two, obeying the instinct of
    his baser part, he picked up a stone lying at
    his feet, and was preparing to throw it,
    steadying himself fora good aim. The little
    arm was drawn backward without alarming
    the bird, and Bob was within an ace of dan-
    ger, when, lo! his throat swelled, and forth
    came nature’s plea: ‘‘A-link, a-link, a-link,
    bob-a-link, bob-a-link, bob-a-link, a-no-weet!
    I know it, I know it, a-link, a-link, don’t
    throw it, throw it, throw it,” etc. And he
    didn’t. Slowly the little arm fell to its nat-
    ural position, and the now despised stone
    dropped. The minstrel charmed the murd-
    erer. We heard the songster through, and
    watehed his unharmed flight, as did the boy,
    with a sorrowful countenance. Anxious to
    hear an expression of the little fellow’s feel-
    ings, we approached him and inquired:

    “Why didn’t you stone him, my boy? You
    might have killed him, and carried him
    home.”

    The poor little fellow looked up doubt-
    ingly, as though he suspected our meaning;
    and, with an expression half shame and
    half sorrow, he replied, ‘‘Couldn’t, cos he
    sung so!”

    “DOWN TO SLEEP.”
    JOHN HOWARD.

    ae Angel of Night has come bringing

    The little birds home to the nest,
    The Angel of Slumber is singing

    Our home-bird to sleep.on her breast.
    An Angel of Mem’ry is haunting

    The over-wrought mother-heart there—
    Old lullaby’s softly are chanting—

    Hush’d voices are breathing a prayer.

    Herself, in her child there repeating,
    She grieves for the untrodden way,—
    _ The morrow’s bright promise defeating
    With echoes of dead yesterday.
    * * x
    The Angel of Hope, gently beaming
    Low whispers ‘‘ Dear heart do not weep.”
    Lay all thy bitter-sweet dreaming
    And fears with thy child, ‘Down to sleep.”

    WHAT NAPOLEON I. THOUGHT OF
    CHRIST.

    A CROSS a chasm of eighteen hundred

    years Jesus Christ makes a demand
    which is beyond all others difficult to satisfy.
    He asks that for which a philosopher may
    often seek in vain at the hands of his friends,
    or a father of his children, or a bride of her
    spouse, or a man of his brother: He asks for
    the human heart: He will have it entirely to
    himself: He demands it unconditionally;
    and forthwith His demand is granted.
    Wonderful! In defiance of time and space,
    the soul of man, with all its powers and
    faculties, becomes an annexation to the em-
    pire of Christ. All who sincerely believe in
    Him experience that remarkable supernat-
    ural love toward Him. This phenomenon
    is unaccountable; it is altogether beyond the
    scope of man’s creative power. Time, the
    great destroyer, is powerless to extinguish
    this sacred flame: time can neither exhaust
    its strength nor put a limit to its range.
    This it is which strikes me most. I have
    often thought of it. This is it which proves
    to me quite convincingly the Divinity of
    Jesus Christ.
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    THE HEART WAS MASTER OF THE GUN.
    THE LITTLE LEAVES.
    GEORGE COOPER.

    wu E must go,” sighed little Ruby,
    Orange, Topaz, Garnet, Gold ;
    “For the chilly breeze is calling,
    And the year is growing old.
    Good-by, quiet, sunny meadows
    That we never more shall see ;
    Good-by, winding brooks of silver,
    Snowy lambs and dead old tree—
    Dear old loving mother-tree.”

    From the branches down they fluttered,
    Like a rainbow scattered wide;
    And the old tree looked so lonely,
    That was once the woodland’s pride.
    But the wind came wildly piping,
    And they danced away with glee,
    Ruby, Topaz, Garnet, Orange,
    Soon forgot the poor old tree—
    Poor old loving mother-tree.

    But when skies of drear November
    Frowned upon their wild delight,
    All the little leaves grew lonely,
    And they wandered back one night;
    And they nestled in a hollow
    At the foot of the old tree,
    Sighing: ‘‘ All the long white winter
    We shall now so quiet be
    Near our dear old mother-tree.”

    BIRD CHAPELS.
    J. R. S. CLIFFORD.

    LIL careful observers of the doings of
    the <‘‘irrepressible” London sparrow,
    which greets us amid city streets as well as in
    the parks and suburbs of the metropolis,
    know it as a fact that these birds hold, at
    certain times, meetings, which have been
    rather oddly styled their “‘chapels.”
    Beholding one of these chapels, we are apt
    to wonder how it is such hosts of sparrows in
    or near the metropolis, manage to escape
    guns, traps, cats, and the other perils that
    beset them. This “chapel” may be in a
    tree, a church turret—perhaps the top of a
    wall—and to it, while the place is used, the
    sparrows gather by hundreds or, it is stated,
    even in larger numbers, the meeting being
    invariably of a noisy character, designed,
    possibly, for the discussion of some perplex-
    ing question that is agitating sparrowdom,
    or rather, as some have suggested, for the
    consideration of the behavior of sparrows that
    have been delinquents, due punishment fol-
    lowing, we may suppose. For prudential
    reasons, a chapel is seldom held during many
    weeks in one spot, and the birds choose a new

    meeting-place, seemingly by common con-
    sent. It should be added that these chapels
    occur generally in broad daylight; occasion-
    ally it may be the dusk of early evening when
    the birds assemble, but they scatter ere they
    go to roost.

    Other birds hold meetings, too, which we
    might entitle ‘“‘chapel;” the rook, for in-
    stance. A naturalist noticed once that an
    enormous number of rooks had assembled
    upon a lawn, and after a good deal of chat-
    tering, the whole party whirled hither and
    thither within the space, evidently encom-
    passing some object. In a little time, he
    perceived the centre of attraction was one
    unfortunate rook, which was pushed about,
    and made the recipient of scores of pecks;
    rushing forward, he rescued the poor wretch,
    which was still alive, and the host of his
    tormentors dispersed with an angry caw.
    We have ourselves noticed flights of rooks
    from different directions which appeared to
    indicate that they were seeking some field or
    wood where an assembly was to be held, and
    have also observed on the outskirts of a wood
    at evening, large parties careering to and fro,
    uttering loud cries, preparatory, as we pre-
    sume, to dispersing to their respective rook-
    eries. Rooks, it is found, sometimes go for-
    aging miles away from their own locality,
    and it is very likely that, when night sud-
    denly sets in upon them, they call and roost
    at some rookery near them, instead of jour-
    neying to their proper home.

    We have now to relate a curious circum-
    stance connected with the starling, a bird
    often insufficiently prized by the gardener
    and farmer, though it is a great destroyer of
    insects. About two miles from the town of
    Gravesend there is a small copse or wood,
    not much frequented. Any person going
    thither any November afternoon last year
    would have witnessed something not easily
    to be forgotted. At a quarter to four (for
    their punctuality is remarkable) thither troop
    starlings from all points of the compass in
    rapid succession ; the cry is “still they come,”
    and by conjecture their number must be
    some thousands; we are reminded of the ac-
    cumulating autumn leaves of Vallombrossa’s.
    vale, immortalized by the poet of Paradise:
    Lost. But, unlike the leaves, they are vocal,
    and so persistent are they that their cries ren-
    der it impossible for persons standing under-
    neath to make themselves audible in ordi-
    nary talk.

    These starlings, however, do not disperse
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    THE LITTLE MILEIMAN.
    when their chapel is over; it is a place chosen
    by them just now for their nightly repose,
    and, if we wait long enough, we shall find
    them settled down upon the smaller boughs
    chiefly, yet not so fast asleep as to fail to
    raise an alarm should real or imagined dan-
    ger approach. Another season we might
    seek the birds in vain there, they would prob-
    ably have chosen another as quiet a resort.

    Migration is a cause which brings together
    many species at certain seasons, and apart
    from that, other species show a tendency to
    gather in flocks: the larks and finches of
    our fields and woodlands offer a familiar
    instance. Partly this is a love of compan-
    ionship, now and then it is because they are
    seeking for some food congenial to them,
    and we may suppose that they also join
    company to protect themselves from the at-
    tacks of the rapacious birds.

    THE, BROOK.

    THOMAS ASHE.

    ROOK, happy brook, the merriest of our dells,
    Go tripping with light foot adown the mead ;
    With lingering haste your winding water lead,
    By pebble-beds and reeds, and foxglove bells ;
    And find the cottage where my dear one dwells,
    Ripple your sweetest ripple, sing the best
    Of melodies you have ; lull her to rest
    With softer tales than many a brooklet tells.
    Say ‘One is sitting in your wood to-night,
    O maiden rare, to catch a glimpse of you;
    Or see your shadow, with the taper’s light,
    Fall on the little lawn and evening dew.”
    Brook, happy brook, I pray, go lingering ;
    And underneath the rose-twined lattice sing.

    THE JOURNEY OF A DAY.

    HANA life is a journey marked off
    into stages of four-and-twenty-hours.
    A person of average age sees about eleven
    thousand of these stages; if he reaches three-
    score years, he will have seen twenty-two
    thousand risings of the sun. Night brings
    the bivouac and tired nature’s sweet restorer.
    After a few hours of sound slumber (and
    woe be to the man or woman who cannot
    sleep), the rosy fingers of the morning
    touch us, as the Divine Restorer touched
    the dead maiden in the house of Jairus, and
    says to us, ‘‘ Arise!” In a moment the
    whole machinery of life is again in full play.
    God puts us on a new probation, when the
    griefs of yesterday may be corrected, and a
    new chance is given us to ‘‘make good speed”

    on a higher walk of diligence, and a closer
    fellowship with our Guide.

    One hour of the morning is commonly
    worth two at the sunset; nearly all the mind’s
    best work is wrought after its resurrection
    from the couch, and not when it is seeking
    repose. Sir Walter Scott wrote his Waverley
    romances before breakfast, while his guests
    were sleep. All those commentaries of be-
    loved Albert Barnes are the product of five
    o’clock in the morning. The night watch-
    man of Philadelphia got accustomed to see
    him marching over to his study before day-
    light in winter. Let the devil’s devotees be
    astir at midnight, God’s children ought to
    be in bed and asleep. Especially students
    and ministers should perform their chief in-
    telectual labor in the morning.

    Every day’s journey should be commenced
    with God. As the Oriental traveler sets out
    for the march over the burning sands by
    loading up his camel under the palm trees,
    and by filling up his water flagons from the
    cool fountain that sparkles at the roots, so
    doth a Christian wayfarer draw his early sup-
    plies from the inexhaustable spring. ‘In
    the morning will I direct my prayer unto
    Thee, and will look up,” said the man after
    God’s own heart. The buoyant soul makes
    its earliest flight, ike the lark, towards the
    gates of heaven.

    TABBY GRAY.

    ’M a pretty little kitten,
    My name is Tabby Gray;
    I live at Frogley Farmhouse,
    Some twenty miles away.

    My little eyes are hazel,
    My skin as soft as silk,

    Im fed each night and morning
    With a saucerful of milk.

    The milk comes sweet and foaming,
    Fresh from the good old cow,
    And, after I have lapped it,
    I frolic you know how.

    I’m petted by the mistress
    And children of the house,
    And sometimes when I’m nimble
    I catch a little mouse.

    And sometimes when I’m naughty
    I climb upon the stand,

    And eat the cake and chicken,
    Or anything at hand.

    Oh, then they hide my saucer,
    No matter how I mew;

    And that’s the way I’m punished
    For naughty things I do.









































































































































    OUR SAILOR BOY.
    MARK MERVIN.

    URRAH! hurrah! here’s a letter from Tom—
    A letter from Tommy across the sea;
    The good Ship Rover is sailing home
    With her blue flag flying so fair and free.

    He sailed for China a year ago,
    With a wonderful cargo, from far Hong Kong;
    And he sang as he left us out on the pier,
    “Good-bye, my hearties, I’ll not be long!”

    Oh, my boy Tom is as fair as the day,.
    With his cheeks so fresh and his eyes so blue;
    ‘We used to laugh at his golden curls—
    They looked so bright when the sun shone through.

    Hurrah! hurrah! here’s a letter from Tom—
    Have you seen it Maggie?— we're all so gay;
    He sent this off in a shore-bound boat, :
    And he'll try and be with us, he says, to-day.

    WAKE UP, GIRLS, WAKE UP!
    ROSE TERRY COOKE.

    OFTEN hear girls say: ‘‘Oh, I’ve gota

    new pattern for knit lace,” or, ‘I’ve
    learned to make paper flowers.” Now, I
    dare say knit lace will wear longer than
    women; that paper flowers, well made, are
    pretty decorations. These things are all well
    enough for play; but how many of you do
    anything useful?

    This does not apply to that large class of
    country girls who honestly work for their
    living, and are therefore respectable and
    respected; a girl who has sold goods all day
    in a store, tended machines in a factory,
    made or trimmed bonnets, sewed for a dress-
    maker, can knit lace or make paper flowers
    at her leisure, without remark or criticism
    from me; she has earned a right to amuse-
    ment of any harmless kind; but when I see,
    as I do see often, girls who spend their time
    walking, driving, doing fancy work, dancing
    whenever they can, living —if this is living
    —in a self-indulgent idleness, while their
    fathers and mothers are working hard to
    give them this leisure, I want to shake them.
    Yes, undignified as it is, I want really to
    shake them. I want to shout in their ears:
    “Girls, wake up! What are you doing?
    What did God make you for? Are you good
    for anything in heaven above or earth be-
    neath?”

    And, indeed, what are they good for? I
    don’t think they are of any use at home;
    they never get up in time for breakfast if
    they can help it; they never offer to wash
    the dishes, to sweep, to dust. If they make

    their own beds it is under protest and com-

    laint; and as for cooking! a Hottentot

    nows better how to prepare a meal than the
    nominally Christian girl; and their sewing
    would not pass muster at an old-fashioned
    dame school. They don’t help their mothers
    in anything, not even by loving them; for
    self-indulgence is a dry rot that eats out all
    the moral affections, and leaves in their
    place self-love, self-conceit, impatience of
    control, disobedience, and all the repellent
    traits that this self-center throws out from
    its daily revolutions.

    A WINTER FANCY,
    JULIA H, MAY.

    HE Summer is fast asleep
    Under the winter snow;
    Her bed is warm, her bed is deep,
    Deeper than frosts can go.

    She has slept for many a week —
    Oh, I wish she would awake!

    T long for the blush of her rosy cheek
    And the music she will make,

    Sometimes, when the south wind blows,
    I fancy that I hear,

    In the hush of the storm, an echo that goes
    Into my longing ear.

    Like the thrill of a robin’s note,
    Or the murmur of growing things;

    On the frosty air it seems to float, ;
    Then mounts on a snow-flake’s wings.

    <°Tis but the wind,” they say,
    But my fancy J must keep:

    The Summer ts pushing the snow away
    And talking in her steep.

    UPWARD AND ONWARD,

    HENRY WARD BEECHER.

    aan more thorough a man’s education is,
    the more he yearns for and is pushed
    forward to new achievement. The better a
    man is in this world, the better he is com-
    pelled to be. That bold youth who climbed
    up the Natural Bridge, in Virginia, and

    carved his name higher than any other,

    found, when he had done so, that it was
    impossible for him to descend,.and that his
    only alternative was to go on and scale the
    height, and find safety at the top. Thus it
    is with all climbing in this life. There is
    no going down. It is climbing or falling.
    Every upward step makes another necdful,
    and so we must go on until we reach heaven,
    the summit of the aspirations of time.

    .











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    OUR SAILOR BOY.
    “JACK, DEAR, COME HOME!”

    H@BE WATSON had a lovely canary

    whom she called Jack, whose only fault
    was that he would sing too much. Hé could
    sing very sweetly, and when the fancy took
    him he would sing for hours together. All
    the talking and scolding in the world was in
    vain. Phceebe would beg and plead, “Oh,
    Jack, dear, do be quiet for a little while; ”—
    but Jack would sing in spite of all. Then
    Phoebe would take him into a dark closet,
    but that didn’t matter, he would still sing.
    Still, with all his noise, Jack was a great
    favorite. His cage door was left open after
    breakfast and he would hop about and sing.
    One day, the door being open, Jack flew
    away, and poor. little Phcebe’s heart was
    almost broken. She called, and cried and
    called, but all in vain. At last she put on
    her hood and took the empty cage and wan-
    dered all about the farm, and just as she was
    returning home ‘very sad and weary, she
    heard Jack’s voice. There he was in the
    middle of the road. He seemed quite
    delighted to see his little mistress, and Phoebe
    opened the cage door and called to her little
    feathered pet and said, ‘“‘ Jack, dear, come
    home, and you may sing just as loud as you
    wish.” Well, whether Jack understood it
    all or not I don’t know. But one thing I
    know, Jack flew into his cage and has never
    flown away since.

    MAN WAS MADE TO. TOIL.

    BENJAMIN FRANKLIN,

    S for a little more money and a little
    more time, why it’s ten to one if either
    one or the other would make you a whit hap-
    pier. If you had more time, it would be sure
    to hang heavily. It is the working man who is
    the happy man. Man was made to be active,
    and he is never so happy as when he isso. It
    is the idle man who is the miserable man.
    What comes of holidays, and far too often of
    sight-seeing, but evil? Half the harm that
    dappens is on those days.

    NEW-YEAR RESOLUTIONS.

    E. L. BENEDICT.

    pee were three little folks, long ago,
    Who solemnly sat in a row,

    On a December night,

    And attempted to write
    For the new year a good resolution

    “s I will try not to ParaKe so much noise,
    And be one of the quietest boys,”
    Wrote one of .the three,
    Whose uproarious glee
    Was the cause of no end of confusion. .

    “‘T resolve that I never will take

    More than two or three pieces of cake,”
    Wrote plump little Pete,
    Whose taste for the sweet

    Was a problem of puzzling solution.

    The other, her paper to fill,

    Began with, “Resolved, that I will —”
    ‘And right there she stopped,
    And fast asleep dropped,

    Ere she came to a single conclusion.

    LAST WORDS OF SOCRATES.

    OCRATES was condemned to drink the
    hemlock at Athens in his seventy-second
    year, because his lofty teaching ran counter
    to the prejudices and party spirit of his age.
    He was charged by his accusers with cor-
    rupting the youth of Athens by inciting
    them to despise the tutelary deities of the
    state. He had the moral courage to brave
    not only the tyranny of the judges who con-
    demned him, but of the mob who could not
    understand him. He died discoursing of the
    doctrine of immortality of the soul, his last
    words to his judges being, ‘It is now time
    that we depart—I to die, you to live; but
    which has the better destiny is unknown to
    all except to the God.”

    THE FLOWER ETERNAL.
    HENRY W. AUSTIN.

    Fats
    Ts great!
    Be our state
    Importunate
    Or most fortunate
    We all come, soon or late,
    Unto Death’s predestined date,
    Which doth for some alleviate
    Sorrows that for years gathered weight;

    But ah!—-——how oft it doth abbreviate
    Royal raptures that no language may translate—
    Raptures of love — divine !—_—_—— if it were not for Fate!
    Yet, on humblest graves, the flower of Faith still grows,’
    More strange, more beautiful than Passion’s rose;
    Flower of Faith, Love’s autumn bud, that shows
    By its persistence through all times
    And perfection in all climes
    The reason of its bloom.

    So, tho’ Doubt o’ergloom
    With cloudy wraith,

    Blooms more great
    Than Fate
    Faith |
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    “JACK, DEAR, COME HOME!”
    THE MAN IN THE MOON.

    HE man in the moon who sails through the sky,
    Is a most courageous skipper;
    But he made a mistake when he tried to take
    A drink of milk from the ‘‘ dipper.”
    He dipped it into the ‘‘ milky way,”
    And slowly, cautiously filled it;
    But the ‘‘ Great Bear” growled and the ‘Little Bear”
    howled, ;
    And scared him so that he spilled it.

    POOR BOYS WHO BECAME GREAT.

    Aes ADAMS, second president, was the
    son of a farmer of very moderate means.
    The only start he had was a good education.
    Andrew Jackson was born in a log hut in
    North Carolina, and was raised in the pine
    woods for which the state is so famous.

    James K. Polk spent the earlier years of
    his life helping to dig a living out of a new
    farm in North Carolina. He was afterward
    a clerk in a country store.

    Milliard Fillmore was the son of a New
    ‘York farmer, and his home a very humble
    one. He learned the business of a clothier.

    James Buchanan was born in a small town
    in the Allegheny mountains. His father cut
    the logs and built his own house in what was
    then a wilderness.

    Abraham Lincoln was the son of a very
    poor Kentucky farmer, and lived in a log
    cabin until he was 21 years old.

    Andrew Johnson was apprenticed to a tai-
    lor at the age of ten years by his widowed
    mother. He was never able to attend school
    and picked up all the education he ever got.

    General Grant lived the life of a common
    boy in a common house on the banks of the
    Ohio river until he was 17 years of age.

    James A. Garfield was born in a log cabin.
    He worked on the farm from the time he was
    strong enough to use carpenter tools, when
    he learned the-trade. He afterwards worked
    on the canal. -

    THE CRADLE AND THE NEST.
    TRUE W. WILLIAMS.

    RADLES are rocked and lullabys sung,
    In the halls of the great with tapestry hung,
    Cradles are rocked in the boughs on high
    _And the wind sings lullabys sweeping by.

    Baby heads curling with gold and brown,
    Baby heads covered with feathers and down.
    Homes in palaces—homes in the air, ;
    But home is not home.without mother is there.

    A COMMONPLACE LIFE.
    “ susAN COOLIDGE.

    COMMONPLACE life, we say, and we sigh;
    But why should we sigh as we say ?
    The commonplace sun in the commonplace sky
    Makes up the commonplace day. :
    The moon and the stars are commonplace things,
    The flower that blooms, and the bird that sings;
    But sad were the world, and dark our lot,
    If the flowers failed and the sun shone not,

    . And God, who sees each separate soul,

    Out of commonplace lives makes his beautiful
    whole.

    A LESSON FROM THE GARDEN.

    HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.

    es issaid that gardeners, sometimes, when
    ‘ they would bring a rose to richer flower-
    ings, deprive it for a season of light and.
    moisture. Silent and dark it stands, drop-
    ping one fading leaf after another, and seem-
    ing to go down patiently todeath. But when
    every leaf is dropped, and the plant stands
    stripped to the uttermost, a new life is even
    then working in the buds, from which shall
    spring a tender foliage and a brighter wealth
    of flowers. So, often, in celestial gardenings,
    every leaf of earthly joy must drop before a
    new and divine bloom visits the soul.

    AUNT MARIA’S STORY OF A PELICAN.

    OME, I’ve a story, children dear,
    It may be good to tell;

    But you must listen carefully,

    And think upon it well;—
    Astory good for playmates all,

    For sister and for brother,
    Who think it hard for any one

    To give up for another.

    There is a bird of foreign lands
    Of which strange tales are told,
    And one strange tale, it seems to me,
    I well might write in gold :—
    That all for softness, all for warmth,
    To line her quiet nest,
    She plucks the down, the soft, warm down,
    From her unselfish breast.

    Now, as the nest to that wild bird
    So is your home to you.
    Let the wild bird’s unselfish life
    Be like your home-life too :
    Though it may sometimes cost you pain,
    Give up without a frown
    Your own for others, and you'll be
    Like the good pelican, you see—
    You'll line the nest with down.
    =



















































































































































































































    AUNT MARIA’S STORY OF THE PELICAN,


    THE EMPTY NEST.
    EMILY H. MILLER.

    \ \ ] E found it under the apple tree,
    Torn from the bough where it used to swing,
    Softly rocking its babies three,
    Nestled under the mother’s wing.

    This is a leaf, all shriveled and dry,
    That once was a canopy overhead;
    Doesn’t it almost make youcry —
    To look at the poor little empty bed?

    All the birdies have flown away;
    Birds must fly, or they wouldn’t have wings;
    Don’t you hope they’ll come back some day?
    Nests without birdies are lonesome things.

    Deep in the mother’s listening heart
    Drops the prattle with sudden stings,
    For lips may quiver and tears may start,
    But birds must fly, or they wouldn’t have wings.

    A CHILD’S EYES.

    HON. MRS. NORTON.

    CHILD’S eyes! those clear wells of unde-
    filed thought; what on earth can be more
    beautiful! Full of hope, love and curiosity,
    they meet your own. In prayer, how ear-
    nest; in joy, how sparkling ; in sympathy,
    how tender! The man who never tried the
    companionship of a little child has carelessly
    passed by one of the great pleasures of life,
    as one passes a rare flower without plucking
    it or knowing its value. A child cannot un-
    derstand you, you think: speak to it of the
    holy things of your religion, of your grief
    for the loss of a friend, of your love for
    some one you fear will not love in return : it
    will take, it istrue, no measure or soundings
    of your thought ; it will not judge how much
    you should believe; whether your grief is
    rational in proportion to your loss; whether
    you are worthy or fit to attract the love which
    you seek ; but its whole soul will incline to
    yours, and ingraft itself, as it were, on the
    feeling which is your feeling for the hour.

    CHRISTMAS STOCKINGS.
    ANNIE M. BARTON.

    9 IS Christmas Day,
    Ae And little May
    Peeps from her bed in the morning gray.

    She looks around,
    But not a sound
    - Breaks on the quietness profound.

    So, heaving sighs,
    She shuts her eyes,
    And hard to go to sleep she tries,

    But sleep has fled
    That little bed,
    And wearily moves the curly head.

    Until the light :
    (Oh, welcome sight,)
    Has banished every trace of night.

    Then out of bed,
    s With hurried tread,
    She runs to waken brother Fred;

    For oh, what joys,
    In shape of toys,
    Does Christmas bring to girls and boys?

    Fred gives a groan,
    Or sleepy moan,
    And mutters, ‘‘Do let mealone!”

    But bonnie May
    Will not have Nay,
    She whispers, ‘‘It is Christmas Day!”

    Oh, magic sound!
    For Fred turns round, ath
    And in a trice is on the ground.

    “Our stockings where?”
    “They’re on that chair.”
    “Oh what has Santa Claus put there?”

    May laughs with glee
    The sight to see,
    Of stockings filled from toe to knee

    With parcels queer
    That stick out here,
    Before, behind, in front and rear.

    “Oh, Fred! a dolly !
    Tl call her Molly.”
    ““Why, May, a penknifé here! how jolly P

    “A necktie blue!
    - A paint-box, too!
    Oh, Fred, a pair of kid gloves new !”

    “May, here’s a gun!
    Won't we have fun,
    Playing atsoldiers !—you'll be one.”

    “Now that is all.”
    ‘*No, here’s a ball,
    Just hold it, or these things will fall.”

    “What’s in the toe,
    May, do you know?”
    “Biscuits and figs!—I told you so.”

    -“T think,” said May,
    “That Christmas Day
    Should come at least each second day.”

    And so say we;
    But then you see,
    That Santa Claus would tired be,

    And all his toys,
    And Christmas joys,
    *Vould vanish then from girls and boys.
    My
    fy
    HY Wy
    Wi

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    “Gill He Shall
    Give Me Light.”

    BELLA G. MASTERS.

    dias! all the dewy morning,
    Through all the golden day,
    And when the quiet shadows
    Fall soft around my way,
    Beneath the sky's soft splendor,
    All through the silent night,
    Still I am waiting, waiting,
    Till He shall give me light.

    I feel the sweet, warm sunshine,
    The kiss of balmy air,

    And know the young spring’s footsteps
    Have made the brown earth fuir;

    I breathe the breath of roses,
    In summer’s golden glow

    And hear the reapers’ singing,
    Adown the autumn row;

    And through the long, cold winter,
    When earth lies still and white,

    Still Iam waiting, waiting,
    Till He shall give me light.

    EARS a
    SLs
    = at WS 5
    RUS The faces of the children
    2: LW ws That used to smile so fair,
    rs SSNS My heart holds bitter grieving
    To feel the darkness there.
    I wonder of their seeming
    What change my eyes might see,
    If_in through all the darkness
    Each face should shine on me.
    But I’ve no time for grieving,
    I hear the voices cry,
    Im waiting by the roadside,
    And ‘Jesus passeth by ;”
    And some time He will see me, -
    And smile with sweetest grace,
    And still my hungry longing
    When I shall see His face.

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    My feet hive grown so weary,
    The long road almost o’er,
    a hands have dropped their burden
    hat they can bear no more,
    But still my heart is watching,
    His promise is its might;
    My life is at its even
    And soon it will be light.

    Oh, sound of many harpers,
    That echo far and sweet!
    O, city of all glory,
    T see your golden street!
    Oh, throne of the Eternal,
    And of the Crucified,
    Oh, peace that passeth knowledge,
    Oh, life beyond the tide,
    Some day my soul shall greet you
    With Heaven’s new gift of sight,
    For I am waiting, waiting,
    And He shall give me light.





























    Ihe Veiceof ¥”

    the Helples



    W.C. GARNETT.



    PAN in birds for millinery purposes re-

    ceived, when the fashion was at its height,
    a single consignment of thirty-two thousand
    dead humming birds; and at another time,
    thirty thousand aquatic birds, and three hun- |\\\
    dred thousand pairs of wings.

    en

    Think what a price to pay,
    Faces so bright and gay,
    Just for a hat!
    Flowers unvisited,
    Mornings unsung, Se
    Sea-ranges bare of the wings that o’er- \ .
    swung— 9
    Bared just for that!





    Think of the others, too, 1
    Others and mothers, too, {

    Bright eyes in hat!
    Hear you no mother-groan \
    Floating in air? \
    Hear you no little moan—birdling’sdespair— { a
    Somewhere, for that?

    Caught mid some mother-work, ~
    Torn by a hunter Turk,
    Just for your hat!
    Plenty of mother-heart
    Yet in the world ;
    All the more wings to tear, carefully twisted,
    Women want that! .



    Oh, but the shame of it,
    Oh, but the blame of it,
    Price of a hat!
    Just for a jauntiness
    Brightening the street !
    This is your halo. Oh, faces so sweet—
    Death: and for that !










    eC ae
    ql? re

    SUH :
    ; AEN AA








    Y

    “raid Gat. |

    OOR little Kitty! She has just been
    taken from her motherand brought ) VR gee SAF
    to the farm asa present for Florence. | ELE a
    * Worence calls her a poor little ‘‘’Fraid
    Cat.” She is hungry and wants some
    milk butis afraid to come. Well, she
    is very young and don’t know much.
    But when she gets older and finds out
    how kind and loving Florence is, she {’
    will be as boldand merry as any cat
    6 that ever chased a mouse or rat.






    ie
    17,
















    i

    Sp pte eh epee ti ees re nt rr enn epee Sn A ERTS

    THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE. ©
    JOHN DENNIS.

    E cannot walk, he cannot speak,
    Nothing he knows of books and men,

    He is the weakest of the weak,

    And has not strength to hold a pen ;
    He has no pocket, and no purse,

    Nor ever yet has owned a penny,
    But has more riches than his nurse,

    Because he wants not any.

    He rules his parents by a cry,
    And holds them captive by a smile—
    A despot, strong through infancy,
    A king from lack of guile.
    He lies upon his back and crows,
    Or looks with grave eyes on his mother—
    What can he mean? But I suppose
    They understand each other..

    Indoors or out, early or late,
    There is no limit to his sway,
    For wrapt in baby-robes of state,
    He governs night and day.
    Kisses he takes as-rightful due,
    And Turk-like, has his slaves to dress him.
    His subjects bend before him too ;
    I’m one of them. God bless him!

    A ROSE FROM HOMER’S GRAVE.
    HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

    A LL the songs of the east speak of the
    love of the nightingale for the rose in
    the silent starlight night. The winged song-
    ster serenades the fragrant flowers.
    Not far from Smyrna, where the merchant

    drives hig loaded camels, proudly arching .

    their long necks as they journey beneath the
    lofty pines over holy ground, | saw a hedge
    of roses. The turtle dove flew among the
    branches of the tall trees, and as the sun-
    beams fell upon her wings, they glistened as
    if they were mother-of-pearl. On the rose-
    bush grew a flower more beautiful than them
    all, and to her the nightingale sung of his
    woes; but the rose remained silent, not even
    a dewdrop lay like a tear of sympathy on her
    leaves. At last she bowed her head over a
    heap of stones, and said, ‘Here rests the
    greatest singer in the world; over his tomb
    will I spread my fragrance, and on it I will
    let my leaves fall when the storm scatters
    them. He who sung of Troy became earth,
    and from that earth I have sprung. I, a rose
    from the grave of Homer, am too lofty to
    bloom for a nightingale.” Then the night-
    ingale sung himself to death. A camel driver
    came by with his loaded camels and his black
    slaves; his little son found the dead bird, and
    buried the lovely songster in the grave of the

    great riomer, while the rose trembled in the:
    wind.

    The even’ .g came, and the rose wrapped.
    her leaves more closely round her, and:
    dreamed; and this was her dream:

    It was a fair sunshiny day; a crowd of
    strangers drew near who had undertaken a.
    pilgrimage to the grave of Homer. Among
    the strangers was a minstrel from the north,
    the home of the clouds and the brilliant auro-
    raborealis. He plucked the rose and placed
    it in a book, and carried it away into a dis-
    tant part of the world, his fatherland. The
    rose faded with grief, and lay between the
    leaves of the book, which he opened in his.
    own home, saying, ‘‘ Here is a rose from the
    grave of Homer.”

    Then the flower awoke from her dream,
    and trembled in the wind. A drop of dew
    fell from the leaves upon the singer’s grave.
    The sun rose, and the flowe