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Group 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
Title: Vacation fun for boys and girls
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Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00082776/00001
 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
Physical Description: 1 v. (unpaged) : ill. (some col.) ; 25 cm.
Language: English
Creator: W. W. Houston & Company ( Publisher )
Publisher: W.W. Houston & Company
Place of Publication: Philadelphia
Publication Date: c1894
 Subjects
Subject: 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
 Notes
Statement of Responsibility: superbly illsutrated by a wealth of special engravings by the best designers.
General Note: Frontispiece printed in colors.
General Note: Contains prose and verse.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00082776
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002225061
notis - ALG5333
oclc - 226307846

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    Frontispiece
        Frontispiece
    Title Page
        Page 1
    Main
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
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    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text
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OFF TO GRANDMA'S.


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VACATION FUN


FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.


EMBRACING


STORIES OF


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


'--- -i.--


. ENLIVENED BY THE .


CHOICEST SELECTIONS FROM THE POETIC WORLD.


SUPERBLY ILLUSTRATED
By a Wealth of Special Engravings by the Best Designersh



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."


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JENNIE'S CROSSING.









MUSIC OF THE MONTHS.
JANUARY.
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
TANUS 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.
T 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 a cherry-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.
What a picture they make! For a 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 longer. But at last the patient
perseverance of the teacher was rewarded, and
Polly 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
a crumpled, tumbled-about pile of worsted.
Oh, Granny! It is a shame! How could
you!" And poor Polly was ready to burst
into tears.
"I'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; but look there, and learn that we


can spoil it all in a 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.
SOLD, 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.
FTWO 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;
Alas! Since woman bears the heaviest burden
And walks the 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 loveY
How shall it be with this dear gentle stranger,
Fair-faced and gentle-eyed;
P,4:-1.'- 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-
And pray that he who feeds the crying ravens
Will guide the baby's feet.





















































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LITTLE FEET.


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"THE LAND OF LITTLE PEOPLE."
COOPER WILLIS.
Y ES; the land of little people is a lovelier land
than ours,
With its mine of new-found treasures, mossy glades,
and fairy bowers ;
Earth 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 is 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 than 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."
ON'T 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 in the 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 beautiful leather collar she wears around
her neck. And a cunning, wicked Roxie
she is, though she does look so demure. I'm
sure I shouldn't get into half the trouble I
do, 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 a gentleman who wrote a long poem,
all out of his own head, about kittens. I
only remember two verses, but I'm sure
you'll say with me that it's real beautiful
poetry, and that he was a real nice gentle-
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.
THE 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.
"I 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.
W 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
a man 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. He 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
seen 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. What a
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 on
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 a scene
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." To
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.
E 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 as if Curly Bess was equally de-
lighted to bear so fair a burden.



























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EULA'S MORNING RIDE.










PLAYING BROWNIE.
IT was a very dismal, rainy Saturday, and a
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 is it ?" 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
she ran 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.
"Why, that's strange Ellen,'" said grand-
ma; "I had a similar 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 know it's a
catch-all for the family."
"Yes," sighed mamma; "when everything
else is in order that closet rises up before me
like a nightmare. I must straighten it out
this evening."
"But-it 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 and
slippers by the fire, but my fairy must have
done it tonight. Have you had a dull day,
Puss?"-
"The pleasantest Saturday I can remem-
ber," replied Alice.
No one would have thought her to be the
child who pouted at the rain that morning.

HOW MUCH THERE IS THAT'S BEAUTI-
FUL.
HOW 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.
E LI BATES a wealthy citizen of Chicago,
who died some years ago, left a large sum
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. After an ad
dress from Leonard Swett, one of Lincoln's
law partners, and a brief speech by Mayor
Roche in which he said, "Here in 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 loud and long
continued applause. While this impressive
scene was transpiring in Lincoln Park, the
Hon. Elihn 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.




























A1
~ /


"THERE I NOW YOU'VE DONE IT 1'










LENA'S GOSSIP WITH THE MOON.
R. W. LOWRIE.
Imet the moon the other night,
Out by the chestnut tree;
I'll tell 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
I'd 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.
WHILE 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.
In 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 is a "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 its sheath. After a
few jumps, however, the average man grasps
hold of the horn of the saddle-the delighted
onlooker 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 to result disastrously.

"YOURS, DEAR HEARTS, AND MINE."
FANNIE ISABEL SHERRICK.
LET 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 in the 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 lould govern their
tongues.










































































LENA'S GOSSIP WITH THE MOON.








A SURE RECIPE FOR HAPPINESS.
ONCE 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
paper and then see what he could read. Then
he 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.
GEOBGE COOPER.
ILL you never wake up little brook?
SYou 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,
"I have wonderful things to tell;
Though the winter seems long,
I shall break into song
With the bluebirds that flash through the
dell."
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!" the tree urmured softly "still wait!
Though the snow all around me lies deep,
When the warmer wind brings
The flutter of wings,
I 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,
Axe you frightened to hear? "


"Wait," the tiny seed whispered, "I'll come
When the rain-drops above me call.
Then, in gold, pink and blue,
With a sweet How d'ye do,'
I shall welcome the little ones alll"

"WELL-ENOUGH JONES."
Have you got your lesson, Will?" asked
Harry Mayo, standing outside the open sit-
ting-room window of the Jones' farmhouse.
I've 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.
"It 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 in the 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 8peed-
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 half 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.








t'


If JA. ( I'



'~ rl/Kji~


A SURE RECIPE FOR HAPPINESS.


I ,
i"


I:
1/..**~


II,









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. I am afraid we can't get him off be-
fore dark, and it is awfully lonely over
there."
"I don't care at all," said Aunt Hannah.
"I 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, as 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, a star 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.
It seems as if I had been gone as long as
Rip Van Winkle," said Will, as he jumped
on shore. I think my hair must be turned
quite gray. I am hungry as a 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
by.
"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.





































THE WELCOME SINGER.
Into the heart of a dusty town
A wandering bird dropped lightly down;
On a swinging spray he sat and sang
Till every street in the old town rang
With liquid notes from the silver bill.
Twitter and warble and softest trill
Entered houses through window and door,
And filled every shop from roof to floor.

Every one wondered, and paused to hear
The jubilant melody, soft and clear,
And many a hard hand brushed away
Moisture from cheeks where it seldom lay,
As pictures arose of valley and hill,
Of forest nook and mountain rill,
Of beautiful youths and maidens fair,
The dear old home and mother's chalt.

The unconscious bird flew faraway,
Through pastures green and meadows
gay;
But the song lived on through all the day,
And an added softness gently lay
On the little town with houses gray.
Men spoke more softly, and women
smiled.
The bird, with his song so undeffled,
Made each "become as a little child."









BABY JO.
KATE HARRINGTON.

O UT from heaven's portals, those flood-gates of
light,
Came a new soul in the hush of the night.
On, past the star-isles that floated on high:
On, past the moonbeams 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,
Lol 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 0, so daintily flushed,
Dyed with a tint as of rose petals crushed,
Will you not carry our darling always
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
Brigten and flash in those wondering eyes.
Suct a large world for a baby so small!
Would he might tell what he thinks of it all


GOOD HUMOR'S VISIT TO PESKY JIM.

P-T 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,
pick up your toys and put them in the
drawer." But Jim, being tired and a little
eross, would say with a pout:


"I 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, Work. 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.

T 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?

















4F



7,


BABY JO.









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 yotur
pockets tlie safes in which you have hidden
treasure, and your hands the bolts that secnre
the safe-door? Money may be there to-day,
but it wont be a guest" over to-morrow night.
An idler's money is apt to leap out of his.
pocket. It is likely to go for a pipe. a cigar,
a tobacco plug, a mug of ale. There is no
money in pocket-Wvarming..
Take your hands out of your pockets,
my b.:y. Y'ou are losing..lime. Time is
valuable.. People feel it at'the other end of
the line, when death isnearl and eterrity'is
pressing them into satho .:sminlquarters,'foi,
the work o:f this life cravesbours, days,weelk,
years. If those at this 'ed of the line of
youth with its abundance of resourtees would
only feel that time. was precious. Time is
a quarry. Every houir may he' a nugget of
gold. It is time in whose inivaitlable moments
we builMl i:ur bridlges 'spike the iron rails to
the sleepers. lau nch ourships. dig our :canals.
run our fa.:rories. You might have planted
twenty hills of potatoes .while I have been
talking to you. my boy. Take your hands
out of your pockets.


A SONG OF WORK.
V. 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 at all
That keeps going this cosmic ball;
For oh!
Tis Work that makes the world go round,
And Love only oils the wheels l


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!

What know they of rest who never work,
B13l tbe duties of manhood andwomanhood shirk,
'Tis Wjork that makes the world go round!
S When work is done
'Tis time for fun-
Father and mother,
Sister and brother,
Baby and all, with the merriest peals,
Gr~cFin- the joys home life reveals,
D'I 's -w..rk brings peace and rest at night;
For Wo rk means Duty, and Duty is Rightl
And oh!
'Tis easy to mak the world go round
If Love 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.


























i ;f t5
L


I ~


THE FIRST LESSON.









LITTLE THINGS.
I 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,
0, Saviour, may I be I
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 l],en 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. I 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.
N 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 to us on eager 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-
"I am coming to show her the way.
Coming with roses and violets blue,
Flowers and grasses baptized with dew.
This is thy message, 0 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. K.
A UNT Jemima's flower-bed certainly
did need weeding. Tommyhad 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, I do 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.
"It is too bad," said he, pulling off his
jacket; "I'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. I'll whisper
a secret just into your ear. You think
wouldd 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 in the hot sun." Here
the breeze playfully tickled his ear with a
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 to
do?" asked Tommy. "You're joking!
there's nothing for you to do!"
The breeze began softly rocking the









































I~lt


HIS MESSENGER.









branches 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
lands 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 for me. 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 neathh 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,
in 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
c.jor. 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, ahd hurry the lingering fisherman


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.
T happened one morning that little Bopeep,
While watchingher 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,
'Twas 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 I

Each sheep heaved a sigh as they stood in a row,
And slid as their heads they wagged solemnly, slow,
" Such conduct is perfectly shocking-let's g,."









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LITTLE BOPEEP AND LITTLE BOY BLUE










GOOD NIGHT.
MEROIE 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.

A 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, it is
better business capital than a great sum of
money. It is a 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 like a 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 foi
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.
W 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'llwish 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..





















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LITTLE PROBABILITIES.
WXTHEN he frowns his mother cries;
VV" 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."
Whenhe's bright and blithe and gay,
"Sunshine, breeze-a perfect dayl"
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.
II. 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 Egypt 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 uspause here a moment and
,look in upon this family of Jacob. Four
thousand years have passed since the spoiled,
proud Joseph was sold 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


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 colors and 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 his favorite 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. pF WATKINS GLEN.


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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 Egypt'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.
WHEN 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.
THE guest at the Jefferson House in
Watkins' Glen, is almost sure to be
greeted on his arrival by a large, handsome,
well-fed dog. This is Gibson, famed far and
near as the only living guide to Watkins
Glen, Gibson is a 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
a very 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 to spring
on a workman who passed, so zealous was he
in the protection of the fair tourist. 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 w1nt 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." Gibsonis at
once by his side, and even his master can not
call him away when once a tourist has been
placed under his guidance. Hewill 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 the scenery. He will never
desert any one whom he sets out to escort,
and if a visitor 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 is the 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.
F 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
success attending your faithfulness to your
work.


CHRIST AND THE LITTLE ONES.
URANIA LOCKE BAILEY.
"rfHE Master has come over Jordan,"
I 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 John;
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?
"If 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.
"If 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 health 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.
W E 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 branch,
Once caught a passing fly;
"Oh, let me live! the insect prayed,
With trembling, piteous cry.
"No," said the sparrow, "you must fall,
For lam great and you are small."
The bird had scarce begun his feast
Before a hawk came by;
The game was caught. "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 eagle saw the rogue, and swooped
Upon him from on high;
Pray let me live! why should you kill
So small a bird as I ? "
'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."









n


"I AM GREAT AND YOU ARE SMALL."


~p~ ~a~j~










THE BABY AND THE SOLDIERS.
R OUGH 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,
Its rosy cheeks and its dimpled charms,
And it crows with delight in the soldier's arms.
" Not all for the captian," the soldiers call:
" The baby we know, has a 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 I left 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.

W THAT a boom to all his friends and
V 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
of unusual mental or moral characteristics,
or from 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 believe 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
of 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 Smars
Alec" so thoroughly that he was never
called by'any 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 th&
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 off a 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 he climbed up the river bank, and the
cry of it is "Smart Alec!" was all the pity
he got. Boys, its worth while to struggle to
be clever, but America has had all the
"smart" boys she needs.










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TEN ROBBER TOES.
LITtLIAN BARR.
T H.AE 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.

ONE 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,


I am a corporal ? You are, are you ?
said the officer; I did not know that," an&
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
a 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 officer who had addressed
him was indeed, no other than his own
Commander-in-Chief.

THE WAY TO SING.
THE 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,
SThe 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.
















































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BOYS MAY WHISTLE.
SRANDMA Goff said a curious thing-
Boys may whistle but girls must sing."
That's the very thing I 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.
B 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 all over with the affec-
tation of the fine gentleman.
Cleverness is a sort of genius for instru-
mentality. It is 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.
SMost 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.
" TUJ DY," we called her; the pretty red
l 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 ANQ.,THE GEESE.


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"COME SIT ON MY KNEE, LITTLE
CHILDREN."
OME 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;
Ohl Thank the dear Lord, little children,
From Whose tender hand yoh are fed.
He heareth the cry of the sparrow
And careth for great and for small,
In life and in death, little children,
His love is the truest of all.

LEGENDS OF THE ROSE.
T HERE are several legends to account
for the origin of the rose. Sir John
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 become white
roses, and these werein the first roses that
any man saughe." The burning brands
thus became red roses-the others white
ones.
According to a 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


" 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 Arat 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: "Thorns also 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 as the 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.

















































"COME SIT ON MY KNEE, LITTLE CHILDREN."


I










HOW MOTHER EARTH GOT A NEW
DRESS.
OLD 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 a dress 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."
"I'll 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;"
"I'll make it a fringe," 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."
FRED 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
a preacher. 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 aworkingman'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.
N 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.
IT takes a sound body to make a sound
mind. Work is not vulgar. So long as
the brain needs the juices of the body, so
long will hard work be the fundamental
element in the development 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.










[till I ,* :i -


"WHAT IS WORTH DOING IS WORTH DOING WELL."









THE CALMNESS OF TRUTH.
HORAT1US BONAR.
A LL truth is calm,
Refuge and rock and tower,
The more of truth the more of calm,
Its calmness is its power.
SCalmness is truth,
And truth is calmness still-
Truth lifts its forehead to the storm,
Like some eternal hill.

SUNDAY MORNING TALKS.
III. SONGS OF THE MORNING.
THOMAS W. HANDFORD.
POETS 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 when they 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, 0 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:
0 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. Each 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 a daily resurrection from


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 in a 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























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BASS CATCHING AT NEWPORT, ,HODE ISLAND.


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HOW INDIANS POISON THEIR ARROWS
A VENE RABLE 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 in a 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. Arrows are 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.
OVER 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.
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.
P 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! hi!" 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 proceeding
from the interior of the brute. He groaned
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 t, a 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 1 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;
ifer 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 allwiles,
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.
0 love it is better than liberty; 0
I would never be free again
With a rod of iron she rules me. She knows
I'll do whatsoever I'm told.
A tyrant? No doubt of that-but then
My 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 a rich valley with the
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
ranch, 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 confinement and refusedto 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's hand. He
would follow the boy as far as his chain
would permit, when Charlie went away any-
where, and on his return Dan would be
waiting on the edge of his circular range to-
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 rush-


















































































.. _*


PRECIOSA.










for tie 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 lines were written by the poet onthe death
of her mother.
M 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 swift as 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 rich and fab
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 of 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.

O H! here is a spider! Meanthing! lill
Sit!" 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! I shudder to look at it!"
Papa by way of reply, took up a 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."
"I do not blame you, my dear, fdr 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























......


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MY TYRANT QUEEN.


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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 a few animals and plants."
"Well, papa, but spiders are 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. What a wonderful thing
is its web! How fine! how perfect! When a
spider cannot fasten all parts of its web to
corners or twigs or posts, he attaches his web
to a small 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
a new 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 as a
monkey up a pole; and he can swing himself
by his wonderful web in all directions; really,
papa, he is very clever! but what else can he
o?"
He can feel and taste," said little Tom.


"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.
I wonder that he has not sense enough
to be taught," remarked Mary.
"It 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 I have. But is there
no fear of spiders becoming too numerous?"
I 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.
THE 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
She croons like the brooding dove.
Sing soft, swing row,
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 mornl
Clasp to thy breast
The day, new born.






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"THEY DO NOT DIE I"
FRANK N. SCOTT.
T hey 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.
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,
So earthly 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 theworn-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.
T is a 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 re-
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
hot just. The violets bloom in secret dells


and the gentlest friendships have always
sought a hiding-place from the rude gaze of
critical 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 to
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 Cesars 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
Like to an angel's flitted, while
He lay so still upon my breast.
My baby slept; his baby head
Lay all unkissed neath pall and shroud.
I did not weep or cry aloud;
I only wished I, too, were dead.
My baby sleeps; a tiny mound,
All covered 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,
I take his little baby hand,
He smiles and sings sweet songs to me.
Sleep on, 0 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.


....... ......







lul X









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. GANGSTER.
IT 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.
THERE 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, stiff 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 mother. 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. LVEJoY.
(ARRY 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,
Even 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.
T HE safety of a mountain climber depends
upon being well shod; therefore, the Swiss
guides 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
Merteratsoh, 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
at a terrible pace. A steeper slope was be-
fore them, and s.t the end of it was a preci-
pice. The three foremost men were almost
buried in the whirling snow. Below them
were the jaws of death. 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 well shod with Christian princi-
ples. Sometimes temptation ices the track
under him, and then he must plant his foot
down with an iron heel or he is gone.


THE PICTURE OF A MAN.
W. SHAKSPEARE.
HT IS words are bonds, his oaths are oracles;
SHis 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?"

A RE you hurt Wallace, dear?" asked
tA. 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.



































































"ARE YOU HURT, WALLACE?"









OLD DOBBIN GRAY.
T HE merciful man is merciful to his beast.
IThe 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 o6l 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.
E VERY 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 MADE MACHAR.
O H, where are the sweet white lilies,
S 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.
T is not altogether easy to establish the
connection between eggs and Easter Day,
as we have a number of superstitions to
choose from. The Persians, for instance,
used eggs as a New Year's gift, as symbolizing
prosperity. The Romans had egg games in
honor of Castor and Pollux, who were said to
have been hatched from an egg of the swan
Leda. A race-course was laid out in the
form of an oval, and decorated eggs were
given as prizes to the victors. As the new
year, with the Romans, began at Easter,
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. It is quite possi-
ble, however, that our modern Easter 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 Easters 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























w ^^lB ^-'-----'"""'






-----



THE HERITAGE OF THE RICH
AND THE POOR.
SJAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
HE rich man's son inherits lands,
And piles of brick and stone and gold t
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,
One would not care to hold in fee.
SThe rich man's son inherits cares:
Sr 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 son inherit?
Stout muscles and a sinewy heart;
\ \~ Y\\1 A hardy rame, a hardier spirit;
S. King of two hands; he does his part
In every useful toil and art;
SA heritage, it seems to me,
A king might wish to hold in 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;
/ heart that in his labor sings;
A heritage, it seems to me,
A king might wish to hold in fee.
I Both heirs to some six feet of sod,
Are equal in the ground at last;
SBoth 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,
SWell worth a life to hold in fee.








after the manner of the early Christains:
"Christ is risen!" To which the reply is
made: "He is risen, 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 Easter
proper has been suppressedfor centuries,
aster Monday. is unfailingly celebrated
among the young people by rolling hard-
boiled eggs 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
Easter 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 I NOTHING BUT BONES I
HOW 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 one; 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. 2:-
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.
ETRUTH 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 bendhis judgment,
twist his conscience and warp his manhood
till he ceases to be a man.

CONCERNING MONEY.
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
A ND as for money-Don't you remember
the old saying, "Enough 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.

When the sun is going down and the stars are at a twinkle, Oh, Froggie, sing your song In peace-liftup your chorus shrill-
knd the drapery of night falls down without a wrinkle, And make the evening's musical, though they be warm or chill
. quaint and curious chorus in the twilight is agog, We'd miss you in the May time with your tiny pollywog,
And 'tis then we hear the music of the fair and festive frog. If we didn't hear your music, Oh, festive, merry frog.








ON DUTY.
EMMA L. BURNETT.
TTNCLE ALEX came out on the back pi-
Sazzqwith 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 at it, and presently called
to Neddie, who was playing in the yard:
"Neddie come and see this huge spider."
"I can't come now, Uncle Alex," replied
Neddie; "I am 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.
"I'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.
I 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
inthebrook?"
"No, sir; she sent me to the store for
something."
"I 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.
M AY ARMITAGE'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
as many beautiful little hats. Since her return
from abroad Miss Armitage had changed
the name of her pretty little dressing room
to the fine French name "boudoir." May
soon caught up the new name and said her
doll could have "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 where May used to dress and
undress her beautiful doll was known as
"Jessica's Boudoir."









































Af...E.. ...


















All


JESICA'8 BOUDOIR.









NO YOU DON'T 1"
S USIE 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 a very 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, is on guard,
and says just as plain as a little 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.
T HE 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.
T HERE 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;
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 is 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
to record. 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 things seem 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 feet 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










































































4.-~.~
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"NO YOI DON'T!"


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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
grasp that no man need be ashamed to fol-
low 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 Theel
But since Thou are ever near,
Ruling all that comes to me,
I can smile at pain or tears,
For they come in love from Thee.

HOW DIMES ARE MADE.
THE United States Mint in San Fran-
cisco is said to be the largest of the
kind in the world. Just at the present time
there is a lively demand for silver dimes,
and two of the money presses have been for
some tire running exclusively on this coin.
The dex -and 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 out in 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 at 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 for a 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 ki-tten about
Old Sue has long been a favorite at the farm.
She is a proud mother, as she will 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.
N OW Master Gyp, sit up and beg very
prettily and you shall have this piece
of sugar. But now marx, 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 you,
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 her come 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 a fight. Be a good, obedient
dog, and I'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.

A BARREL OF WHISKEY.
A 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 world-renowned 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,
"'Mymortal partners are trusty and tried;
Mayhap, peradventure you might wish to look
At the invoice complete-I will read fromthisbook.
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 glasa,
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.
SWAS 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.
"And what does it all mean?" I 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


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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: "The loom 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.
AS 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 Cresus,
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.


As round 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.
WONDER what the bees are trying to
Essay 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 packs
His apples for town;
This is the top row of his sacks
0000000000000000000
And this lower down
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WHAT THE BEES SAY.


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CLOTHILDE AND THE FLOWERS.
THERE 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 dull and 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.
YES, the world is big; but I'll do my best;
Since I happen to find myself in it;
And I'll sing my loudest out with the rest,
Though I'm neither a lark nor a linnet,
And strive toward the goal with as tireless west,
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 linnetl
FIVE LUMPS OF SUGAR,
W 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:
I 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 to school
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
Tom.
"I'll 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 before 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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.. ,..... -. .






















































"MY LADY OF THE FLOWERS."









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.
SHERE'S 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?
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 freely
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.
LEWIS 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 to kill him. 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.'
T HERE are nettles everywhere,
But smooth green grasses are more common
still;
The blue of heaven is larger than the cloud.































V" N\-,


A BLIND BOY'S SONGc ,
HANNAH P. GOULD.
O tell me the the form of the soft summer air,
That tosses so gently the curls of my hair
It breathes on my lip, and it fans my warm cheek,
Yet gives me no answer though often I speak,
I feel it play o'er me refreshing and kind,
Yet I cannot touch it-I'm blind! Oh! I'm blind I

And music, what is it? And where does it dwell? /
I sink and I mount with its cadence and swell,
While touched to my heart with its deep thrilling
strain,
"Till pleasure-'till pleasure is turning to pain.
What brightness of hue is with music combined ?
Will any one tell me? I'm blind! Oh! I'm blind


The perfumes of flowers that are hovering nigh,
What are they? On what kind of wings do they
fly?
Are they not sweet angels, who come to delight
A poor little boy who knows nothing of sight?
The sun, moon and stars are to me undefined,
Oh! tell me what light is! I'm blind! Oh! I'm
blindly


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HOW A PRACTICAL JOKE FAILED.
A 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 beds in affright, and wondered what
was up. 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.
ON 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 piggywigs 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, quackl
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, wowl"
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.
L ET us fear the worst, but work with
faith; the best will always take care of
itself.

THE SHADOW OF A RAINBOW.
I NEVER knew a day so drear,
SBut on its leaden sky was hung
Some shadow of a rainbow clear,
From vanished joy in farewell flung.

JESSICA'S FOUR O'CLOCK TEA.
MISS ARMITAGE has become quite
fashionable since her return from
E'urope. She now invites her your* 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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....... ......... ..... ...... ..
I ~~ IJ


JESSICA'S FOUR O'CLOCK TEA.








WAITING FOR PA.
SITTLE Ruth has gone with her mother,
who is somewhat of an invalid, to spend
the summer in the 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.
TJHE fragrance and the beauty of the rose
SDelight 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.
TAPAN, the land of beautiful islands has
t 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 ignorant as he 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 all
Japanese Catholics put to death. As aneas
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-
scured. 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 political 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-
stroyed and the Mikado, a young man of
great intelligence and of liberal commercial
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 po wer
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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---- ---- ...._..



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..-....... -.


WAITING AND WATCHING FOR PA I


_:......... ...:~::
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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 haye 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 andlearn
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
in a stage coach. 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 you and I are going to travel together a
long distance in this coach. I have a favor


to ask of you. I am getting to be an 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.
LO peace on earth. Lo flock and fold,
Lo rich abundance, fat increase,
And valleys clad in sheen of gold.
0, rise and sing a song of peace !
For Theseus roams the land no more,
And Janus rests with rusted door.

DON'T.
D O not all that you can; spend not all
that you have; believe not all th you
hear; and tell not all that you know.

CALLING THEM UP.
"QHALL I go and call them up-
SSnowdrop, 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.
"It 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 I "

"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 was
only a dream and that all the real Thank*-
giving delight had to come.




































































"WAKE UP ROB. IT'S SIX O'CLOCK I"









THE CHORUS OF THE FLOWERS.

T HE 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 I"

The King cup and her kindred
Said, Let us all be glad;
Of his abundant sunshine,
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 ans- er'd,
And little Daisies bright,
And all the cousin Asters,
We follow toward the lightly"

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;
And 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 Pinka
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 keep.-
"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 T'.TS
LIFE OF DAVID.
THOMAS W. HANDFORD.
T HE 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; 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 earlier days, the daughters of Israel had
sung:
Saul hath slain his thousands,
But David his tens of thousands I
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 from a
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 aP.


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.
I SAW you toss the kites on high
And blow the birds about the sky;
And all around I 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
I saw the different things you did,
But always you yourself you hid.
I felt you push, I heard you call,
I could not see yourself at all -
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song I
0 you that are so strong and cold,
O blower, are you young or old?
Are you a beast of field and tree,
Or just a stronger child than me?
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
4 wiA. that sings so loud a song I







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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!

THERE is a look of intense satisfaction in the eye of Topsy as she leaps over the fence with Liz-
beth's new doll in 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
is making quite a sensation in the family. Everybody praises its beauty and the splendor of its
clothes. Now is Topsy's time 1 And 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.








A MONKEY SUSPENSION BRIDGE.
CAPTAIN REID.
"Cr-HEY 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 his turn; and hung head downward. The
third repeated this maneuver 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-
mination 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.
THE bravest battle that ever was fought,
Shall I tell you where and when?
On the maps of the world you'll find it not;
'Twas 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 in a 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.
TPUNCH 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 all in 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, is a very enjoyable performance.


















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LARRY'S ONLY FRIEND.
L ARRY 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 or a
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.
OFT o'er the meadow, and murmuring mere;
Falleth a shadow, 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.
TOHNNIE WAITE the boys called him
j "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?"
I ran by Phil Black going out in the
line."
What was that for?"
I couldn't wait for him to go along,"
said Johnnie, "and-"
"That will do'" said his father, "and
Wednesday's mark?"
"I upset some ink on my writing-desk."
"And the two on Thursday?"


"I wanted to tell Phil something, and I
whispered to him."
wouldn'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?"
"I ate an apple," and Johnnie's head
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
lantern hanging from it, right across the
road. 'Twas 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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LARRY'S ONLY FRIEND


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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
Johnnie might pay for a share in the new
foot-ball club 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, That'll do, I can't wait."
"I 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 waiting' 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.
"I guess I'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 on the
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 I'll help you all I 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.
ONLY 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 day is new 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 us in the midnight watch,
And we awake to an Eternal Dayl

THE HAPPY FAMILY.
H ERE is a happy family. But not a 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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