A LITTLE COLORED BOY.
 “YOU can’t help thinking when you listen to that boy,” said Mrs. Warner, “that the Lord must want him in heaven. He has such a heavenly voice.”
 
 
“I think it more likely that God put an angel’s voice in Neddy’s throat to give us a taste of heavenly music,” said grandma, looking up from the apples she was paring.
 
“Bosh! you women folks are so everlastingly simple and silly that you encourage the boy in his mischief;” and Farmer Warner set down the milk pail with such a thud that the milk slopped over into the sauce his wife was dishing for supper.
 
“Now, Henry, you have ruined that dish of apple sauce,” expostulated Mrs. Warner; “and they’re the first apples of the season, too.”
 
“Never mind,” said grandma, “we’ll find something else. Just call the boy to supper, Henry.”
 
“Indeed I won’t call him,” he sputtered. “For the past hour I’ve been calling him to help with the chores, and I’ll call no more.”
 
Just then, in sweet, rich tones, came in the melody—
 
“O, there is rest, O, there is rest,
Yes, there is rest for my soul.”
“And your body, too,” growled Mr. Warner. “If you women had the trials I have with Ned, you would not set so much store by him.”
 
“I won’t deny that he’s trying, Henry; but when one is weary and fretted with a long, hot day’s work, it is the most soothing thing in the world to hear the child singing in the twilight about rest for his soul. It rests me way to my toes.”
 
 
“It would rest me a heap more if he did his work. Now, you see when I called him to help he was singing about rest, but supper being ready, he comes along without being called even.”
 
Bare feet came pattering along the porch and a little black face peeped in the window.
 
“Did you call me, Mis’ser Warner?” The farmer grunted and drew up to the table.
 
“Henry called you a long time ago, Neddy; why did you not come?”
 
“I camed jes’ as soon as I heerd him, ’deed I did. I only stopped to pick these fur you,” and he placed his hat on the table lined with leaves and filled to the brim with luscious blackberries; then he laid a great bunch of wild flowers beside them. Mrs. Warner buried her face in the fragrant flowers. How long it was since anyone had brought her flowers! Henry used to keep her supplied; but he was too busy now.
 
“Deary me,” said grandma; “these will just take the place of the apple sauce;” and she began to pick over the berries.
 
Ned sat at a side table and did full justice to an ample supper. When Mr. Warner called for pie his wife gave him half of one, and, notwithstanding his frown, gave the other half to Ned. After supper they both went out, but Ned soon returned and began helping clear the table.
 
“Henry may need you, Ned,” said Mrs. Warner.
 
“No’m, he don’t; he tole me to clear out. You put some flowers on your dress an’ go out an’ get some air. I’ll clean up.”
 
It was a great temptation, and Mrs. Warner walked through the fields to a neighbor’s, while Ned warbled over the dishes and her husband finished the chores.
 
A few months before this a lady from the South had brought Ned to sing in the church, and had told how anxious she was to get a home for him with Christian people who would educate him. Mrs. Warner’s heart had softened at once, and her husband was nothing loath to have a little helper and do God service at the same time. But they had not found it an easy task to train Ned up in the way he should go. A sweet-tempered little singing bird was he, as neat as a pin and as quick as a wink, but having no more idea of responsibilities than the little warblers he imitated in his throat.
 
But his kind thoughtfulness for others gave Mrs. Warner courage to keep on with him, and, as soon as she had, with very gentle teaching, made him to understand that promptness was the one thing required by Mr. Warner, and that the lack of it often caused serious inconvenience, the little fellow began to mend his ways.
 
 
It was hard for him to understand at first. The fact that a thing would give pleasure to some one seemed reason enough for its being done at once. In fact, some of the unpleasant things seemed to him hardly worth the doing.
 
But Mrs. Warner was very patient, and the heart that beat under the dark skin was very loving and sweet.
 
“Yes; I see it now,” he said one day, as he dropped the first sweet harvest apple into grandma’s lap. “It took a good while, but I understand. If you are told to do a thing, you must do it. Then, if there’s any time left, or, if you can crowd the pleasant thing in along with it, all right. But sometimes it’s powerful hard.
 
“There’s the sky. I s’pose he’d like to smile all the time and be bright and jolly. But sometimes God tells him to rain, and he just goes and does it, like a major.
 
“Didn’t use to seem ’s if I was selfish if I kept the cows waiting while I picked some wild flowers for Mrs. Warner. But I really suppose it was.”
 
Dear little Ned! God bless him!
THE GOLDEN RULE.
 LIZZIE had a present of a wild bluebird from her auntie, who caught it when it was a wee baby bird. It was a beauty, and Lizzie was very happy with her pet. One day she hung the cage on the veranda and saw how pleased the little creature was. Pretty soon it burst into a beautiful song, and she saw another bird near by, and that was a bluebird, too. Lizzie fancied her bird looked sad when the other one flew away, and that made her wonder if she had a right to keep a wild bird shut up in a cage. “I wouldn’t like to be caught and shut up, I know,” thought Lizzie, “and what I would not like to have done to me I ought not to do even to a bird.” And so Lizzie wrote a letter to her auntie, asking if she might set her dear bird free. Auntie said she might, and the very next morning Lizzie opened the prison door and birdie went free, all because a loving-hearted little girl was willing to do as she would like to be done by.
 
“PICK your poppies every day,” said grandma, “and then others will come to take their place; and if you leave a fine one here and there with a bit of thread of the same color tied to its stem, you will know how to sort them.”
 
So all summer Bessie picked the poppies and gave them to her friends, who cried out with delight over their lovely colors; and she did not forget the poor children who live in tenements without gardens, and who looked longingly at the bright bed as they passed.
 
The seeds had only cost a nickel in the springtime; and caring for the flower beds made the little girl well and strong. So it was wise in Uncle Harry to suggest this pleasant task to Bessie.
AN EASTERN LEGEND.
 THERE’S a tender Eastern legend,
In a volume old and rare,
Of the Christ-child in his garden,
Walking with the children there.
And it tells—this strange, sweet story—
(True or false, ah, who shall say?)
How a bird with broken pinion
Dead within the garden lay.
And the children, childish cruel,
Lifted it by shattered wing,
Shouting, “Make us merry music,
Sing, you lazy fellow, sing.”
 
What poor woman was
commended by Christ as
having been more generous
than all the rich?
 
But the Christ-child bent above it,
Took it in his gentle hand,
Full of pity for the suffering
He alone could understand.
Whispered to it—O, so softly!
Laid his lips upon its throat,
And the song-life, swift returning,
Sounded out in one glad note.
 
Then away on wings unwearied,
Joyously it sang and soared,
And the little children, kneeling,
Called the Christ-child “Master—Lord.”
A RAINY DAY STORY.
 THE water in the kettle decided to take a sail one day. What do you think was its boat? Why, the soft, balmy air. What kind of a dress do you think it wore? A beautiful white one made of vapor. Where do you suppose it sailed to? Away to Cloudland. It remained away several days. When it came back it had changed its dress, and then everybody said, “It is raining.”
MISSIONARY SUNDAY.
 “FORGOT my nickel,” mumbled the boy with the gold watch.
 
“Spent all my money yesterday,” laughed the one with the spike-toed shoes.
 
“Saving up to buy a ’bike,’” said the one with his hands in his pockets.
 
 
The envelope passed around the class and came back with six cents. Everybody knew who put in that nickel and penny. It was the boy who earned sixty cents a week on a newspaper route. His trousers were too short for his fast-lengthening legs, and his carefully polished shoes showed a break here and there; but one-tenth of his earnings was given without fail into the Lord’s treasury.
DOROTHY’S DREAM.
 THIS is the queer little fairy dream
That came to Dorothy Brown:
“I was lost,” she said, “in the deep blue sea,
A thousand fathoms down;
There were branching corals and waving trees,
And water-maids, good and fair,
Who fed the fishes from pearly dishes,
And gave to the least a share.
There were schools of fishes, but never a book;
There was sunlight without a sun;
There were ways to roam, but not any home,
And mothers—there were none!”
SOME BIBLE DREAMS.
 WHEN he was only a boy Joseph dreamed that he was out in the field with his father and his brothers binding sheaves in harvest time, and the sheaf which he bound stood upright, and all the other sheaves bowed down before his. Then he dreamed another dream, that the sun and the moon and eleven stars bowed down before him. When he told these dreams it made his brothers very angry, and they hated him, and the first chance they had they sold him a slave into Egypt.
 
When Joseph was in the prison in Egypt it was a dream which saved all the land in time of famine, but this time it was the king’s dream. King Pharaoh dreamed one night that he stood by the river, and seven fat cattle came up out of the water and fed in a meadow. Pretty soon afterward seven lean cattle came up out of the water and ate up the seven fat cattle. The king wondered what the dream meant, and when he fell asleep again he dreamed that he saw seven large ears of corn come up upon one stalk, and then seven thin ears that had been blasted spring up upon the same stalk, and the seven thin ears ate up the seven good ears.
 
When the wise men of Egypt could not tell the king what it meant his chief butler remembered how Joseph had told him the meaning of a dream when he was in prison; and when the king sent for Joseph he told Pharaoh that the dreams were a warning from God, that after seven plentiful years in Egypt there would be seven years of famine, which would eat up all the corn they could save up, and so Joseph came to be a great man in Egypt.
 
 
BEHOLD THIS DREAMER COMETH
Joseph’s brethren determine to slay him.
 
Solomon, too, had a splendid dream just after he came to be king in the place of David, his father. He was very young, and wondered how he was going to get along and be wise enough to settle all the questions that came before him as king. While he was thinking about it he fell asleep, and he dreamed that the Lord appeared to him and asked him what he would like the Lord to do for him, and Solomon said to the Lord that, though he had been made king, yet he was only a child, and did not know how to act, and asked the Lord to give him wisdom, so that he would always be able to know which was right and which was wrong, and be a good king.
 
The Lord was so pleased with this request that he promised Solomon not only to make him the wisest man that ever lived, but to make him very rich and powerful as well.
THE YOUTH’S DREAM.
 “I HAVE dreamed a dream of a future time,
Of a scepter and a crown,
For the sheaves of wheat and the moon and stars
In my dream to me bow down.”
’Twas a vision true, as the future proved,
For the boy, once sold a slave,
By a faithful life rose to princely power,
And the world its homage gave.
Have you dreamed a dream of a future time,
Of a fortune and a name?
Of success and honor and love and joy,
And at last undying fame?
If your dream comes true you must toil and strive
With a purpose strong and pure,
For the kingly heart and the godly life
Wins a crown that shall endure.
LITTLE MR. BY-AND-BY.
 LITTLE Mr. By-and-By,
You will mark him by his cry,
And the way he loiters when
Called again and yet again,
Glum if he must leave his play,
Though all time be holiday.
Little Mr. By-and-By,
Eyes cast down and mouth awry!
In the mountains of the moon
He is known as Pretty Soon;
And he is cousin to Don’t Care,
As no doubt you’re well aware.
Little Mr. By-and-By
Always has a fretful “Why?”
When he’s asked to come or go;
Like his sister—Susan Slow.
Hope we’ll never, you or I,
Be like Mr. By-and-By.
NIP AND TUCK
 Jamie’s Guests on their Way to Lunch with Him.
 
NIP and Tuck lived in the same ledge of rocks. Nip was a chippie and was Jamie’s pet. Tuck was a red squirrel, who, strange to say, was a dear friend of the little chippie. Jamie kept on hand a basket of all kinds of nuts with which to treat his two little friends. Jamie was as fond of nuts as Nip was, so they lunched together every day at eleven o’clock, and had a “nut-crack” at five. When the table was spread Jamie would rap on the rock with a nut and Nip would come at once.
 
SWEET CHARITY.
 A POOR little half-starved child, living in a London alley, had a ticket given to her by a kind lady to admit her to a free tea and entertainment. She was wild with delight at the idea, and was running up to tell her mother, when she stumbled over a child crouched on the stairs crying.
 
She asked what was the matter. The child said her mother had beaten her because she asked for some breakfast, and she was so hungry she could not help crying.
 
“Well,” said the other child, placing the ticket in her hand, “take this, and get a good tea. I’ve had no breakfast either, but my mother never beats me.”
 
She then passed on, leaving the ticket in the hand of the astonished child.
HOW A SNAKE CAME TO GRIEF.
 THE bull snake, which is quite common on the Pacific coast, grows sometimes to be quite large, but it is entirely harmless to human beings.
 
 
A Californian, being something of a naturalist, set himself to work to tame one of these snakes and was able to teach Slippery Dick—the name he gave his strange pet—many tricks. He taught him to come at call, to coil up, to wave his folds about in imitation of dancing, and many other tricks. He would coil up on the table, his head in the center of the coil, elevated about six inches in the air. The gentleman would place the handle of a small fan in his mouth, and then the snake would gently wave the fan to and fro, and thus keep the flies from his master’s face.
 
He was as good as a cat to keep the old log house free from mice. He often brought in ten or twelve in a day. His fondness for mice was his ruin. It happened in this way: One day the gentleman missed Slippery Dick, and though he hunted and called all day, he could not find any trace of his pet. About a week after his disappearance, having occasion to explore the loft of the cabin in which he lived, he came across the remains of his old friend. Apparently he had been more mouse-hungry than usual, and in his haste to satisfy his appetite had swallowed a live mouse, which had gnawed its way through the snake’s body, thus causing his death.
IN THE PEW.
 IN the morn of the holy Sabbath
I like in the church to see
The dear little children clustered,
Worshiping there with me.
I am sure that the gentle pastor,
Whose words are like summer dew,
Is cheered as he gazes over
The dear little heads in the pew.
Faces earnest and thoughtful,
Innocent, grave, and sweet,
They look in the congregation
Like lilies among the wheat.
And I think that the tender Master,
Whose mercies are ever new,
Has a special benediction
For dear little heads in the pew.
TWO LITTLE SWITZERS.
 THIS boy and girl live in the mountains of Switzerland. The language which they use is a very strange one, called Schweizer-Deutsch (Swiss-German).
 
These children in the picture are dressed up in their Sunday clothes to have their photographs taken. When they go home to the little village way up on the mountain side they will take off these garments and put on their everyday things. Hans will draw a long-sleeved black apron over his school suit, and then, fastening on his back the wooden pail which you see in the picture, will run down the steep cobble-stoned street, with his shoes clattering at every step, to the big stone fountain to draw water for his mother. It takes a long time to draw that pail of water, for all the boys run out to hear about what he saw in Berne that day when he had his photograph taken. So Hans tells them about the two big bears in the bear pit, to whom he and Gretchen threw some bits of bread and an apple; about the tall clock tower built three or four hundred years ago, where carved bears march around and strike a big gong every hour. You know that Berne is full of bears. The coat of arms of the city is a bear with a banner, and not only have live bears been maintained at public expense for many, many years, but bears of all kinds, carved in wood and stone, painted, or wrought in plaster, are seen everywhere.

Two Little Switzers.
 
 
Hans has at last filled his pail and hurries back to the house, whose thatched roof is so low that it almost touches the ground. Gretchen has taken off her grandmother’s clothes and is busy helping the mother prepare supper. She is very proud of the fact that her pretty filagree chains and pins, together with her velvet bodice and delicate muslin waist, were worn by the dear old grandmother, on whose grave she lays fresh flowers every Sunday. By and by they all draw the straight wooden chairs to the table and the father says a simple prayer. Hans and Gretchen eat thankfully the black bread and creamy cheese which was made last summer up on the Alps high above them, where the snow flowers bloom and the winds blow cold from the glaciers.
 
When the curfew bell in the church tower rings out at sundown Hans and Gretchen tumble into their bed on the top of the stove. Yes, really, on the top of the big, square white porcelain stove! It is a good, warm place, although it never gets hot, and even on bitter January nights, covered with a big red feather bed, the children are only comfortably warm. They cannot fall off because the father has placed high boards on each side of the bed.
 
Early in the morning, by the light of a candle, they drink coffee, with plenty of milk, but no sugar. It is only on great festivals, like birthdays and Christmas, that they taste sugar or cake. By seven o’clock Hans buckles on his knapsack, in which he carries his books, and after helping Gretchen to adjust hers they both run gayly off to school, each one carrying in a roomy basket a huge chunk of black bread to eat at ten o’clock.

BUNNY.
 BUNNY, Bunny,
Go away,
Come again
Another day.
Dolly’s crying;
She’s afraid!
See the trouble
You have made!
There’s a darling,
Bunny, go,
For my shoes
Are off, you know,
And your funny
Wiggling nose
Will be nibbling
At my toes.
 
You have spoiled your snowy dress;
You have soiled your toes, I guess.
Bunny, Bunny, go away,
Come again another day.
“SING IT.”
 WHEN I was a little boy I used to play with my brother and sister under the window where mother sat knitting. She rarely looked out, but the moment we got angry she always seemed to know, and her kind and gentle voice would come through the window, saying, “Sing it, children! Sing it.”
 
Once I remember we were playing marbles, and I shouted out to my brother:
 
“You cheated!”
 
“I didn’t!”
 
“You did!”
 
“Sing it, children, sing it!”
 
We were silent.
 
“Sing it, children!”
 
We continued silent. We couldn’t sing it. We began to feel ashamed.
 
Then came the sweet voice, the sweetest but one I ever heard, singing to the tune of “O, How I Love Jesus” the words:
 
“O Willie, you cheated!
O Willie, you cheated!
O Willie, you cheated!
But I didn’t cheat you!”
It sounded so ridiculous we all burst out laughing.
 
You cannot sing when you are angry; you cannot sing when you are mean; you cannot sing when you are scared. In other words, you cannot sing unless you feel in some degree faith, or hope, or charity.
 
I think of God as at the window of heaven. So long as he hears us singing he knows we are filled with a sweet and lovely spirit.
CONSOLATION.
 WHEN Molly came home from the party to-night—
The party was out at nine—
There were traces of tears in her bright blue eyes,
That looked mournfully up to mine.
For some one had said, she whispered to me,
With her face on my shoulder hid,
Some one had said (there were sobs in her voice)
That they didn’t like something she did.
So I took my little girl up on my knee—
I am old and exceedingly wise—
And I said, “My dear, now listen to me;
Just listen and dry your eyes.
“This world is a difficult world, indeed,
And people are hard to suit,
And the man who plays on the violin
Is a bore to the man with the flute.
“And I myself have often thought
How very much better ’twould be,
If every one of the folks that I know
Would only agree with me.
“But, since they will not, the very best way
To make this world look bright
Is never to mind what the people say,
But to do what you think is right.”
CHILDREN’S SAYINGS.
 BESSIE stood watching the sky one day as the sun went behind a cloud.
 
“The sun has gone to call on the moon. Why, there he is again,” she exclaimed, as he reappeared almost at once; “I suppose she wasn’t at home.”
 
When little Ada, aged three, had been told the story of Lot’s wife being turned into a pillar of salt she asked her mother, anxiously, “Is all salt made of ladies?” Later, when six years old, she was called one Sunday, “Come, Ada, and learn your catechism;” whereupon she answered roguishly, “If it’s for me, it ought to be a kittychism!”
 
Cyril was seven years old. He loved his mother very dearly, and had been separated from her sometimes, as she had to go to India. Once when she came to wish him “good-night” he was under the bed-clothes. He came out with a flushed little face, and said, as he hugged her tight: “Mummie, do you know what I was doing? I was asking God to love you as much as I do. He couldn’t love you more.”
THE ROBIN’S EGG.
 WHAT was ever so dainty of hue?
Who can tell, is it green, is it blue?
Look, little girl,
At this beautiful pearl
Hid in the nest of the robin!
Nay, little girl! Nay, nay, don’t touch!
Wait for a week—a week’s not much—
Then come here, and see
What there will be
Hid in the nest of the robin.
THE LITTLE GIRL WHO DIDN’T WANT HER BATH.
 SOMEBODY shook and shivered,
Somebody sobbed and cried,
While the Sponge and the Soap stood waiting
The nursery bath beside.
 
“Come on, dearie! we’re all ready.”
 
Why should she wash this morning?
Each day she said the same,
And nurse, who was tired of the crying,
Quite vexed with her became.
Never a bit of washing
Somebody got that day,
And the evening fell, and her father came
To have a game of play.
Black was her face—he could not
Its grimy surface kiss;
At washing she never has grumbled,
From that sad day to this.
THE DIFFERENCE IN BIBLES.
 LITTLE Mary wanted to learn her Sunday school lesson. It was Saturday afternoon, and the time was passing; but she had been busy with her dolls dress, and the lesson was yet unlearned. At length her elder sister took a Bible and said:
 
“Come, Mary, I will help you to learn your lesson, and you can go back to your play.” Mary came to her sisters side ready to begin her lesson, when she suddenly began:
 
“Sister, let us study it out of grandfather’s Bible.”
 
“But what difference can it make?”
 
“Why, grandfather’s Bible is so much more interesting than yours.”
 
“O no, Mary, they are just the same, exactly.”
 
“Well,” replied the observing child, “I really think grandfather’s must be more interesting than yours; he reads it so much more.”
WORTHY OF A MEDAL.
 SEVERAL years ago there were two seals in the “Zoo” garden at Amsterdam which were so fond of their keeper that they could recognize his voice a long way off, and would go to meet him.
 
These seals also became attached to an old gentleman and his little granddaughter, who often went to see them in company with a little woolly dog, and who always took the seals something nice to eat. These animals were kept in a large pond, and they would come out of the water on seeing their friends and sit down with them to have a good time on the sand.
 
The small dog was very lively on these occasions, and he and the seals would frolic together as though they belonged to the same family, and shared the fruit and cakes from the little girl’s basket.
 
One day, however, just in the midst of their fun, the dog fell into the pond, and, after struggling for a moment in the water, he sank. The seals uttered a cry of dismay as he disappeared, and then, flopping to the pond, they plunged in. In an instant the larger one had seized the half-drowned dog, and, carrying him very tenderly in his mouth, placed the dripping animal at his mistress’s feet.
THE LITTLE GIRL WHO WAS LOVING-HEARTED.
 CISSY BELL’S heart was so tender that it made her feel very badly even to hear of anything getting hurt. One day her brother Will and his friend Tom were telling how a big dog chased a cat, and nearly frightened her to death, when Cissy cried out, “O, what a bad, bad dog! what made him want to hurt kitty?”
 
“Why, we told him to; he isn’t a bad dog,” said Will.
 
Then Cissy’s cheeks grew red and her eyes flashed as she said, “You is bad boys; what for you want kitty hurted? God don’t want kitties to be hurted;” and then the little preacher broke down and sobbed out the rest on mamma’s shoulder.
 
Will and Tom both got red in the face and pretty soon walked off; but they did not soon forget the lesson Cissy taught them.
A SAUCY FELLOW.
 A GROUP of little pansy-folk
Came out one summer day,
Nodding their pretty heads about
In such a charming way.
Bonnets of gold and lavender
And purple, too, they wore,
And such a jolly company
Was never seen before.
A very saucy bumblebee
Came loudly buzzing by,
And snubbed the pansy-folk, and whisked
Their bonnets all awry.
They scolded, frowned, and shook with fright;
They bade him come no more.
O such a sorry company
Was never seen before!
 
THE FISHERMAN MARQUIS.
 MACDONALD tells of a young marquis who lived for a number of years as a poor fisherman in his own Scotch village, enduring the hardship of the men who win their living from the sea, his rank being meanwhile unknown. Finally he declared his position and assumed the rights of his place, and now the men whenever they were in trouble brought to him their grievances, with a feeling of certainty that he knew their sufferings and would sympathize with them.
 
So Jesus, having once lived in the flesh, and for our sakes became poor, and having suffered weariness, hunger, thirst, bitter temptations, and finally death itself, knows all our human estate, our sorrows, cares, and anxieties, and ever sympathizes with us with infinite tenderness and love. We have not a Saviour who cannot understand all that comes to us. He was a baby, a child, a man. He was despised and honored; loved and hated; tenderly cared for and finally killed by envious hearts. So, you see, he will understand anything we want to tell him about.
“EXCUSE ME, PRINCE.”
 THE following pretty story is told of a brown-eyed maiden just four years old, with the sweetest voice and the tenderest heart in the world. She was pulling her little rocking-chair across the room the other day, when somehow in her progress she trod upon the tail of dog Prince, and drew forth a low growl of reproach from that much-valued member of the family. A look of dismay crossed the baby’s face, and she turned hastily. “Excuse me, Prince,” she pleaded, as she laid her snowflake of a hand caressingly on the dog’s head. Prince thumped his tail heavily as if to say, “It’s all right, dear little mistress. I know it was all an accident, and you won’t do it again, I am sure.” And the little maiden went on with her play feeling very happy.

 

LITTLE GIRLS.
WHERE have they gone to—the little girls,


With natural manners and natural curls?
Who love their dollies and like their toys,
And talk of something besides the boys?
Little old women in plenty I find,
Mature in manners and old in mind;
Little old flirts, who talk of their “beaus,”
And with each other in stylish clothes.
Little old belles, who, at nine and ten,
Are sick of pleasure and tired of men,
Weary of travel, of balls, of fun—
And find no new thing under the sun.
Once, in the beautiful long ago,
Some dear little children I used to know;
Girls who were merry as lambs at play,
And laughed and rollicked the livelong day.
They thought not at all of the “style” of their clothes;
They never imagined that boys were “beaus;”
“Other girls’ brothers” and “mates” were they,
Splendid fellows to help them play.
Where have they gone to? If you see
One of them anywhere, send her to me.
I would give a medal of purest gold
To one of those dear little girls of old,
With an innocent heart and open smile,
Who knows not the meaning of “flirt” or “style.”

 

THE FLOWERS AND THE WATER DROPS.
 DOWN in an earth garden were some flowers all drooping and sad. Father Sun saw them, and calling his little children, the sunbeams, to him, said, “To-day, my little helpers, I need you to do some work for me. Go down to the big, round earth far below, and bring back to the sky country all the water dust that you can carry.”
 
The little sunbeams started, and although it was a long, long journey, they were so bright and merry that it seemed like play to them. By and by they drew near to Mother Earth, and before long saw myriads of tiny drops of water, some taking hold of hands forming part of the great ocean, others rushing along in a strong, deep river, while some were dancing and tumbling in a merry little brook, singing sweet songs. But how could the sunbeams coax the water drops to come up into the sky country? Surely the ocean, or the river, or even the little laughing brooks could not be carried up so high!
 
But the little workers were not a bit discouraged, and they began at once to shake the water drops apart. The little particles of water no sooner felt the sunbeams shaking them than they said to each other, “Come, now for a long ride.” And sure enough, up, up, up they sailed in the boats of air, helped on by the sunbeams. But as they rose higher in the air suddenly they began to shiver, for just then Mr. North Wind came rushing along. How the poor little vapor mass shook, and then suddenly began once more to form into drops! And some little children, far down on the earth below, looked up at the sky and exclaimed, “See the dark clouds up there!” while their mamma said, “It is going to rain.”
 
In a few minutes the little drops felt as if they were being pulled back to earth, and starting from the cloud which was holding them, they said to one another, “Now for a race!” And soon, patter, patter, patter, came the sound of the rain, and the little drops once more were back in their earth home.
 
Ah! how the flowers lifted their drooping heads and smiled then. If you had been very close, you might almost have heard them sing, “God is good! God is good!”
BRASS BUTTONS.
 LITTLE Ruth Cleveland, when she was the baby of the White House, had no very exalted idea of her father’s great office.
 
 
Saturday, the weather being balmy and springlike, one of the policemen who guard the private portion of the White House grounds took his little daughter with him to enjoy the pleasant surroundings. The little girl was not quite six years old. While the policeman was pointing out the beauty of the grounds to his little daughter, Ruth and Esther Cleveland, under the escort of their respective nurses, left the mansion for a run.
 
Ruth ran ahead of her nurse, and on discovering a girl of her own age surveyed her from head to foot. After looking the little girl over Ruth straightened herself up and said:
 
“My papa is President; who is your papa?”
 
The policeman’s daughter replied: “My papa is a policeman.”
 
Ruth glanced up at the burly form ornamented with bright brass buttons, and hanging her head in an abashed manner, said, “I wish my papa was a policeman.”
 
How often we think that the things we have not are better than the things we have!
WHERE ARE THE BIRDS?
 HAVE you heard, children, that the bluebirds are nearly gone from our country? Other families of singing birds are going fast, and by and by it may be that we shall have only the sparrows and other birds that have no beautiful colors or sweet songs.
 
All this is true, and many good people are feeling very sad about it. Where are the birds? Alas! They have been killed—thousands, yes, millions of them—for the feathers that you see in the shops and that ladies and little girls wear on their hats!
 
NEVER GIVE UP.
 “I WILL get it right,” said Harry to himself, stopping just long enough to toss the hair out of his eyes. “There’s a way to do it, and I’m not going to give up, see if I do.”
 
“O, come on, Harry,” called Will; “what’s the use of hanging on so?”
 
“What’s the use? Why, when I begin I don’t like to give up beat, and, what’s more, I don’t mean to.”
 
And Harry didn’t give up, and by and by the figures all came straight.

The End