8

rectly I shall keep you after school. If three peaches were on the table and your little sister were to eat one of them, how many would be left?

Johnny (straightening up).-There wouldn't be any peaches left. I'd grab the other two.

Teacher (touching the bell).-The scholars are now dismissed. Johnny White will remain where he is.

Solomon Grub is a peculiar old man,

Who has growled all his life as hard as he can;
He curses and swears that everything's wrong;
He grumbles and growls the whole day long.

He growls in the morning, and grumbles at noon,
That his breakfast is late and his dinner too soon.
He scolds all the day from morning till night,
And gets up the next day and continues his fight.
He don't like the country in which he resides;
He don't like the laws and people besides;
He don't like the heat, he don't like the cold,
He don't like the drought, but he does like to scold.
He cannot be happy in this world here below,
Because everything's wrong and it bothers him so.
He grumbles all day as hard as he can,
And disgusts every decent, respectable man.

He finds fault with Peter and Robert and Paul;
He finds fault with God who created them all.
He finds fault with Enoch and Cyrus and Ben;
He declares they're the meanest and vilest of men
He growls all the day and grumbles all night.
He rips, roars and snorts and continues his fight;
He scolds his dear wife who, by the washtub.
Has furnished the bread for this Solomon Grub.

But grim Death will come, like a thief in the night,
And compel this old man to give up the fight.
Who has the knowledge or wisdom to say
That old Solomon Grub was not useful some way?

THE CIRCUS BOY.-A. A. VYVYAN THOMSON.

I left the little town behind

And took the path that led

Up to the churchyard on the heath,
The city of the dead.

In letters plain I found these words
Upon a cross of wood:

"Here lies the little circus boy,
Who did the best he could."

So strange I thought this epitaph,
I asked a farmer's wife,

Who gladly told me all she knew
Of his unhappy life.

She said: "The circus came to town
A year or so ago,

And so, my husband and myself,
We went to see the show.

"A hundred clever things we saw,
That filled us with delight,
And then when little Dono came
We clapped with all our might.

"He climbed up to a ladder top
And stood upon his head,
He danced upon a rope so small
You'd snap it like a thread.

"At last they brought two horses in,
And, climbing up in haste,

As fast they galloped round the track
One foot on each he placed.

"He rode amid the deafening cheers
Till, on the second round,

His right foot slipped, and with a shriek
He fell upon the ground.

"The manager picked up the boy,

Whose limbs were sprained and sore;

He cried. You fell off purposely,'

And angrily he swore,

"How now,' he said, 'do you suppose
That you can earn your food?'

The little fellow answered him,

'I did the best I could.'

"The heartless man turned round, when shrieks Were heard on every side;

'The tiger's loose-the tiger's loose!'

They horror-stricken cried.

"He looked, right in the tiger's path,
There sat his little child,

And, as the tiger crouched to spring,
Looked round in terror wild.

"O God! Oh, save my child,' he cried,
When, springing to his feet,

Young Dono rushed upon the beast,
An awful death to meet.

"The child was saved, then shots were heard,

The angry beast was dead,

They picked poor Dono up all cut

And torn from foot to head.

"How brave', the weeping father said,

'How generous and good!'

And dying Dono answered him,

'I did the best I could.'"

"VANITY OF VANITIES."-I. EDGAR JONES.

"Vanity of Vanities," the world is full of sin,

The pot of evil boiling all the time;

The big man and the little man in breathless haste to win His eagle or his dollar or his dime;

And yet, though o'er this desert waste the winds of evil blow,

There's many a cheerful glimmer shining out above the

snow.

A thousand traps and pitfalls lie about us every day,

Temptations and delusions by the score;

The nabob in his selfishness rolls by us on the way,

The poor man often bangs his cottage door;

And yet there's compensation. Every clumsy mortal

whines,

Who grasps a hornet by its sting or hedgehog by its spines.

Amid the selfish thousands there are hundreds true and

kind,

With many noble features that redeem;

The roughest ore has value if it be but well refined,

And men are mostly better than they seem;

If looking out for brambles you are sure to find their darts;
Perhaps you'll be as ucky if you closely look for hearts.

For after all is uttered, we but find that which we seek,
The searcher after weaknesses will find;

Go listen and you'll wonder at the kind words mortals speak,

No beauties have a message for the blind;

The world is but a mirror, and within our neighbor's face We see our soul reflected in its ugliness or grace.

"Vanity of Vanities," the world is full of sin,

And also full of sunshine and of flowers;

The man who works for happiness its smile will surely win,
The man who seeks shall find its sunny hours;

So thrust the little barriers of its selfishness aside,
And find the hidden blessings lying under all its pride;
The sun is always somewhere, and the good old world is
wide.

DAYBREAK IN THE CAMP.

It is still night. In the darkness not a sound can be heard save now and then the stamp of a horse's hoof on the frozen ground or, faintly, their plucking of the grass, for the horses begin to feed early.

The sounds of the middle night are hushed. The owls long ago stopped their hooting, and now on noiseless wing are making their last hunting rounds before the day shall come.

Within the lodge it is darker than without. On the ground in the middle can be seen a pale shadow,—the white ashes of the long-cold fire; above, through the smoke-hole is a patch of sky less black than the invisi ble enclosing walls, and in this bit of the heavens shine two stars. In a circle about the fireplace are shapeless white masses,—the sleeping forms of men. They are silent and motionless.

Now on the still air very faintly is heard a distant tone of music,-a sweet whistle, at first low, rising and falling, then gradually becoming more distinct. It comes nearer and nearer until it fills the air all about, then passing on, recedes, grows fainter, till at last the sound is lost. The wild ducks are flying.

From the lake comes a far-off trumpet note, and then another, the mellow call of the wild geese.

The world is awakening. The day is near.

The stars which looked in at the smoke-hole are paling now. Upon the horizon in the east lies a line of gray which slowly broadens and makes twilight where all before was dark.

The outlines of the tree trunks are seen standing out like ghosts, reaching out shadowy arms as if feeling their way through the dimness. The chirp and flutter of migrating birds, that through the night slept in the low bushes, begin to be heard.

As the light grows, dusky shapes appear in the little park behind the camp,-the horses feeding. Close to the lodge door the dogs are curled up in the grass, still asleep. Their long black coats are white here and there with frost, and in their sleep their muscles twitch as they shiver from the cold; yet their rest is sound.

Day is at hand. Now a stir is heard within the lodge. There are muffled grunts and groans, a yawn or two, the rustling of clothing, then the faint sound of footsteps, and suddenly the pale glare of a match-increasing to a little glow as the shavings catch, and then to a bright flicker which lights up the whole lodge as the larger sticks take fire an crackle, and white smoke and a few sparks float from the smoke-hole.

Soon the door of the lodge is thrown back. A man steps out and looks about, yawns and shivers. He breaks the ice in the water-bucket and pours some in a basin. Others in the lodge are getting up. Voices are heard. The men of the camp pass in and out the door.

Some prepare breakfast, others busy themselves about