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But go up and down and all over,

As though they were dancing a jig-
They are there in all shapes and sizes,

Medium, little, and big.

The tails of the g's are so contrary,
The handles get on the wrong

side
Of the d's, and the k's, and the h's,

Though I've certainly tried and tried
To make them just right; it is dreadful,

I really don't know what to do,
I'm getting almost distracted-

My teacher says he is too.

There'd be some comfort in learning

If one could get through; instead
Of that there are books awaiting

Quite enough to craze my head.
There's the multiplication table,

And Grammar, and-oh! dear me,
There's no good place for stopping
When one has begun,

I see.

My teacher says, little by little

To the mountain tops we climb;
It isn't all done in a minute,

But only a step at a time;
He says that all the scholars,

All the wise and learned men,
Had each to begin as I do;

If that's so, where's my pen?

VIII.-JOHNNY'S POCKET.

Do you
O you know what's in my pottet? And here's my ball, too, in my pottet,

? Such a lot o' treasures in it! And here's my pennies, one, two, three, Listen, now, while I bedin it;

That Aunt Mary gave to me ; Such a lot o' sings it hold,

To-morrow day I'll buy a spade, And all there is you sall be told- When I'm out walking with the maid. Everysin' dat's in my pottet,

I can't put dat here in my pottet, And when, and where, and how I dot it. But I can use it when I've dot it.

First of all, here's in my pottet

A beauty shell; I picked it up;
And here's the handle of a cup
That somebody has broke at tea;

The shell's a hole in it, you see;
Nobody knows that I have dot it,
I keep it safe here in my pottet.

Here's some more sin's in my pottet;
Here's

my

lead, and here's my string,
And once I had an iron ring,
But through a hole it lost one day ;

And here is what I always say-
A hole's the worst sin in a pottet-
Have it mended when you've dot it.

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YES

, Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew.

Just listen to this :
When old mill took fire, and the flooring fell through
And l with it, helpless, there, full in my view,
What do you think my eyes saw through the fire,
That crept along, crept along, nigher and nigher,
But Robin, my baby-boy, laughing to see
The shining! He must have come there after me,
Toddled alone from the cottage without
Any one's missing him. Then, what a shout-
Oh, how i shouted, “For Heaven's sake, men,
Save little Robin!” Again and again
They tried, but the fire held them back like a wall.
I could hear them go at it, and at it, and call,
“Never mind, baby, sit still like a man,
We're coming to get you as fast as we can.'
They could not see him, but I could ; he sat
Still on the beam, his little straw hat
Carefully placed by his side, and his eyes
Stared at the flame with a baby's surprise,
Calm and unconscious as nearer it crept.
The roar of the fire up above must have kept
The sound of his mother's voice shrieking his name
From reaching the child. But I heard it.

It came
Again and again-O God, what a cry!
The axes went faster, I saw the sparks fly
Where the men worked like tigers, nor minded the heat
That scorched them--when, suddenly, there at their feet

The great beams leaned in—they saw him—then, crash,
Down came the wall ! The men made a dash-
Jumped to get out of the way--and I thought
"Ali's up with poor little Robin," and brought
Slowly the arm that was least hurt to hide
The sight of the child there, when swift, at my side,
Some one rushed by, and went right through the flame
Straight as a dart-caught the child—and then came
Back with him—choking and crying, but saved !
Saved safe and sound !

Oh, how the men raved,
Shouted, and cried, and hurrahed! Then they all
Rushed at the work again, lest the back wall
Where I was lying, away from the fire,
Should fall in and bury me.

Oh, you'd admire To see Robin now; he's as bright as a dime, Deep in some mischief, too, most of the time; Tom, it was, saved him.

Now isn't it true, Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew? There's Robin now—see, he's strong as a log And there comes Tom too-

Yes, Tom was our dog.

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66

O H! never mind, they're only boys;” My sister has her rags and dolls 'Tis thus the people say,

Strewn all about the floor, And they hustle us and jostle us, While old dog Growler dares not put And drive us out the way.

His nose inside the door.

They never give us half our rights :

I know that this is so;
Ain't I a boy? and can't I see

The way that these thirgs go?

And if I go upon the porch

In hopes to have a play,
Some one calls out, "Hello, young chap,

Take that noisy dog away !”

The little girls are petted all,

My hoop is used to build a fire,
Called "honey," "dear," and "sweet," My ball is thrown aside;
But boys are cuffed at home and school, And mother let the baby have
And knocked about the street.

My top, because it cried.

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HINE on, thou bright beacon, unclouded and free,

From thy high place of calmness, o'er life's troubled sea;
Its mi rning of promise, its smooth waves are gone,
And the billows roar wildly; then, bright one, shine on.
The wings of the tempest may rush o'er thy ray;
But tranquil thou smilest, undimmed by its sway;
High, high o'er the worlds where storms are unknown,
Thou dwellest all beauteous, all glorious,-alone.

From the deep womb of darkness the lightning-flash leaps,
O’er the bark of my fortunes each mad billow sweeps
From the port of her safety by warring-winds driven ;
And no light o'er her course—but yon lone one of Heaven.

Yet fear not, thou frail one, the hour may be near,
When our own sunny headland far off shall appear;
When the voice of the storm shall be silent and past,
In some Island of Heaven we may anchor at last.
But, bark of eternity, where art thou now?
The wild waters shriek o'er each plunge of thy prow
On the world's dreary ocean thus shatter'd and tost ;-
Then, lone one, shine on! “If I lose thee, I'm lost !”

XIV.-THE GRASP OF THE DEAD.

MRS, MACLEAN.

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WAS the battle-field, and the cold pale moon

Looked down on the dead and dying ;
And the wind passed o'er with a dirge and a wail,

Where the young and brave were lying.

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