Came past the window
A butterfly bright.
From fields of clover
And perfumed air,
Wayfaring insect,

What brought you there?
The baby saw it,

And eagerly

Reached out to catch it,
Crowing with glee.

With fat pink fingers,

Reached out--and fell!

The awful horror,
No tongue can tell.
Poor little baby,

So sweet and bright!
Pale faces quivered

And lips grew white;
Weak women fainted,
Strong men grew weak,
Up rose one woman's
Heart-piercing shriek.
Hurrah for the awning!
Upon the fly

It caught the youngster
And tossed him high.
The bounce prodigious
Made baby scowl;
He caught his breath, sir,
And set up a howl.
All blessed the awning

That had no flaw;-
But a madder baby

You never saw.

LESS THAN COST.-M. A. KIDDER.

We often see, as on we jog,

Through street or road, down court or lane, This trite announcement, "Less than cost," Upon some door or window-pane. And then we muse on many things

That men have gained, and men have lost,

And wonder at the foolish souls

Who sell themselves for "less than cost."

The young man, stout of heart and limb,
His bright eye fixed upon the goal,

Starts out in quest of fortune's gifts,
Strong purpose in his honest soul.
Ah! brave is he, and grand, and high,
If, on life's ocean tempest-tossed,
He keeps the beacon-star in sight,
Nor sells himself for "less than cost."

And you, fair, youthful, budding lass,
Now scattering smiles on all around-
As violets shed their sweet perfume,
And rose-leaves drop upon the ground—
Be careful, darling; too much sun

Is sometimes worse than too much frost--
Better to stand back in the shade

Than sell your name for "less than cost."

"What may a human being cost?"

You ask us, may be, with a frown:
A mother's pains, a mother's tears,
Alone might weigh the balance down.
But much more precious far than these
The spark divine, God called a soul;
Then let us keep the jewel bright

As months and years shall onward roll.

AN INTERESTING TRAVELING COMPANION.

M. Quad, a literary gentleman connected with the Detroit Free Press, having taken charge of a lady on a railroad car, gives the following account of the pleasures of his journey.

Many men think a railroad journey is rendered really pleasant by the companionship of an unprotected female. She insisted on counting her bandbox and traveling bag as we got seated. She counted. There were just two. I counted and made no more nor less. Then she wanted her parasol put into the rack, her shawl folded up, and her bandbox counted again. I counted it. There was just exactly one bandbox of it. As we got started she wanted to know if I was sure that we were on the right road to Detroit. I was sure. Then she wanted her traveling bag counted. I counted it once more. By this time she wanted the window up, and asked me if it was not a very hot day. I said it was. Then she felt for her money and found it was safe, though she was sure that she had lost it. While counting it she related how Mrs. Graff, in going East five years ago, lost her purse and

three dollars. She wound up the story by asking me if it wasn't a hot day. I said it was. Then she wanted that bandbox counted, and I counted him. He was still one bandbox. There was a pause of five minutes, and then she wanted a drink. I got it for her. Then she wanted to know if we were on the right road to Detroit. I assured her that I was positive of the fact. The brakeman here called out the name of a station in such an indistinct manner that the lady wanted me to go and see what the name really was. I went. It was Calumet. She wanted to know if I was sure that it was Calumet, and I put my hand on my sacred heart and assured her that I would perish sooner than deceive her. By this time she wanted the traveling bag counted, and I counted her. She figured up as before. I had just finished counting when she wanted to know if I didn't think it was a hot day. I told her I did. We got along very well for the next half hour, as I got her to narrating a story about how she got lost in the woods eighteen years before, but as soon as she finished it she wanted to know if I was sure that we were on the right road to Detroit. I told her that I hoped to perish with the liars if we were not, and she was satisfied. Then the parasol fell down; she wanted me to change a tencent-piece, and the window had to go down. When we got down to Marshall she wanted to know if the place wasn't named after court-martial, and whether it wasn't barely possible that the station was Niles, instead of Marshall. The bandbox was counted again, and he was just one. Then the window went up, and she asked me if, in my opinion, it wasn't a hot day. I replied that it was. Then she related a story about her uncle, another about a young lady who had been deaf several years. During that day I counted that bandbox three hundred times, raised the window thirty times, said it was a hot day until my tongue was blistered, arranged that parasol twenty-one times, got her sixteen drinks of water, and inquired the names of thirteen stations. She said it was so nice to have a man in whom a stranger could place confidence, and I dared not reply, for fear of bringing out another story. When we reached Detroit, I counted the things three times over, and helped her off the cars, got her a hack, directed her to a hotel, told her the

street, price, name of the landlord, head waiter, porter, and cook; assured her she would not be robbed or murdered; that it had been a hot day; that Detroit had a population of one hundred thousand; that the fall term of school had commenced; that all Detroit hack drivers were honest and obliging. Poor woman, I hope the landlord did not get out of patience with her artless ways.

KING ROBERT OF SICILY.-H. W. LONGFELLOW.

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane
And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,
Appareled in magnificent attire

With retinue of many a knight and squire,
On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat
And heard the priests chant the Magnificat.
And as he listened, o'er and o'er again
Repeated, like a burden or refrain,
He caught the words, "Deposuit potentes
De sede, et exaltavit humiles;"

And slowly lifting up his kingly head,

He to a learned clerk beside him said,

"What mean those words?" The clerk made answer meet,

"He has put down the mighty from their seat,

And has exalted them of low degree."

Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully,

""Tis well that such seditious words are sung
Only by priests, and in the Latin tongue;
For unto priests and people be it known,

There is no power can push me from my throne!"
And leaning back he yawned and fell asleep,
Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep.

When he awoke, it was already night;

The church was empty, and there was no light,
Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint,
Lighted a little space before some saint.

He started from his seat and gazed around,
But saw no living thing and heard no sound.
He groped towards the door, but it was locked;
He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked,
And uttered awful threatenings and complaints,
And imprecations upon men and saints.

The sounds re-echoed from the roof and walls
As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls.

At length the sexton, hearing from without
The tumult of the knocking and the shout,
And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer,
Came with his lantern, asking, "Who is there?"
Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said,
"Open; 'tis I, the king! Art thou afraid?"
The frightened sexton, muttering with a curse,
"This is some drunken vagabond, or worse!"
Turned the great key and flung the portal wide;
A man rushed by him at a single stride,
Haggard, half-naked, without hat or cloak,
Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke,
But leaped into the blackness of the night,
And vanished like a spectre from his sight.

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane
And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,
Despoiled of his magnificent attire,

Bare-headed, breathless, and besprent with mire,
With sense of wrong and outrage desperate,
Strode on and thundered at the palace gate;

Rushed through the court-yard, thrusting in his rage
To right and left each seneschal and page,
And hurried up the broad and sounding stair,
His white face ghastly in the torches glare.
From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed;
Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed,
Until at last he reached the banquet-room,
Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume.
There on the dais sat another king,

Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring-
King Robert's self in features, form, and height,
But all transfigured with angelic light!
It was an angel; and his presence there
With a divine effulgence filled the air,
An exaltation, piercing the disguise,
Though none the hidden angel recognize.
A moment speechless, motionless, amazed,
The throneless monarch on the angel gazed,
Who met his look of anger and surprise

With the divine compassion of his eyes!

Then said, "Who art thou, and why com'st thou here?" To which King Robert answered with a sneer,

"I am the king, and come to claim my own

From an impostor, who usurps my throne!"
And suddenly, at these audacious words,

Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords;
The angel answered with unruffled brow,

Nay, not the king, but the king's jester; thou

Henceforth shall wear the bells and scalloped cape

And for thy counselor shalt lead an ape;