"It's dull in our town since my playmates left!

I can't forget that I'm bereft

Of all the pleasant sights they see,
Which the Piper also promised me.
For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,
Joining the town just at hand,

Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew,
And flowers put forth a fairer hue,

And every thing was strange and new;

The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here And their dogs outran our fallow-deer,

And honey-bees had lost their stings,

And horses were born with eagle's wings!
And just as I became assured

My lame foot would be speedily cured,

The music stopped and I stood still,
And found myself outside the Hill,

Left alone against my will,

To go on limping as before,

And never hear of that country more.

The Mayor sent East, West, North, and Souta,
To offer the Piper by word of mouth,

Wherever it was men's lot to find him,
Silver and gold to his heart's content,
If he'd only return the way he went,
And bring the children behind him.
But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor,
And Piper and dancers were gone forever,
The better in the memory to fix

The place of the children's last retreat,
They called it the Pied Piper's Street.

Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern

To shock with mirth a street so solemn ;

But opposite the place of the cavern
They wrote the story on a column,

And on the great Church-window painted
The same, to make the world acquainted
How their children were stolen away;
And there it stands to this very day.

HOW I EDITED AN AGRICULTURAL PAPER ONCE

MARK TWAIN.

THE sensation of being at work once again was luxuri. ous, and I wrought all the week with unflagging pleasure We went to press, and I waited a day with some solici tude to see whether my effort was going to attract any notice. As I left the office, toward sundown, a group of men and boys at the foot of the stairs dispersed with one impulse, and gave me passage-way, and I heard one or two of them say: "That's him!" I was naturally pleased by this incident. The next morning I found a similar group at the foot of the stairs, and scattering couples and individuals standing here and there in the street, and over the way, watching me with interest. The group separated and fell back as I approached, and I heard a man say: "Look at his eye!" I pretended not to observe the notice I was attracting, but secretly I was pleased with it, and was purposing to write an account of it to my aunt. I went up the short flight of stairs, and heard cheery voices and a ringing laugh as I drew near the door, which I opened, and caught a glimpse of two young, rural-looking men, whose faces blanched and lengthened when they saw me, and then they both plunged through the window, with a great crash. I was surprised.

In about half an hour an old gentleman, with a flowing ɔeard and a fine but rather austere face, entered, and sat down at my invitation. He seemed to have something on his mind. He took off his hat and set it on the floor

and got or . of our papei

of it a red silk handkerchief and a copy

He put the paper on his lap. and, while he polished his spectacles with his handkerchief, he said : "Are you the new editor ?"

I said I was.

46

Have you ever edited an agricultural paper before?" "No," I said; "this is my first attempt."

Then this old person got up and tore his paper all into small shreds, and stamped on them, and broke several things with his cane, and said I did not know as much as a cow; and then went out, and banged the door after him, and, in short, acted in such a way that I fancied he was displeased about something. But, not knowing what the trouble was, I could not be any help to him.

But these thoughts were quickly banished when the regular editor walked in! [I thought to myself, Now if you had gone to Egypt, as I recommended you to, I might nave had a chance to get my hand in; but you wouldn't do it, and here you are. I sort of expected you.] The editor was looking sad, and perplexed, and dejected. He surveyed the wreck which that old rioter and these two young farmers had made, and then said:

This is a sad business-a very sad business. There is the mucilage bottle broken, and six pan es of glass, and a spittoon and two candlesticks. But that is not the worst. The reputation of the paper is injured, and permanently, i fear. True, there never was such a call for the paper Jefore, and it never sold such a large edition or soared to such celebrity; but does one want to be famous for unacy, and prosper upon the infirmities of his mind? My friend, as I am an honest man, the street out here is ull of people, and others are roosting on the fences, waiting to get a glimpse of you, because they think you are crazy. And well they might, after reading your editorials. They are a disgrace to journalism. Why, what put it into your head that you could edit a paper of

this nature? You do not seem to know the first rudiments of agriculture. You speak of a furrow and a harrow as being the same thing: you talk of the moulting season for cows; and you recommend the domestication of the pole-cat on account of its playfulness and its excellence as a ratter. Your remark that clams will lie quiet if music be played to them, was superfluous-entirely superfluous. Nothing disturbs clams. Clams always lie quiet. Clams care nothing whatever about music. Ah, heavens and earth, friend, if you had made the acquiring of ignorance the study of your life, you could not have graduated with higher honor than you could to-day. I never saw anything like it. Your observation that the horse-chestnut, as an article of commerce, is steadily gaining in favor, is simply calculated to destroy this journal. I want you to throw up your situation and go. I want no more holiday-I could not enjoy it if I had it. Certainly not with you in my chair. I would always stand in dread of what you might be going to recommend next. It makes me lose all patience every time I think of your discussing oyster-beds under the head of 'Landscape Gardening.' I want you to go. Nothing on earth could persuade me to take another holiday. Oh, why didn't you tell me you didn't know anything about agriculture ?"

"Tell you, you cornstalk, you cabbage, you son of a cauliflower! It's the first time I ever heard such an unfeeling remark. I tell you I have been in the editorial business going on fourteen years, and it is the first time I ever heard of a man's having to know anything in order to edit a newspaper. You turnip !

"I take my leave, sir! Since I have been treated as you have treated me, I am perfectly willing to go. But I have done my duty. I have fulfilled my contract, as far as I was permitted to do it. I said I could make your paper of interest to all classes, and I have. I said I could

run your circu at on up to twenty thousand copies, and if I had had two more weeks I'd have done it. And I'd have given you the best class of readers that ever an agricultural paper had--not a farmer in it, nor a solitary individual who could tell a watermelon from a peach. wine to save his life. You are the loser by this rupture, aot me, Pie-plant. Adios."

I then left.

STRAWB

RRIES.

TROWBRIDGE.

LITTLE Pearl Honeydew, six years old,
From her bright ear parted the curls of gold;
And laid her head on the strawberry-bed,

To hear what the red-cheeked berries said.

Their cheeks were blushing, their breath was sweet,
She could almost hear their little hearts beat;

And the tiniest lisping, whispering sound
That ever you heard, came up from the ground.

"Little friends," she said, “I wish I knew
How it is you thrive on sun and dew !"
And this is the story the berries told
To little Pearl Honeydew, six years old.

"You wish you knew? and so do we!
But we can't tell you, unless it be

That the same kind Power that cares for you,
Takes care of poor little berries too.

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Tucked up snugly, and nestled below

Our coverlid of wind-woven snow,

We peep and listen, all winter long,

For the first spring day and the blue-bird's song.