Imágenes de páginas

cause it is the flag of our own country and not on account of its color or shape.

Mary. — There is a little girl in our neighborhood who thinks the Russian flag is more beautiful than ours. It is not necessary to say that she came from Russia.

Robert. – I think the Boston boys did just right when they complained to General Gage about his soldiers. They ought to have remembered when they were boys and liked to coast in winter.

Lizzie. — Some men act as if they had never been · young. They must have been gloomy little boys who loved work more than play.

Robert. — Who ever heard of a boy who loved work more than play? The British soldiers destroyed the snow hills to annoy the American boys. General Gage took the part of the boys when he heard how the soldiers had been treating them. We read in our history that from the mere love of tantalizing the boys, the British soldiers destroyed their snow hills.

Teacher: — Your time is up; you must postpone your conversation until another day.

Pride is as loud a beggar as Want and a great deal more saucy. When you have bought one fine thing, you must buy ten more, that your appearance may be all of a piece. It is easier to suppress the first desire than to satisfy all that follow it. Franklin.

[graphic][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]



Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, little papoose,

The stars come into the sky,
The whip-poor-will's crying, the daylight is dying,

The river runs murmuring by.

The pine trees are slumbering, little papoose,

The squirrel has gone to his nest,
The robins are sleeping, the mother bird's keeping

The little ones warm with her breast.

The roebuck is dreaming, my little papoose,

His mate lies asleep at his side,
The breezes are pining, the moonbeams are shining

All over the prairie so wide.

Then hush-a-by, rock-a-by, little papoose,

You sail on the river of dreams;
Dear Manitou loves you, and watches above you

Till time when the morning light gleams.

Man'i tou : the Indian name for the Good Spirit or the Guardian Spirit. Pa poose': a young child, or baby, of Indian parentage in North America. Rõg'bůck: a small deer, usually found in Europe and Asia in the mountains.

There is no such word as Fail. — Shakespeare.


Four little sunbeams came earthward one day,
All shining and dancing along on their way,

Resolved that their course should be blest. “Let us try,” they all whispered, “some kindness to do, .. Not seek our own happiness all the day through,

Then meet in the eve in the west.”

One sunbeam ran in at a low cottage door,
And played “hide-and-seek” with a child on the floor,

Till baby laughed loud in his glee,
And chased in delight his strange playmate so bright,
The little hands grasping in vain for the light

That ever before him would flee.

One crept to a couch where an invalid lay,
And brought him a dream of the sweet summer day,

Its bird-song and beauty and bloom;
Till pain was forgotten and weary unrest,
And in fancy he roamed through the scenes he loved best,

Far away from the dim, darkened room.

One stole to the heart of a flower that was sad,
And loved and caressed her until she was glad,

And lifted her white face again;
For love brings content to the lowliest lot,
And finds something sweet in the dreariest spot,

And lightens all labor and pain.

Not sharinds that we eves that beautiful ligh

And one, where a little blind girl sat alone,
Not sharing the mirth of her playfellows, shone,

On hands that were folded and pale,
And kissed the poor eyes that had never known sight,
That never would gaze on the beautiful light,

Till angels had lifted the veil.

At last, when the shadows of evening were falling,
And the sun, their great Father, his children was calling,

Four sunbeams passed into the west.
All said: “We have found that in seeking the pleasure
Of others, we fill to the full our own measure."

Then softly they sank to their rest.


Dance to the beat of the rain, little Fern,
And spread out your palms again,

And say, “Tho' the sun

Hath my vesture spun,
He had labored, alas, in vain,

But for the shade

That the Cloud hath made,
And the gift of the Dew and the Rain.”

Then laugh and upturn

All your fronds, little Fern,
And rejoice in the beat of the rain!

Rev. John B. Tabb.

« AnteriorContinuar »