INDIAN MOTHER'S LULLABY. CHARLES MYALL. Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, little papoose, The whip-poor-will's crying, the daylight is dying, The pine trees are slumbering, little papoose, The robins are sleeping, the mother bird's keeping The roebuck is dreaming, my little papoose, His mate lies asleep at his side, The breezes are pining, the moonbeams are shining Then hush-a-by, rock-a-by, little papoose, Dear Manitou loves you, and watches above you 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. Roebuck: a small deer, usually found in Europe and Asia in the mountains. There is no such word as FAIL. - Shakespeare. THE FOUR SUNBEAMS. Four little sunbeams came earthward one day, 66 "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, And chased in delight his strange playmate so bright, One crept to a couch where an invalid lay, 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, For love brings content to the lowliest lot, And one, where a little blind girl sat alone, And kissed the poor eyes that had never known sight, Till angels had lifted the veil. At last, when the shadows of evening were falling, All said: "We have found that in seeking the pleasure FERN SONG. Dance to the beat of the rain, little Fern, 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." All your fronds, little Fern, And rejoice in the beat of the rain! Rev. John B. Tabb. A PLUCKY BOY. The boy marched straight up to the counter. "Well, my little man," said the merchant pleasantly—he had just risen from such a good dinner-"what will you have to-day?" "Oh, please, sir, may I do some work for you?" It might have been the pleasant blue eyes that did it, for the man was not accustomed to talk with such small gentlemen. Tommy wasn't seven yet, and small for his age at that. There were a few locks of hair along the edges of the merchant's temples, and, looking down on the appealing face, the man pulled at them. When he had done stroking them, he gave the ends of his cravat a brush, and then his hands traveled down to his vest pocket. "Do some work for me, eh? Well, now, about what kind of work do you think you are able to do? Why, you can't look over the counter!" "Oh, yes, I can, and I'm growing, please - growing fast. There! see if I can't look over the counter.' "Yes, by standing on your toes. Are they coppered?" "What, sir?" "Why, your toes. Your mother could not keep you in shoes if they were not." "She can't keep me in shoes anyhow, sir," and the voice hesitated. The man took pains to look over the counter. It was too much for him: he couldn't see the little toes. Then he went all the way around. "I thought I should need a microscope," he said, very gravely; "but I reckon if I get close enough I can see what you look like." "I'm older than I'm big, sir," was the neat reply. "Folks say I am very small for my age." "What might your age be, sir?" asked the man. "I am almost seven," "said Tommy, with a look calculated to impress even six feet nine. "You see, my mother hasn't anybody but me, and this morning I saw her crying because she could not find five cents in her pocket-book, and she thinks the boy who took the ashes stole it. And I have not had any — any breakfast, sir.” The voice again hesitated, and tears came to the blue eyes. "I reckon I can help you to a breakfast, my little fellow," said the man, feeling in his vest pocket. "There, will that quarter do?" The boy shook his head. "Mother wouldn't let me beg, sir," was the simple answer. "Humph! Where is your father?" "We never heard of him, sir, after he went away. He was lost, sir, in the steamer City of Boston." 66 'Ah, that's bad. But you are a plucky little fellow, anyhow. Let me see;" and he puckered up his mouth and looked straight down into the boy's eyes, which were looking straight into his. "Saunders," he asked, addressing a clerk who was rolling up and writing on parcels, "is Cash Number Four still sick?" |