RUNNING AWAY.

The sky was clear, the stars were bright,
The grass was wet with dew,

When Johnny rose, put on his clothes,
And vowed what he would do.

"I'll leave my pa, I'll leave my ma;
I'll go from here to stay;

My parents both have been unkind,
And so I'll run away.

"I'll take my clothes, I'll take my all,
A slave I will not be ;

I'll go out west, and do my best-
I'll strike for liberty!"

And Johnny started bravely out,
And said he'd ne'er return;
He said he'd go where he could live
And let his genius burn.

He traveled all that summer night,
And bravely through the day;
And then he said: "I wish that I
Had never run away.

"I'm tired and weak-I'm sick," said he,
With sadness in his tone;
"It isn't best to go out west-
At least to go alone.

ONLY FIVE.

I am a very little girl,

I'm only five years old;

I hope that none who hear me speak
Will think I am too bold.

WHO IS IT?

[At the close of this recitation some elderly person attired as Santa Claus should enter and distribute gifts to the children.]

Now, children, there's somebody coming,

So try to think sharply and well;
And, when I get through with my story,
Just see if his name you can tell.

His hair is as white as a snow-drift;
But then he is not very old.

His coat is of fur at this season:

The weather, you know, is so cold.

He'll bring all the children a present—
The rich, and I hope, too, the poor.
Some say that he comes down the chimney:
I think he comes in at the door.

GOLD.

Gold! gold! gold! gold!

Bright and yellow, hard and cold,
Molten, graven, hammered and rolled,

Heavy to get, and light to hold;

Hoarded, bartered, bought and sold,

Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled;

Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old
To the very verge of the churchyard mold !
Price of many a crime untold ;
Gold! gold! gold! gold!

Good or bad, a thousand-fold!

How widely its agencies vary

To save, to ruin, to curse, to bless,
As even its minted coins express,

Now stamped with the image of good Queen Bess,

And now of a Bloody Mary!

THOMAS HOOD.

PLAYING BARBER.

"I wish I was a little fish,
Or else a little kitty,

Or something that don't have the curls
Which grown folks think so pretty.

"It hurts so when I have them brushed, And Mary, ev'ry morning,

Says I am such a naughty girl,'
She surely will give warning.'

"She jerks, and don't care how she pulls, She says I'm very trying,'

But when they're tangled full of snarls, How can I keep from crying?

"I'll play I am the barber-man
And cut them all to pieces.
I don't care if my papa does

Call them his 'golden fleeces.' "

She took the shears and cut them off,
With grave, absorbed demeanor,
And when the little lamb was shorn,
I wish you could have seen her.

WORK.

Work, for the night is coming;
Work through the morning hours;
Work, while the dew is sparkling;
Work, 'mid springing flowers;
Work, when the day grows brighter,
Work, in the glowing sun;
Work, for the night is coming,

When man's work will be done.

THE SONG OF THE CORN POPPER.

Pip! pop! flipperty flop!

Here am I, all ready to pop.

Girls and boys, the fire burns clear;
Gather about the chimney here.
Big ones, little ones, all in a row,
Hop away! pop away! here we go!

Pip! pop! flipperty flop!

Into the bowl the kernels drop.

Sharp, and hard, and yellow, and small,

Must say they don't look good at all;

But wait till they burst into warm white snow!

Hop away! pop away! here we go!

Pip! pop! flipperty flop!

Don't fill me too full; shut down the top!

Rake out the coals in an even bed,

Topaz yellow and ruby red;

Shade your eyes from the fiery glow.
Hop away! pop away! here we go!

Pip flop flipperty flop!

Shake me steadily; do not stop;

Backward and forward, not up and down;

Don't let me drop, or you'll burn it brown,

Never too high, and never too low.

Hop away! pop away! here we go!

Pip! pop! flipperty flop!

Now they are singing, and soon they'll hop.

Hi! the kernels begin to swell.

Ho! at last they are dancing well.
Puffs and fluffs of feathery snow.
Hop away! pop away! here we go!

Pip! pop! flipperty flop!

All full, little ones? Time to stop!
Pour out the snowy, feathery mass.
Here is a treat for lad and lass.
Open your mouths now, all in a row ;
Munch away! crunch away! here we go!

LAURA E. RICHARDS.

THE FROST.

The frost looked forth one still, clear night,
And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight,
So through the valley and over the height
In silence I'll take my way ;

I will not go on like that blustering train,
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
Who make so much clatter and noise in vain,
But I'll be as busy as they."

So he flew to the mountain and powdered its crest,
He lit on the trees and their boughs he drest
In diamond beads, and over the breast

Of the quivering lake he spread

A coat of mail, that it need not fear
The downward point of many a spear
That he hung on its margin, far and near,
Where a rock might rear its head.

But he did one thing that was hardly fair;
He went to the cupboard, and finding there
That all had forgotten for him to prepare,

"Now, just to set them a-thinking, I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he; "This costly pitcher I'll break in three, And this glass of water they've left for me Shall tchick-to tell them I'm drinking!" HANNAH F. Gould.

THE CHILDREN.

They are idols of hearts and of households,
They are angels of God in disguise;
His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses,
His glory still gleams in their eyes.

CHARLES M. DICKENSON.