'Twas the dear little girl that I scolded-
"For was it a moment like this,"
I said, "when she knew I was busy,
To come romping in for a kiss?—
Come rowdying up from her mother,
And clamoring there at my knee
For one 'ittle kiss for my dolly,

And one 'ittle uzzer for me!'"

God pity the heart that repelled her,

And the cold hand that turned her away! And take, from the lips that denied her This answerless prayer of to-day! Take, Lord, from my mem'ry forever That pitiful sob of despair,

And the patter and trip of the little bare feet, And the one piercing cry on the stair!

I put by the half-written poem,

While the pen, idly trailed in my hand, Writes on "Had I words to repeat it,

Who'd read it, or who'd understand?"

But the little bare feet on the stairway,

And the faint, smothered laugh in the hall, And the eerie-low lisp on the silence,

Cry up to me over it all.

JAMES W. RILEY.

THE BOY TO THE SCHOOLMASTER.

YOU'VE quizzed me often and puzzled me long
You've asked me to cypher and spell,
You've called me a dunce if I answered wrong,
Or a dolt if I failed to tell

Just when to say lie and when to say lay,
Or what nine sevens may make,
Or the longitude of Kamschatka Bay,

Or the I-forget-what's-its-name lake,
So I think it's about my turn, I do,
To ask a question or so of you.

The schoolmaster grim he opened his eyes,
But said not a word for sheer surprise.

Can you

tell what "phen-dubs" means? I can. Can you say all off by heart

The "

onery twoery ickery ann,"

Or tell" alleys" and "commons" apart? Can you fling a top, I would like to know, Till it hums like a bumble-bee?

Can you make a kite yourself that will go 'Most as high as the eye can see,

Till it sails and soars like a hawk on the wing, And the little birds come and light on its string?

The schoolmaster looked, oh! very demure, But his mouth was twitching, I'm almost sure.

Can you

tell where the nest of the oriole swings, Or the color its eggs may be?

Do you know the time when the squirrel brings

Its young from their nest in the tree?

Can you tell when the chestnuts are ready to drop,

Or where the best hazel-nuts grow?

Can you climb a high tree to the very tip-top,
Then gaze without trembling below?

Can you swim and dive, can you jump and run,
Or do anything else we boys call fun?

The master's voice trembled as he replied,

"You are right, my lad, I'm the dunce," he sighed.

E. J. WHEELER,

A SEASIDE INCIDENT.

WHY, Bob, you dear old fellow, Where have you been these years? In Egypt, India, Khiva,

With the Khan's own volunteers ?

Have you scaled the Alps or Andes,
Sailed to Isles of Amazons ?

What climate, Bob, has wrought the change

Your face from brown to bronze?"

She placed a dimpled hand in mine

In the same frank, friendly way;

We stood once more on the dear old beach,
And it seemed but yesterday

Since, standing on this same white shore,

She said, with eyelids wet,

Good-bye. You may remember, Bob,
But I shall not forget."

I held her hand and whispered low,
"Madge, darling, what of the years—
The ten long years that have intervened
Since, through the mist of tears,

We said good-bye on the same white beach
Here by the murmuring sea?

You, Madge, were then just twenty,
And I was twenty-three."

A crimson blush came to her cheek,
"Hush, Bob," she quickly said:
Let's look at the bathers in the surf-
There's Nellie and Cousin Ned."
"And who's that portly gentleman

On the shady side of life?"

Oh, he belongs to our party, too—

In fact, Bob, I'm his wife!

And I tell you, Bob, it's an awful thing,

The way he does behave:

Flirts with that girl in steel-gray silk-
Bob, why do you look so grave?
"The fact is, Madge-I--well, ahem!
Oh, nothing at all, my dear-
Except that she of the steel-gray silk

Is the one I married last year."

MARC COOK.

AFTER THE COWS.

"HIGH time, high time the cows were home;

Will lingerin' Jinny never come?"

The father stroked his grizzly head;
The mother, slowly sewing, said,
"Put one and one together:

The bars slip hard in rainy weather.

"Now, mother, do you mean to say
We've had a smitch o' rain to-day?
A little quicker passed the thread,
As quietly good mother said,

46

Put one and one together:

The cows climb high in sunny weather."

"In rain or shine, will Brindle climb Too high to come at milkin'-time?”

Good mother smoothed her sewing down.

66

When this was my new Sunday gown,
Put lad and lass together,

'Twas love, not cows, in any weather."

JOHN VANCE CHENEY.

A KISS IN THE RAIN.

ONE stormy morn I chanced to meet
A lassie in the town;

Her locks were like the ripened wheat,
Her laughing eyes were brown.