Sternly he ordered the gentle Foo-Foo

To "come down out of that there!"
And he told Hi-Hi to go to a place-
I won't say precisely where.

Then he dragged off his child, whose spasms evinced
Unusually wild despair.

But the Tycoon, alas! was badly fooled,

Despite his paternal pains,

For John, with a toothpick, let all the blood
Out of his jugular veins;

While with a back somersault on to the floor
Foo-Foo battered out her brains.

They buried them both in the Tycoon's lot,
Right under a dogwood tree,

Where they could list to the nightingale and
The buzz of the bumble-bee;

And where the mosquito's sorrowful chant
Maddens the restless flea.

And often at night, when the Tycoon's wife
Slumbered as sound as a post,

His almond shaped eyeballs looked on a sight
That scared him to death almost-
'Twas a bald headed spectre flitting about
With a paper muslin ghost!

A NIGHT WITH A WOLF.

BAYARD TAYLOR.

[With expression and awe.]

Little one, come to my knee!

Hark how the rain is pouring

Over the roof, in the pitch black night,
And the wind in the woods a roaring!

Hush, my darling, and listen,

Then pay for the story with kisses; Father was lost in the pitch black night, In just such a storm as this is,

High up on the lonely mountains,

Where the wild men watched and waited; Wolves in the forest, and bears in the bush, And I on my path belated.

The rain and the night together

Came down, and the wind came afterBending the props of the pine tree roof, And snapping many a rafter.

I crept along in the darkness,

Stunned, and bruised, and blindedCrept to a fur with thick set boughs, And sheltering rock behind it.

There, from the blowing and raining, Crouching, I sought to hide me: Something rustled; two green eyes shone, And a wolf lay down beside me.

Little one, be not frightened;

I and the wolf together,

Side by side, thro' the long, long night
Hid from the awful weather.

His wet fur pressed against me;
Each of us warmed the other;
Each of us felt, in the stormy dark,
That beast and man were brother.

And when the falling forest

No longer crashed in warning,

Each of us went from our hiding place

Forth in the wild, wet morning.

Darling, kiss me in payment!

Hark, how the wind is roaring;
Father's house is a better place
When the stormy rain is pouring!

WASHINGTON'S NAME.

BY JAMES G. PERCIVAL.

[In a stirring, bold manner.]

At the heart of our country the tyrant was leaping,
To dye there the point of his dagger in gore,

When Washington sprang from the watch he was keeping,
And drove back the tyrant in shame from our shore.
The cloud that hung o'er us then parted and roll'd
Its wreaths far away, deeply tinctured with flame,
And high on its fold

Was a legend that told

The brightness that circled our Washington's name.

Long years have roll'd on, and the sun still has brighten'd
Our mountains and fields with its ruddiest glow;
And the bolt that he wielded so proudly has lighten'd,
With a flash as intense, in the face of the foe:
On the land and the sea, the wide banner has roll'd
O'er many a chief, on his passage to fame,

And still on its fold

Shine in letters of gold

The glory and worth of our Washington's name.

And so it shall be while Eternity tarries,

And pauses to tread in the footsteps of Time;
The bird of the tempest, whose quick pinion carries
Our arrows of vengeance, shall hover sublime:
Wherever that flag on the wind shall be roll'd,
All hearts shall be kindled with anger and shame
If e'er they are told

They are careless and cold,

In the glory that circles our Washington's name.

"HOLD FAST WHAT I GIVE YOU."

LILY WARNER.

[Recite in a simple manner, pressing the palms together in speaking the "Hold fast what I give you."]

Molly, and Maggie, and Alice,

Three little maids in a row,

At play in an arbor palace,
Where the honeysuckles grow.

Six dimpled palms pressed together,
Even and firm, two by two-
Three eager, upturned faces,

Bonny brown eyes and blue.

Which shall it be, O you charmers?
Alas! I am sorely tried-

I, a hard hearted old hermit,

Who the question am set to decide.

Molly, the spirited, the darling,

Shaking her shower of curls;

Whose laugh is the brook's own ripple,

There, there, at last I am ready

To go down the bright, eager row;
So, up with your hands, my grates,
Close-nobody else must know.

Hold fast what I give you, Molly;
(Poor little empty palms!)
Hold fast what I give you, Maggie;
(A frown steals o'er her charms.)

Hold fast what I give you, Alice;
You smile-do you so much care?
Unclasp your pink little fingers;
Ah, ha! the button is there.

But do you know, sweet Alice,
All that I give you to keep?
For into my heart you have stolen
As sunbeams to shadows creep.

You, a glad little maiden.

How old are you? Only nine;
With your bright brown hair all shining,
While the gray is coming to mine.

No matter, you'll be my true love,
And come to my old arms, so;
And hold fast what I give you, Alice,
For nobody else must know.

THE OLD BACHELOR.

THE MAD POET.

[With liveliness and vim.]

In the vast tower field of human affection there is not a more miserable being than the old bachelor. He is the very scarecrow of human happiness. He scares away the little birds of love that come