The clock struck nine-the clock struck ten, It struck eleven, and then struck twelve, And John he ate, and Sue she thought— Till John cried out, "The corn's a-fire! Said she, "John Styles, it's one o'clock; I'm sick of all this popping corn- DISCONTENT. GEORGE COOPER. [Speak in a spirited way.] A dozen tadpoles wriggled out And see the older frogs, no doubt- They roamed among the rushes green, They saw the lilies o'er them lean; Their hearts were gladdened by the sceneAdmiring little tadpoles. A greater wonder was to come: They heard an old frog say "Jug-rum!" Such eloquence! It struck them dumb These silly little tadpoles. "Oh, could we only speak like that! And sit upon a stone so flat!" Their yearning hearts beat pit-a-pat They sighed that they were tadpoles, "It's oh, to wear a coat so fine, Then back again, with frowns and sighs, They could not know the lot of frogs These unsuspecting tadpoles. They did not know that sticks and stoncs But let me cut this tale off here, As time cut theirs. The day drew near, And are they happy? Ah! they sigh COMPOUND INTEREST. MRS. M. V. VICTOR. [Naturally and simply.] Ben Ahdam had a golden coin one day, Until the doubled coin two pieces grew, And these two, four-so on, till people said, "How rich Ben Ahdam is!" and bowed the servile head. Ben Selim had a golden coin that day, Which to a stranger, asking alms, he gave, Who went rejoicing on his unknown way. Ben Selim died too poor to own a grave, But when his soul reached heaven, angels, with pride, Show'd him the wealth to which his coin had multiplied. THE BAREFOOT BOY. ADAPTED FROM J. G. WHITTIER. [Deliver in a simple, descriptive style.] Blessings on thee, little man, Let the million-dollared ride! Barefoot, trudging at his side, Every morn shall lead thee thro' Quick and treacherous sands of sin. Ah! that thou could'st know thy joy Ere it passes, barefoot boy! BE TRUE TO YOURSELF, YOUNG MAN, ANON. Be true to yourself at the start, young man, Ere you build your house mark well tho spot, Test well the ground, and build you not On the sand or the sinking sod. Dig, dig the foundation deep, young man, Let the props be strong and the roof be high, Through which heavenly dews may fall. Let this be the room of the soul, young manWhen shadows shall herald care A chamber with never a roof or thatch To hinder the light, or door, or latch Build slow and sure, 'tis for life, young man, For who shall gainsay the Holy Word? Build deep, and high, and broad, young man, Let your title-deeds be clear and bright Till you enter your claim to the Lord of Light THE PRECIOUS FREIGHT. EDWARD EVERETT. [Give with force and spirit.] Methinks I see it now, that one solitary, adventurous vessel, the Mayflower of forlorn hope, freighted with the prospects of a future state, and bound across the unknown sea. I behold it pursuing, with a thousand-misgivings, the uncertain, the tedious voyage. Suns rise and set, and weeks and months pass, and winter surprises them on the deep, but brings them not the sight of the wished-for shore. I see them now scantily supplied with provisions, crowded almost to suffocation in their ill-stored prison, delayed by calms, pursuing a circuitous route, and now driven in fury before the raging tempest, on the high and giddy waves. The awful voice of the storm howls through the rigging. The laboring masts seem straining from their base; the dismal sound of the pumps is heard; the ship leaps as if it were, madly, from billow to billow; the ocean breaks, and settles with engulfing floods over the floating deck, and beats with deadening weight against the staggering vessel. I see them, escaped from these perils, pursuing their all but desperate undertaking, and landed at last, after five months' passage, on the ice-clad rocks of Plymouth-weak and weary from the voyage-poorly armed, scantly provisioned, depending on the charity of their shipmaster for a draught of beer on |