The clock struck nine-the clock struck ten,
And still the corn kept popping;

It struck eleven, and then struck twelve,
And still no signs of stopping.

And John he ate, and Sue she thought—
The corn did pop and patter-

Till John cried out, "The corn's a-fire!
Why, Susan, what's the matter?"

Said she, "John Styles, it's one o'clock;
You'll die of indigestion;

I'm sick of all this popping corn-
Why don't you pop the question ?"

DISCONTENT.

GEORGE COOPER.

[Speak in a spirited way.]

A dozen tadpoles wriggled out
To view the prospect round about,

And see the older frogs, no doubt-
Ambitious little tadpoles.

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,
And with these older frogs to shine!
I wish their happy lot were mine,"
Said every little tadpole.

Then back again, with frowns and sighs,
And doubtless, very watery eyes,
Each to his native mud-bank hies--
A dozen humbled tadpoles.

They could not know the lot of frogs
Who sun themselves on lazy logs,
Fated to utter their "ker-chogs

These unsuspecting tadpoles.

They did not know that sticks and stoncs
Were hurled at frogs, to crack their bones,
Or much less sad had been the tones
Of all these little tadpoles.

But let me cut this tale off here,

As time cut theirs. The day drew near,
And full grown frogs they all appear,
No longer little tadpoles.

And are they happy? Ah! they sigh
That profitless their youth went by;
When tadpoles ask them, they reply-
"We wish now we were tadpoles !"

COMPOUND INTEREST.

MRS. M. V. VICTOR.

[Naturally and simply.]

Ben Ahdam had a golden coin one day,
Which he put out at interest with a Jew;
Year after year, awaiting him, it lay

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,
Barefoot boy with cheeks of tan!
With thy turned up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lips, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Thro' thy torn brim's jaunty grace.
Prince thou art, the grown up man
Only is republican.

Let the million-dollared ride!

Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye-
Outward sunshine, inward joy:
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

Every morn shall lead thee thro'
Fresh baptisms of the dew!
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat!
All too soon these feet must hido
In the prison cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt's, for work be shod,
Made to tread the mills of toil,
Up and down in ceaseless moil;
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in

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,
Be true to yourself and God;

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,
Plant firmly the outer wall;

Let the props be strong and the roof be high,
Like an open turret toward the sky,

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
To shut in the spirit's prayer.

Build slow and sure, 'tis for life, young man,
A life that outlives the breath,

For who shall gainsay the Holy Word?
"Their works do follow them," said the Lord;
"Therein there is no death."

Build deep, and high, and broad, young man,
As the needful case demands;

Let your title-deeds be clear and bright

Till you enter your claim to the Lord of Light
For the House not made with hands.

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