They gather the delicate seaweeds,

And build tiny castles of sand;
They pick up the beautiful sea shells-

Fairy barks that have drifted to land.
They wave from the tall, rocking tree tops,
Where the oriole's hammock-nest swings;
And at night time are folded in slumber
By a song that a fond mother sings.

Those who toil bravely are strongest;
The humble and poor become great
And so from these brown-handed children
Shall grow mighty rulers of state.
The pen of the author and statesman-
The noble and wise of the land-

The sword, and the chisel, and palette
Shall be held in the little brown hand.

LITTLE JIM.

ANON.

[Deliver with great tenderness.]

The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean;
Yet everything within that cot was wondrous neat and clean.
The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild,
A patient mother sat beside the death-bed of her child—

A little worn out creature-his once bright eyes grown dim;
It was the collier's wife and child-they called him "Little Jim.”

And oh, to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek
As she offered up a prayer in thought—she was afraid to speak,
Lest she might waken one she loved far better than her life;
For she had all a mother's heart, had that poor collier's wife.
With hand uplifted, see, she kneels beside the sufferer's bed,
And prays that He will spare her boy and take herself instead.

She gets her answer from the child-soft fall these words from him: "Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon 'Little Jim;'

I have no pain, dear mother, now, but, oh, I am so dry—
Just moisten poor Jim's lips again, and, mother, don't ye cry."
With gentle, trembling haste she held a teacup to his lips;
He smiled to thank her as he took three tiny little sips.
"Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good night to him;
And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas! poor "Little Jim !"
She saw that he was dying-that the child she loved so dear
Had uttered the last words that she might ever hope to hear.

The cottage door is opened-the collier's step is heard-
The father and the mother meet, but neither speaks a word;
He felt that all was over-he knew his child was dead;
He took the candle in his hand and walked beside the bed;
His quivering lips gave token of the grief he'd fain conceal,
And see, his wife has joined him—the stricken couple kneel;
With hearts bowed down with sadness, they humbly ask of Him
That they may meet again in heaven their own poor "Little Jim."

PRESS ON!

ANON.

[With vim, and stirringly.]

Press on our life is not a dream,
Tho' often such its mazes seem;
We were not born to lives of case,
Ourselves alone to aid and please.

To each a daily task is given—

A labor that shall fit for Heaven.
When duty calls let love grow warm,
Amid the sunshine or the storm.
With faith life's trials boldly breast,

Then go, a conqueror, to thy rest!

THE BABY.

GEORGE MACDONALD.

[Simply and naturally give the two following poems.]

"Where did you come from, baby dear?" "Out of the everywhere into the here."

"Where did you get your eyes so blue?" "Out of the sky as I came through."

"What makes the light in them sparkle and spin ?" "Some of the starry spikes left in."

"Where did you get that little tear?"

"I found it waiting when I got here."

"What makes your forehead so smooth and high?" "A soft hand stroked it as I went by."

"What makes your cheek like a warm white rose ?" "Something better than any one knows."

"Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?" "Three Angels gave me at once a kiss."

"Where did you get that pearly ear?"

"God spoke and it came out to hear."

"Where did you get those arms and hands?" "Love made itself into hooks and bands."

"Feet, whence did you come, you darling things?" "From the same box as the cherub's wings."

"How did they all just come to be you?" "God thought about me, and so I grew."

"But how did you come to us, you dear?" "God thought of you, and so I am here."

When its time
To go to bed,
And scorn sublime

For what's said.

Folded hands,

Saying prayers;
Understands not,

Nor cares;

Thinks it's odd;
Smiles away
Yet may God

Hear her pray,

Bed gown white;

Kiss Dolly;

Good night;

That's Polly.

Fast asleep,

As you see;

Heaven keep

My girl for me!

A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW.

POEMS WRITTEN FOR A CHILD.

[Recite the two pieces below in a lively manner.]

Quoth the boy, "I'll climb that tree

And bring down a nest, I know."
Quoth the girl, "I will not see
Little birds defrauded so!
Cowardly their nests to take
And their little hearts to break;
Leave them happy for my sake,
And their little eggs don t steal:
Surely little birds can feel."