We can give to the poor a helping hand
We can cheer the sick, as we by them stand;
We can send God's work to the heathen land.

We can speak to others in tones of love;
We can dwell in peace, like the gentle dove
We can point the weary to rest above.

A PERSIAN FABLE.

ANON.

[Speak simply.]

A drop of water fell out of a cloud into the sea, and finding itself lost, broke out into the following words, "Alas! what an insignificant thing I am in this ocean of waters. My life is of no concern to the earth. I am reduced to a kind of nothing, and am less than the least of the works of God."

It so happened that an oyster, which lay in the neighborhood of this drop, chanced to gape and swallow it up in the midst of this, its humble soliloquy. The drop lay a great while hardening in the shell, till by degrees it was ripened into a pearl, which, falling into the hands of a diver, after a long series of adventures, is at present that famous pearl which is fixed on the top of the Persian diadem.

HOW TO BECOME HAPPY.

ANON.

[With earnestness.]

Once there was a wealthy and powerful king, full of care and very unhappy. He heard of a man famed for his wisdom and piety, and found him in a cave on the borders of the wilderness.

"Holy man," said the king, "I come to learn how I may be happy."

Without making a reply the wise man led the king over a rough path till he brought him in front of a high rock, on the top of which an eagle had built her nest.

"Why has the eagle built her nest yonder?"

"Doubtless," answered the king, "that it may be out of danger." "Then imitate the bird," said the wise man; "build thy home in heaven, and thou shalt have peace and happiness.

THE WHISPERER.

UNCLE JOE.

[Speak as if you were telling a story.]

There was once a lovely princess who had a fairy for a godmother. This young princess was slender, graceful, and very fair to behold. She usually dressed in green-green being her favorite color.

This pretty creature would have been a great favorite but for her very troublesome habit of whispering. She had always some wonderful news, or seemed to have, which everybody must hear privately; so, no wonder that she came to be known, at last, by the name of the Whisperer.

Now, this conduct was very displeasing to the old fairy, who, being of a hasty temper, would get angry, and scold and threaten her; though, when good natured, she would smile most pleasantly upon her, and drop gold in her path.

The princess, as may be imagined, liked to see herself well dressed, and every year she saved up the gold which her godmother had dropped, and spun and wove herself a fine gold mantle. The fairy was quite willing to find her in gold to spin, and all would have gone well only for the habit above mentioned, which habit I will say, in passing, was very strong upon her in breezy weather. But one day the old lady, who was, as has been remarked, of rather a hasty turn, became so provoked that she lost all patience with the Whisperer, and touching her with her wand changed her, quick as thought, to a slender green tree.

"Now stand there and whisper to the winds!" cried the angry fairy.

And sure enough she did. The pretty, graceful tree did stand and whisper to the winds ever after; but always saved up sunshine enough, through the long summer days, to weave for itself a golden mantle, and when decked in that was just as pleased as a tree could be to see itself so fine.

Now this is the way, so I've been told, that birch trees began! Go into the woods any time when there's a light breeze stirring and you may hear them whispering, whispering, whispering. They never fail, however, to save up sunshine enough through the long summer days to weave for themselves fine gold mantles.

But these fine golden mantles are sure to be spoiled by a rough old king who comes this way every year, storming and raging, and making a bluster. He gives them white mantles instead of their golden ones, but they are not so pretty.

Do you know who this old king is? Why, Winter, to be sure!

JINGLES.

ANON.

[Speak in a simple, natural way.] Who can tell what the baby thinks

When it wakes from its forty winks

And rubs its face into numerous kinks,

And stares at the light that comes in at the chinks

Of its rock-a-by nest, and gapes and blinks—

Who can tell what a baby thinks?

Who has courage to venture a guess

As to what the baby may think of its dress,

Trimmed and ruffled to such excess;

Or what the baby may think of the mess

For headache, and toothache, and stomach distress,
And for all its ailings, more or less?

When does the baby begin to grow?

When does the mind begin to show?
When does the baby begin to know
That this is true, or that is so?

Say, when you find out, please let me know.

THE ORATOR.

Speak with earnestness and truth;
Speak with all the fire of youth;
Speak with Nature for your guide;

Speak with mind and heart beside;

Speak to please, to sway, to move.

These rules observed the Orator will prove.

"HOW'S MY BOY ?"

SIDNEY DOBELL.

[In a tender, descriptive manner.]

"Ho! sailor of the sea!

How's my boy-my boy ?"

"What's your boy's name, good wife,

And in what good ship sailed he?"

"My boy, John

He that went to sea

What care I for the ship, sailor?

My boy's my boy to me.

You come back from sea,

And not know my John?

I might as well have asked some landsman

Yonder, down in the town;

There's not an ass in all the parish

But knows my John.

How's my boy-my boy?

And, unless you let me know,

I'll swear you are no sailor,

Blue jacket or no

Brass buttons or no, sailor,

Anchor and crown or no

Sure his ship was 'The Jolly Briton.""

"Speak low, woman, speak low!"

"And why should I speak low, sailor,
About my own boy, John?

If I was loud as I am proud
I'd sing him over the town!
Why should I speak low, sailor ?"
"That good ship went down!"

"How's my boy-my boy?

What care I for the ship, sailor?
I was never aboard her.

Be she afloat or be she aground,

Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound
Her owners can afford her!

I say, how's my John?"

"Every man on board went down

Every man aboard her!"

I call upon those whom I address to stand up for the nobility of labor. It is Heaven's great ordinance for human improvement. Let not that great ordinance be broken down. What do I say? It is broken down; and it has been broken down for ages. Let it, then, be built up again, here, if anywhere, on these shores of a new world-of a new civilization. But how, I may be asked, is it broken down? Do not men toil? it may be said. They do, indeed, toil; but they too generally do it because they must. Many submit