Bowed the trees before the tempest, writhing as in mortal pain.

Roared a torrent in the gutters, gurgled every choking spout,

Scarce was heard the traveler's muttering in the uproar and the rout.

And a little dripping damsel, blown and beaten to and

fro,

Through the storm went running till her eyes and cheeks were all aglow.

Peeping down to view the havoc made by mischiefworking might,

Straight he burst into a giant roar of laughter at the

sight.

"Ho, the sun is shining!" cried the traveler, glancing where there shone,

Indistinct, his own reflection in the wet and glistening

stone.

Twinkled every dripping tree-top, by the sudden radiance kissed,

Glittered proud the ancient cock upon the steeple in

the mist.

And a little breathless maiden, looking through a nar

row pane,

Smiled to see an arch of glory shine athwart the falling rain.

EXAMINATIONS.

BY W. M. GIFFIN.

The other night I went to bed,
But not to sleep, for my poor head
Was filled with a most awful dread,

Examinations.

I thought of this, and then of that;

Of set and sit; which goes with sat?
I fear my brain has run to fat.

Examinations!

Next came the base and rate per cent.,
Of money to an agent sent,

And with that word all of them went,

Examinations!

Then my lessons I try to spell;

Which words have two, and which one L?
Oh, my poor brain! I cannot tell.

Examinations!

Where is Cape Cod, and where Pekin?
Where do the rivers all begin?

A high per cent. I cannot win.

Examinations!

Who was John Smith? What did he do?

And all the other fellows, too?
You must tell me, I can't tell you.

Éxaminations!

Oh, welcome sleep! at last it came;
But not to rest me, all the same;
For in my dreams this is my bane-

Examinations!

ANOTHER SPIDER AND FLY.

LAURA GARLAND CARR.

"Come try my new swing!" said a cunning old

spider,

As she fastened a thread round a columbine stalk,

To a trim little fly that lit down beside her

To brush off the dust while they had a short talk.

"See this now! I touched with my foot that tall aster!

Now back there I jostled that lovely sweet pea! O such jolly fun! see I go fast and faster!

Hop in, little neighbor, there's room here by me!"

"It can't be so nice as to fly," he made answer, While thoughtfully stroking his fair gauzy wings. "Poh! flies! I've had them! They are nice, but my land, sir!

You can't till you try, know the pleasure of swings."

The spider and swing-they went faster and higher; The blossoms they nodded and all things looked

gay,

And our charmed little fly soon lost all desire Save just once to swing in that rollicking way.

"He'll come now, I know," said the cunning old spinner, [of sight.

And her cruel eyes gleamed as she danced out Then looking back slily she thought of the dinner That plump fly would make when she had him all tight.

"She's gone!" thought the fly. "Now I guess I will try it."

46

And all in a flutter he hurried right in.

Nice, isn't it, dear? Now don't you deny it!" And the spider sprang out with a horrible grin. Whew! swoop comes a swallow! he seizes the derider,

And off to his nest in the barn roof has flown; So now little silver wings laughs at the spider, And swings if he pleases, or lets it alone.

THE LITTLE TIN CUP.

THOMAS FROST.

Whoa, Betty! How do, sir? Is this here the 'svlum for folks as is mad?

It air? Wal, my Lucy's to hum, sir; not ravin'; oh no just a fad

And ef I'd my own way I wouldn't be thinkin' o' fetchin' her here;

But it ain't no use argyin' matters when sister-in laws interfere.

You see it were this how: last harvest we parted with baby-little Chick;

The pootiest child in the kentry; the rompinest, 'fore he got sick;

And his mother, poor gal, took it badly when we telled her as baby was dead;

For she didn't shed tears like she'd orter, but sot thar a-shakin' her head.

And when baby was put in the parlor, she crep' sof❜ly up to the box,

And we heerd her say, "Go to sleep, darlin'," as she brushed back his bootiful locks.

But nex' day she was sleepin' herself, sir, when they come from the taown with the hearse,

So we went to the graveyard without her, and saved her the 'sterics, or worse.

Wal, when we got back from the fun'ral, thar was Lucy a-gettin' the tea;

On the table was three cups and saucers, for her and the sister and me;

But I can't tell the turn as it give me to see on cloth, polished up,

Just as bright as it shined on his birthday, our poor Chickey's little tin cup!

Then the sister she starts in a cryin', and says she with her face very white,

"Lucy, dear, don't you know that the baby won't want any supper to-night?"

Then, poor gal, she jist lifts up her finger and she points it at baby's old place,

And she says, "Don't the tin cup look dirty along o' that dazzlin' face?"

Ev'ry morning she's up with the daybreak, a-scrubbin' that poor bit o'tin;

And she's still at it, scourin' and rubbin' when the shadders of evenin' comes in;

But it's black, sir, as black as the kittle-compared with the child as sits there,

Shinin' bright with the glory o'Heaven; still as death in his little high chair!

So I've come, sir, to ask you to take her and larn her that Chick's gone away

To a place whar no suff'rin' kin enter, no rust, nor disease, nor decay;

But ef God sent this stroke as a mercy-ef the doc

tors all gives Lucy up

She will bring back a heart that ain't broken, and polish the little tin cup.