"My native country thee,
Land of the noble free,
Thy name I love.

I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture thrills
Like that above."

Now that's fine speakin'.

I was walking down the street the other day and I was sayin' to myself I don't believe I have such very good sense anyhow-I was gist thinkin' that—and I heard some one talkin' about me, so I went back to hear what they was sayin'. And what do you think I heard them say? They says that's the very purtiest little girl in this town-and they meant me. T'ain't so neither, so it 'taint. I think I'm the very ugliest girl in this whole town.

My ma's a Methodist, and when Conference comes you ought to see the big preachers what comes to our house. They come and stay nearly a week, and goodness! how much they do eat. One of them-the very biggest one too-took me on his knee and said I was a daisy. I gist jumped off of his knee and said, Who do you think you are talkin' 'bout anyway? Why, you ole crank, if you don't watch out we'll fire you out bodily. You bets you, I skeered him purty bad. He never said a nuther word to me, you bets you. He's dead now, and I'm so glad.

I bet you don't know Sim. He's my beau. We have to hide behind the rose-bush every night and hear my sister Jane and her beau sparkin' in the hammock, so we kin take items. Then when we git big, if Sim forgets, I'll know how. Oh, we've got sparkin' down to a purty fine point.

Well, I guess I'll go and get on my new dress, and let you see it. This is 'bout the worstest dress I dot, but I could have lots better ones if I wanted 'em, but I don't wan't want 'em. I've got sense enough not to want things I can't git.

That's all I have to tell you so I guess I'll go.
Good-bye.

[Arranged on hearing Miss Lucia Griffin recite "The Naughty Girl."]

THE WAY TO SLEEPTOWN.

The town of Sleeptown is not far

In Timbuctoo or China,

For it's right near by in Blinkton county,
In the state of Drowsylina;

It's just beyond the Thingumbob hills,
Not far from Nodville Center,

But you must be drawn thro' the Valley of Yawn,
Or the town you cannot enter,

And this is the way,

They say, they say,

That baby goes to Sleeptown!

He starts from the city of Odearme,
Through Boohoo street he totters,
Until he comes to Dontery Corners

By the shore of the Sleeping Waters;
Then he comes to the Johnny-Jump-Up hills,
And the nodding Toddlebom mountains,

And straight does he go thro' the Vale of Heigho,
And drinks from the Drowsy Fountains.

And this is the way,

They say, they say,

That baby goes to Sleeptown!

By Twilight Path thro' the Nightcap Hills
The little feet must toddle,

Thro' the dewy gloom of Flyaway Forest,

By the drowsy peaks of Noddle;

And never a sound does baby hear,

For not a leaf does quiver,

From the Little Dream Gap in the Hills of Nap
To the Snoozequehanna River.

And this is the way,

They say, they say,

That baby goes to Sleeptown!

Aways he flies over Bylow Bridge,
Through Lullaby Lane to wander,

And on thro' the groves of Moonshine Valley
By the hill of Wayoffyonder;
And then does the fairies' flying-horse

The sleepy baby take up

Until they enter at Jumpoff Center

The Peekaboo Vale of Wakeup.
And this is the way,

They say, they say,

That baby comes from Sleeptown!

S. W. Foss.

IMPH-M.

Ye've heard hoo the de'il, as he wauchel'd thro' Beith,
Wi' a wife in ilk oxter, an' yen in his teeth,
When some yen cried oot, Will 1 ye

morn?"

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tak' mine the

He wagg'd his auld tail while he cockit his horn,
But only said, "Imph-m;

That usefu' word "Imph-m;"

Wi' sic a big mouthfu', he couldna say Aye!

When I was a laddie, lang syne, at the schule,
The maister aye ca'd me a dunce and a fule;
For of a' that he said, I could ne'er understan',
Unless when he bawled, "Jamie, haud oot your han"!"
Then I gloomed, an' said, " Imph-m,”

I glunched, an' said, "Imph-m,

I wasna owre proud, but owre dour to say A-y-e!

Ae day a queer word as lang-nebbit's himsel',
He vowed he would thrash me if I wadna spell.

Quo' I," Maister Quill," wi' a kin' o' a swither,

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I'll spell ye the word gif ye'll spell me anither— Let's hear ye spell 'Imph-m,'

That common word Imph-m,'

That auld Scotch word 'Imph-m,' ye ken it means A-y-e!"

Had ye seen hoo he glowered, hoo he scratched his big pate,

An' shouted, "Ye villain, get oot o' my gate!

Get aff tae yer seat! ye're the plague o' the schule !
The de'il o' me kens if yer maist rogue or fule!"
But I only said, "Imph-m,"
That decent word "Imph-m,"

That auld-farran "Imph-m," that stan's for an A-y-e!

An' when, a brisk wooer, I courted my Jean,
O' Avon's braw lassies the pride an' the queen,
When 'neath my grey plaidie, wi' heart beatin' fain,
I spiered in a whisper if she'd "be my ain,"
She blushed and said, "Imph-m,'

That charming word "Imph-m,'
A thousan' times better an' sweeter than Aye!

An' noo I'm a dad, wi' a hoose o' my ain-
A daintie bit wifie, an' mair than ae wean;
But the warst o't is this-when a question I spier,
They pit on a luik sae auld-farran an' queer,
But only say, "Imph-m"-

That daft-like word, "Imph-m,"

That vulgar word "Imph-m”—they winna say A-y-e ! Sae I've gi'en owre the "Imph-m❞—it's nae a nice word;

When printed on paper, it's perfect absurd;
An' gif ye're owre lazy to open yer jaw,
Jist haud yer tongue, an' say naething ata';
But never say, "Imph-m,"

That wretched word "Imph-m,"

It's ten times mair vulgar than even braid Aye.

James Nicholson.

A SECRET.

"I'll tell you something," says little Belle, "If you're certain, sure, you'll never tell.

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Well, then," whispers the little maid,

My papa, a great, big man, 's afraid.”

“Oh, isn't that funny enough?" laughed Sue. “Your papa's afraid, and mine is, too.

"Not of bears or tigers or bumble-bees;

It's something a thousand times worse than these.

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"It's a terrible thing, that goes up and down Through every city, village and town.

"And my papa says he almost knows

That things will be ruined wherever it goes."

"Yes, isn't it dreadful?" says Belle, with a sigh. "It will swear and, papa says, steal and lie.

"I s'pect it has horns and cloven feet;
And, Sue! what do you s'pose it will eat?"

Then closer together drew each little maid,
Looking about as if half afraid

They might see this thing with cloven feet,
And find it liked little girls to eat.

And then they fancied they heard it roar,
As it gobbled them up and cried for more.

"Oh, its name," cries Belle, "is so dreadful, too; Does your papa call it Republican,' Sue ?"

Sue shakes her head. "Oh, it can't be that,
For my papa calls it a 'Democrat.""

Lizzie M. Hadley.