I'd rather die with nothin' then ter hev ther people

say

That I had got my money in a robbin', graspin'

way;

No words above my restin'-place from any tongue or

pen

Would hev a deeper meanin' than "He helped his fellow-men."

So ef you hev & fortune and you want to help the

poor,

Don't keep a-stavin' off until you get a little more; Ef yer upon a miser's track you better turn aboutYer record keeps on burnin'

When the

Light

Goes

Out.

HARRY S. CHESTER.

WHEN I WAS A BOY.

P in the attic where I slept

UP

When I was a boy, a little boy,

In through the lattice the moonlight crept,

Bringing a tide of dreams that swept
Over a low, red trundle-bed,

Bathing the tangled curly head,

While the moonbeams played at hide and seek With the dimples on the sun-browned cheekWhen I was a boy, a little boy!

And, oh! the dreams-the dreams I dreamed! When I was a boy, a little boy!

For the grace that through the lattice streamed Over my folded eyelids seemed

To have the gift of prophecy,

And to bring the glimpses of time to be
When manhood's clarion seemed to call-
Ah! that was the sweetest dream of all,
When I was a boy, a little boy!

I'd like to sleep where I used to sleep
When I was a boy, a little boy!
For in at the lattice the moon would peep,
Bringing her tide of dreams to sweep
The crosses and griefs of the years away
From the heart that is weary and faint to-day;
And those dreams should give me back again
peace I have never known since then-
When I was a boy, a little boy!

A

EUGENE FIELD.

THE ELOCUTION LESSON.

A Medley.

THE teacher stood upon the floor,

THE

The scholars sat by two, by three;

"Read, if you never read before,

Good pupils, read your best," quoth she; "In orotund or medium force

Practice until your voice is hoarse,

Sfa, kstha, sfe, skthe."

Men say 'twas Elocution's tide

That swept the town like tidal wave;
But in mine ears do still abide

The awful shrieks those people gave.
And there was much of strange, beside,
They lifted up their hands and cried,
"Oh, save my brain! oh, save! oh, save!"

I sat and read within my door.

My specs fell off;-I raised my head. Across the street with yell and roar Came voices that could wake the dead. "Lift up your heads, take one deep breath, Say to the winds, Blow on,'" she saith, The teacher fair-Elizabeth.

So loud, so fast the shrieking came,
The heart had only time to throb
Before another awful strain

Burst forth from that unruly mob.
"By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each pupil drew his battle blade,"
And one more charge for victory made.

If it be long, aye, long ago-
When I begin to think how long,
Again I hear those voices flow

In sharp, shrill echoes, loud and strong.
And all the air, it seemeth true,
Is startled by that noisy crew
Who utter, "A, E, I, O, U."

The maidens where those sofas are
Sat there like statues, still as death.
The leader's voice I heard afar,
That damsel mild, Elizabeth.

Till floating o'er the street to me Came down that kindly message free, "The class will please arise," said she.

And eager pupils quickly stand,

Make gestures with their might and main;
Then madly, at their queen's command,
Fling up their weary arms again.

Then feet came down with ruin and rout,
Then clenchéd fists flew round about,
Then all the mighty tongues did shout

"Continental Hotel! Continental Hotel!" "Give me food for Minnehaha,

For my dying Minnehaha!" "Get thee back into the tempest

And the night's Plutonian shore!" "Hush!-heard ye not a footfall soft

Upon the chamber floor?"

"Arm! arm! it is-it is the cannon's opening roar!"

I shall never hear her more
Reading pieces o'er and o'er,

Saying to the class before her,

While the evening shades fall o'er her,

"Stand up, Jennie, stand up, Bennie,

Quit the books your hands are clasping,
Give the gesture at my asking,

To the ceiling lift your eyes;

Come up, Jerry, come up, Mary,
Come up, Sallie, rise and join us,
Sallie, in this exercise."

FRANCES NASH.

VALUE OF REPUTATION.

HO shall estimate the cost of a priceless reputation, that impress which gives this human dross its currency, without which we stand despised, debased, depreciated? Who shall repair it if injured? Who can redeem it if lost? O, well and truly does the great philosopher of poetry esteem the world's wealth as "trash" in the comparison ! Without it gold has no value; birth, no distinction; station, no dignity; beauty, no charm; age, no reverence. Without it every treasure impoverishes, every grace deforms, every dignity degrades, and all the arts, the decorations, and accomplishments of life stand, like the beacon-blaze upon a rock, warning the world that its approach is dangerous, that its contact is death.

The wretch without it is under eternal quarantine; no friend to greet, no home to harbor him. The voyage of his life becomes a joyless peril; and in the midst of all ambition can achieve, or avarice amass, or rapacity plunder, he tosses on the surge, a