Gems In Verse

A Uttle ragged orphan girl, who ne'er liad liad a homo, nor kuown a parent's carO. And who, with Bhoelesa feet and batless head, Newspapera sold to earn Ler scanty bread. Was taken froin the city far away, With others of her kind, one suminer day, To look upon the ocean. At the sigbt Her thin, sharp face was tilli-d with grave delight. And some one said. "I wonder what can be Her thoughts, poor child, about thia mighty sea?" She heard the words and quickly turned her head, And in low tones, 'i's thinkin, ina'am," she said, "I's glad I comed, because I never sor Enough of anythiug at wunst before." - Margaret Eytinge. Fetert Prophesiea. I ain't mucb of a reader, and I writes a littla less, But in appreciatin things l'm hard to beat, I guess. There aiu't a man amoug us, from Uriah Skcggs to Bill, Who'li it 'n listen to a tale liko yonrs sincerely will. Particularly it the tale haa atirrin qualities, 'N isn't slathered through 'n through with writer'a theries. I like a talo with Iota o' horse, 'n live stock runniu through, Where pigs 'n dogs get ctances just as lords 'n Ladies do. tVhere héroes goes aroun'l in shirts like mine, 'n wbere the girls Ain't Binglng opry all day long, 'n ain't afeared o' curls; Tí wben théy bring the thuuder in, 1 like it good 'n loud, 'N not that noiseless stuff that goes with all tho tultured crowd. I bate a sueak in life, 1 do, 'u henee, I bate to m e lu read'in what a college girl I knows calis "bilt! lel y." Givo mo my blood just puro 'n straight, 'n let the fluid rUD As long as U's a niind to if you write to give mo fun. 'N taik catt be too noble wheu it'a writ to 'N whm ynii draw your heroines, don't have 'mi pallid taced. But givc 'cm lips like rubies, let thcir cheeks bc red as paint; 'N when you touch tbeir inoráis, keep 'cm some ways froin a saiM. 'N lot ibe héroes have a bit of comfortable vice, 'N for a change once in awbile have villains Bort o' tiifjü. Leavu uut your fads, 'u bind your books in red with lots o' gold, %N Sihis Peters propheaiea they vront stay long uiuold. - Ilarper's Bazar. Cuneen t rat ion. The ar?o is too dlffusive. Time and force Aro frittered out and bring no satisfaction. The way scenis lost to straight, determined act ion. Like bh' loting stars that zigzag frorn theirbowei-í, Wi' uaii.Ur from our orbit's pathway; spoil The role we'rc fitted for to fail in twenty; Bring empty measnres that were shaped for plenty At last i'.s gnerdan for a 'ie ' 'i'There's lack of greatness in this generation, Becaoso no more man centers onoue thought; We know this truth, and yet we heed it uot: THo secret of tnecess is coneentration. -Ella Yhecler WilcoX. A fTomaD'i Query. I saw to&ight Ibe man I loved Three little yeani ago; 1 diil not think so short a time Could changu a mortal so. There were none like nim in those - tío strong, so true, bo wíb&í He had a lofty marble brow And itinh r, soulful eyes. A volee of music; bair by whiicU The raven a wlng would seera But pale indeed: a face and forin To hannt a scnlptor's dream. But wben 1 looked at him tonight I saw no single trace Of the old glory; ouly jtjst A very eouimou face. No marble brow, uo soullit orbs: The face was round and sleek, That once to my love haunted eyes Was so Intensely Greek. 1 know ful! well he has not changed So very much. Ah, me! But I was blind in those dear days. And now, alas] I seo. 'Tis very dreadfnl to be blind Of oourse, and yet tonight I Bhonld be happier far if 1 Had not reecived my sight. One little thought wiil bother me- I only wi&h I knew Whether he still is blind, or if His eyes are open too. - Carlotta Perry. Tho Time of Voice. It is not so much what you s:iv. As the manner in whlch yon say it; It is not so much the langnage you use. As the tom.s in whlch you convey it. "Come hereP' 1 sharply snid, A ml the baby oowered and wept; "Come hero!" I cooed, and ho looked and smiled. And straight to my lap he crept. Tho words may be mild and fair. And tie tones may plerce like a dart; The Mir.! may be soit as the Bummer air. And the toiiAn may lreak the heart. For words but come from the mind, And grow by stndy and art; But the tones leap forth from tho inner self And reveal the state of the heart. Whether you know it or uot - Wnether you mean or care- Gtontleness, klndness, love and bate, Knvy and angsf are there. Then wonld you (uarrels avoid And in peace and love rejoice. Reep anger not only out of your words, Iïut keep it out of your voice. - Youth's Companion. The Spring in Suliimer. A little spring had lost its way along the grasa and fern, Apassingstrangerscooped a well, where weary man might turn; Ho walled it in and hung with care a ladle at the brink; He thought not of the deed he did, but judged that toil might drink. He passed again, and lo! the well, by summers nevcr driud. Had cooled ten lbousand parching tongues and ua ved a life beside. -Charles Mackay. Heterodoxy. Ah, wherever after death my still faithful soul may dwtll, Saints may cali it bliss or woe- they may name it hcaven or heil, By theo only, oh, beloved, will my joy or pain be WTOUght, I shall flnd my heaven besido thee, or my heil where thou art not! ■ -Florence Percy. Songs. Songs wcre born before tho singer; lke white souls awaiting birth, They abide the ehoseu bringcr of their melody to earth. -John Boyle G'Reilly. The Malay was the ïirst man to waar a oceaae u lus trousers.