'Tis time my little ones were safe in bed!"

So, sheltered by her wings in downy nest, The weary little birdlings took their rest.

The night came darkly down; The baby's mother said, "Bye-low!

You musn't frolic so!

You should have been asleep an hour ago!"

And, nestling closer to its mother's breast, The merry prattler sank to quiet rest.

Then in the cradle soft 'Twas laid with tenderest care.

"Good-night!

Sleep till the morning light!"

Whispered the mother as she breathed a prayer.

Night settled down; the gates of day were barred And only loving angels were on guard.

JOSEPHINE POLLARD.

GRANDMOTHER'S CLOCK.

It stands in the corner of Grandma's room; From the ceiling it reaches the floor; "Tick-tock," it keeps saying the whole day long, "Tick-tock," and nothing more.

Grandma says the clock is old, like herself; But dear Grandma is wrinkled and gray, While the face of the clock is smooth as my hand, And painted with flowers so gay!

Backwards and forwards, this way and that, You can see the big pendulum rock: "Tick-tock," it keeps saying the whole day long, "Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!"

The clock never sleeps, and its hands never rest As they slowly go moving around; And it strikes the hours with a ding, ding, ding, Ding, ding, and a whirring sound.

I wonder if this is the same old clock That the mousie ran up in the night, And played hide-and-seek till the clock struck one, And then ran down in a fright.

Backwards and forwards, this way and that, You can see the big pendulum rock; "Tick-tock," it keeps saying the whole day long, "Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!"

NELLIE M. GARABRANT.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A SPRAY OF LEAVES AND FLOWERS.}]

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A LITTLE GIRL AND A WOMAN BY A GRANDFATHER CLOCK.}]

A STUFFED JUMBO.

Yesterday, Alice met the stuffed Jumbo, her former mate. She walked slowly up to him, and then stood for a few moments, evidently surveying him with wonder. Then she swung her trunk so as to reach Jumbo's mouth. She also touched his trunk in a cautious manner, and then turning her back upon him, gave vent to a groan that made the roof of the garden tremble. William Newman, the elephant trainer, Frank Hyatt, the superintendent, and "Toddy" Hamilton, talked to her in their usual winning way, and she again faced Jumbo. She fondled his trunk, looked straight into his eyes, and again she groaned, and then walked away as though disgusted with the old partner of her joys and sorrows. She went back to her quarters and continued to mourn. Her keeper, Scott, was appealed to by the spectators. He was asked whether he believed that she recognized Jumbo, and he replied in all seriousness, "Of course she did. She told me so." At another time he said, "I can understand elephant talk, and Alice told me she recognized Jumbo." Scott seemed very much affected by the meeting. He was Jumbo's old keeper.--_Humane Journal._

[Ill.u.s.tration: JUMBO MAKING HIMSELF USEFUL.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: SCENE AT AN ELEPHANT MARKET.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: {FLORAL PATTERN.}]

THE TREES IN SILVER LAND.

O softly falling flakes of snow That fill the wintry air,-- A thickening cloud on every side, Each flake a wonder rare.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A WOMAN AND CHILD LOOK OUT OF A WINDOW.}]

"Are they from trees in Silver Land?"

My child is asking me.

He claps his hands, he laughs, he begs, "One leaf from silver tree."

Such questions as he asks in vain About the leaf-like snow!

He might as well talk of the tides That strangely come and go.

"Who plants those fairy trees?" he asks, "With tops that reach so high?"

Oh, answer, Garden of Delight, All in the cloudy sky!

"Who shakes those trees and sends their leaves On field and wood and town?

Is it the Gardener living there, Or winds that blow them down?"

O child, look up and see yourself, The clouds are Silver Land.

Who made those flakes, He scatters them; They fall at His command.

They fall, they melt, they come again.

And His the gardener's hand That gently shakes the silver trees Which grow in Silver Land.

REV. EDWARD A. RAND.

[Ill.u.s.tration: LINCOLN'S EARLY HOME.]

SMALL BEGINNINGS.

Did you ever think of how lowly was the start in life of many of our great men? Read the pages of history and you will find that fully seven out of ten of the great men were really poor. Bonaparte used to be a book agent, Gould was a surveyor, Franklin was a printer, Garfield worked on the tow path, Lincoln was a rail splitter, Grant was a tanner, Poe was always in financial distress; Crome, the great artist, used to pull hair from his cat's tail to make his brushes; Astor came to New York with nothing as the foundation of his fortunes.

The list is almost endless.

To us, there is much encouragement in these facts. By looking into the lives of such men we find the secret of success. Lincoln was a poor Illinois farmer, with no visionary dreams of his great future. He was poor and unlearned. Of the poverty he was not ashamed; of his lack of learning he was by no means satisfied. He resolved to gain knowledge.

He studied, studied hard, and at a time in his life when other men felt they had pa.s.sed the age of schooling. Of his work, we find he always tried to give an honest day's labor; his motto was to do well everything he put his hands to. It was this trait of character that attracted the attention of his neighbors, and this it was that first started him on the road to great success.

[Ill.u.s.tration: GRANT'S HOUSE, NEAR ST. LOUIS.]