Six several times the creature tried, When at the seventh, "See, see!

He has spanned it over!" the captive cried; "Lo! a bridge of hope to me; Thee, G.o.d, I thank, for this lesson here Has tutored my soul to PERSEVERE!"

And it served him well, for erelong he wore In freedom the Scottish crown once more: And come there shadow or come there shine, The spider is spinning his thread so fine.

JOHN BROUGHAM.

THE SPIDER AND STORK.

Who taught the natives of the field and flood To shun their poison and to choose their food?

Prescient, the tides or tempests to withstand, Build on the wave, or arch beneath the sand?

Who made the spider parallels design Sure as De Moivre, without rule or line?

Who bid the stork Columbus-like explore Heavens not his own, and worlds unknown before?

WHO CALLS THE COUNCIL, STATES THE CERTAIN DAY, WHO FORMS THE PHALANX, AND WHO POINTS THE WAY?

POPE.

THE HOMESTEAD AT EVENING.--EVANGELINE'S BEAUTIFUL HEIFER.

Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection and stillness.

Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead.

Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other, And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening.

Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer, Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her collar, Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection.

Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside, Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them followed the watch-dog, Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct, Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers; Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept; their protector, When from the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves howled.

Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes, Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor, Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks, While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles, Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with ta.s.sels of crimson, Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms.

Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders Unto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in regular cadence Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended.

Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farm-yard, Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness; Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors, Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent.

H. W. LONGFELLOW: _Evangeline_.

THE CATTLE OF A HUNDRED FARMS.

And now, beset with many ills, A toilsome life I follow; Compelled to carry from the hills, These logs to the impatient mills, Below there in the hollow.

Yet something ever cheers and charms The rudeness of my labors; Daily I water with these arms The cattle of a hundred farms, And have the birds for neighbors.

H. W. LONGFELLOW: _Mad River_.

CAT-QUESTIONS.

Dozing, and dozing, and dozing!

Pleasant enough, Dreaming of sweet cream and mouse-meat,-- Delicate stuff!

Waked by a somerset, whirling From cushion to floor; Waked to a wild rush for safety From window to door.

Waking to hands that first smooth us, And then pull our tails; Punished with slaps when we show them The length of our nails!

These big mortal tyrants even grudge us A place on the mat.

Do they think we enjoy for our music Staccatoes of "scat"?

To be treated, now, just as you treat us,-- The question is pat,-- To take just our chances in living, Would _you_ be a cat?

LUCY LARCOM.

THE NEWSBOY'S CAT.

Want any papers, Mister?

Wish you'd buy 'em of me-- Ten year old, an' a fam'ly, An' bizness dull, you see.

Fact, Boss! There's Tom, an' Tibby, An' Dad, an' Mam, an Mam's cat, None on 'em earning money-- What do you think of that?

_Couldn't Dad work_? Why yes, Boss, He's working for gov'ment now,-- They give him his board for nothin',-- All along of a drunken row.

_An' Mam_? Well, she's in the poorhouse,-- Been there a year or so; So I'm taking care of the others, Doing as well as I know.

_Oughtn't to live so_? Why, Mister, What's a feller to do?

Some nights, when I'm tired an' hungry, Seems as if each on 'em knew-- They'll all three cuddle around me, Till I get cheery, and say: Well, p'raps I'll have sisters an' brothers, An' money an' clothes, too, some day.

But if I do git rich, Boss, (An' a lecturin' chap one night Said newsboys could be Presidents If only they acted right); So, if I was President, Mister, The very first thing I'd do, I'd buy poor Tom an' Tibby A dinner--an' Mam's cat, too!

None o' your sc.r.a.ps an' leavin's, But a good square meal for all three; If you think I'd skimp my friends, Boss, That shows you don't know me.

So 'ere's your papers--come take one, Gimme a lift if you can-- For now you've heard my story, You see I'm a fam'ly man!

E. T. CORBETT.

THE CHILD AND HER p.u.s.s.y.

I like little p.u.s.s.y, her coat is so warm, And if I don't hurt her, she'll do me no harm; So I'll not pull her tail, nor drive her away, But p.u.s.s.y and I very gently will play:

She shall sit by my side, and I'll give her some food; And she'll love me, because I am gentle and good.

I'll pat little p.u.s.s.y, and then she will purr, And thus show her thanks for my kindness to her.

E. TAYLOR.

THE ALPINE SHEEP.

They in the valley's sheltering care, Soon crop the meadow's tender prime, And when the sod grows brown and bare, The shepherd strives to make them climb

To airy shelves of pastures green That hang along the mountain's side, Where gra.s.s and flowers together lean, And down through mists the sunbeams slide: