The charcoal frescoes on the wall,
Its door's worn sill, betraying

The feet that, creeping slow to school,
Went storming out to playing.

Long years ago a winter's sun
Shone over it at setting;
Lit up its western window-panes,
And low eaves' icy fretting.

It touched the tangled golden curls,
And brown eyes full of grieving
Of one who still her steps delayed,
When all the school were leaving.

For near her stood the little boy
Her childish favor singled;
His cap pulled low upon his face

Where pride and shame were mingled

Pushing with restless feet the snow
To right, to left, he lingered --
As restlessly her tiny hands

The blue-checked apron fingered.

He saw her lift her eyes; he felt
The soft hand's light caressing,

And heard the tremble of her voice,
As if a fault confessing.

"I'm sorry that I spelt the word, I hate to go above you,

Because the brown eyes lower fell -"Because, you see, I love you."

Still memory to a gray-haired man
That sweet child-face is showing.
Dear girl! the grasses on her grave
Have forty years been growing.

He lives to learn in life's hard school,
How few who pass above him
Lament their triumph and his loss,
Like her because they love him.

Whittier

TAKE CARE.

Little children, you must seck
Rather to be good than wise,
For the thoughts you do not speak
Shine out in your cheeks and eyes.

If you think that you can be
Cross and cruel and look fair,
Let me tell you how to see

You are quite mistaken there.

Go and stand before the glass,

And some ugly thought contrive,
And my word will come to pass
Just as sure as you're alive!

What you have and what you lack,
All the same as what you wear,
You will see reflected back ;
So, my little folks, take care!

And not only in the glass

Will your secrets come to view; All beholders, as they pass,

Will perceive and know them, too.

Goodness shows in blushes bright,
Or in eyelids dropping down,
Like a violet from the light;
Badness in a sneer or frown.

Out of sight, my boys and girls,
Every root of beauty starts;
So think less about your curls,

More about your minds and hearts

Cherish what is good, and drive
Evil thoughts and feelings far;

For, as sure as you're alive,

You will show for what you are.
-Alice Cary.

A LIFE LESSON.*

There! little girl; don't cry!

They have broken your doll, I know; And your tea-set blue,

And your play-house, too,
Are things of the long ago;

But childish troubles will soon pass by.
There little girl; don't cry!

There! little girl; don't cry!

They have broken your slate, I know; And the glad wild ways

Of your school-girl days

Are things of the long ago;

But life and love will soon come by.
There! little girl; don't cry!

There little girl; don't cry!

They have broken your heart, I know; And the rainbow gleams

Of your youthful dreams

Are things of the long ago;

But heaven holds all for which you sigh
There little girl; don't cry!

James Whitcomb Riley.

From "After whiles," copyrighted 1887, by Bowen-Merrill C

FIFTH GRADE

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.

Under a spreading chestnut-tree

The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he,

With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long;
His face is like the tan;

His brow is wet with honest sweat;
He earns whate'er he can,

And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn to night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,

Like a sexton ringing the village bell
When the evening sun is low.

-3