'

If the sky was dark and betokened rain,
Then Mr. Horner was sure to complain;
And if there was not a cloud about,

He'd grumble because of a threatened
drought.

His meals were never to suit his taste;
He grumbled at having to eat in haste;
The bread was poor, or the meat was tough,
Or else he hadn't had half enough.
No matter how hard his wife might try
To please her husband, with scornful eye
He'd look around, and then, with a scowl
At something or other, begin to growl.

One day as I loitered along the street,
My old acquaintance I chanced to meet,
Whose face was without the look of care,
And the ugly frown that he used to wear.
"I may be mistaken, perhaps," I said,

As, after saluting, I turned my head,

But it is, and it isn't, Mr. Horner,

Who lived so long on Grumble Corner!"

I met him the next day; and I met him again,
In melting weather, in pouring rain,
When stocks were up and stocks were down,
But a smile, somehow, had replaced the

frown.

It puzzled me much; and so, one day,
I seized his hand in a friendly way,
And said: "Mr. Horner, I'd like to know

What can have happened to change you so?"

He laughed a laugh that was good to hear,
For it told of a conscience calm and clear,
And he said, with none of the old time drawl:

46

Why, I've changed my residence, that is all!" [Horner, "Changed your residence?" "Yes," said "It wasn't healthy on Grumble Corner, And so I moved; 'twas a change complete ; And you'll find me now on Thanksgiving Street!"

Now, every day, as I move along

The streets so filled with the busy throng,
I watch each face, and can always tell
Where men and women and children dwell;
And many a discontented mourner

Is spending his days on Grumble Corner,
Sour and sad, whom I long to entreat
To take a house on Thanksgiving Street.
-Independent.

WHAT WE LEARN AT SCHOOL.

(For five little children.)

(All.) Fathers, mothers, see us now,
As we make a pretty bow.

Next we'll tell you, each in turn,
What it is we here do learn.

(1st.) First we're taught in kindly way,
We our teacher should obey;
When we strive to do the right
We are happy morn and night.

(2d.) And we try to keep in mind,
We to others should be kind;

For we know that all through life
We must shun dispute and strife.

(3d) Then, to meet another need,
Ev'ry one learns how to read.
As you all can see at once
No one means to be a dunce.

(4th Now we spell, and now we write,
'Till we know each word at sight;
Thus you see how well we learn
Each new thing to which we turn.

(5th.) Now to add and take away,
This we learn from day to day;
How to bound our State we know;
East or south, the way we go.

(All.) But we have no time to tell

All the things we've learned so well,
So we ask you, one and all,
At our school again to call.

BOYS.

Sturdy little farmer boys, tell me how you know When 'tis time to plow the fields, and to reap and mow.

Do the hens with yellow legs

Scold you when you look for eggs?

Do you drive the ducks to drink, waddling in a

row?

Do the pigs in concert squeal,

When you bring their evening meal?

Tell me, little farmer boy, for I'd like to know.

Nimble little sailor boy, tell me how you know How to navigate your ship when the tempests blow.

Do you find it pretty hard
Clinging to the top-sail yard?

Don't you fear some stormy day overboard you'll go?

Do they let you take a light
When you go aloft at night?

Tell me little sailor boy, for I'd like to know.

Little boys, of every kind, tell me how you know That 'tis time ere school begins, rather ill to grow, Does the pain increase so fast

It is terrible at last?

Don't you quickly convalesce, when too late to

go?

Do you think I am a dunce?
Wasn't I a school boy once?

Tell me all you little boys, for I'd like to know.

MAY THE TWINS.

BY MARGARET JOHNSON.

All the world was white with blossom,
Sweet the fields with breath of May,
Silver-throated larks were singing,
Silver-clear the bells were ringing
In the village far away;

"Tell us whom you love!" they cried, Pressing eager to my side.

"Whom you love the best of any!"

Eyes alight with boyish glee,
Ankle deep in daisies standing,

Thus my secret heart demanding,
Came my bonny lads to me,
Weary growing of their play,
At the closing of the day.

"What his name is," grave I answered,

""Twere not fair for me to tell.

But, though I must not confess it,

You, perhaps, may chance to guess it,
For you know my dear Love well;
He is straight and tall and slim,
Stout of heart and lithe of limb.

"Brown his hair is-rumpled, curly,
Blue his eyes-dear honest eyes!
Sunburned face with dimple merry,
Fond of fun and frolic, very!
Fearless, frank-not overwise,
And his age-just ten to-day!"

Pealed their merry ringing laughter;
"Ah," they cried, "but we are two!"
Looked askance at one another,