elody;
And my heart shall catch the rhythm
of the happy little feet
Dancing round the organ-grinder
at the corner of the street.

MY DOLLY

There's nothing so nice as dolly!
She comforts me when I'm sad,
She keeps me from getting lonely,
She smiles at me when I'm glad.
She's such a delightful playmate,
And causes me so much joy,
I wouldn't exchange her for all the toys
That people give to a boy.

ANNIE WILLIS MCCULLOUGH.

ONE MILE TO TOYLAND

"One mile, one mile to Toyland!"
Just s'pose, to your intense
Astonishment, you found this sign
Plain written on a fence.
Just one short mile to Toyland,
To happy girl and boy-land,
Where one can play the livelong day!

Now who will hurry hence?
There dollies grow on bushes,
And wooden soldiers stand
With frisky rocking-horses near,
A brave and dauntless band;
And whips and tops and whistles
They grow as thick as thistles,
And every kind of toy you find--
A strange and magic land!

"Only a mile to Toyland!"
How big your eyes would grow,
And how you'd come and stand stock-still
To read it, in a row;
Then, brother, girls, and maybe
The puppy and the baby,
You'd make that mile in little while,
And find that land, I know!

NANCY BYRD TURNER.

A BATH-TUB JOKE

Clean and sweet from head to feet
Is Jerry, but not his twin.
"Now for the other!" says merry mother,
And quickly dips him in.
Jim and Jerry, with lips of cherry,
And eyes of the selfsame blue;
Twins to a speckle, yes, even a freckle--
What can a mother do?
They wink and wriggle and laugh and giggle--
A joke on mother is nice!
"We played a joke,"--'twas Jimmie who spoke,--
"And you've washed the same boy twice!"

HER OWN WAY

When Polly goes into the parlor to play,
She never minds what the little notes say,
Nor peeps at a music-book;
"I play by ear," says the little dear
(When some of us think the music's queer),
"So why should I need to look?"

When Polly goes into the kitchen to cook,
She never looks at a cookery-book,
Nor a sign of a recipe;
It's a dot of this and a dab of that,
And a twirl of the wrist and a pinch and a pat--
"I cook by hand," says she.

THE MONTH OF MAY

It comes just after April,
And right before 'tis June;
And every bird that's singing
Has this same