wn-dropt and tender,
Remember the old proverb says
That pretty is which pretty does,
And that worth does not go nor stay
For poverty nor splendor.

'Tis not the house, and not the dress,
That makes the saint or sinner.
To see the spider sit and spin,
Shut with her walls of silver in,
You would never, never, never guess
The way she gets her dinner.

--_Alice Cary._

LULLABY.[3]

Over the cradle the mother hung,
Softly crooning a slumber song:
And these were the simple words she sung
All the evening long.

"Cheek or chin, or knuckle or knee
Where shall the baby's dimple be?
Where shall the angel's finger rest
When he comes down to the baby's nest?
Where shall the angel's touch remain
When he awakens my babe again?"

Still as she bent and sang so low,
A murmur into her music broke:
And she paused to hear, for she could but know
The baby's angel spoke.

"Cheek or chin, or knuckle or knee,
Where shall the baby's dimple be?
Where shall my finger fall and rest
When I come down to the baby's nest?
Where shall my finger touch remain
When I awaken your babe again?"

Silent the mother sat and dwelt
Long in the sweet delay of choice,
And then by her baby's side she knelt,
And sang with a pleasant voice:

"Not on the limb, O angel dear!
For the charm with its youth will disappear;
Not on the cheek shall the dimple be,
For the harboring smile will fade and flee;
But touch thou the chin with an impress deep,
And my baby the angel's seal shall keep."

--_J. G. Holland._

[3] From "The Complete Poetical Writings of J. G. Holland,"
copyright 1879-1881 by Charles Scribner's Sons.

THIRD GRADE

DISCONTENT.

Down in a field one day in June, the flowers all bloomed together,
Save one who tried to hide herself, and drooped that pleasant weather.
A robin who had flown too high, and felt a little lazy,
Was resting near this buttercup who wished she was a daisy.

For daisies grow so slim and tall! She always had a passion
For wearing frills about her neck in just the daisies' fashion.
And buttercups must always be the same old tiresome color;
While daisies dress in gold and white, although their gold is duller.

"Dear Robin," said the sad young flower, "Perhaps you