His tail hangs drooping between his legs;
His body is thin and spare:
How he envies the sleek and well-fed dogs,
That thrive on their masters' care!
And he wonders what they must think of him,
And grieves at his own hard fare.

Sometimes he sees a friendly face,--
A face that he seems to know;
And thinks it may be the master
That he lost so long ago;
And even dares to follow him home,
For he loved his master so!

Poor Jack! He's only mistaken again,
And stoned and driven back;
But he's used to disappointments now,
And takes up his beaten track;
Nobody's dog, for whom nobody cares,--
Poor unfortunate Jack!

FRED B. KING.

[Illustration]

IN THE SWING.

THE swing was hung from an old oak-tree in grandmother's grove. There
Mabel and I used to go every fine summer morning before breakfast, and
swing for five minutes. We did not swing longer than that because too
much of this kind of exercise is not healthy.

Once, when I had swung her very high, Mabel had a fall, but it did not
hurt her, for she fell among some tufts of soft grass; but, if her head
had struck a stone, it might have done her great harm. After that we
were both more careful.

Five years have gone by since those days. We both go to school, and I do
not think you would know us, from the likenesses in the picture. But
next summer we hope to visit grandmother once more, and we shall revive
old times in the swing under the old oak-tree.

The sly squirrels will come out and look at us; the birds will twitter,
and try to make us think that they have no nests in the trees and bushes
thereabouts: but we shall say, "We shall do you no harm, birds,
squirrels, beetles--no harm--for we love you all! So play on, and please
let us play too."

EDITH.

THE NEW MOON.

PRETTY new moon, white new moon,
What do you bring in your horn?
Silver light to paint black night
As fair as the early dawn?

Sweet new moon, pretty new moon,
Where did you harvest your rays?