THE NORTHERN SEAS.
Up, up ! let us a voyage take;
Why sit we here at ease?
Find us a vessel, tight and snug,
Bound for the Northern Seas.
I long to see the northern lights, With their rushing splendours, fly Like living things with flaming wings,
Wide o'er the wondrous sky.
I long to see those icebergs vast,
With heads all crowned with snow,
Whose green roots sleep in the awful deep,
Two hundred fathoms low.
I long to hear the thundering crash Of their terrific fall,
While the echoes from a thousand cliffs
Like lonely voices call.
There shall we see the fierce white bear,
The sleepy seals aground,
And the spouting whales that to and fro
Sail with a dreary sound.
And whilst the unsetting sun shines on
Through the still heaven's deep blue,
We'll traverse the azure waves, the herds
Of the dread sea-horse* to view.
We'll pass the shores of solemn pine,
Where wolves and black bears prowl,
And away to the rocky isles of mist,
To rouse the northern fowl;
And there, in the wastes of the silent sky,
With the silent earth below,
We shall see, far off to his lonely rock,
The lonely eagle go.
-WILLIAM HOWITT.

* The walrus.

HOME HAPPINESS.
Like a thing of the desert, alone in its glee, I make a small home seem an empire to me; Like a bird 
in the forest, whose world is its nest, My home is my all, and the
centre of rest.

THAT'S NOT THE WAY AT SEA.
He stood upon the fiery deck, Our captain kind and brave;
He would not leave the burning wreck While there was one to save.
We wanted him to go before, And we would follow fast;
We could not bear to leave him there Beside the blazing mast. 
But his voice rang out with a cheery shout, And noble words spoke he - "That's not the way at sea, my 
boys That's not the way at sea! "
So each one did as he was bid, And into the boats we passed;
While closer came the scorching flame, And our captain was the last.
Yet once again he dared his life, One little lad to save;
Then we pulled to shore from the blaze and roar, With our captain kind and brave.
In the face of Death, with its fiery breath, He had stood, and so would we;
For that's the way at sea, my boys, For that's the way at sea!
Now let the noble words resound, And echo far and free,
Wherever British hearts are found, On British shore or sea,
The iron nerve of duty, joined With golden vein of love,
Can dare to do, and dare to wait, With courage from above.
Our captain's shout among the flames A watchward long shall be - "That's not the way at sea, my boys; 
That's not the way at sea! "
- MISS HAVERGAL.


AN EXERCISE FOR ARBOR DAY.
First child - I love a tree in spring, When the first green leaves come out,
And the birds build their nests, and carol Their sweet songs round about.
Second child - I love a tree in summer,
When, in the noontide heat,
The reapers lie in its shadow,
On the greensward cool and sweet.
Third child - I love a tree in autumn,
When frost, the painter old,
Has touched with his brush its branches,
And left them all crimson and gold.
Fourth child - I love a tree in winter,
'Mid snow, and ice, and cloud, Waving its long, bare branches
In the south wind, wailing loud.
All - Let us plant a tree by the wayside,
Plant it with smiles and with cheers - A shade for some weary wanderer,
A hope for the coming years.
LUCY M. MOONEY, in the "Teacher's World."

THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN.
Across the dull and brooding night A giant flies, with demon light And breath of wreathing smoke; 
Around him whirls the reeling plain, And, with a dash of grim
disdain,
He cleaves the sundered rock.
In lonely swamps the low wind stirs The belt of black funereal firs,
That murmur to the sky, Till, startled by his mad career, They seem to keep a hush of fear
As if a god swept by.
Through many a dark, wild heart Of heath, O'er booming bridges, where beneath
A midnight river brawls; By ruins, remnants of the past, Their ivies trembling in the blast;
By singing waterfalls.
The slumberer on his silent bed
Turns to the light his lonely head, Divested of its dream.
Long leagues of gloom are hurried o'er,
Through tunnel-sheaths, with iron roar And shrill night-rending scream.
Past huddling huts, past flying farms, High furnace-flames, whose crimson arms Are grappling with 
the night, He tears along receding lands
To where the kingly city stands, Wrapt in a robe of light.
Here, round each wide and gushing gate, A crowd of eager faces wait, And every smile is known. We 
thank thee, O thou giant train! That in the city once again
We clasp our loved, our own.

BOY WANTED.
Wanted - a boy that is manly;
A boy that is kind and polite
A boy you can always depend on
To do what he knows to be right
A boy that is truthful, and honest,
And faithful, and willing to work
But we have not a place that we care to disgrace
With a boy that is ready to shirk.
Wanted - a boy you can look to
A boy that is trusty and true
A boy that is good to old people,
And kind to the little ones too
A boy that is nice to the home folks,
And pleasant to sister and brother;
A boy that will try, when things go awry,
To be helpful to father and mother.
These are the boys who are wanted
In the workshop, the home, and the store;
The world needs such boys in its business,
For them there are places galore.*
These are the boys we depend on - 
Our hope for the future - and when
Deeds noble and great or the world's work await,
Such boys will then prove to be men.
- LIZZIE CLARKE HARDY

* Galore-In plenty.

IN ITS PROPER PLACE.
He hunted through the library, He looked behind the door,
He searched where baby keeps his toys
Upon the nursery-floor;
He called the cook and Mary,
He asked mamma to look,
And tried to coax his sister May
To leave her last new book.
He couldn't find it anywhere;
He thought " some horrid tramp"
Had walked in through the open gate
And stolen it - the scamp !
It might be Ruff had taken it,
And hidden it away ;
Or else, perhaps, he'd torn it up,
And swallowed it for play.
And then mamma came down the stairs, Looked through the cupboard door,
And there it hung upon its peg,
As it had hung before.
And Tommy's cheeks turned rosy red;
Surprise was in his face :
He couldn't find his cap because - 
'Twas in its proper place.

THE "THREE BELLS."
Beneath the low-hung night cloud
That raked her splintering mast
The good ship settled slowly:
The cruel leak gained fast.
Over the awful ocean
Her signal guns pealed out.
Dear God! was that Thy answer
From the horror round about ?
A voice came down the wild wind,
" Ho ! Ship ahoy!" its cry;
Our stout 'Three Bells' of Glasgow
Shall lay till daylight by."
Hour after hour crept slowly;
Yet on the heaving swells
Tossed up and down the ship-lights,
The lights of the " Three Bells."
And ship to ship made signals,
Man answered back to man,
While oft, to cheer and hearten,
The " Three Bells " nearer ran.
And the captain from her taffrail
Sent down his hopeful cry:
"Take heart! Hold on!" he shouted,
" The ' Three Bells' shall lay by! "
All night across the waters
The tossing lights shone clear;
All night from reeling taffrail
The " Three Bells " sent her cheer.
And when the dreary watches
Of storm and darkness passed,
just as the wreck lurched under,
All souls were saved at last.
Sail on, " Three Bells," for ever,
In grateful memory sail!
Ring on, " Three Bells " of rescue,
Above the wave and gale !
--J. G. WHITTIER.

If through all the livelong day You've cheered no heart by yea or nay; If through it all You've 
nothing done that you can
trace That brought the sunshine to one face; No act, most small, That helped some soul, and nothing 
cost, Then
count that day as worse than lost.

THE LADY WITH THE LAMP.
Whene'er a noble deed is wrought, Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts, in glad surprise, 
To higher levels
rise.
The tidal wave of deeper souls Into our inmost being rolls, And lifts us unawares Out of all meaner 
cares.
Honour to those whose words or deeds Thus help us in our daily needs, And by their overflow
Raise us from what is low!
Thus thought I, as by night I read Of the great army of the dead,
The trenches cold and damp, The starved and frozen camp,
The wounded front the battle plain In dreary hospitals of pain,
The cheerless corridors,
The cold and stony floors.
Lo! in that house of misery
A lady with a lamp I see 
 Pass through the glimmering gloom
 And flit from room to room.
And slow, as in a dream of bliss.
The speechless sufferer turns to kiss
 Her shadow as it falls
 Upon the darkening walls.
As if a door in heaven should be
Opened and then closed suddenly
 The vision came and went,
 The light shone and was spent.
On England's annals, through the long
Hereafter of her speech and song,
 That light its rays shall cast
 From portals of the past.
A lady with a lamp shall stand
In the great history of the land,
 A noble type of good,
 Heroic womanhood.
-H. W. LONGFELLOW.

ROOM AT THE TOP.
Never you mind the crowd, lad,
Or fancy your life won't tell
Success will come in time, lad,
To him that striveth well.
Fancy the world a hill, lad;
Look where the millions stop;
You'll find the crowd at the base, lad
There's always room at the top.
Courage, and faith, and patience!
There's space in the old world yet;
The better the chance you stand, lad,
The further along you get.
Keep your eye on the goal, lad,
Never despair or drop;
Be sure that your path lies upward
There's always room at the top.


