THE MAN IN THE MOON.
When the wind is rocking the baby stars  In the cradle of the sky, And 
mother is hushing her little ones  To the sound of a lullaby, The dear 
old man
in the moon looks down,
With a loving smile, on Sleepy Town.
Oh, he is the dearest, funniest man, Away in the great big moon.
And just when the baby begins to nod He whispers "'Tis bed-time soon," 
And sends a silvery dream-light down
On tired babies in Sleepy Town.
And when the birdies are gone to rest, All safe in the leafy trees, And 
baby is warm in his snug little nest,  Rocked by a sleepy land breeze,  
The man far up in the moon looks down,
And guards the babies of Sleepy Town.

A CHRISTMAS VISITOR.
He comes in the night! he comes in the night!
He softly, silently comes;
While the little brown heads on the pillows so white
Are dreaming of bugles and drums.
He cuts through the snow like a ship through the foam,
While the white flakes around him whirl;
Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home 
Of each good little boy and girl.
His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide;
It will carry a host of things,
While dozens of drums hang over the side,
With the sticks sticking under the strings.
And yet not the sound of a drum is heard,
Not a bugle blast is blown,
As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird,
And drops to the hearth like a stone.
The little red stockings he silently fills,
Till the stockings will hold no more;
The bright little sleds for the great snow hills
Are quickly set down on the floor.
Then Santa Claus mounts to the roof like a bird,
And glides to his seat in the sleigh;
Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard
As he noiselessly gallops away.
He rides to the East, and he rides to the West,
Of his goodies he touches not one;
He eateth the crumbs of the Christmas feast
When the dear little folks are done.
Old Santa Claus doeth all that he can;
This beautiful mission is his;
Then, children, be good to the little old man
When you find who the little man is.

THE FATHER BIRD'S LOVE-SONG
Tweet, tweet, tweet! Oh, my sweet, sweet, sweet!
How prettily you sit upon the tree!
From your shy little head to your fine little feet,
You are dear, you are very dear to me.
34 THE SCHOOL JOURNAL.  [PART I.
Twink, twink, twink ! How you think, think, think,
While you brood in our nest upon the tree!
There you sit from the dawn till the stars peep and blink
You are dear, you are very dear to me.
Twong, twong, twong! Now a song, song, song !
For baby birds sit high upon the tree.
You have loved, you have taught, you have watched late and long –
You are dear, you are very dear to me.
-	E. A. HOWES

WHAT BECAME OF THEM?
He was a rat, and she was a rat,
And down in one hole they did dwell,
And both were as black as a witch's cat,
And each loved the other well.
He had a tail, and she had a tail,
Both long and curling and fine;
And each said, "Yours is the finest tail
In the world, excepting mine."
He smelt the cheese, and she smelt the cheese,
And they both pronounced it good;
And both remarked it would greatly add
To the charms of their daily food.
So he ventured out, and she ventured out,
And I saw them go with pain;
But what befell them I never can tell,
For they never came back again.

A NAUGHTY SMALL BOY.
A naughty small boy, with ringlets of brown, One day, when his mother went into the town, Took up 
his small spade, and went 
to the brink Of the river so wide, for - what do you think ?
To dig for the gold men got from the earth, And sell to the buyer for what it is worth. He know it was 
yellow, and heavy, and 
bright, And worked in the water and sand with his might.
He had an old strainer he found in the shed To wash up the nuggets - that's just what he said. He dug, 
and he dug, but no 
nuggets he found, Until, weary and sad, he lay on the ground.
Then, failing asleep, he dreamed such a dream Of gold-dust and nuggets in heaps by the stream, Of 
wonderful giants that heard 
of his find, And stole up together to catch him behind.
He felt himself caught, and awoke with a scream To find that his nuggets of gold were a dream. But his 
father was there with 
four trusty men, They had found him at last, after searching the glen.
He was swift carried home, as the day sank to night, To his mother, so anxious and pale in her fright. 
He felt very sorry, 
and his mother he told 'Twas to get her a nugget that made him so bold.
But gently she said, " All the gold in the land Is nothing to me " - and she took his soft hand -  "If my 
dear little boy will 
not do as I say, And keep from the river, and out of harm's way."
-M. A. J. CRAWFORD.

CHILDREN OF THE EMPIRE.
Children of the Empire, you are brothers all;
Children of the Empire, answer to the call;
Let your voices mingle, lift your heads and sing
"God save dear old Britain, and God save Britain's King."
Children of the Empire, your fathers fought and died
That you might stand, a noble band, in honour and in pride;
That you might do the thing you will, and strike with arm of might
For justice and for freedom's sake, for Country, King, and Right.
Children of the Empire, from little isles they came To spread abroad in 
every land the magic of their fame; They toiled, they strove, they
perished,- that you and I might see The fair, free lands of Britain arise 
in every sea.
Children of the Empire, clasp hands across the main, And glory in your 
brotherhood, again and yet again Uphold your noble heritage - oh,
never let it fall And love the land that bore you, but the Empire best of 
all.
-Edward Shirley, in " Little Poems for Little People,"  published by Thomas 
Nelson and Son.

Happy as a robin, Gentle as a dove - That's the sort of little child
Every one will love.

WHAT TO DO.
Little children, love each other; Never give another pain;
If your brother speak in anger,  Answer not in wrath again.

CHILDREN PLANTING A TREE
Oh! Let us little children try To plant a tree It will be taller by-and-by, And so shall we.
It needs the kiss of rains, we know, Soft as may be; It needs kind soil to make it grow, And so do we.
It needs the sunshine from above, The warm air free; It needs the gentle care of love, And so do we.
It will grow up, you know, some day, This baby tree, And your time and toil repay – And so shall we.
-EDITH KINNEY.

LITTLE FERN-FRONDS.
Dainty little fern-fronds
Played beside a stream,
In the cool green shadows
Watched the waters gleam.
Pretty blue forget-me-nots
Came to live near by
They had golden eyelets
Smiling to the sky. .
Overhead a broadleaf
Cast a gentle shade
Crested waving fern-trees
Softest music made.
Robins loved to linger;
 Tuis came each day To the stream to warble,
Swift then flew away.
Dainty little fern-fronds  Knew each passing bird,
Knew the trees and blossoms,
Everything that stirred.
Happy, happy were they
Till, one sunny day,
Little Nellie Gold-locks
Bore them right away
To her sunny garden,
Hedged around with shells,
Where the blossoms stared so,
Shaking all their bells.
Shy, unhappy fern-fronds
Wished themselves away;
How they missed the streamland's
Birds and leaves at play!
Though they're pale and drooping,
They will try to grow ;
Blue-eyed Nellie loves them
Very much, they know.
And their tender leaflets
With a gentle grace
Make her very happy
See her shining face
When she bends above them,
Watching if they grow,
And brings them crystal water
When the sun is low.
-M. A. J. CRAWFORD

MY PLAYMATE.
There's a merry little fellow
Who is with me when I play
But he always leaves me lonely
When the daylight dies away.
If I dance about the meadows,
Plucking daisies as I pass,
Close he comes, and stands beside me
On the green upspringing grass.
All the games that most amuse me
Are the ones that he likes too,
And he never tires of playing
Till the ground is wet with dew.
He is such a funny fellow !
All at once he grows so tall
That, although I'm almost seven,
By his side I look quite small.
I can never, never catch him, For he's very speedy, too ;
And he teases me and mocks me, Doing just the things I do.
But when bedtime comes at twilight, And the sun has gone away,
Then both I and Mr. Shadow Have to say good-bye to play.
-HETTIE M. HAWKINS.

Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November; February hath twenty-eight alone, And all the 
rest have thirty-one ; But leap-year, coming once in four, February then has one day more.

THE ELEPHANT'S PORTRAIT.
Came the Elephant, rich in attire : " Now paint me my picture," said he; "And people your work will 
admire If you make it exactly like me."
Went the Monkey to work with a will, And soon round his easel there came A crowd who had heard of 
his 
skill But doubted his promise of fame.
Said the Bear, "Does he call that a face!"
And the Ostriches tittered, "Oh, my!"
Cried the Parrot, "Twill bring him disgrace.
He is no more an artist than I."
Said the Elephant, "Rub on the paint!
I don't like the things that I hear;
And if I can't move I shall faint,
While this gnat keeps on tickling my ear
Poor artist! When turning his head  For colours he wished to renew,
The Lion was wasting his red,
And the Ostrich had swallowed his blue.
"Oh, dear! " was his murmur of woe;
"I can't paint your portrait to-day."
Very well," cried the Elephant; " so
You will not expect me to pay."
Then off with the rest of the throng  He walked, with his trunk in the air
Which I cannot help thinking was wrong,
Since of money he'd plenty to spare.
- JOHN LEA, in the "Child's Own Magazine."

THE TOOTHBRUSH SPEAKS.
Look at me well, dear children:
 I measure only a span, But yet am a mighty giant,
Whose name is the Toothbrush Man.
I go to war with the dentist,
With only one little brush;
Though he has great big forceps,
That pull, and grind, and crush.
I flourish my little bristles,
And drive old Toothache out,
With his swollen jaw, and old file and saw,
To make you shiver and shout.
The rude little boy who neglects me
May laugh, but his teeth will not;
And the vain little girl who forgets me
Will never forget she forgot.
But speak to me every morning,
And speak to me every night,
And I, in return for your courtesy,
Will keep your teeth sound and white.
-PEARL RIVER, in "Faulding's Medical Journal."

A BOY'S SONG.
CAMPING OUT.
Where the pools are bright and deep, Where the grey trout lies asleep, Up the river and o'er the lea, 
That's the way for Billy and me.
Where the blackbird sings the latest, Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, Where the nestlings 
chirp and flee, That's the way for Billy and me.
Where the mowers mow the cleanest, Where the hay lies thick and greenest, There to trace the 
homeward 
bee, That's the way for Billy  and me.
Where the hazel bank is steepest, Where the shadow falls the deepest, Where the clustering nuts fall 
free, That's the way for Billy and me.
Why the boys should drive away Sweet young maidens from the play, Or love to banter and fight so 
well, That's the thing I never could tell.
But this I know : I love to play Through the meadow, among the hay, Up the water, and o'er the 
Lea - That's the way for Billy and me.
-JAMES HOGG.

THE THREE LITTLE PIGS.
A jolly old pig once lived in a sty,
And three little piggies had she;
And she waddled about, saying "Umph! umph ! umph ! "
While the little ones said, "Wee! wee!"
"My dear little brothers," said one of the brats,
" My dear little piggies," said he,
,"Let us all for the future say, ' Umph umph! umph!'
'Tis so childish to say, 'Wee ! wee !'"
Then these little pigs grew skinny and lean,
And lean they might very well be, 
For somehow they couldn't say,  " Umph! umph ! umph ! "

And they wouldn't say, " Wee! wee! wee! "
So after a time these little pigs died They all died of felo-de-se,*
From trying too hard to say, " Umph ! umph ! umph ! "
When they only could say, " Wee! wee!"
MORAL.
A moral there is to this little song,
A moral that's easy to see:
Don't try, while yet young, to say, " Umph ! umph ! umph ! "
For you only can say, "Wee! wee!"
-Sir A. SCOTT GATTY.
* These words mean, "taking one's own life."

TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD.
A long, long breath, and away we go,
Like a leaf in the north wind whirled,
Across the continents, over the seas,
To the other side of the world.
When it's winter here it is summer there,
And the streets are hot in the sun ;
So the queer little maids go walking by
With parasols, every one.
With painted fans in their small brown hands,
They toddle on tiniest feet,
And shyly glance at the wonderful dress
Of the queer little boys they meet.
In this singular land the scholars stand
With their backs to the teacher turned
And upside down are the books they read,
And their lessons aloud are learned.
For dinner they give us birds'-nest soup,
 With some tea, and a bowl of rice, Two ivory sticks for a knife and fork,
And a stew of some nice young mice.
The shadows darken, and all the town
Is lit with the lanterns' glow;
And a curious crowd, with eyes aslant,
Comes out to see us go.
A smile and a sigh, and away we fly, With our parasols gay unfurled; And a long farewell to the 
folk who live  On the other side of the world.

OLD SANTA CLAUS.
Old Santa Claus goes from his home in the snows
With a wagon of wonderful toys;
For nice little girls there are dollies with curls,
And tops for all good little boys.

SANTA CLAUS AND THE MOUSE.
One Christmas Eve when Santa Claus Came to a certain house,
To fill the children's stockings there, He found a little mouse.
"A merry Christmas, little friend," Said Santa, good and kind. "The same to you, sir," said the mouse; 
" I thought you wouldn't mind
If I should stay awake to-night, And watch you for a while." "You're very welcome, little mouse," Said 
Santa with a smile.
And then he filled the stockings up Before the mouse could wink
From toe to top, from top to toe, There wasn't left a chink.
"Now they won't hold another thing," Said Santa Clans with pride.
A twinkle came in mousie's eyes, But humbly he replied,
"It's not polite to contradict - Your pardon I implore - 
But in the fullest stocking there I could put one thing more."
"Oho ! " laughed Santa, " silly mouse Don't I know how to pack ?
By filling stockings all these years I should have learned the knack."
And then he took the stocking down From where it hung so high,
And said, "Now put in one thing more; I give you leave to try."
The mousie chuckled to himself,  And then he softly stole
Right to the stocking's crowded toe, And gnawed a little hole.
"Now, if you please, good Santa Claus, I've put in one thing more ;
For you will own that little hole Was not in there before."
How Santa Claus did laugh and laugh And then he gaily spoke : "Well, you shall have a Christmas 
cheese 
For that nice little joke."
