He turned in his bed; she was there again!
On high

In the sky,

With her one ghost eye,

The Moon shone white and alive and plain.
Said the Wind, "I will blow you out again."

The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew dim. "With my sledge,

And my wedge,

I have knocked off her edge!

If only I blow right fierce and grim,
The creature will soon be dimmer than dim."

He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread

"One puff
More's enough

To blow her to snuff!

One good puff more where the last was bred,
And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread."

He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone

In the air

Nowhere

Was a moonbeam bare;

Far off and harmless the shy stars shone-
Sure and certain the Moon was gone!

The Wind he took to his revels once more;
On down,

In town,

Like a merry-mad clown,

He leaped and hallooed with whistle and roar"What's that?" The glimmering thread once more!

He flew in a rage-he danced and blew;
But in vain

Was the prin

Of his busting brain;

For still the broader the Moon-scrap grew,
The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew.

Slowly she grew-till she filled the night,

And shone

On her throne

In the sky alone,

A matchless, wonderful silvery light,
Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night.

Said the Wind: "What a marvel of power am I! With my breath,

Good faith!

I blew her to death

First blew her away right out of the sky-
Then blew her in; what strength have I!"

But the Moon she knew nothing about the affair;

For high

In the sky,

With her one white eye,

Motionless, miles above the air,

She had never heard the great Wind blare.

GEORGE MACDONALD.

Jesus the Carpenter.

"Jesus the Carpenter"-" same trade as me"-strikes a high note in favour of honest toil. (1848-.)

"ISN'T this Joseph's son?"-ay, it is He;
Joseph the carpenter-same trade as me-
I thought as I'd find it-I knew it was here-
But my sight's getting queer.

I don't know right where as His shed must ha' stood

But often, as I've been a-planing my wood,
I've took off my hat, just with thinking of He
At the same work as me.

He warn't that set up that He couldn't stoop down
And work in the country for folks in the town;
And I'll warrant He felt a bit pride, like I've done,
At a good job begun.

The parson he knows that I'll not make too free,
But on Sunday I feels as pleased as can be,
When I wears my clean smock, and sits in a pew,
And has taught a few.

I think of as how not the parson hissen,

As is teacher and father and shepherd o' men,
Not he knows as much of the Lord in that shed,
Where He earned His own bread.

And when I goes home to my missus, says she,
"Are ye wanting your key?"

For she knows my queer ways, and my love for

the shed

(We've been forty years wed).

So I comes right away by mysen, with the book,
And I turns the old pages and has a good look
For the text as I've found, as tells me as He
Were the same trade as me.

Why don't I mark it? Ah, many say so,
But I think I'd as lief, with your leaves, let it go:
It do seem that nice when I fall on it sudden-
Unexpected, you know!

CATHERINE C. LIDDELL.

Letty's Globe.

"Letty's Globe" gives us the picture of a little golden-haired girl who covers all Europe with her dainty hands and tresses while giving a kiss to England, her own dear native land. (1808-79.)

WHEN Letty had scarce pass'd her third glad year,
And her young, artless words began to flow,
One day we gave the child a colour'd sphere

Of the wide earth, that she might mark and know,
By tint and outline, all its sea and land.

She patted all the world; old empires peep'd
Between her baby fingers; her soft hand
Was welcome at all frontiers. How she leap'd,
And laugh'd and prattled in her world-wide bliss!
But when we turn'd her sweet unlearned eye
On our own isle, she rais'd a joyous cry,
"Oh! yes, I see it! Letty's home is there!"
And, while she hid all England with a kiss,
Bright over Europe fell her golden hair!

CHARLES TENNYSON TUrner.

A Dream.

ONCE a dream did wave a shade
O'er my angel-guarded bed,
That an emmet lost its way
When on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, 'wildered, and forlorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
Over many a tangled spray,
All heart-broke, I heard her say:

"Oh, my children! do they cry?
Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look abroad to see,
Now return and weep for me."

Pitying, I dropped a tear;
But I saw a glow-worm near,
Who replied, "What wailing wight
Calls the watchman of the night?

"I am set to light the ground
While the beetle goes his round.
Follow now the beetle's hum-
Little wanderer, hie thee home!"

WILLIAM BLAKE,