Grandmother's chair will be vacant soon,
For the rays of life slant far past noon;
But yonder in heaven she'll sing again,
Joining the evermore glad refrain,
Wearing the "crown" and the "garments fair,"
While we mournfully stand by her vacant chair.

HOW GRANDMA SURPRISED ELSIE.

GRANDMAMMA WONDERS IF SHE CAN'T MEND IT.

Elsie Dean was four years old when she was invited to her first party. It was Dollie Blossom's fifth birthday, and Dollie's mamma had arranged for a little party in honor of the event. Of course Elsie's mamma was perfectly willing she should go to the party, for the Blossoms were very nice people, and Mrs. Dean was always glad for an occasion of enjoyment for her little daughter. But alas, on the day before the party was to occur, Elsie went to a picnic, and was so unfortunate as to tear her dress—the only one she had which her mamma thought was suitable for her to wear to the party. "I am afraid you cannot go to the party, my dear, for now you have nothing fit to wear," said Mrs. Dean to Elsie. The little girl's eyes filled with tears, and her Grandmamma seemed to feel almost as bad about it as Elsie. But she did not wish to make the little girl feel any worse over her disappointment, so she made light of it and told her that there would probably be another birthday party soon, and by that time she would surely have a suitable dress to wear. Elsie was finally comforted, and went to bed in good spirits after kissing mamma and grandmamma good night.

What was Elsie's surprise next morning, to find that her picnic dress had been mended "good as new." She did not need to ask who did it, for she felt certain that it was grandmamma's work, and so it proved. Grandmamma remembered that she herself was a little girl once, and that blessed memory brought her into close sympathy with the grief and joy of her little granddaughter. And so Elsie, thanks to her grandmamma's tact and tenderness, went to Dolly Blossom's birthday party.

GOING TO BED.

GOING TO BED.

The evening is coming,
The Sun sinks to rest;
The rooks are all flying
Straight home to their nest.
"Caw!" says the rook, as he flies overhead:
It's time little people were going to bed!

The flowers are closing,
The daisy's asleep;
The primrose is buried
In slumber so deep.
Shut up for the night is the pimpernel red:
It's time little people were going to bed!

The butterfly, drowsy,
Has folded its wing;
The bees are returning,
No more the birds sing.
Their labor is over, their nestlings are fed:
It's time little people were going to bed!

Here comes the pony,
His work is all done;
Down through the meadow
He takes a good run;
Up goes his heels, and down goes his head:
It's time little people were going to bed!

Good-night, little people,
Good-night and good-night;
Sweet dreams to your eyelids,
Till dawning of light;
The evening has come, there's no more to be said:
It's time little people were going to bed!

T. HOOD.

THE CAT AND THE PARROT.

POLLY PLAYING OFF A TRICK ON PUSS.

A lady who lived in New York City owned a pet parrot and a large house cat. The parrot was just as full of mischief as could be. One day the cat and parrot had a quarrel. I think the cat had upset Polly's food, or something of that kind. However, they seemed all right again. An hour or so after Polly was on her stand, she called out in a tone of extreme affection, "Pussy! Pussy! come here, Pussy." Pussy went and looked up innocently enough; Polly with her beak seized her tin of food and tipped its contents all over the cat, and then chuckled as poor Puss ran away half frightened to death.

BABY.

Who is it coos just like a dove?
Who is it that we dearly love—
The brightest blessing from above?
Our baby.

While silent watch the angels keep,
Who smiles so sweetly in his sleep,
And oft displays his dimples deep.
Our baby.

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER.

SHIPWRECK ON THE AUCKLAND ISLANDS.

We were crowded in the cabin,
Not a soul would dare to sleep,—
It was midnight on the waters,
And a storm was on the deep.

'Tis a fearful thing in winter
To be shattered by the blast,
And to hear the rattling trumpet
Thunder, "Cut away the mast!"

So we shuddered there in silence,—
For the stoutest held his breath,
While the hungry sea was roaring,
And the breakers talked with Death.

And as thus we sat in darkness,
Each one busy with his prayers,
"We are lost!" the Captain shouted,
As he staggered down the stairs.

But his little daughter whispered,
As she took his