THE DISCOVERER

I have a little kinsman

Whose earthly summers are but three,
And yet a voyager is he

Greater than Drake or Frobisher,
Than all their peers together!

He is a brave discoverer,

And, far beyond the tether

Of them who seek the frozen Pole,

Has sailed where the noiseless surges roll.
Ay, he has travelled whither

A winged pilot steered his bark
Through the portals of the dark,
Past hoary Mimir's well and tree,
Across the unknown sea.

Suddenly, in his fair young hour,
Came one who bore a flower,
And laid it in his dimpled hand
With this command:
"Henceforth thou art a rover!
Thou must make a voyage far,
Sail beneath the evening star,
And a wondrous land discover."
-With his sweet smile innocent
Our little kinsman went.

Since that time no word

From the absent has been heard.
Who can tell

How he fares, or answer well
What the little one has found
Since he left us, outward bound?
Would that he might return!
Then should we learn

From the pricking of his chart

How the skyey roadways part.

Hush! does not the baby this way bring,

To lay beside this severed curl,

Some starry offering

Of chrysolite or pearl?

Ah, no! not so!

We may follow on his track,

But he comes not back.

And yet I dare aver

He is a brave discoverer

Of climes his elders do not know.

He has more learning than appears

On the scroll of thrice three thousand years,
More than in the groves is taught,

Or from furthest Indies brought;
He knows, perchance, how spirits fare,-

What shapes the angels wear,

What is their guise and speech

In those lands beyond our reach,

And his eyes behold

Things that shall never, never be

To mortal hearers told.

By permission

Houghton Mifflin Company.

E. C. Stedman.

BEAUTIFUL SNOW

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
Filling the sky and the earth below;
Over the house-tops, over the street,
Over the heads of the people you meet;
Dancing,

Flirting,

Skimming along,

Beautiful snow! it can do no wrong.
Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek;
Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak.
Beautiful snow, from the heavens above,
Pure as an angel and fickle as love!

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow!
How the flakes gather and laugh as they go!
Whirling about in its maddening fun,
It plays in its glee with everyone.

Chasing,
Laughing,

Hurrying by,

It lights up the face and it sparkles the eye;
And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound,
Snap at the crystals that eddy around.
The town is alive, and its heart in a glow
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow.

How the wild crowd goes swaying along,
Hailing each other with humor and song!

How the gay sledges like meteors flash by-
Bright for a moment, then lost to the eye,

Ringing,
Swinging,

Dashing they go

Over the crest of the beautiful snow:

Snow so pure when it falls from the sky,

To be trampled in mud by the crowd rushing by:

To be trampled and tracked by the thousands of feet, Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street.

John W. Watson.

TO THE BOYS OF AMERICA

Of course what we have a right to expect from the American boy is that he shall turn out to be a good American man. Now, the chances are strong that he won't be much of a man unless he is a good deal of a boy. He must not be a coward or a weakling, a bully, a shirk or a prig. He must work hard and play hard. He must be clean-minded and clean-lived, and able to hold his own under all circumstances and against all comers. It is only on these conditions that he will grow into the kind of a man of whom America can really be proud. In life, as in a football game, the principle to follow is: Hit the line hard; don't foul and don't shirk, but hit the line hard.

Theodore Roosevelt.

"Beautiful snow, from the heavens above, Pure as an angel and fickle as love!"