This article must be embellished with a faithful sketch of the boy who stood at the head of his class. How he felt at that moment, I couldn’t say, never having any experience in the position myself. He looked happy and confident, however, and snapped eagerly at the words as they fell from the teacher’s lips, much as a hungry dog does at the crumbs falling from a table. But my sympathies were decidedly with the little contortionist who stood mournfully at the foot of her class. I knew how that was myself. I had been “yar,” and I regretted I wasn’t a ventriloquist, that I might from afar whisper in her ear, and assist her over some clogging syllables. If she could have gone into the yard, where I noticed a scholar of the senior class throwing herself in a delirium of joy, brought about by a skipping-rope, she would probably have acquitted herself in a creditable manner, and won the praise of all, for however inferior a person may be to another in some matters, when they can choose their game they often reverse the order, and peradventure the poor stammering scholar could have skipped the skirts off those jogging ahead of her in the common speller. THE REJECTED SUITOR. Not often does a sadder sight Wake sympathetic strain, Than glimpse of some rejected wight Whose suit has proved in vain; Who often pinched necessities For bouquets, sweet and rare, For tickets to the carnival, The opera, or fair; [Illustration: A SUITOR NON-SUITED.] Whose pocket oft was visited The candy box to fill; The dollar spent that should have gone To pay his laundry bill. Especially the case is sad, If he who seeks a wife Has, step by step, encroached upon The shady side of life. The fly no darker prospect views That in the inkstand peers, Than he, whose unrequited love Must leak away in tears. At such a time how ill the smile Becomes the rival face; The “ha, ha, ha’s!” the winks and nods, Seem sadly out of place. And then comparisons are drawn At the expense, no doubt, Of him whose overflowing cup Seems full enough without. While he who moves away, alas! Of every grace so free, To criticism opens wide The door, as all may see. His mind is not reflecting now On fashions, style, or art, On proper pace, or rules of grace; But on his slighted heart. He now but sees his promised joys All foundering in his view, His castles tumbling down, that high In brighter moments grew. To know that now those ruby lips Another’s mouth will press, And now that soft and soothing hand Another’s brow caress,— Oh, dark before, and dark behind, And full of woe and pain Is life to him, whose heavy loss Makes up a rival’s gain.