"Why have you hair upon your head? And why do men wear cuffs? And why are cannon-crackers red? And why is cream in puffs? Why can't you swim on mountain-tops? And why is water wet? And why don't hens, like lambs, have chops? And why don't roosters set?" "The Land-sage paled as to his cheek. "I cannot say," said he. "Then why does Friday come each week? And why do maids drink tea? Oh tell me why all kittens mew? And why do little boys, When with their daily tasks they're through, Make such a dreadful noise? "The Porpoise waited for the sage To answer, but in vain. It filled the wise man full of rage To have to flunk again. Whereat the Porpoise, with a sneer And very scornful glance, Remarked: "You're very dull, I fear. I'll give you one more chance. "Tell me one thing I never heard In all my life before, And I will pass to you my word To see you safe ashore. But don't be rash, oh, sage," said he. "Take all the time you need To think of what to tell me That's truly new indeed." "The Land-sage thought and thought all day, He thought the long night through, But not an idea came his way That he was sure was new; And finally, in great despair, He thought that he would see What could be done to ease his care By simple flattery. "And so he spoke, "Oh, Mr. P----, Oh, Porpoise, sleek and trim, The thought has just occurred to me My wisdom's rather slim; But I believe a creature that 'S as beautiful as you Can't have the heart to let a flat Like me die in the blue." "You think me so?" the Porpoise said. "I do!" the sage replied. "You have the purest classic head I ever have espied. Your eyes are truly lovely, And your mouth is full of grace, And nothing nobler can one see Than is your noble face." "The Land-sage ceased; the Porpoise smoled And winked his eyes of blue. "You've won, professor. You have told Me something truly new. I never heard my beauty praised In all my life before." And then his good right fin he raised And towed the sage ashore." [TO BE CONTINUED.] MISS APPOLINA'S CHOICE. BY AGNES LITTLETON. Part I. Outside, the house was simply one of a long row of brownstone houses which line many of the New York streets, but the room in which Millicent Reid was sitting this fine spring afternoon had an individuality of its own. "The girls" were Millicent and Joanna Reid. Millicent was nearly seventeen, and with her cousin Peggy, who lived across the street, studied with a governess and various masters, but Joanna, or Joan, as she was frequently called, went to school. At this very moment she burst into the room, carrying a pile of school books, which she flung on the table with a resounding crash.