But there is more At the top is a little close-shut door. And when 'tis time for the hour-stroke, And at the half-stroke too, It opens wide of its own accord, And, hark,--"Cuckoo, cuckoo!" What do you see? Why, with a trip and a courtesy, As if to say,--"Good day, good day," Out steps a tiny bird! And though no soul were near to hear He'd pipe that same blithe word. Through all the night, Through dawn's pale flush, and noon's full light, And even at twilight, when the dusk Hides all the room from view, Out of his little cabinet He calls,--"Cuckoo, cuckoo!" Though but a toy, Yet might the giddiest girl or boy Learn three most pleasant truths from it: How patiently to wait, How to give greeting graciously, And never to be too late. 'Tis sweet to hear, Though oft repeated, a word of cheer; So this little comrade on the wall, This bird that never flew, Is an hourly comfort, with his call, "Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!" MRS. CLARA DOTY BATES. DAVY'S GIRL. ALEX. DUKE BAILIE. She was only five years old, hardly that, but a stout, healthy little creature, full of love and fun, but often hard to manage. Maggie was her name, but she would call herself nothing but "Davy's girl." Davy, her brother, a brave, good boy, about fifteen years of age, was all she had to cling to, and she was his only treasure. They were orphans; their father had been drowned, with many other poor fishermen, when Maggie was a wee baby, and the mother, soon after, died, from worry and hard work. So these two were all alone in the world, but they did not feel lonely, for each one was all the world to the other. They lived with an old fisherman and his wife, on the shores of the ocean, in New Jersey; and in the inlets and about outside, Davy used to go with the men, in the boats, and help them fish; sometimes he would work in-shore, for the truck farmers; sometimes help to gather the salt hay from the marshes. He would work hard at any thing so as to make money to keep his little sister comfortable and to give her all it was well for her to have. In winter he would tramp through cold and snow and storms, several miles, to the little town where the school was, and so, every year, he gained a few weeks of instruction. The people among whom these orphans lived were rough, but kind-hearted, and Davy always had enough work to enable him to earn money sufficient to keep Maggie and himself in the simple way in which every body about them lived.