"Ever and ever so many a mile, Deep in the endless, hazy blue, Is a golden shore and a spicy isle; The orange blooms there all the while; And the monkeys laugh at the kangaroo. "Purple and yellow and emerald-green, The parrots flit in the groves of palm; Like sparks of living fire are seen The humming-birds that hover between The scarlet blooms in a tropic calm. "Over the blue, unending sea Sail away, and into the west, Till the west is east; then come to me, Freighted as full as full can be Of all that misty island's best,-- "Dust of gold and apples of gold, A kangaroo, and a monkey or two, A cage of parrots to laugh and scold, And a silken web, that, when unrolled, Would reach to the moon, and back to you." The boy lets slip his cedarn boat; Gaily she scuds before the breeze, With a steady helm, till, far remote, Only a dim, white speck afloat Is the last glimpse of her that ever he sees. No matter! His thoughts sail far and free With his good ship, and he finds new joy In learning of lands beyond the sea; And this is the freight of his "Rosa Lee,"-- Better than gold to the eager boy. GEORGE S. BURLEIGH. [Illustration] RICH AND POOR. HERE is a young girl taking a walk on a cold day. She is strong and well. Her dress is very thick. She has a fur cape, and a muff, and good stout shoes. See how fine she looks. She does not seem to mind the biting frost. [Illustration] But see this poor old woman tottering along. She wraps her thin cloak around her, but it does not keep out the keen air. She is very cold. [Illustration] I hope that the rich young girl will give some aid to the poor old woman. A. B. C. [Illustration] THE SNOW-FAIRIES. THE moon was dim when we went to bed, And the stars were covered over, When the wee white fairies came o'erhead, And, whirling down the wind, they sped The trees and ground to cover. They danced all night o'er field and rill To the pipe the breeze was blowing: When the sun came peeping up the hill To see what made the world so still, They whispered, "Let's be going!" GEORGE COOPER. RED CORAL BEADS. "DID I ever tell you how I lost my red coral beads, and where they were found?" I said this to my boys, Roy and Fred, one frosty night, when we were all gathered around the bright open fire. [Illustration] "No!" said Fred decidedly. "That is a new story. Does it tell about the time when you were a little girl? and about the farmhouse and the sitting-room with the big fireplace, and the bellows, and the queer hour-glass, and the old-fashioned iron snuffers in a red tray?" "Yes," I answered, "it is about every thing you like to hear so well." Then I told the story as follows:--