"Yes, now I understand," said Arthur. "How jolly it is to have an Uncle Martin to explain things!" "You rogue, you expect me to be at the launch, eh?" "Yes, uncle: I've got a bottle of hard cider to smash, on the occasion. It ought to be rum, by the old rule." "The best thing to do with rum is to pour it into the sea," said Uncle Martin. "But what's the name of the new sloop?" "Ah! that you will hear at the launch," said Arthur. "It's the 'Artful Dodger,'" whispered brother Henry. ALFRED SELWYN. [Illustration] TOT'S TURNOVER. SUGARED and scalloped and cut as you see, With juicy red wreath and name, T-O-T, This is the turnover dear little Tot Set in the window there all piping hot: Proud of her work, she has left it to cool: Benny must share it when he's out of school. Scenting its flavor, Prince happens that way, Wonders if Tot will give him some to-day. Benny is coming, he's now at the gate-- Prince for himself decides not to wait. Oh, pity! 'tis gone, and here you and I See the last that Tot saw of that pretty pie. M. A. C. A TRUE STORY. ONCE, when I lived in the country, some robins built a nest in a lilac-bush in the garden. One day I looked in the nest, and saw one little green egg. Two or three days after, I saw three more little green eggs, and pretty soon what did I see there but four little cunning baby-birdies? The old birds seemed so happy as they fed their little ones, who opened their mouths wide to take the food in, that I loved dearly to watch them. One night there came a terrible storm of wind and rain. When I awoke in the morning, and opened my window, there were the old robins flying about the garden in great distress, making such a dreadful cry, that I went out to see what was the matter. What do you think I saw? The pretty nest was on the ground, torn in pieces by the wind; and the little baby-birds lay in the cold wet grass, crying pitifully. The old birds were flying about, and beating the grass with their wings. I ran to the house, and found an old tin pail. I lined this with nice hay from Billy's stable, picked up the poor little robins, and put them in the warm dry hay. Then I hung the pail on a branch of the bush, tied it firmly with some twine, and went into the house to watch the old birds from my window. They looked first on one side, then on the other, to see that there was nobody near. At last they flew to the old pail, and stood on its edge. Pretty soon they began to sing as if they were just as happy as they could be. I think they liked the old pail just as well as their pretty nest; for they lived in it till the little baby-birdies were able to fly, and to feed themselves. One day I looked in the pail, and it was empty. The birdies had grown up, and had flown away.