The Justice, however, rapped sharply on the desk, and quickly brought everybody to dead silence. "You did perfectly right, my boy," said he gravely, "to come here and tell me about it. You have as much right to your six marbles as the richest man in this city has to his bank account. If every American citizen had as much regard for their rights as you show there would be far less crime. And you, sir," he added, turning to the big policeman, who now looked as solemn as a funeral, "you go with this little man to that butcher and make him pay for those marbles, or else arrest him and bring him here." You see this boy knew that his rights had been interfered with, and he went to the one having authority to redress his wrongs. He did not throw stones or say naughty words, but in a manly, dignified way demanded his rights.--_Selected._ HOW THE FIRST PANSY WAS MADE. AN angel's thought flew down to earth, Borne on a golden beam of light; And pausing, rested in the heart Of a sweet, blue-eyed violet bright. And finding there a flower-soul Free from all taint of earthly pride, The angel's thought would fain remain, And in the Pansy still doth hide. And so these gold and purple flowers, The soft-eyed Pansies which we love, Sprang from the violet which received An angel's thought from heaven above. LYDIA HOYT FARMER. POEM FOR RECITATION. EASTER. My sweet little neighbor Bessie I thought was busy with play, When she turned, and brightly questioned, "Say, what is the Easter day?" "Has nobody told you, darling-- Do they 'Feed His Lambs' like this?" I gathered her to my bosom, And gave her a tender kiss. Away went the cloak for dolly, And away went dolly too, As again she eagerly questioned, With eyes so earnest and blue: "Is it like birthdays or Christmas-- Or like Thanksgiving Day; Do we just be good like Sunday, Or run and frolic and play? "I know there's flowers to it, And that is most all I know; I've got a lovely rosebush, And a bud begins to grow." Then in words most few and simple I told to the gentle child The story whose end is Easter-- The Life of the Undefiled. Told of the manger of Bethlehem, And about the glittering star That guided the feet of the shepherds Watching their flocks from afar, Told of the lovely Mother, And the Baby who was born To live on the earth among us Bearing its sorrows and scorn. And then I told of the life He lived Those wonderful thirty years, Sad, weary, troubled, forsaken, In this world of sin and tears, Until I came to the shameful death That the Lord of Glory died, Then the tender little maiden Uplifted her voice and cried.