The dreams of the deserted float around my curtained hours, And young imaginings are as the thorns bereft of flowers; A wretched outcast from mankind, my strength of heart has sank Beneath the evils of--_ten thousand dollars in the bank_. This life to me a desert is, and kindness, as the stream That singly drops upon the waste where burning breezes teem; A banished, blasted plant, I droop, to which no freshness lends Its healing balm, for Heaven knows, I've but--_a dozen friends_. And Sorrow round my brow has wreathed its coronal of thorns; No dewy pearl of Pleasure my sad sunken eyes adorns; Calamity has clothed my thoughts, I feel a bliss no more,-- Alas! my wardrobe now would only--_stock a clothing store_. The joyousness of Memory from me for aye hath fled; It dwells within the dreary habitation of the dead; I breathe my midnight melodies in languor and by stealth, For Fate inflicts upon my frame--_the luxury of health_. Envy, Neglect, and Scorn have been my hard inheritance; And a baneful curse clings to me, like the stain on innocence; My moments are as faded leaves, or roses in their blight-- I'm asked but once a day to dine--_to parties every night_. Would that I were a silver ray upon the moonlit air, Or but one gleam that's glorified by each Peruvian's prayer! My tortured spirit turns from earth, to ease its bitter loathing; My hatred is on all things here, because--_I want for nothing_. THE GRAMMATICAL BOY BY BILL NYE Sometimes a sad, homesick feeling comes over me, when I compare the prevailing style of anecdote and school literature with the old McGuffey brand, so well known thirty years ago. To-day our juvenile literature, it seems to me, is so transparent, so easy to understand, that I am not surprised to learn that the rising generation shows signs of lawlessness. Boys to-day do not use the respectful language and large, luxuriant words that they did when Mr. McGuffey used to stand around and report their conversations for his justly celebrated school reader. It is disagreeable to think of, but it is none the less true, and for one I think we should face the facts. I ask the careful student of school literature to compare the following selection, which I have written myself with great care, and arranged with special reference to the matter of choice and difficult words, with the flippant and commonplace terms used in the average school book of to-day. One day as George Pillgarlic was going to his tasks, and while passing through the wood, he spied a tall man approaching in an opposite direction along the highway. "Ah!" thought George, in a low, mellow tone of voice, "whom have we here?" "Good morning, my fine fellow," exclaimed the stranger, pleasantly. "Do you reside in this locality?"