Couldn’t Dad work?  Why yes, Boss,
      He’s working for gov’ment now,—­
    They give him his board for nothin’,—­
      All along of a drunken row.
    An’ Mam?  Well, she’s in the poorhouse,—­
      Been there a year or so;
    So I’m taking care of the others,
      Doing as well as I know.

    Oughtn’t to live so?  Why, Mister,
      What’s a feller to do? 
    Some nights, when I’m tired an’ hungry,
      Seems as if each on ’em knew—­
    They’ll all three cuddle around me,
      Till I get cheery, and say: 
    Well, p’raps I’ll have sisters an’ brothers,
      An’ money an’ clothes, too, some day.

    But if I do git rich, Boss,
      (An’ a lecturin’ chap one night
    Said newsboys could be Presidents
      If only they acted right);
    So, if I was President, Mister,
      The very first thing I’d do,
    I’d buy poor Tom an’ Tibby
      A dinner—­an’ Mam’s cat, too!

    None o’ your scraps an’ leavin’s,
      But a good square meal for all three;
    If you think I’d skimp my friends, Boss,
      That shows you don’t know me. 
    So ’ere’s your papers—­come take one,
      Gimme a lift if you can—­
    For now you’ve heard my story,
      You see I’m a fam’ly man!

E. T. CORBETT.

* * * * *

THE CHILD AND HER PUSSY.

    I like little pussy, her coat is so warm,
    And if I don’t hurt her, she’ll do me no harm;
    So I’ll not pull her tail, nor drive her away,
    But pussy and I very gently will play: 

    She shall sit by my side, and I’ll give her some food;
    And she’ll love me, because I am gentle and good. 
    I’ll pat little pussy, and then she will purr,
    And thus show her thanks for my kindness to her.

E. TAYLOR.

* * * * *

THE ALPINE SHEEP.

    They in the valley’s sheltering care,
      Soon crop the meadow’s tender prime,
    And when the sod grows brown and bare,
      The shepherd strives to make them climb

    To airy shelves of pastures green
      That hang along the mountain’s side,
    Where grass and flowers together lean,
      And down through mists the sunbeams slide: 

    But nought can tempt the timid things
      The steep and rugged paths to try,
    Though sweet the shepherd calls and sings,
      And seared below the pastures lie,—­

    Till in his arms their lambs he takes
      Along the dizzy verge to go,
    Then heedless of the rifts and breaks
      They follow on o’er rock and snow.

    And in those pastures lifted fair,
      More dewy soft than lowland mead,
    The shepherd drops his tender care,
      And sheep and lambs together feed.