SINCERE.

Here’s one more derivation, while we are about it.  I heard the other day that the bees, with the aid of Latin, have given us a beautiful word:  “Sincere”—­which is made of the words sine-cera, meaning “honey without wax.”

Remember this, my chicks, and let your kind words and good actions be truly sincere,—­pure honey, sine cera.

THE AUTHOR OF “HOME, SWEET HOME.”

Dear Jack:  My grandfather knew a gentleman who was a very intimate friend of the author of “Home, Sweet Home”—­John Howard Payne.  Mr. Payne told this gentleman, Mr. C., how he came to write the song.  He said that a play or operetta called “The Maid of Milan,” that he had adapted from the French, was about to be played in London.  In this play was a very pretty scene for which he had an air in his mind.  He had to conjure up some words to suit the tune, and so he wrote the verses of “Home, Sweet Home.”  He also said that the very next day after the song had been brought out at the theater it was all over London.  Everybody was singing it.  Grandfather says that Mr. Payne got really very tired of hearing about this song, and at length said he supposed he would hereafter be known only as the author of “Home, Sweet Home.”  Mr. Robert S. Chilton wrote this beautiful verse about Mr. Payne’s death: 

Sure, when thy gentle spirit fled
To realms beyond the azure dome,
With arms outstretched God’s angels said: 
“Welcome to heaven’s ‘Home, Sweet Home!’”

I believe this verse was inscribed on Mr. Payne’s tomb-stone in
Tunis, Africa; but I am not sure.  Can any one tell me?—­Yours
truly,

KATIE T.M.

BABY-BO.

[Illustration]

  How many toes has the tootsy foot? 
    One, two, three, four, five! 
  Shut them all up in the little red sock,
    Snugger than bees in a hive.

  How many fingers has little wee hand? 
    Four, and a little wee thumb! 
  Shut them up under the bed-clothes tight,
    For fear Jack Frost should come.

  How many eyes has the Baby Bo? 
    Two, so shining and bright! 
  Shut them up under the little white lids,
    And kiss them a loving good-night.

ARTHUR AND HIS PONY.

About the middle of the summer, little Arthur, who lived in the country, went to see his grandmother, whose house was three or four miles away from Arthur’s home.  He staid there a week, and when he came home and had been welcomed by all the family, his father took him out on the front piazza and said to him: 

“Now, Arthur, if you are not tired, how would you like to take a ride?”

“Oh!  I’m not tired,” said Arthur.  “I’d like a ride ever so much.  Will you take me?”

“No,” said his father.  “I meant for you to take a ride by yourself.”