. St. Nicholas [serial]. pon the hill, not far away,This crown of Nepthahs splendor lay;And here they found, when twilight fell(For not a sphinx, it seems, would tell),The wanderer, seated piteousUpon a chill sarcophagus. My son! And Nepthah would, I wis,Have something said that looked like this: P= rjtet{fz Well might young Amnes fear him !But suddenly upon the wallThe angry fathers glance did fall,And there, portrayed in lively tints,Amazed, he saw himself, the prince!His wife, too, in her Sunday chintz,Both smiling sweetly as they couldOn Amnes, who before them stoodAngelically mild an
. St. Nicholas [serial]. pon the hill, not far away,This crown of Nepthahs splendor lay;And here they found, when twilight fell(For not a sphinx, it seems, would tell),The wanderer, seated piteousUpon a chill sarcophagus. My son! And Nepthah would, I wis,Have something said that looked like this: P= rjtet{fz Well might young Amnes fear him !But suddenly upon the wallThe angry fathers glance did fall,And there, portrayed in lively tints,Amazed, he saw himself, the prince!His wife, too, in her Sunday chintz,Both smiling sweetly as they couldOn Amnes, who before them stoodAngelically mild and good, With pussy purring near him. What! Nepthah cried. My dear, t isUs!(For even princes stumble thus.) The likenesses are marvelous !And see, his brush is in his hand!I quake — I fear to understand!My noble boy, you painted that? Forgotten was the injured cat,The horrid deed that he had done,As, weeping, they embraced their son, His genius recognizing;He too, an honored hero now,Had garlands for his gifted brow,—. HAD GARLANDS FOR HIS GIFTED BROW. A lotus-flower to smell, I trow,—And home was borne in happy state,Where, with the rest, his dinner, late,But sumptuous to the end, he ateWith appetite surprising. My story s told. But let me sayThat never from that fateful day —So much experience doth avail—Did Amnes pull a kittens tail Or puss have cause to doubt artist great he lived to beOf that distinguished dynasty;And when some day to Thebes you go,Through tomb and temple wandering slow,Perchance to you it may befallTo see upon the sculptured wall,In fading lines of red and blue,The picture little Amnes drew,Three thousand years and more ere you Were born, to read about him! UPS AND DOWNS. By Edwin L. Sabin. When we ve chopped down a tree, Will it grow, sirs, or not,If we straight chop it up On the very same spot ? Say a house has burned down In a terrible fire —Had it burned up, instead, Would the flames have gone higher ? And answer me this : When we ve
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