A TRIUMPH.

By Celia THAXTER.

  Little Roger up the long slope rushing
      Through the rustling corn,
  Showers of dewdrops from the broad leaves brushing
      In the early morn,

  At his sturdy little shoulder bearing
      For a banner gay,
  Stem of fir with one long shaving flaring
      In the wind away!

  Up he goes, the summer sunshine flushing
      O’er him in his race,
  Sweeter dawn of rosy childhood blushing
      On his radiant face.

  If he can but set his standard glorious
      On the hill-top low,
  Ere the sun climbs the clear sky victorious,
      All the world aglow!

  So he presses on with childish ardor,
      Almost at the top! 
  Hasten, Roger!  Does the way grow harder? 
      Wherefore do you stop?

  From below the corn-stalks tall and slender
      Comes a plaintive cry—­
  Turns he for an instant from the splendor
      Of the crimson sky,

  Wavers, then goes flying toward the hollow,
      Calling loud and clear: 
  “Coming, Jenny!  Oh, why did you follow? 
      Don’t you cry, my dear!”

  Small Janet sits weeping ’mid the daisies;
      “Little sister sweet,
  Must you follow Roger?” Then he raises
      Baby on her feet,

  Guides her tiny steps with kindness tender,
      Cheerfully and gay,
  All his courage and his strength would lend her
      Up the uneven way,

  Till they front the blazing East together;
      But the sun has rolled
  Up the sky in the still Summer weather,
      Flooding them with gold.

  All forgotten is the boy’s ambition,
      Low the standard lies,
  Still they stand, and gaze—­a sweeter vision
      Ne’er met mortal eyes.

  That was splendid; Roger, that was glorious,
      Thus to help the weak;
  Better than to plant your flag victorious
      On earth’s highest peak!

ONE SATURDAY.

By Sarah winter Kellogg.

It was an autumn day in the Indian summer time,—­that one Saturday.  The Grammar Room class of Budville were going nutting; that is, eight of them were going,—­“our set,” as they styled themselves.  Besides the eight of “our set,” Bob Trotter was going along as driver, to take care of the horses and spring wagon on arrival at the woods, while the eight were taking care of the nutting and other fun.  Bob was fourteen and three months, but he was well-grown.  Beside, he was very handy at all kinds of work, as he ought to have been, considering that he had been kept at work since his earliest recollection, to the detriment of his schooling.

It had been agreed that the boys were to pay for the team, while the girls were to furnish the lunch.  In order to economize space, it was arranged that all the contributions to the lunch should be sent on Friday to Mrs. Hooks, Clara of that surname undertaking to pack it all into one large basket.