Then desk and bench, on every side,
Without delay were occupied;
Some bent above a slate or book,
And some at blackboards station took.
They clustered round the globe with zeal,
And kept it turning like a wheel;

It seemed to yield them more delight Than aught they found throughout the night.

Said one, "I've often heard it said,
The world is rounder than your head,
And people all about it crawl,
Like flies around a rubber ball.
And here, indeed, we find it true,
With both the poles at once in view,
With latitudes and each degree
All measured out on land and sea."

Another said, "I thought I knew
The world from Maine to Timbuctoo,
Or could, without a guide, have found
My way from Cork to Puget Sound;
But here so many things I find
That never dawned upon my mind,
On sundry points, I blush to say,

I 've been a thousand miles astray."

Are set apart for Hottentots.
And see the rivers small and great,
That drain a Province or a State;
The name and shape of every nation;
Their faith, extent, and population;

"T is like an egg," another cried,
"A little longer than it 's wide,

With islands scattered through the seas
Where savages may live at ease;
And buried up in Polar snows
You find the hardy Eskimos;

While here and there some scorching spots

And whether governed by a king, A President, or Council ring."

While some with such expressions bold
Surveyed the globe as round it rolled,
Still others turned to ink and pen,
And, spreading like a brooding hen,

They scrawled a page to show the band
Their special "style," or "business hand."

The teacher had enough to do,
To act his part to nature true:
He lectured well the infant squad;

He rapped the desk and shook the rod,
And stood the dunce upon the stool,
A laughing-stock to all the school.
But frequent changes please the crowd,
So lengthy reign was not allowed;
And when one master had his hour,
Another took the rod of power;
And thus they changed to suit the case,
Till many filled the honored place.

So taken up was every mind
With fun and study well combined,
They noticed not the hours depart,
Until the sun commenced to dart

A sheaf of lances, long and bright, Above the distant mountain height; Then from the school-room, in a heap, They jumped and tumbled, twenty-deep, In eager haste to disappear

In deepest shade of forests near.

When next the children gathered there,
With wondering faces fresh and fair,
It took an hour of morning prime,
According to the teacher's time,
To get the books in place once more,
And order to the room restore.
So great had been the haste to hide,
The windows were left open wide;
While over slates and books and walls
Remained the pen and pencil scrawls;-
And scholars knew, without a doubt,
That cunning Brownies were about.

JACK HUNT, pitcher of the Stafford base-ball club, was in trouble. It was Monday, and the final and deciding game between the Stafford and the Danville clubs was called for the next Saturday; and "unless," as Jack said, something "turned up," his club would be sure to lose "the rubber." Each nine had won a game; and so they would meet for the final struggle on an apparently even footing. But really the chances greatly favored the Danville club, which had recently taken in some older players, who greatly strengthened their nine. They were all lusty young fellows. Not one was under eighteen years of age, and several were out of their teens. But Sanborn, the Stafford's first baseman and captain, was barely eighteen, and the ages of his men ranged from fifteen to seventeen.

Jack Hunt was a well-built lad of sixteen, which was also the age of Winfield Scott Hancock Bliss, the Stafford catcher.

And I must say a word also, at the outset, about Win. He was a Boston boy, spending his summer on the farm belonging to Jack's father, who happened to be his uncle. He was of a rather short and thick-set figure, with big black eyes that glowed like coals of fire when he was excited. Win had made good use of the gymnasium at school in the city and was really quite an athlete. He could jump two feet farther and nearly three

feet higher than any of his Stafford friends. Any other member of the nine could throw him in a wrestle, but not one of them could knock off his cap.

"You have the strength," he used to say to them, "but I tell you science' is the thing that wins!"

After supper, that Monday, Jack and Win started together for the village, where a conference of the nine was to be held on the piazza of the main store. The pitcher's face was still gloomy, for he knew from sad experience that the Danville fellows asked no better sport than to bat his pitching. The other players were less downcast, but all looked serious. The whole club was on hand in answer to the call. Besides the pitcher and catcher, there was Captain Sanborn, first baseman ; Abe Blanchard, second baseman; Will Bailey, third baseman; Harley Esden, short-stop; Jack Steele, left-field; Am Ricker, center; and Sim Clarke, right.

The dignified captain called the meeting to order.

"I have asked for this meeting," he said, clearing his throat, "to see what was best to be done