the
people by standing on his head at such a great height, that he would not
allow him to be paid.

A long time ago, in the town of Northam, England, the steeple of the
church was found to be unsteady. It swayed back and forth whenever the
great bell struck, and continued to sway thus, until, as it leaned over
on one side, it opened large cracks on the opposite.

It was not long before the boys of the town found this out, and the
bright idea entered the head of one of them, and was by him told to the
others, that it would be a capital place to crack nuts. So, boy-like,
they had to try it, and standing at the base of the spire, would fill
the cracks as far as they could reach with good English walnuts, and
then stand back for the steeple to return to an upright position,
cracking the nuts. As the great clock in the tower struck, the jar
caused the spire to lean in the opposite direction. The boys now got
their nuts, and then put in more, that the operation might be repeated,
for they considered it rare sport.

But in the course of time the people of the town who had such matters in
charge decided that the steeple was unsafe, and strengthened it with
bands of iron; but this not proving satisfactory, after a while each
stone was numbered, and the steeple taken down and rebuilt in the old
style. And from that day to this, to the regret of the boys, it has
never been known to crack nuts.

During a great fire in New York, a few years ago, one of the buildings
destroyed was a church having a very tall steeple. The flames ran up
inside this steeple, and, bursting out at the top, melted the zinc and
copper about the lightning rod, so that they fell in showers of green,
gold, and crimson fire, producing a spectacle of most wondrous beauty.

FLOWER QUEENS OF NIGHT.

BY MARGARET EYTINGE.

"Pretty, fragrant four-o'clocks,"
Said the rose one day,
"Pity 'tis your buds unfold
Into blossoms gay
When the west begins to burn
With the sunset light--
Sweetness wondrous rare to waste
On the drowsy night.

"Other blooms have birds to sing,
Bees to hum, their praise,
Butterflies to visit them
Through the summer days.
Bee but seldom hums for you,
Bird but seldom sings,
Butterfly is ne'er your guest,
Pretty, fragrant things."

"Lovely, graceful, crimson rose,"
Said the modest flowers,
"Though the sun we scarcely know,
Happiness is ours.
Moon we have, and