a
man you shall have pound-cake every day for breakfast."

By and by Mrs. Maloney and Patsy dropped in.

"I thought," said Mrs. Maloney, "it was kind o'lonesome-like at home,
and I'd step in and see you and Jack to-night, ma'am."

"That was very kind," replied Mrs. Hillyard.

"Why, here comes Mr. Ralph," she added. "Well the more the merrier!"

Tap, tap, tap.

The neighbors kept coming, and coming, and Jack grew more and more
excited, till at last when all were present, Cousin Susy, opening the
parlor door, displayed the marble-top of the table covered with a white
cloth, and there were the refreshments.

"A happy birthday, mother."

"Many returns."

"May you live a hundred years."

One and another had some kind word to say, and each gave a present, a
card, or a flower, or a trifle of some sort, but with so much good will
and love that Mrs. Hillyard's face beamed. All day she stood behind a
counter in a great big shop, and worked hard for her bread and Jack's,
but when evening came she was a queen at home with her boy and her
friends to pay her honor.

"And were you surprised, and did you like the cake and the thirty-six
candles, dearest, darling mamma?" said Jack, when everybody had gone
home.

"Yes, my own manly little laddie, I liked everything, and I was never so
surprised in my life." So the birthday party was a great success.

A Coquette.

BY AMY PIERCE.

I am never in doubt of her goodness,
I am always afraid of her mood,
I am never quite sure of her temper,
For wilfulness runs in her blood.
She is sweet with the sweetness of springtime--
A tear and a smile in an hour--
Yet I ask not release from her slightest caprice,
My love with the face of a flower.

My love with the grace of the lily
That sways on its slender fair stem,
My love with the bloom of the rosebud,
White pearl in my life's diadem!
You may call her coquette if it please you,
Enchanting, if shy or if bold,
Is my darling, my winsome wee lassie,
Whose birthdays are three, when all told.

Horatius.[1]

_A Lay Made About the Year of the City CCCLX._

By T.B. MACAULAY.

I.

Lars Porsena of Clusium
By the Nine Gods he swore
That the great house of Tarquin
Should suffer wrong no more.
By the Nine Gods he swore it,
And named a trysting-day,
And bade his messengers ride