THE CHILDREN'S HOUR.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1775, 14 March 1906, Page 13

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR.

(Conducted by "Uncle Robert/*)

the darlc and the daylight, .When the night is beginning to lower. Comes a pause in the day’s occupations That is known as the "Children’s Hour/ *’

Any of our juvenile readers, under sixteen years of age, may become members of the Guild of ""The Children s Hour," by promising that in all they do they shall seek to be guided by the following rules: — First —That we were created to enjoy life and help each other. Second —That whatever hinders any one from enjoying life ifi wrong and wicked. Third—That it is our duty to try and remove all such hindrances. All who agree with the above rules, and are willing to get others to subscribe to them should send in their addresses for insertion in the Guild ""Big Book/' My Dear Nieces and Nephews:— Your letters about your holidays recalled to my mind a funny incident which I think well worth a place in the Guild column. It is entitled HARRIET’S HOLIDAY. This is a true story, and the heroine was my playmate when I was five and she was six. We were spending a glorious summer on a farm. It was our first visit to the country, and I shall never forget our arrival. We were hot, tired, and very, very dusty; but the first thing we did was to get- down on the grass and turn somersaults in sheer of spirits. The exuberance of spirits lasted all the summer. On the hottest days we ran, and jumped and trudged after the field hands helping (and, I suppose, hindering) them with their work. On rainy days our refuge was the barn, whose high mows of fragrant hay were, in our opinion, piled simply for us to jump on and off.

On this particular day Harriet had strayed from the watchful. eye of my mother, who was conversing with a visitor.

I was away in the other end of the barn, hunting for eggs, when I heard a cry. I ran to the mow where we had been playing. It was over an empty hay cart, and on one of the poles used to hold up the sides of the loads hung Harriet held up only by her cotton dress. And here follows the dialogue I heard between my unlucky comrade and Mr Flint who had hurried to her rescue:

“Why, Harriet, you poor child!” he exclaimed, with anxious solicitude. From her precarious perch in midair Harriet gasped out. “Er-er-er I 'like’ to hang. I—l ‘like’ to hang. I always ‘did’ like to hang.” She was quickly rescued, a sorry ■figure with a tear-streaked face, still muttering weakly “I ‘like’ to hang.” These words became a by-word in the families of all our neighbours, for the story of Harriet’s rescue soon spread, and “ever after” Harriet was reminded, when she was doing anything not just right, that “She ‘liked’ to hang ; she “always ‘did’ like to hang!” =* * * Bobby Watson sends me the following tender versed by Arthur Wynne. THE LAUGHTER OF THE YOUNG. There is music in the woodlands 5 and there’s music in the sea, Gentle music, softly sounding, soothing darksome memory, And I lovo the sylvan musio and the distant oeean lone— Oh, it thrills me with the rapture of its dulcet monotone. Yet, not the sweetest breathings of the woodland in the Spring, 'And not the softest murmur that the ocean zephyrs bring, Have aught to me so cheering, all their melodies among. As the mirthful, merry musio in the laughter of the young Oft I hear it in the morning, while the silver pine is dight With the sunbeam® that have driven to his dreary den the night; Then it adds "a greater sunbeam to the glories of the day, 'And that laughter with its music sends mp laughing on my way. 'And I hear it oft at noontide, when the gladsome noisy shout Proclaims the happy freedom of the school to play let out; And it fills my heart with music, and the burning tropic glare, Is tempered with the freshness of tfce morning’s mellow air. And when twilight shadows lengthen from the pines upon the lawn, When the woodland bards are silent till the morrow’s early dawn, Then the playful groups are meeting, - and their laughter’s merry strain Wake® the dingle and the woodland into gladsome life! again. Oh, the world hath many ; **ote of grief and many a tear, I know, But, methinks they dare not enter where the .children come and go;

Sure, the music of their laughter, ever redolent of mirth, Is a balm to soothe the sadness of our sombre, pensive earth. And my life hath known its sorrows, and its hot, impatient tears, And misfortune’s phantom shadows have bedimmed my ways with But the gloom was changed to sunshine, and the darkness all was gone, When the little beaming faces in their laughter round me~shone. Yet the brightest hour is briefest, soon it mingles with the past, And the deep’ning gloom of even must bedim the way at last; Oh, •whe'n life’s pale sun is* 6 sinking my declining years among. May my homeward patli be brightened by the laughter of the young. * * a THE WISE MAN’S COUNSEL. A king called unto him the six wisest men of his realm and commanded that each one of them should put a question, which the others had to answer, but to which the questioner again should give a still wiser answer. The one who gave the wisest answer of all in this competition should be the king’s adviser for ever after. The first w r ise man asked, “What load is heavier than the earth?” and the second wise man answered, "‘The wickedness of men.” “No,” replied the first; “a convicting conscience is a heavier load to bear than the wickedness of men.”

The second wise man tlien asked, “What is the best tiling ill the world ?” and the answer was, “A good friend.” “No,” said the questioner; “a good conscience is better still.”

The third wise man asked, “Who is the wisest mail?’’ Answer: “He who has read many books.” “No: lie who only studied two books—the Heart of Man and the Book of Nature.”

The fourth asked, “Who is the richest man?” Answer: “He who has most money.” “No; he who is satisfied with little.”

The fifth asked, “What is the greatest honour in this world?” Answer: “To be a brave soldier or a learned man.” “No; to be noble-minded and peaceful.” The sixth: “Which is the greatest art?” Answer: “To rule the world.” "‘No; to rule oneself.” The king praised them all for their wise answers, but to the sixth he gave preference, “for,” he said, “I experience it every day in myself that the most difficult art is to rule oneself, and this wise man has, therefore, not only spoken truth, but royal truth.”

A MAN OF MANY LETTERS. There is a farmer who- is YY Enough to take his EE, And study nature with his 11, And thinks of what he CC He hears the chatter of the JJ, As they each other TT, And see that when a tree DKK, It makes a home for 88, A yoke of oxen he. will UU, With many haws and GG-, And the mistakes he will XQQ, When ploughing for his PP. He little buys, but much he SLL, And therefore little 00, And when he hoeis his soil by spells He also soils his hose. « * * “TRY, TRY TRY AGAIN.” At a certain season of the year the salmon fill the rivers, swimming up against the stream. They meet waterfalls in their path, some of them so high that it seems impossible they could pass them. But they do their best, and a wonderful best it is. I once stood near a waterfall in the north of Scotland, watching the salmon leap. They were in the stream that day by hundreds. How they did jump—five feet, six feet, seven feet, I suppose, into the air, trying to get up that waterfall! They often missed ; but they only tried again and again, till they did stocceed.

Salmon have been known to take leaps of twelve’ feet; and it is said that by pausing in the fall for a moment, as some of the stronger fish can do, and jumping again, they have passed falls which have a clear descent of sixteen feet. Those of you who failed in the recent competition must remember the salmon. They fail often by they try, try, try, until they “do” succeed. Go ye and do likewise. Your Affectionate UNCLE ROBERT.