There are canal boats of all sizes, some very small and others so large that they are wonders to the world.

The cities in this odd-land seem to be a bewildering jumble of houses, bridges, churches, ships, and trees. In some cities the streets are only water-roads, and vessels are hitched, like horses, to their owners' door-posts.

In the winter all the canals and water-roads are frozen over, then everybody goes skating. The boys and girls learn to skate almost as soon as they learn to walk. They do not only skate from place to place in the cities, but in the country as well, going many miles at a time.

Much of the travel in winter is upon the ice. Sleds of all sizes are used both for travel and traffic. Even chairs on runners pushed by skaters may often be seen.

The country is thickly dotted with great flapping windmills. These windmills are made to do work of various kinds. Some are used to help drain the land, others to grind flour, wash rags, crush lime, break stone, saw wood, crush olives, etc.

The people of this queer little country are called Dutch. They are famous for their love of home and heroism. As a class they are educated, industrious, and enterprising; and are noted for their commercial spirit. Their foreign trade is large and it is their chief source of wealth.

Most of the inhabitants are engaged in agriculture and shipbuilding. Their principal exports are manufactures and dairy products.

This little Kingdom has quite extensive foreign possessions, among which are several West India Islands, and the Dutch East Indies. The population of their colonies is six times as large as that of Netherlands.

Netherlands is truly a country of oddity, courage, love, heroism, and industry. An artificial country-a conquest made by man over the sea. The Dutch made it and it exists because the Dutch preserve it by constant care and work. If only once they became careless and ceased to build and repair the dikes, it would soon be swallowed up by the water. It certainly deserves to be called the pluckiest little country in the world.

Have you ever heard of Gossip Town,

On the shore of Falsehood Bay,

Where old Dame Rumor, with rustling gown,
Is going the livelong day?

It isn't far to Gossip Town

For people who want to go;

The Idleness train will take you down
In just an hour or so.

The Thoughtless Road is a popular route,
And most folks start that way;

But it's steep down grade; if you don't look out,
You'll land in Falsehood Bay.

You glide through the valley of Vicious Talk,
And into the Tunnel of Hate;

Then crossing the Add-To-Bridge, you walk
Right into the city gate.

The principal street is called They-Say,
And I've-Heard is the public well,

And the breezes that blow from Falsehood Bay
Are laden with Don't-You-Tell.

In the midst of the town is Telltale Park;
You're never quite safe while there,
For its owner is Madam Suspicious Remark,
Who lives on the street Don't Care.

Just back of the Park is Slanderer's Row;
"Twas there that Good-Name died,
Pierced by a shaft from Jealousy's bow,
In the hands of Envious Pride.

From Gossip Town Peace long since fled,
But Trouble and Grief and Woe

And Sorrow and Care, you'll meet, instead,
If ever you chance to go.

-ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.

KEEP YOUR TROUBLES TO YOURSELF.

Keep your troubles to yourself,

Put them on an upper shelf,

Far away as they can be,

Where no eye but God's may see.

Other people have their share
Of affliction, pain and care;

Why should you, though sorely tried,
Burden them with yours beside?

Give of treasures you possess,
Loving care and tenderness,
Cheerful smiles or sordid pelf,
But keep your troubles to yourself.

OIL YOURSELF A LITTLE.

Once upon a time there lived an old gentleman in a large house. He had servants, and much riches, yet he was not happy; and when things did not go as he wished, he was very cross. At last his servants left him. Quite out of temper, he went to a neighbor with a story of his distresses.

"It seems to me," said the neighbor, sagaciously, "'t would be well for you to oil yourself a little."

"To oil myself?"

"Yes; and I will explain. Some time ago one of the doors in my house creaked. Nobody, therefore, liked to go in or out by it. One day I oiled its hinges, and it has been constantly used by everybody ever since."

"Then you think I am like the creaking door," cried the old gentleman. "How do you want me to oil myself?" "That is an easy matter," said the neighbor. "Go home and engage a servant, and when he does right praise him. If on the contrary, he does something amiss, do not be cross; oil your voice and words with the oil of love."

The old gentleman went home, and no harsh or ugly words were ever in the house afterwards. Every family should have a bottle of this precious oil; for every family is liable to have a creaking hinge in the shape of a fretful disposition, a cross temper, a harsh tone, or a faultfinding spirit.

-SELECTED.