"Now turn to the south, where the warm winds blow,

The south, dear, the south, dear.

You will like that best of all, I know,

The south, dear, the south, dear.

"Now turn to the home of the north wind bold,

Find north, dear, the north, dear,

Ugh! ice and snow but who cares for the cold?
The north, dear, the north, dear.

66

North, west, east, and south, now find in turn;
That's right, dear, just right, dear,

You're a brave little fellow and quick to learn;
Good-night, dear, good-night, dear."

-Selected.

66

AUTUMN LEAVES.

OME, little leaves," said the wind one day,

COM

"Come over the meadows with me, and play;

Put on your dresses of red and gold;

Summer is gone, and the days grow cold."

Soon as the leaves heard the wind's loud call,
Down they came fluttering, one and all;
Over the brown fields they danced and flew,
Singing the soft little songs they knew.

"Cricket, good-bye, we've been friends so long;
Little brook, sing us your farewell song –
Say you're sorry to see us go;

Ah! you are sorry, right well we know.

"Dear little lambs, in your fleecy fold,
Mother will keep you from harm and cold;
Fondly we've watched you in vale and glade;
Say, will you dream of our loving shade?"

Dancing and whirling the little leaves went;
Winter had called them and they were content-
Soon fast asleep in their earthy beds,

The snow laid a soft mantle over their heads.

-George Cooper.

THE LITTLE LEAVES.

"WE

E must go," sighed little Ruby,
Orange, Topaz, Garnet, Gold;
"For the chilly breeze is calling,
And the year is growing old.
Good-bye, quiet, sunny meadow,
That we nevermore shall see;
Good-bye, winding brooks of silver,
Snow lambs and dear old tree
Dear old loving mother tree."

From the branches down they fluttered
Like a rainbow scattered wide;

And the old tree looked so lonely,

That was once the woodland's pride;

But the wind came wildly piping,
And they danced in glee;

Ruby, Topaz, Garnet, Orange,
Soon forgot the poor old tree-
Poor old loving mother tree.

But when skies of drear November
Frowned upon their wild delight,
All the little leaves grew lonely,

And they wandered back one night,
And they nestled in a hollow

At the foot of the old tree, Sighing, "All the long white winter We shall now as quiet be,

Near our dear old mother tree."

'LL tell you how the leaves came down."

"I'LL

The great tree to his children said,

"You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown, Yes, very sleepy, little Red.

It is quite time to go to bed."

"Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf,

"Let us a little longer stay;

Dear Father Tree, behold our grief;

'Tis such a very pleasant day We do not want to go away."

So, for just one more merry day

To the great tree the leaflets clung, Frolicked and danced, and had their way, Upon the autumn breezes swung, Whispering all their sports among,

"Perhaps the great tree will forget,
And let us stay until the spring,
If we all beg, and coax, and fret.”
But the great tree did no such thing;
He smiled to hear their whispering.

"Come, children, all to bed," he cried;
And ere the leaves could urge their prayer,
He shook his head, and far and wide,

Fluttering and rustling everywhere,
Down sped the leaflets through the air.

I saw them; on the ground they lay,
Golden and red, a huddled swarm,
Waiting till one from far away,

White bedclothes heaped upon her arm,
Should come to wrap them safe and warm.

The great bare tree looked down and smiled,
"Good-night, dear little leaves," he said.
And from below each sleepy child

Replied, "Good-night," and murmurèd,
"It is so nice to go to bed!"

-Susan Coolidge.

OCTOBER'S BRIGHT BLUE WEATHER.

UN and skies and clouds of June,

SUN

And flowers of June together,

Ye cannot rival for one hour

October's bright blue weather;

When loud the bumblebee makes haste,

Belated, thriftless vagrant,

And goldenrod is dying fast,

And lanes with grapes are fragrant;

When gentians roll their fingers tight
To save them for the morning,
And chestnuts fall from satin burrs
Without a sound of warning;

When on the ground red apples lie
In piles like jewels shining,
And redder still on old stone walls
Are leaves of woodbine twining;

When all the lovely wayside things
Their white-winged seeds are sowing,
And in the fields, still green and fair,
Late aftermaths are growing;

When springs run low, and on the brooks,
In idle golden freighting,

Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush
Of woods, for winter waiting;

When comrades seek sweet country haunts,
By twos and twos together,

And count like misers, hour by hour,
October's bright blue weather.

O sun and skies and flowers of June,
Count all your boasts together,
Love loveth best of all the year
October's bright blue weather.

- Helen Hunt Jackson.