THE WEATHER-COCK'S COMPLAINT.

O wonder he creaks as the winds go by,

No wonder he turns with a misty sigh; How would you like a living earning

By turning-turning — turning — turning?

Or to stand all your life with a pole for a base
And the winds of all weathers to blow in your face?

"Creak, creak, creak," we hear him say,

"To-morrow will be like yesterday,—

Now to the east, now to the west-
One never has any quiet or rest;

An hour of sunshine, another of rain,
It's nothing but turning and turning again."

"Creak, creak, creak," the tin bird cries,

"In quite a few signs the secret lies;

When the wind's from the west, there's nothing to fear;
When the wind's from the east, a storm is near:

Can't every one tell when the day is clear
Without keeping me turning and twisting here?"

"Creak, creak, creak," the weather-cock growls,
"I think I'm the most ill used of fowls;
I never foretold bad weather yet

But you went in while I got wet;

Say what you may, I don't think it's right
To keep me twisting from morning to night."

- Selected.

THE LEAFLETS.

ANCE, little leaflets, dance,

DAN

'Neath the tender sky of Spring Dance in the golden sun,

To the tune that the robins sing.
Now you are light and young,
Just fit for a baby play;

So dance, little leaflets, dance,
And welcome the merry May.

Sway, little leaflets, sway,
In the ardent sunlight's glow;
Oh, what a sleepy world!

For August has come, you know.
Many a drowsy bird

Is drooping its golden crest,
So sway, little leaves, and rock
The orioles in their nests.

Swing, little leaflets, swing;
The quail pipes in the corn;
Under the harvest sun,
The cardinal flow'r is born.
Russet and gold and red,
Little leaves are gayly dress'd;
Is it holiday time with you

That you have put on your best?

Fall, little leaflets, fall,

Your mission is not sped;

Shrill pipes the Winter wind,

And the happy Summer's dead

Make now a blanket warm,

For the leaves till the Spring-winds call;
You must carpet the waiting earth,

So fall, little leaflets, fall.

And when they can fly In the bright blue sky, They'll warble a song to me; And then if I'm sad

It will make me glad

To think they are happy and free.

-Lydia Maria Child

LITTLE RAIN-DROPS.

H, where do you come from,
You little drops of rain,
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter,
Down the window-pane?
They say I'm very naughty,
But I've nothing else to do,
But sit here at the window;
I should like to play with you.

Tell me, little rain-drops,
Is that the way you play,
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter,
All the rainy day?

The little rain-drops cannot speak,
But "pitter-patter, pat"

Means, "We can play on this side;
Why can't you play on that?"

OH,

RAIN.

"Rain, rain, go away,

Come again another day!"

H, the dancing leaves are merry,
And the bloss'ming grass is glad,
But the river's too rough for the ferry
And the sky is low and sad.

Yet the daisies shake with laughter
As the surly wind goes by,

For they know what is hurrying after,
As they watch the dim, gray sky;

The clovers are rosy with saying-
(The buttercups bend to hear)
"Oh, be patient, it is only delaying-
Be glad, for it's very near."

The blushing pimpernel closes;
It isn't because it grieves -

And down in the garden, the roses

Smile out from their lattice of leaves !

Such gladness has stirred the flowers!
Yet children only complain :

"Oh, what is the use of showers?"
"Oh, why does it ever rain?"

– Margaret Deland.

A

THE LITTLE LAZY CLOUD.

PRETTY little cloud away up in the sky,
Said it did not care if the earth was dry:
'Twas having such a nice time sailing all around,
It wouldn't, no, it wouldn't, tumble on the ground.

So the pretty little lilies hung their aching heads,
And the golden pansies cuddled in their beds;

The cherries couldn't grow a bit, you would have pitied them;

They'd hardly strength to hold to the little slender stem.