Yet there it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;

And there diffused its sweet perfume
Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go,
This pretty flower to see,

That I may also learn to grow

In sweet humility.

-Jane Taylor.

THE

OUR GARDEN.

HE winter is gone, and at first Jack and I were sad, Because of the snow-man's melting, but now we are glad;

For the spring has come, and it's warm, and we're allowed to garden in the afternoon;

And summer is coming, and oh, how lovely our flowers. will be in June!

We are so fond of flowers, it makes us quite happy to think

Of our beds - all colors - blue, white, yellow, purple, and pink,

Scarlet, lilac, and crimson! And we're fond of sweet scents as well,

And mean to have pinks, roses, sweet peas, mignonette, clove carnations, and everything good to smell.

On Monday we went to the wood and got primrose plants and a sucker of dog-rose;

It looks like a green stick in the midst of the bed at

present, but wait till it blows!

The primroses were in full flower, and the rose ought to flower soon;

You've no idea how lovely it is in that wood in June!

The primroses look quite withered now I am sorry to

say;

But that's not our fault, but nurse's, and it shows how hard it is to garden when you can't have your own way. We planted them carefully and were just going to water them all in a lump,

When nurse fetched us both indoors, and put us to bed for wetting our pinafores at the pump.

We're going to take everything up,- for it can't hurt the plants to stand on the grass for a minute.

And you really can't make a bed smooth with so many things in it.

We shall dig it all over, and get leaf-mold from the wood, and hoe up the weeds;

And when it's tidy, we shall plant and put labels and strike cuttings and sow seeds.

We are so fond of flowers! Jack and I often dream at night

Of getting up and finding our garden ablaze with all colors, -blue, red, yellow, and white;

And midsummer's coming, and our big brother Tom will sit under the tree

With his book, and Mary will beg sweet nosegays of me.

It's so tiresome! Jack wants to build a greenhouse now. He has found some bits of broken glass and an old window frame, and he says he knows how.

I tell him there's not glass enough, but he says there's lots. And he's taken ail the plants that belong to the bed and put them into pots.

— Juliana Horatia Ewing.

SEVEN TIMES FOUR.

EIGH HO! daisies and buttercups,

H Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall!

When the wind wakes how they rock in the grasses, And dance with the cuckoo-buds slender and small! Here's two bonny boys, and here's mother's own lasses, Eager to gather them all.

Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups!

Mother shall thread them a daisy chain; Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow,

That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain; Sing, "Heart, thou art wide though the house be but narrow"

Sing once, and sing it again.

Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups,

Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow; A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters,

And haply one musing doth stand at her prow. O bonny brown sons, and O sweet little daughters, Maybe he thinks on you now!

Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups,

Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall

A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure,

And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall! Send down on their pleasure smiles passing its measure, God that is over us all!

-Jean Ingelow.

FIEL

FIELD FLOWERS.

IELD flowers, sweet field flowers,
Fairies of the spring,

Only those who love them

Know the joy they bring.
Love can but discover

With their beauty, worth,
Jeweling all over

All the bright green earth.
Field flowers, sweet field flowers,
Fairies of the spring,

Only those who love them,

Know the joy they bring.

Field flowers, sweet field flowers,
Everywhere they come,

Whereso'er, unseeking,

You may chance to roam.
With their smiles to meet us

On each path of ours,

All unsought to greet us,

Come the sweet field flowers.

Field flowers, sweet field flowers,
Fairies of the spring,

Only those who love them,

Know the joy they bring.

- Selected.

A

ALMOST TIME.

LMOST time for the pretty white daisies

Out of their sleep to awaken at last,
And over the meadows, with grasses and clover,
To bud and to blossom, and grow so fast;
Almost time for the buttercups yellow,

The ferns and the flowers, the roses and all,
To waken from slumber, and merrily listen

To gladden our hearts at the spring's first call.

Almost time for the skies to grow bluer,

And breezes to soften, and days to grow long;
For eyes to grow brighter, and hearts to grow gladder
And earth to rejoice in her jubilant song;

Almost time for the sweetest of seasons
Nearer it comes with each new-born day,

And soon the smile of the beautiful springtime
Winter's cold shadow will chase away.

-- Selected.