O YE, who so lately were blithesome* and gay,
At the butterfly's banquet carousing away;
Your feasts and your revels of pleasure are fled,
For the chief of the banquet, the Butterfly, 's dead!

No longer the flies and the emmets advance

To join with their friends in the grasshopper's dance;
For see his fine form o'er the favorite bend,

And the grasshopper mourns for the loss of his friend.

And hark to the funeral dirge of the bee,
And the beetle who follows as solemn as he!

And see, where so mournful the green rushes wave,
The mole is preparing the butterfly's grave.

The dormouse attended, but cold and forlorn,
And the gnat slowly winded his shrill little horn;
And the moth, being grieved at the loss of a sister,
Bent over her body and silently kissed her.

The corpse was embalmed † at the set of the sun,
And enclosed in a case which the silkworm had spun:
By the help of the hornet the coffin was laid
On a bier out of myrtle and jessamine made.

In weepers and scarfs § came the butterflies all,
And six of their number supported the pall; ||
And the spider came there in his mourning so black,
But the fire of the glowworm soon frightened him back.

*Blithesome, happy, merry.

+ Embalmed, prepared with drugs and spices so as to prevent decay. Bier, a sort of carriage on which the dead are carried.

§ Weepers and scarfs, parts of dress, made of black crape, and sometimes worn at funerals.

|| Pall, a black cloth thrown over a coffin.

The grub left his nutshell to join the sad throng,
And slowly led with him the book worm along,
Who wept his poor neighbor's unfortunate doom,
And wrote these few lines to be placed on his tomb:

EPITAPH.

At this solemn spot, where the green rushes wave,
In sadness we bent o'er the butterfly's grave;

'Twas here the last tribute to beauty we paid,
As we wept o'er the mound where her ashes are laid.

And here shall the daisy and violet blow,
And the lily discover her bosom of snow;

While under the leaf, in the evenings of spring.
Still mourning his friend, shall the grasshopper sing.

XXXIII. THE VOICE OF SPRING.

MARY HOWITT.

I AM coming, little maiden,

With the pleasant sunshine laden;

With the honey for the bee;

With the blossom for the tree;

With the flower and with the leaf;

Till I come the time is brief.

I am coming, I am coming!
Hark, the little bee is humming;
See, the lark is soaring high
In the bright and sunny sky,
And the gnats are on the wing;
Little maiden, now is Spring!

XXXIV. - GEORGE AND HIS LITTLE SISTER.

A LITTLE boy asked his mother to let him lead his little sister out on the green grass. She had just begun to run alone, and could not step over any thing that lay in the way. His mother told him he might lead out the little girl, but charged him not to let her fall. I found them at play very happy in the field.

I said, "You seem very happy, George. Is this your sister?"

"Yes, sir."

*Catkin, a sort of imperfect flower, hanging from trees like ropes, or cats' tails.

"Can she walk alone?"

"Yes, sir, on smooth ground."

"And how did she get over these stones which lie between us and the house?"

"O, sir, mother charged me to be careful that she did not fall, and so I put my hands under her arms, and lifted her up when she came to a stone, so that she need not hit her little foot against it."

"That is right, George; and I want to tell you one thing. You see now how to understand that beautiful text, 'He shall give his angels charge concerning thee, lest at any time thou dash thy foot against a stone.'* God charges his angels to lead and lift good people over difficulties, just as you have lifted little Anna over these stones. Do you understand it now?" "O, yes, sir; and I shall never forget it while I live."

XXXV.-TO A CHILD TIRED OF PLAY.

WILLIS.

TIRED of play! tired of play!

What hast thou done this livelong day?

The birds are silent, and so is the bee;

The sun is creeping up temple and tree;
The doves have flown to the sheltering eaves,

And the nests are dark with the drooping leaves;

Twilight gathers, and day is done

How hast thou spent it - restless one?

66

"Playing?" But what hast thou done beside,
To tell thy mother at eventide?

What promise of morn is left unbroken?
What kind word to thy playmate spoken?
Whom hast thou pitied, and whom forgiven?
How with thy faults has duty striven?

* Matt. iv. 6.

What hast thou learned by field and hill?
By greenwood path and singing rill!

Well for thee if thou couldst tell
A tale like this of a day spent well.
If thy kind hand has aided distress
And thou pity hast felt for wretchedness
If thou hast forgiven a brother's offence,
And grieved for thine own with penitence-
If every creature has won thy love,

From the creeping worm to the brooding dove –
Then with joy and peace on the bed of rest
Thou wilt sleep as on thy mother's breast.

XXXVI. —THE CITY GIRL IN THE COUNTRY.

MRS. CHILD.

LITTLE Emma lived in New York. She had an uncle in the country, who was a farmer. Emma loved nothing better than a run in the fields, where in two minutes she could fill her apron full of buttercups and clover blossoms.

In the early spring time, she watched to see when the grass on the Battery began to look green; and the very first dandelion she saw, she ran to her mother, and said, "The sunshine has come now, mother. When shall we go into the country to see uncle?"

In August she had her wish. As they rode along, she saw the trees loaded with fruit, and the gardens full of flowers. She was so impatient to run in the fields, that she could hardly be contented to sit still in the chaise. At last, they arrived at her uncle's farm; and every body was glad to see little Emma and her mother.

The little city girl could hardly stop to take her bonnet off, she was in such a hurry to run to the barn, with her cousins, to see the cows, and the calves, and the sheep, and the hens,