to märk sō light and frail a thing sailing in safety and alōne through space. Fain would it have gone down to the twin seed that appear'd to float sō gracefully beneath, but when it heard the joyous twittering of the swallowṣ overhead it bade farewell to the sunny lake, and, rīṣing higher, flew fär into the fields again, and past many a rose-cover'd cottage-pōrch and gailyplanted gärden.

In one of these the Seed saw a well-grown youth, with ruddy cheek and trustful eye, leaving his quiet hōme for the first time; his mother gave him his bundle, and laying her hand tenderly upon his head, bade him "Farewell, and God bless him!" while his little sister clung to him, and cried, "Do not leave us! Who will take care of you in the wide, wide world? Stay with us at home, brother." Then tears came into the boy's eỹeṣ, but hē gently disengaged himself, and waving his hand went on his way.

Next it past a group (pr. groop) of boys with a new-caught squirrel in a cage, going round and round continually, and the boys hung little bells to the wheel, and their little sister stuck cabbage rōṣes and hollyhocks between the bärs. The boys were very proud of the squirrel, and the wheel, and the bells, and

they said that he liked the wheel and the bells, "And the flowers," said the little girl. But the squirrel was sulky and angry if they tried to touch him. Truly the poor squirrel was not happy, but still he went round and round with the gingling bells while the Thistle-seed flew by, and over the tops of high trees in the wood where the squirrel had left his māte and his helpless young ones, and all his joy and his freedom behind.

Now the Seed rōṣe with the evening breeze ōver a green mountain; the hill-sheep cropt the short heath among the rocks, and the sweet grass of the mountain pasture; and in a qüïët spot, shelter'd and lonely, there sat One that mōurn'd by a grass-cover'd grave. There was nō stōne to tell who it was that lay there, only the piled turf and the silent, steadfast mõurner ; the mountain lambṣ came fearlessly around, for the watcher was there daily and took nō heed of them.

And then the sun went down. The harebells on the hill-side slept, shelter'd in tents of green fern; the lambs coucht on the heather, and the flowers on the grave-hill slept. The Thistle-seed, on weary wings, descended the mountain-sīde in the dim twilight, and now cold bats flitter'd through the night air and the

owls came out of secret haunts on heavy, noiseless wings, hooting a wild "Good night," and the Thistle-seed at last sank down slowly to rest among the dewy grass.-From "Twilight Thoughts."

THE PROFITLESS GUESTS.

A Färm-ÿärd Cock once spoke to his hen thus, "It is now the time when nuts are ripe, let us go to the hills and eat all we can befōre the Squirrels carry them away." Yes," said the Hen, "let us gō and enjoy ourselves." Sō off they went, and as the day was bright they stay'd till evening. Now, whether they had eaten too much or whether they had become proud, I don't know, but the Hen would not gō hōme on foot, and the Cock must needs build her a carriage out of the nutshells. When it was ready the Hen got inside, and said to the Cock "Now, you can harness yourself to it." “Nō, thank you," said he, "I would räther wâlk hōme ṭhan härness my own self; nay, nay, we did not agree to that; I would willingly be Coachman and sit on the box, but draw it mỹself I never will."

While they were contending a Duck câll'd out härd by, "Ah, yoü noisy fōlk, whoever

äskt you to gather nuts on my nut-hill?" and she rusht up with outstretcht beak and flew at the Cock, but he was not idle, he attackt the Duck right valiantly and wounded (pr. woonded) her sō badly with his spur that she begg'd for mercy, and willingly undertook to draw the carriage home for him.

Then the Cock percht himself upon the box aş coachman, and off they started at a great räte. On the way they overtook two wâlkers, a Pin and a Needle, who câll'd out "stop," and said it had become too därk to stitch; they could not go another step and the road was very dirty, might they get in for a little way? Now these two had stopt at the door of the Tailor's house to drink beer, and that was how they had been delay'd; but the Cock seeing they were thin people who would not take up much room, let them both get in, first making them promise not to stand on his toes or the hen's. So they went on again, and some time later came to an inn; and because the Duck had hurt her foot and could not travel further they stopt there. Well, at first the landlord made many objections: his house was füll, and he thought mōreōver they were nobody of any conseqüence; but at last after they had âll made fine speeches, and offer'd him the egg the Hen had laid and

the egg the Duck was to lay, he let them remain. Sō, when they had refresht themselves, they held a great revel and quackt and cackled and crow'd till late; but early next morning, when it was still därk and everybody else was asleep the Cock a-wōke the Hen and qüïëtly fetching the egg, brōke it and the two ate it up together, throwing the empty shell among the ashes. Then they went to the Needle who was fast asleep, and taking him by the head without waking him, they stuck him up in the cushion of the landlord's chair, whilst the Pin they put into the middle of the kitchen tow-el. This done they flew off over the fieldṣ and a-way. The Duck, who was sleeping in the open air in the ÿärd, heard them fly past, and, getting up quickly, waddled to a pond close by ōver which she swam faster than she had dragged the carriage. Two hours later the Landlord arōṣe from his bed and having washt, took up the tow-el in which the Pin was still taking his rest to dry himself; but in passing across his face, the Pin, suddenly trying to get upon its feet, scratcht him from ear to ear! Sō he went to light his pipe for comfort; but in stirring the ashes the heated egg shells sprang up into his eyes! "Things are all going wrong with mē this morning!" said he, sitting down hastily