THE SPIRIT OF THE SUNSET. WHEN WHEN the aster wakes in the morning, She sees the sumach burning, And the maples in a blaze, Then: “No, — they still are standing; They're not on fire at all' She softly says, when slowly And then she knows the spirit That deck the dying land, And she wonders if the sumach And the maples understand. GENTIAN. N spring I found the violet Then wild rose swung her censer, The lonely meadow flamed abroad With gorgeous cardinal flower. Selected. Soon goldenrod close followed Now withered leaves and dying sod I start among the grasses What eyes of heaven-blue gleam, Oh! glance of true affection, - Kate L. Brown. MARIGOLDS. AME NATURE years and years ago DAM Sat resting in a wayside bower, And looked into a cottage yard She leaned her head upon her hand, Then rising quickly from her seat Set them beside the cottage door, The dew was on their shining heads Just ruffled by the laughing breeze; The children danced and clapped their hands; And people called them marigolds. - Susan Hartley. THE FLAX FLOWER. H, the little flax flower! It groweth on the hill, And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep, It never standeth still. It groweth, and it groweth fast; One day it is a seed, And then a little grassy blade But then out comes the flax flower And "'Tis a dainty little thing," Ah! 'tis a goodly little thing; He thinketh how those slender stems Are rich for him in web or woof And shortly shall be spun. He thinketh how those tender flowers And sees in thought his next year's crop, Blue shining round his door. Oh, the little flax flower! The mother then says she, 'Go, pull the thyme, the heath, the fern, But let the flax flower be! It groweth for the children's sake, It groweth for our own; There are flowers enough upon the hill, But leave the flax alone! The farmer hath his fields of wheat, We have this little plot of flax, That we have tilled with care." Oh, the goodly flax flower! And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep, It seemeth all astir with life, As if it loved to thrive, As if it had a merry heart Within its stem alive. Then fair befall the flax field, Give strength unto its shining stem, - Mary Howitt. WHAT THE WIND. HAT is the wind, mamma?" "Why can I never see the wind "Because the gases, dear, Of which the air is made, Are quite transparent; that is, we And what are gases, ma?” "Fluids, which, if we squeeze In space too small, will burst with force." "And what are fluids, please?" |