Tell me, my child, if the squirrels have taught Which of the two would you be, little one? -Selected. 66 "Ο PLANT SONG. WHERE do you come from, berries red, Nuts, apples and plums, that hang ripe overhead, Sweet, juicy grapes, with your rich purple hue, Saying, ‘Pick us, and eat us; we're growing for you?' 66 "O where do you come from, bright flowers and fair, "Our roots are our mouths, taking food from the ground, "Your hearts are the soil, your thoughts are the seeds; -Nellie M. Brown. HITHER, MEADOW GOSSIP, TELL ME! (TO A BEE.) [ITHER, meadow gossip, tell me, HITHE Will you never pause to rest? From the gray of dawn I've watched you, Long and vainly have I listened Buttercups and dandelions Show you yellow heaps of gold, And lest any of your items Through the day should be forgot, I believe you always write them On the dim forget-me-not. If I trust you with a secret Far more precious, little bee, Gentle tattler, I must love you, -H. Prescott Beach - New England Magazine. MAUDE AND THE CRICKET. OOD-NIGHT, dear Maudie," I softly said, "GOO And tucked her in her little bed. "Good-night, mamma," she said to me, "I am just as sleepy as I can be.” But scarcely closed was the chamber door, When her eager voice called out once more: Mamma," she said, "what is it I hear That strange little noise, so sharp and queer?" I listened, then told her all was still, Save a merry cricket piping shrill; "He is hidden in the closet here, To sing you to sleep, my Maudie dear." Then Maudie sat up in her night-dress white, Now, dear mamma, please move my bed Close up to the closet door," she said. "Poor little fellow! He wants to speak. And all he can say is 'Creak, creak, creak!' I wish to tell him I hear his song, And ask him to sing it all night long." "I'll leave the door open," I said, " part way, When soon again I crept up the stair, When "sleepy time" came for Maude next night, He was not to be seen in any place, So Maude lay down with a mournful face; Then Maudie screamed with surprised delight; And mean a great deal by their “Creak, creak, creak!” L' THE CRICKET. ITTLE inmate, full of mirth, Chirping on my kitchen hearth, Neither night nor dawn of day Lives not, aged though he be, Half a span, compared with thee. G THE FROG'S GOOD-BYE. OOD-BYE, little children, I'm going away, I sleep very quietly all winter through, |