And when the arrows of sunset Therefore, of all the pictures Seemeth the best of all. Alice Cary. THE FIRST SNOW-FALL. THE snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, From sheds new-roofed with Carrara* * A variety of marble very pure and white. I stood and watched by the window I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn,* How the flakes were folding it gently, As did robins the babes in the wood. Up spoke our own little Mabel, * Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?" And I told of the good All Father Who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snow-fall, I remembered the gradual patience * A cemetery near Boston. Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her; And she, kissing back, could not know That my kiss was given to her sister, Folded close under deepening snow. James Russell Lowell. THE CHICKEN'S MISTAKE. A LITTLE downy chick one day Where she saw a duck with her brood at play Indeed she began to peep and cry When her mother wouldn't let her, "If the ducks can swim there, why can't I? Are they any bigger or better ?" Then the old hen answered, "Listen to me, Just look at your feet, and you will see But chicky wistfully eyed the brook, For she seemed to say, by a knowing look, And as her mother was scratching the ground, She muttered lower and lower, 66 "I know I can go there and not be drowned, And so I think I'll show her." Then she made a plunge where the stream was deep And saw too late her blunder; For she had hardly time to peep, And now I hope her fate will show That those who are older sometimes know So each content in his place should dwell, And envy not his brother; For any part that is acted well For we all have our proper spheres below, Phoebe Cary. LETTING THE OLD CAT DIE. Not long ago I wandered near A playground in the wood; And there heard words from a youngster's lips, That I never quite understood. "Now let the old cat die !" he laughed; I saw him give a push, Then gaily scamper away as he spied A face peep over the bush. But what he pushed, or where he went, I could not well make out, On account of the thicket of bending boughs That bordered the place about. "The little villain has stoned a cat, Or hung it upon a limb, And left it to die all alone," I said, "But I'll play the mischief with him.” I forced my way through the bending boughs, And what did I find but a swinging child, Her bright hair floated to and fro, But the loveliest thing of all, I thought, |