THE SPIRIT OF THE SUNSET.

WHEN

WHEN the aster wakes in the morning,
In these sweet autumn days,

She sees the sumach burning,

And the maples in a blaze,
And she rubs her eyes, bewildered,
All in the golden haze.

Then: “No, — they still are standing;

They're not on fire at all'

She softly says, when slowly
She sees some crimson fall,
And yellow flakes come floating
Down from the oaks so tall.

And then she knows the spirit
Of the sunset must have planned
The myriad bright surprises

That deck the dying land,

And she wonders if the sumach

And the maples understand.

GENTIAN.

N spring I found the violet
And rosy Mayflowers sweet;
And next, white-fingered daisy
Was courtesying at my feet;

Then wild rose swung her censer,
And, in a secret hour,

The lonely meadow flamed abroad

With gorgeous cardinal flower.

Selected.

Soon goldenrod close followed
And aster's gentle eye;

Now withered leaves and dying sod
Beneath a somber sky.

I start

among the grasses

What eyes of heaven-blue gleam,
All darkly fringed with lashes
Beside the quiet stream?

Oh! glance of true affection,
The gentian still is here;
The promise set 'mid fading,
The darling of the year.

- Kate L. Brown.

MARIGOLDS.

AME NATURE years and years ago

DAM

Sat resting in a wayside bower,

And looked into a cottage yard
Without the grace of one wee flower,
To thank for light the sweet blue skies,
And bless the children's longing eyes.

She leaned her head upon her hand,
And took her glasses off to think;
"Sunshine there is to spare," she said,
"And dew enough for all to drink,
If there were many blossoms more
To grow upon the earth's green floor."

Then rising quickly from her seat
She plucked beneath the cottage eaves
The sunbeams that were wasted there,
And bound them into tiny sheaves,
Tied them with dainty bands of green,
And then, on tall stems scarcely seen,

Set them beside the cottage door,
Beneath the wall, and by the gate,
And when the morning came that way
It found them all in golden state:
Gay blossoms lifted toward the sky,
And nodding to a butterfly.

The dew was on their shining heads

Just ruffled by the laughing breeze;

The children danced and clapped their hands;
Out from the corn-flowers flew the bees;
All summer breathed in their rich folds,

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
Scarce better than a weed.

But then out comes the flax flower
As blue as is the sky;

And "'Tis a dainty little thing,"
We say as we go by.

Ah! 'tis a goodly little thing;
It groweth for the poor,
And many a peasant blesseth it
Beside his cottage door.

He thinketh how those slender stems
That shimmer in the sun,

Are rich for him in web or woof

And shortly shall be spun.

He thinketh how those tender flowers
Of seed will yield him store,

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,
Much cometh to his share;

We have this little plot of flax,

That we have tilled with care."

Oh, the goodly flax flower!
It groweth on the hill,

And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep,
It never standeth still;

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,
And may the kindly shower

Give strength unto its shining stem,
Give seed unto its flower!

- Mary Howitt.

WHAT

THE WIND.

HAT is the wind, mamma?"
'Tis air in motion, child."

"Why can I never see the wind
That blows so fierce and wild?"

"Because the gases, dear,

Of which the air is made,

Are quite transparent; that is, we
See through, but see no shade."

And what are gases, ma?”

"Fluids, which, if we squeeze

In space too small, will burst with force."

"And what are fluids, please?"