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Little Birdie.

WHAT

HAT does little birdie say,
In her nest at peep

of day? “Let me fly," says little birdie;

"Mother, let me fly away."

“Birdie, rest a little longer,
Till the little wings are stronger."
So she rests a little longer,

Then she flies away.

What does little baby say,
In her bed at peep of day?
Baby says like little birdie,

“Let me rise and fly away."

“Baby, sleep a little longer,
Till the little limbs are stronger;
If she sleeps a little longer,

Baby, too, shall fly away.'

Song of Seven.

JEAN INGELOW.

THI

HERE'S no dew left on the daisies and clover,

There's no rain left in heaven.
I've said my “seven times" over, and over-

Seven times one are seven.

I am old-so old, I can write a letter;

My birthday lessons are done.
The lambs play always—they know no better;

They are only one times one.

O Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing

And shining so round and low. You were bright-ah, bright! but your light is failing:

You are nothing now but a bow.

You Moon, have you done something wrong in heaven

That God has hidden your face?
I hope if you have you will soon be forgiven,

And shine again in your place.

O velvet Bee! you're a dusty fellow

You've powdered your legs with gold.
O brave marsh marybuds, rich and yellow,

Give me your money to hold!

O Columbine! open your folded wrapper,

Where two twin turtle doves dwell!
O cuckoo-pint! toll me the purple clapper

That hangs in your clear green bell!

And show me your nest with the young ones in it

I will not steal them away:
I am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet!

I am seven times one to-day.

The Story of the Pine-Tree.*

ANNIE H. RYDER.

Do

O you know why the Pine is so sad a tree? Let me

tell you her story. No; she will sing it herself if you will listen to the night-song. "Long, long ago I had my home on the island of an ocean, and my branches swayed and sang to the waves that kissed my feet with the fondness of a betrothed lover. The winds were jealous of our happiness, and blew away from me the germs of life. My seeds sprang up again, but on foreign soil; and the new trees, my offspring, are the same in color and form, but their souls are all sad from their memories of departed joy."

When the slightest breeze comes near, and ventures to softly touch the branches, a sound like sobbing follows; but when, with rougher grasp, the east wind approaches, a wailing like the sound of a storm-tossed sea is heard. Listen! Do you hear it now? It is the imprisoned spirit of the Pine, longing for the waves. How am I sure the tree is alive and friendly? Doesn't it bow to you when you pass, and curve and sweep before you? Doesn't it offer you rest and refreshment in its shade? Doesn't it entertain you by showing you beautiful pictures and forms, and doesn't it furnish you with music?

See what a teacher it is! Up there among the trees * From Fairy Land of Flowers, by permission of Educational Publishing Co.

are many lessons. Its trunks and limbs look honest and courageous, firm and strong, while all its lofty, tapering height points Godward. It is your confidant; and the more you tell it, the more you will find to say.

While it is very modest and retiring, requiring time to get acquainted with you, still, the more it talks to you, the more you will want to hear.

The pine is your schoolmaster, and you are the royal pupil,-Roger Ascham and Queen Elizabeth. It is no longer an ordinary tree, but something born with a spirit in it; and it has birthdays. Thoreau, the man who loved Nature so much that the birds and the fishes took care of him and were never afraid of their master, used to visit certain trees on certain days in the year. The Pine has a birthday worth celebrating in December, the Maple in October, and the Birch in May.

You think this is all fancy, and believe persons must be very imaginative to find such friends in Nature? Oh, no; along with fancy Nature tucks very real things into our thoughts about her. You only need an introduction to her, and you will see for yourselves. The most practical among you will find that even fancy is a most useful quality, because it leads men to think out great truths.

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