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SNOW FLAKES.

M. M. D. Whenever a snowflake leaves the sky, It turns and turns to say "Good-bye!" “Good-bye, dear cloud, so cool and gray 1" Then lightly travels on its way.

And when a snowflake finds a tree,
“Good-day!" it says—"Good-day to thee !"
Thou art so bare and lonely, dear,
I'll rest and call my comrades here.

But when a snowflake, brave and meek,
Lights on a rosy maiden's cheek,
It starts"How warm and soft the day!"
" 'Tis summer!”-and it melts away.

IN THE OLD OHUROH TOWER

T. B. ALDRICH.

In the old church tower

Hangs the bell;
And above it, on the vane,
In the sunshine and the rain,
Cut in gold, Saint Peter stands,
With the key in his two hands,

And all is well.

In the old church tower

Hangs the bell;
You can hear its great heart beat,
Ah, so loud and wild and sweet!
As the parson says a prayer
Over the happy lovers there,

While all is well.

In the old church tower

Hangs the bell,
Deep and solemn. Hark! again;
Ah! what passion and what pain!
With her hands upon her breast,
Some poor soul has gone to rest

Where all is well.

In the old church tower

Hangs the bell,
A quaint friend that seems to know
All our joy and all our woe;
It is glad when we are wed,
It is sad when we are dead,

And all is well!

THE BUMBLEBEES' PARTY.

H. G. W.
I heard a great secret the other day,
And what it was I here will say:
Down in the valley, under the hill,
Where the hawthorn grows, and the little rill
Hurries along to meet the brook,
Into a bumblebees' nest I'll look.

The bee-queen sits on her dainty throne,
Now and then calling to some lazy drone;
While out in the pantry the little bee-cook
First kneads up lier honey, then looks at her book
To see how many dew-drops for this loaf of cake,
And how many eggs for the next one 'twill take.

And what do you think this was all about?
Some very great event, no doubt;
For there was the sparkling dew-drop wine,
And grasshopper-molasses, all so fine;

And by the light of the silver moon
The bees are to give a party soon.

So, ere the light began to dawn,
Or chanticleer sounded forth his horn,
Each little bee was up early and bright
To secure her friends for the festive night;
And after they'd sent all the messages out
Not a bee or a drone was seen stirring about.

At last, when tle moon began to peep,
From over the hills where the rabbits sleep,
Each bee was arrayed in her pretty brown silk,
And the finest of handkerchiefs, white as milk;
The guests, too, came out of their pretty nest,
Also attired in their very best.

First came the butterflies, all so bright,
Arrayed in their beautiful robes of light;
And right behind, in a stately train,
The flies and daddy-long-legs came.
And all the guests arrived at last,
Before the hour of seven was past. .

The tables were set by the hawthorn-tree,
And everything looked as nice as could be;
But all of a sudden there rose on the air
A tiny wail of intense despair,
And all because some naughty bee
Had spilt the wine of the hawthorn-tree.

They then went to supper and had a nice time,
Although they so missed the dew-drop wine.
Then daddy-long-legs proposed a dance
And over the greensward they all did prance,
Till the butterfly trod on the queen-bee's toe,
And into the live they must carry her, O!

The little bee fainted, but rallied quite soon,
And bade them put all the fiddles in tune.
They danced till the light began to dawn,
At four o'clock in the dewy morn;
Then started for home, to get one hour's sleep
Before the sun began to peep.
So this is the end of their night of gloe
In the moonbeams bright, by the lawthorn-tree;
The hawthorn is there, and the little rill
Runs in the same way over the hill;
And the wind as it sighs thro' the branches bare
Tells what a wonderful dance was there.

GOLD-LOOKS' DREAM.
One sunny day, in the early spring,
Before a bluebird dared to sing,
Cloakod and furred as in winter weather-
Soal-brown hat and cardinal feather-
Forth with a piping song,

Went Gold-Locks "after flowers.
Tired of waiting so long,"

Said this little girl of ours.

She searched the bare-brown meadows over,
And found not even a leaf of clover;
Nor where the sod was chill and wet
Could she spy one tint of violet;
But where the brooklet ran

A noisy swollen billow,
She picked in her little hand

A branch of pussie-willow.
She shouted out, in a happy way,
At the catkins' fur, so soft and gray;
She smoothed them down with loving pats,
And called them her little pussie.cats.

She played at scratch and bite;

She played at feeding cream;
And when she went to bed that night,

Gold-Locks dreamed a dream.
Curled in a little cosy heap,
Under the bed clothes, fast asleep,
She heard although she scarce knew how,
A score of voices, “M-0-0-w! Meow!"
And right before her bed,

Upon a branching tree,
Were kittens, and kittens, and kittens,

As thick as they could be.
Maltese, yellow, and black as ink;
White, with both ears lined with pink;
Striped, like a royal tiger's skin ;
Yet, all were hollow-eyed and thin ;
And each one wailed aloud,

Once, and twice, and thrice ;
“ We are the willow pussies;

Oh, where are the willow-mice ?" Meanwhile, outside, through branch and bough, The March wind wailed, “Meow! M-e-o-w!" 'Twas dark, and yet Gold-Locks awoke, And softly to her mother spoke: "If they were fed, Mamma,

It would be very nice;
But I hope the willow-pussies

Won't find the willow-mice!"

THE TRENOHES.

GEORGE COOPER.
A sluggish mist hangs o'er the swamp,

The woods are black along the hill;
Now dimmer grows the firefly's lamp,

Tho'midnight air is chill.

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