LAMBS.

Life with yon lambs, like day, is just begun, Yet nature seems to them a heavenly guide. Does joy approach? they meet the coming tide And sullenness avoid, as now they shun Pale twilight's lingering glooms, and in the sun Couch near their dams, with quiet satisfied; Or gambol, each with his shadow at his side, Varying its shape wherever he may run. As they from turf yet hoar with sleepy dew All turn, and court the shining and the green, Where herbs look up and opening flowers are seen, Why to God's goodness cannot we be true? And so, his gifts and promises between, Feed to the last on pleasures ever new?

WORDSWORTH.

THE HUMBLE-BEE.

Burly, dozing, humble-bee,
Where thou art is clime for me,
Let them sail for Porto Rique,
Far off heats through seas to seek:
I will follow thee alone

Thou animated torrid-zone!
Zig-zag steerer, desert-cheerer,
Let me chase thy waving lines;
Keep me nearer, me thy hearer,
Singing over shrubs and vines.

Insect lover of the sun,
Joy of thy dominion!

Sailor of the atmosphere;

Swimmer through the waves of air;
Voyager of light and noon;

Epicurean of June;

Wait, I prithee, till I come
Within ear-shot of thy hum!-
All without is martyrdom.

Aught unsavory or unclean
Hath my insect never seen;
But violets and bilberry bells,

Maple sap and daffodels,

Grass with green flag half-mast high,

Succory to match the sky,
Columbine with horn of honey,
Scented ferns and agrimony,
Clover, catchfly, adder's tongue,
And brier-roses, dwelt among:
All beside was unknown waste,
All was picture as he passed.

Wiser far than human seer,
Yellow-breeched philosopher!
Seeing only what is fair,
Sipping only what is sweet,

Thou dost mock at Fate and Care,
Leave the chaff and take the wheat,
When the fierce northwestern blast
Cools sea and land so far and fast,
Thou already slumberest deep;
Woe and want thou canst outsleep;
Want and woe which tortures us,
Thy sleep makes ridiculous.

EMERSON.

THE BUMBLE-BEE'S BALL.

'T was on midsummer night that Miss Bumble-Bee Was to hold her annual ball. "Indeed, it will be quite a crush," said she, "And I hope it will pass off successfully, I've invited the insects all."

Old Grandfather Graybeard came nimbly along On his legs so limber and light.

And the Night-Moth cheerfully hummed a song, And hoped the breeze would not blow too strong, As she fluttered her robes of white.

The three Misses Katydid dressed in green,
Came skipping along quite gay,

And a number of Ants in black were seen,
Looking very haughty and cold of mien,
In the midst of the festive array.

The Fire-Flies swung their lamps on high,
As the dance was about to begin,

And a little black Cricket, who looked quite spry,
Hopping up on a stalk of the bending rye,
Began scraping his violin.

The slim-waisted Wasp was admired by all,
As he danced with his cousin, Miss Bee,
And the Butterfly fair was the queen of the ball,
As she floated about through the dancing-hall
In a dress that was lovely to see.

Mr. June-Bug was dancing, quite jolly and gay, With a Beetle all dressed in brown,

And the only mishap was that Grasshopper Gray Chanced to stumble a bit as he made his chassez, And trod on Miss Dragon-Fly's gown.

Mr. Blue-Bottle danced with a Mantis fair,

In a frock of emerald green,

The Field-Mouse looked round with a startled air,
But seeing the guests were beginning to stare,
He led out the Butterfly Queen.

Refreshments were served, quite tastefully, too,
On the fronds of the Lady Fern,
And cup-moss goblets of sparkling dew,
The very best wine that ever you knew,
Were passed to each guest in turn.

The music and dancing began once more,
And the hours sped merrily by,

Till the Wood-Tick announced it was half-past four
By the little invisible timepiece he wore,
And the dawn was streaking the sky.

And away they hastened to bid adieu
To the hostess who smiled on all,

And each guest declared that he never knew
Such a charming time the whole year through
As the merry midsummer ball.

HELEN W. CLARKE.

MEADOW TALK.

A bumble-bee, yellow as gold,
Sat perched on a red-clover top,

When a grasshopper, wiry and old,

Came along with a skip and a hop. "Good-morrow!" cried he, "Mr. Bumble-Bee! You seem to have come to a stop."

"We people that work,"

Said the bee with a jerk, "Find a benefit sometimes in stopping; Only insects like you,

Who have nothing to do,

Can keep up a perpetual hopping."

The grasshopper paused on his way,

And thoughtfully hunched up his knees; "Why trouble this sunshiny day,"

Quoth he, "with reflections like these? I follow the trade for which I was made; We all can't be wise bumble-bees.

"There's a time to be sad,

And a time to be glad;

A time both for working and stopping;
For men to make money,

For you to make honey,

And for me to do nothing but hopping."

St. Nicholas.

THE HONEST OLD TOAD.

Oh, a queer little chap is the honest old toad,
A funny old fellow is he;

Living under the stone by the side of the road, 'Neath the shade of the old willow-tree.