And watch them glow and glisten, -
How they burn and glow!
O for the burning lilies,
The tender Eastern lilies,
The gorgeous tiger-lilies,
That in our garden grow!

THE

THE TOADSTOOL.

HERE'S a thing that grows by the fainting
flower,

And springs in the shade of the lady's bower;
The lily shrinks, and the rose turns pale,
When they feel its breath in the summer gale,
And the tulip curls its leaves in pride,
And the blue-eyed violet starts aside;
But the lily may flaunt, and the tulip stare,
For what does the honest toadstool care?

She does not glow in a painted vest,

And she never blooms on the maiden's breast;
But she comes, as the saintly sisters do,

In a modest suit of a Quaker hue.

And, when the stars in the evening iLes
Are weeping dew from their gentle eyes.
The toad comes out from his hermit cell.
The tale of his faithful love to tell

O there is light in her lover's glance,
That flies to her heart ke a silver lance:
His breeches are made of spotted skin,
His jacket is tight, and his pumps are thin;
In a cloudless night you may hear his song,
As its pensive melody floats along,

And, if you will look by the moonlight fair,
The trembling form of the toad is there.

And he twines his arms round her slender stem,
In the shade of her velvet diadem ;
But she turns away in her maiden shame,
And will not breathe on the kindling flame;
He sings at her feet through the livelong night,
And creeps to his cave at the break of light;
And whenever he comes to the air above,
His throat is swelling with baffled love.

- Oliver Wendell Holmes.

DIE HERZ BLUME.

THE

HERE grew a little flower once,
That blossomed in a day,

And some said it would ever bloom,
And some 'twould fade away;
And some said it was Happiness,
And some said it was Spring,

And some said it was Grief and Tears,
And many such a thing;

But still the little flower bloom'd,

And still it lived and throve,

And men do it call "Summer Growth,"

But angels call it "Love!"

The thistles show beyond the brook
Dust on their down and bloom,

And out of many a weed-grown nook
The aster flowers look

With eyes of tender gloom.

The silent orchard aisles are sweet

With smell of ripening fruit.

Through the sere grass, in shy retreat

Flutter, at coming feet,

The robins strange and mute.

There is no wind to stir the leaves,

The harsh leaves overhead;

Only the querulous cricket grieves,
And shrilling locust weaves

A song of summer dead.

THE BUTTERFLY'S REVENGE.

AN ugly caterpillar once uplooking

To a humming-bird, in gorgeous colors gleaming, Thus said to him, her furry throat upcrooking:

Despise me not though painful now my seeming In shape and guise and movement of each feature, And thou art such a bright, celestial creature."

The rainbow birdling scorned to make replying,
And gave the wretched insect's love its dooming ;
In grief and birth the poor grub writhed as dying,
And soon a butterfly, in splendors blooming,
Uprose from out the slough the proud one hated,
In dazzling hues, with wings of wonder mated.

The humming-bird, unconscious of this changing,
Above a bush of roses red was hovering,

When lo! appeared our gay one in her ranging.
The hummer, smit with love, himself recovering,
Began to sigh a sweet and melting ditty,
And pleaded first for love, and then for pity.

The butterfly said: "Vain thy suit and urging;
For I remember well, though thou forgettest,
That when from lowliness I was emerging,

Thou spurnedst her on whom now thy heart thou settest.
By thee, when low and homely, I was scornèd;

Now thee I scorn, with magic charms adornèd.”

- Oriental Poetry, arranged by William Rounceville Alger.

TH

HIDDEN SWEETS.

HE honey-bee that wanders all day long
The field, the woodland, and the gar
den o'er,

To gather in his fragrant winter store,
Humming in calm content his quiet song,
Seeks not alone the rose's glowing breast,
The lily's dainty cup, the violet's lips,
But from all rank and noxious weeds he sips
The single drop of sweetness closely pressed
Within the poison chalice. Thus if we
Seek only to draw forth the hidden sweet
In all the varied human flowers we meet,

In the wide garden of humanity,

And, like the bee, if home the spoil we bear, Hived in our hearts it turns to nectar there.

S%

THE BEES.

work the honey bees;

Creatures that by a rule in nature teach The art of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king, and offices of sorts; Where some, like magistrates, correct at home;

Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad; Others, like soldiers, armèd in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds,