"Now she has that," said the brownies, "Let flax be ever so dear,

Will buy her clothes of the very best,
For many and many a year!"
"And go now," said the grandmother,
"Since falling is the dew,
Go down unto the lonesome glen,
And milk the mother ewe."

All down into the lonesome glen,
Through copses thick and wild,

Through moist, rank grass, by twinkling streams,
Went on the willing child.

And when she came to the lonesome glen,

She kept beside the burn,

And neither plucked the strawberry-flower,
Nor broke the lady-fern.

And whilst she milked the mother ewe

Within this lonesome glen,

She wished that little Amy

Were strong and well again.

And soon as she had thought this thought,
She heard a coming sound,

As if a thousand fairy-folk
Were gathering all around.

And then she heard a little voice,
Shrill as a midge's wing,

That spake aloud, "A human child
Is here; yet mark this thing,--

"The lady-fern is all unbroke,

The strawberry-flower unta'en! What shall be done for her who still From mischief can refrain ?"

"Give her a fairy cake!" said one;

"Grant her a wish!" said three ;

"The latest wish that she has wished," Said all, "whate'er it be !"

Kind Mabel heard the words they spoke,
And from the lonesome glen
Unto the good old grandmother
Went gladly back again.

Thus happened it to Mabel
On that Midsummer-day,
And these three fairy blessings
She took with her away.

Tis good to make all duty sweet,

To be alert and kind;

'Tis good, like little Mabel,

To have a willing mind.

Mary Howitt.

THE GATHERED FLOWER.

THE summer comes to grove and dell,
And many are the wayside flowers;
But most I love the pimpernel,

That sparkles through the sunny hours.

We found it in the old green lane,
One day, my little boy and I;
The summer bee was on the plain;
The summer lark sang in the sky.

But feeble was his step and slow,
His little hand too soft, too white;
And visions of a coming woe

Crept o'er my troubled sleep that night.

The sun it sank; the sun it rose;

Still drooped my boy, still lived his flower; He laughed with joy to see it close

Its petals at the evening hour.

"Mother, when I am well again,"

He sweetly answered to my kiss, "I'll fetch you from our old green lane Another little flower like this!"

Next day my heart was strangely moved,
How calm he slept, my baby fair!
I took the little flow'r he loved,
And twined it in his golden hair.

How calm he sleeps at twilight hour!
No pain can hurt my darling now.
His little friend, the folded flow'r,
Is sleeping on his dead-white brow!

Oh, sunless are the summer days!
Slow pass the melancholy hours.
We sing not now his little lays;
We gather not his wayside flowers!

The cuckoo now no music makes;
I pass the primrose coldly by;
In silent hours my spirit takes
Long yearning looks into the sky!

God sent a little messenger

To win my heart from earth to heaven;

I bless Him for the joys that were
And for the gall-draught wisely given!

H. Johnston.

THE LARK AND THE ROOK. "Good night, Sir Rook," said a little Lark, "The daylight fades, it will soon be dark; I've bathed my wings in the sun's last ray, I've sung my hymn to the dying day; So now I haste to my quiet nook

In yon dewy meadow; good night, Sir Rook."

"Good night, poor Lark," said his titled friend, With a haughty toss, and a distant bend;

"I also go to my rest profound,

But not to sleep on the cold damp ground;
The fittest place for a bird like me

Is the topmost bough of yon tall pine-tree.

"I opened my eyes at peep of day,

And saw you taking your upward way,
Dreaming your fond romantic dreams,
An ugly speck in the sun's bright beams,
Soaring too high to be seen or heard,
And said to my self, What a foolish bird!

"I trod the park with a princely air,

I filled my crop with the richest fare,

I caw'd all day 'mid a lordly crew,

And I made more noise in the world than you.

The sun shone forth on my ebon wing;

I looked and wondered: good night, poor thing!"

"Good night, once more," said the Lark's sweet voice; “I see no cause to repent my choice:

You build your nest in the lofty pine,

But is your slumber more soft than mine?
You make more noise in the world than I,
But whose is the sweetest minstrelsy?"

LITTLE CHRISTIAN.

COME hither, little Christian,
And hearken unto me!

I'll teach thee what the daily life
Of a Christian child should be.

When a Christian child awaketh,

He should think of God in heaven, And softly say, "I thank Thee, Lord, For the sleep which Thou hast given."

He must say when he ariseth,
"From evil and from harm
Defend Thy little child, O Lord,
With Thine everlasting arm."

He reverently kneeleth

To pray beside his bed;

With closed eyes and humble voice
His holy prayers are said:

And as he thus approachetn
The God of heaven above,
He looketh down, and smileth on
This little child in love.

He goeth from his chamber

To his work or to his play;
But the prayers that he hath prayed
He must keep in mind all day.

He hath asked to be obedient,
And so he must fulfil

His parents' bidding cheerfully,
With a glad mind and will