The showery rain,

As the farmer scatters his grain.

9. He can behold

Things manifold

That have not yet been wholly told,
Have not been wholly sung nor said,
For his thought that never stops,

Follows the water-drops

Down to the graves of the dead,

Down through chasms and gulfs profound,

To the dreary fountain head

Of lakes and rivers under ground;

And sees them, when the rain is done,

On the bridge of colors seven

Climbing up once more to heaven
Opposite the setting sun.

10. Thus the seer,

With vision clear,

Sees forms appear and disappear,

In the perpetual round of change,

Mysterious change,

From birth to death, from death to birth,

From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth,

Till glimpses more sublime

Of things, unseen before,

Unto his wondering eyes reveal

The Universe, as an immeasurable wheel

Turning for evermore

The rapid and rushing river of Time.

XLIV. THE SONG OF THE WATER.

EMILY H. MILLER.

1. I know a green dingle, where, all the day long, The waters go singing a wonderful song;

Beneath the gray shadows, that tremble and glide, Slips over the pebbles the shimmering tide.

2. But when the faint twilight steals over the blue,
And evening comes softly with starlight and dew,
The song of the water grows clearer, and swells
To the chime and the tinkle of silvery bells.

3. The ferns in the sedges nod lightly, and wave

Like plumes on the conquering hosts of the brave,
And soft on the mosses fall footsteps that seem
To move to the musical bells of the stream.

4. O beautiful dingle! I know from your green
The breath of the autumn has faded the sheen;
But over the pebbles, in shadow and sun,
The song of the water will never be done.

XLV.-NATURE'S JOKES.

GAIL HAMILTON.

1. Nature is fond of her little joke as well as the rest of us, though the actors in the comedy do not always discern the comic element in it. Strange how ridiculous any thing may be, and yet not have the smallest suspicion that it is ridiculous. As when, for instance, one of these little "bossy calves," fumbling and smelling around a chair, got his head between the rounds of the lower part and could not get it out again.

2. He did not see the point of the joke at all, but stumbled about, shaking his head wildly, and wedging it in more firmly with every struggle. It was no easy matter to get near enough to help him; and, in spite of his terror and impatience of the situation, one could but laugh at the figure he made.

3. I remember once seeing a pretty little yellow-bird on the fence, looking as if he had three legs. A three-legged bird! this must be attended to. I crept near enough to resolve the third leg into his tail, on which he had settled himself, leaning backward in a persistent determination to swallow a huge worm, which was just as persistently determined not to be swallowed. Birdie gulped and wormie wriggled.

Birdie looked very solemn, and wormie very angry. Birdie would not give up and wormie would not go down. There was a good deal of fun, but I had it all to myself.

4. Once a caterpillar hung his cocoon to my window-sash, and I determined to keep my eye on him and see him begin life as a butterfly. I watched him week after week without detecting any change, and upon consulting the text books of Natural History, found that he had probably reached middle age, as butterflies count time, before I began to suspect he had been born at all.

5. But did the little sprite know I was watching him? Did he creep out on the farther side, and shut the door behind him carefully, and steal slyly around the corner of the house for his wings to dry, and come peeping down from the roof every day, laughing in his sleeve to see me watching that empty nest? And did he tell the story to his friends at some butterfly dinner-party, and did they laugh at me till the tears ran from their wicked little eyes, and say, in butterfly jargon, what a "sell" it was, and pat him on the shoulder, and call him “ a sad dog?"

XLVI.-HOW A PINE-TREE DID SOME GOOD.

SAMUEL W. DUFFIELD.

1. It was a long narrow valley where the Pine-Tree stood, and perhaps if you went to look for it you might find it there to-day. For pine-trees live a long time, and this one was not very old.

2. The valley was quite barren. Nothing grew there but a few scrubby bushes, and, to tell the truth, it was about as desolate a place as you can well imagine. Far up over it hung the great, snowy caps of the Rocky Mountains, where the clouds played hide and seek all day, and chased each other merrily across the snow. There was a little stream, too, that gathered itself up among the snows and came running down the side of the mountain; but, for all that, the valley was very dreary.

3. Once in a while there went a large gray rabbit hopping among the sage-bushes; but look as far as you would, you

would find no more inhabitants. Poor, solitary little valley, with not even a cottonwood down by the stream, and hardly enough grass to furnish three oxen with a meal! Poor, bar

ren little valley, lying always for half the day in the shadow of those tall cliffs, burning under the summer sun, heaped high with the winter snows,-lying there year after year without a friend!

4. Yes, it had two friends, though they could do it but little good, for they were two pine-trees. The one nearest the mountain, hanging quite out of reach in a cleft of the rock, was an old, gnarled tree, which had stood there for a hundred years. The other was younger, with bright green foliage, summer and winter. It curled up the ends of its branches, as if it would like to have you understand that it was a very fine, hardy fellow, even if it wasn't as old as its father up there in the cleft of the rock.

5. Now this young Pine-Tree grew very lonesome at times, and was glad to talk with any one who came along, and they were few, I can tell you. Occasionally it would look lovingly up to the father-pine, and wonder if it could make him hear what it said. It would rustle its branches and shout by the hour, but he only heard it once, and then the words were so mixed up with falling snow, that it was really impossible to say what they meant.

6. So the Pine-Tree was very lonesome, and no wonder. "I wish I knew of what good I am," it said to the gray rabbit, one day. "I wish I knew,-I wish I knew; "—and it rustled its branches until they all seemed to say, “Wish I knew, wish I knew."

self much about that.

"O, pshaw !" said the rabbit. "I wouldn't concern mySome day you'll find out." "But do tell me," persisted the Pine-Tree, " of what good you think I am.”

7. "Well," answered the rabbit, sitting up on her hind paws and washing her face with her front ones, so that company shouldn't see her unless she looked trim and tidy, "well," said the rabbit, "I can't exactly say myself what it is. If you don't help one, you help another, and that's right enough, isn't it? As for me, I take care of my family. I hop round among the sage-bushes and get their breakfast,

dinner, and supper. I have plenty to do, I assure you, and you must really excuse me now, for I have to be off."

8. “I wish I were a hare,” muttered the Pine-Tree to himself.

“I think I could do some good then, for I should have a family to support, but I know I can't now.'

9. Then he called across to the little stream and asked the same question of him. And the stream rippled along, and danced in the sunshine, and answered him, “I go on errands for the big mountain all day. I carried one of your cones not long ago to a point of land twenty miles off, and there now is a pine-tree that looks just like you. But I must run along, I am so busy. I can't tell you of what good you are. You must wait and see And the little stream danced on.

10. “I wish I were a stream," thought the Pine-Tree. Any thing but being tied down to this spot for years. That is unfair. The rabbit can run around, and so can the stream; but I must stand still forever. I wish I were dead!"

11. By and by the summer passed into autumn, and the autumn into winter, and the snow-flakes began to fall. "Halloo!" said the first one, all in a flutter, as she dropped on the Pine-Tree. But he shook her off, and she fell still farther down on to the ground. The Pine-Tree was getting very churlish and cross lately.

12. However, the snow didn't stop for all that, and very soon there was a white robe over the narrow valley. The Pine-Tree had no one to talk with now. The stream had covered himself in with ice and snow, and wasn't to be seen. The hare had to hop round very industriously to get enough for her children to eat, and the sage-bushes were always lowminded fellows, and couldn't begin to keep up a ten minutes conversation.

13. At last there came a solitary figure across the valley, making its way straight for the Pine-Tree. It was a lame mule, which had been left behind from some wagon-train. He dragged himself slowly on until he reached the tree. Now the Pine, in shaking off the snow, had shaken down some cones as well, and they lay on the snow. These the mule picked up, and began to eat.

Heigh-ho!" said the tree, "I never knew those things were fit to eat before."