THE BROOK.

WAIF of the dews and the showers,
At the mountain’s sweet breast nursed,
Looked over the ledges shyly,
A scared, wild thing at first.

Below, the enamored valley
Beckoned and waiting stood,

Till the brook’s feet, silver-sandalled,
Stole down to the maple wood.

Lilies and slender grasses
Hand in hand trooped with you,
While the slow-footed ferns and mosses
Rested, but followed you too.

Cooled by the upland breezes,
Yet holding the slumberous clow

Of the sonth sun-slopes in your bosom,
Child of the fire and the snow!

It was well, since the valley entreated
An Eden, to crown you its Eve;

That, accepting its sweet adulation,
You love, and love’s guerdon receive.

oe Ssh vw

 

The Brook.

ONCH UPON A TIME.

 

ae is the way all the fairy stories used to’

begin when I was a boy,— “Once upon a
time.” It does not need more than a look at. this
charming picture to see that the little girl who is
reading so industriously to the others has found a
very entertaining fairy story. Something about
giants and magic swords, and wonderful palaces of
silver and ebony, no doubt, where Prince Prettiboy
rescues the beautiful princess and performs prodigies
of valor in slaying the wicked old giant. The ab-
sorbing interest of the story is shown in the suspense
of the would-be seamstress, who sits with needle
poised instead of gliding through the fabric. as it
should do, if she were diligently at work; and in the
listening attitudes of the two other children, one
with the doll and the other with the little toy cart.
Even the doll in the chair seems to be listening with
creat interest to the thrilling tale, which must be
no less exciting than “ Jack and the Bean Stalk,”
or any other of the delightful stories which childhood
never tires of, and even “ grown-ups” can find en-
joyment in. ;