ter

Birker Foster-7 **.
 

ay *

 

ey

 

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‘ ir Y Biase '

a li * . RAPHAEL TUeN: & SONS,

Lonvon - Paris- New YorK.

deagned “at the Fine Art Studios ‘in a and Printed at ‘the Fine Art Works. in ‘Bevaria.
  
   

 

The gardener’s cottage is standing under
The trees that shadow the winding way,

(Is ought so fair in the world I wonder—
As orchard boughs in the month of May.

That swing in the fragrant air, and scatter
Rose-lit petals upon the lea ;
What does the world and its riches matter

Here’s riches enough, and to spare for me.

So thinks the maiden so fresh and pretty,
Resting awhile at the cottage door
Carolling blithely her tuneful ditty,
e AE é When birds are a-bed, and
her tasks are over.

Heten Marron Burnsib&-
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

€ Nest.

Little birdies shall I take you

And my little playmates make you,
All your little wants supplying—

Till your wings are strong for flying?

we

I would feed you, love you dearly,

Find you food both late and early:

Ah! but could I ever find you

Love like that you’d leave behind you.

“ae

I will reach up quick
and steady:
See! the nest is back
/ already ;
All the wood would
feel forsaken,
If this little nest
were taken.

EN.
Free \]

 
Sea

Whence have you
come, and
where do you
$9,
Beautiful sea-
gulls that flit
to and fro?
Sailing through many
a storm you've
been—
Many a troubled and
angry scene.

 

Wandering ones—for a mo-
ment stay—
Fair is the picture outspread
to-day ;
Sunshine and peace, over sea
and land;
Children at play on a golden
sand |

Extis WaLtTon.

 

Ane Ripeone

O warm shines the sun and so sweet hang the roses,
And work is over to-day.

You ride down the lane, ’mid the sweet scented posies,
To home at the end of the way.

With loving arms round you and loving words spoken,
You well may be happy and sing.

A dear little child with a dear loving mother
Is far better off than a king.
 

You'll wander afar, in the big world some day, dear;
A weary long journey I trow.

Still sing at the end of the way, little pilgrim
As cheerily as you do now. PENICACEATE:
 
 

“(he Sea-Culls’
Message.

The sea-gulls’ wings in the white spray dip, | And I held a rosy shell to my ear,

And a secret they’ve brought to me,: This morning down in the bay,
They say they know it was father’s ship, And that too said he was surely near
That is sailing over the sea, He'll be coming, coming to-day.

H. M. Burnsipe,
LATA AONE

WALOO NT igyy

 
PIERS 5
THeY Come.

A glorious hunting day
it was,
Full hot the scent did
lie ; ‘
For miles and miles the
huntsmen rode,
With hounds at the
full cry.

Dear cousin Bess the
scarlet coats

Did hail with great
delight;

Old Rover, too the
chase did join,
And barked with all

his might.

 

Ah! how they galloped o’er the hill!
Swift as the wind they flee,

If I some day may ride to hounds
How happy shall I be.

E. M. Cuettte.
. 7 —@Nuptien

There was a boy who
hazel. nuts

-Did wander out to pick,

He pulled the russet
branches down,

All with a crooked.
stick.

He spied out frisky,
rabbits three
ee That spent their lives
‘i in play:

 

And up and down their
little tails

They whisked the live-
long day.

That greedy boy—
those rabbits gay

To shoot did much
desire.

He went to fetch his father’s gun
That hung beside the fire.

He waited long with patience great
Upon his bended knee; ae
But not a single rabbit's tail

Did that brave sportsman sce.

E. M. Crane
 

Flowers, swect flowers are evérywherc—
Tis the blossoming month of June,
. The scent of the clover is on the air,

And the streams are singing a tune.

‘Flowers—sweet flowers, a basket full
We've plucked in the meadows wide,
There are thousands for everyone we cull

Along by the water side.

' The sheep are cropping

the grasses green,

Where shadows are
deep and cool,

And the lazy ducks ‘are
asleep. [ ween,

Out there on the

quiet pool.

-H. M. Burnsive. !

 
ackberrying.

Now the brown nuts begin to fall,
And the harvest moon to rise,

And we go gathering blackberries
To make into jam and pies.

WE think most of the number we get,
But Jack thinks most about size,

Sing hey—sing ho, for the autumn skies—
Sing hey, for the jam and the pies.

I shall be glad when mother says
What a clever girl I am,
Bess will be glad when she bakes the pies,
And ties down the pots of jam.
And Jack will be glad
at dinner and tea
When he has a “royal
cram”
Sing hey—sing ho—for
the royal cram—
The puddings, and
pies, and the jam.
BN:

Dy

>

 
 
  
 

aware arene

 

Now the laughing child-

ren bring
Fast their empty
pitchers near,
Now a wild bird dips
its wing
In the current cool
and clear.

There the peasant from
his cot,

Gazes where its wind-
ings gleam;
Here, the pale forget-

me-not
Loves upon its banks
to dream.

Enxuis Watton.
   

Father will come from his work in a minute—
And Rover and Ben from the cows and the sheep,
Bringing the pail with
the sweet milk in it,
For baby to drink
ere she goestosleep.

Then mother will sit
by the window knit-
ting,

And father willsmoke
in the ingle nook,

While Ben and I, where
the bats are flitting

Will wander awhile
by the orchard
brook.

Is ought more sweet
in the world I won-
der—

Where will you find
me a fairer spot,
Or happier folk than
are gathered under
The trees that shel-
ter our garden cot!

H. M. BurwnsIpe.

 
Marker

 
 
 

ELLOW Ke UPs.

With yellow king-cups my ship is laden Where ice-bergs shine,—she has been a-roaming,
As many as it can hold, , And now she is bringing to me

“Come water elves,” sang a little maiden — A message perhaps, or may-be a letter,
“And turn my king-cups to gold’. From Willie, our sailor bold,

“There are no elves, and my ship is coming And mother will say that is far—far better,
Home from the far blue sea, Than fairy silver, or gold.

H. M. Burnsive.
 
O
THE SS HONKEYS

“T hate this life,’ the country donkey said,

“It’s very stupid, dull, and tame, and slow,
And every ass who is, like me, well bred

To London or some seaside place should go,
Till life he’s seen in crowded road and street

No donkey’s education is complete.”

‘f have seen life’? and aged ass replied
“Its kicks and cuffs and sticks and heavy roads,
And well I know because I both have tried,
The worth of green grass over dusty roads.
Stay where you are
and do not fret to
roam,
For grass and hap-
piness are found at

home.
Be Ne

 
 

Away in the wood is a deep old well,
And squirrels and ring-doves beside it dwell,
Wee ferns and mosses about it grow,
And trees their shadows across it throw.

 

Far, far and away, below
the brink. :

The water sparkles as .

black as ink,

But when it comes up in
the bucket you see
It is crystal clear as a
spring. can be.

We go and draw it on

summer ‘noons,
Whilethe linnet sings
and the brown bee
croons
It is cool—so cool—
and the prettiest
sight

On the bucket’s brim

are the dew beads
bright.
6, it's sweet to be out ‘neath the warril

 

  
     

blue sky,
With the birds and the bees and the pate a
squirrels shy— hiss a on
But the loveliest place in the world to me ho Lame ees
Is, the dear old well ’neath the green tis
wood tree. ;

H. M. Burnsipe.

 

\ eS ee . ¥
) es &
- ae
(EROS > a ‘
- s me
iy :
\ fAy3
a ‘ J <a ye i
Sw eS X < o
         

heWeenilies

Mother's been staying with Granny—
She’s coming home to-day!

We've gathered all the flowers we can find
To make the house look gay.

We've swept and dusted the parlor,
And scrubbed the kitchen floor,

And hung all the pots on their proper nails, . &
And put “WELCOME,” on the door.

We've got out the very best china,
And the tray with the painted rose—
How glad we are she is coming home
No one but mother knows.

 
 
  

And we'll put the water lilies
In a bowl on the table at tea,
And when mother comes
in at the open door,
They'll be the first
things she'll see.

SE Ne 7
 
| flowers,

Flowers—-sweet flowers—we’ve plucked to send
To the city that’s far away,

Beauty and fragrance and grace to lend,
To those-—-who the live-iong day.

Must toil and toil in the noise and heat,
Where never a flower is seen—

Save those we send, with a memory sweet,
Of the meadows so fair and green.

H. M. Burnsiwe.

 
 
‘nia Ry

 

Oh, the wind is so fresh and the day is so bright,
That we're off the to moor for a fine piece of fun,
For Johnnie is going to fly our new kite,
And he says he will send it to call on the sun.

Our kite is a beauty, so lovely and new,
And _ so strong, Johnnie says it would fly in a gale
It has three pretty stars—real painted ones too—
And oh! such a beautiful new paper tail.

  
  

:

But it’s never been out of the
shop until now,
So it’s nervous, and that’s why
we shout and we sing,

And we cheer and we cry and
we make such a row,
Which of course you all know,
gives it courage poor thing.

 
 
 
 
 
 
  

Now we're off—Johnnie
says it will fly to
the sky,

And Tilly is laughing
and Timothy bawls,

But it seems after all not to get very high,
For it wriggles and waggles and rises and falls.

It has not been accustomed to flying you see,
And it's giddy at being at such a great height,
So it’s putting its tail where its head ought to be,
I would’nt do that now if I were a kite.

O if I were a kite I would rise and would rise,
O ever so high till I went out of sight,

I would see all the wonders there are in the skies,
And make the stars tell why they twinkle at night

The comets and planets I'd find very soon,
I'd see how the sun really does go to bed,
: Then I'd drop in to call on the man in the moon,
And come down to tell you whatever he said.

BN:
A test by the Way.

A rest by the way

In the sweet summer weather—
The world is so gay,

And the birds sing together.

 
Tis pleasant awhile

To recall life’s fair play-tide,
And cares to beguile

With the children of May-tide.

 

ut here we must part—
Who have wandered together,
And talked-—heart to heart,
Through the sweet summer weather.

H. M. Burnsipr.
 
 

A little cottage in a lonely lane,

A silvern brook beside the door that sings;
The quiet comfort of sweet country things,
A peaceful life, with-neither care nor pain.

 

£ The kindly sun that warms us with delight,
er tea ~The merriment of birds and antics gay,
2 Of creatures that so fearlessly: do play,
In fields remote, from morning until night.

To walk abroad and hear the plover cry,
To watch the dancing footsteps of the spring,
aoe» Feel on your brow, the warm rain_pattering,

Or hear the autumn winds that softly sigh.

What happiness is this; if still to these a ess Sse

A steady round of duty done there be, :

And daily deeds of love

~ and charity

To .crown them with
the olive crown. of
peace. -

E. M. Cuerrre.