Doth not the Summer still beside you stay,
To nurse you with a sister's homely care?
If sunshine pour on you a fainter smile
A sky fills up your empty boughs in masses;
Is it to further bronze the verdurous pile
And scatter new death-tokens as it passes?
The lingering Summer that, with childlike
daring,

Returns to play, the insidious poison breathes,
Unconsciously the day of danger sharing,
The leaves wind-tossed in mortuary wreaths!
So is your tale but little given to cheer-
Memorial of another dying year.
Academy.

THOS. GORDON HAKE.

HARVEST THOUGHTS

CAN the crushed grape foresee the wine,
Or grain between the millstones tell
All it will be, a food divine,

A daily bread? And we, ah, well!
May we not be like them at least,
A portion of the Master's feast?
Academy.

BEATRIX L. TOLLEMACHE.