IN THE WOOD.

"Then close the page, my lassie,
And lift thy pretty head,

And what the book would say to thee
The wood shall say instead.

The brook shall tell its merry tale,

The flowers their brightness shed,
And the birds shall sing-for life is life,
And printed words are dead.

"Hear what the bird sings, lassie:
'O little lady fair!

The breath of flowers is over thee,
The sunlight in thy hair;

The heart of a little maiden

Is free as birds in the air

And God is good to thee and me,
O little lady fair!""

107

COMB MUSIC.

Two children once sat in the twilight gray
Playing a tune in a comical way;

They both pressed a comb to their rosy red lips,
And little they cared for tickles and slips,
For wheezings, and paper that always would fall,
For oh! such loud music, or no note at all.
'Twas sweet to their ears, as fondly they heard
This musical strain coming forth, word for word:

W-h-h-wome, w-h-h-wome, szzzeeet, zhhweet zome, Bheet wev zo hhumble, therzzz nho blazzze liew zhhome!"

Now they are grown, and sing in the choir

Of their own village church with the beautiful spire; So sweet are her notes, so perfect her skill,

Not a bird of the air but might envy her trill,

Not a wind of the night but right gladly would know How to make his rich music so plaintive and low.

Together their voices in harmony blend,

And steep all their days in a joy without end;
And yet in their hearts they have always confessed
That lovely duet long ago was the best,

When they tingled their lips at the musical comb,

And told all the world there was “zno blaizzz liew

zhome."

IN THE BASKET.

SAY, do you hear my basket
Go "kippy! kippy! pe-ek"?
Maybe my funny basket

Is learning how to speak.

If

you want to know the secret,

Go ask the speckled hen,

And tell her when I've warmed them

I'll bring them back again.