If I could choose a wedding gift, I'd climb for you the rainbow stairs And bring a star to bless This day of happiness.

As I came down, a bird I'd lift From off his nest, that his sweet airs And songs might you delight From rosy morn till night.

But rainbow stairs are hard to mount, The birds hide in the trees' green shade, And so I bring, dear friend, to you The flowers wet with dew.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {TWO LITTLE GIRLS.}]

Take them, and then take me; please count My eyes your stars; the little maid Who offers flowers, your bird, Whose heart with love is stirred.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A LITTLE GIRL IN A PATCH OF FLOWERS.}]

May child love and the birds together Make all your life like summer weather; May flowers blossom in your sight, And golden stars bring peace at night.

MRS. E. ANNETTE HILLS.

DO RIGHT.

"Well met, my little man!

Now tell me, if you can, The very nicest way To spend this long, dull day."

"Well, sir, my mother says, Of all the pretty ways To make a dark day bright The best is just do right!"

M. J. T.

DOG PRINCE.

"Shake hands, Prince!"

Black as a coal, and curly, too.

Is the dog I introduce to you.

He gives at once his right-hand paw, None a softer one ever saw.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {PRINCE SHAKING HANDS WITH A LITTLE BOY.}]

"Beg, Prince!"

Up he rises on his hind legs, Flies both little fore-feet, and begs, Not for money, nor food, nor clothes, But merely to show how much he knows.

"Speak, Prince!"

You'd think from that first growling note, He'd a b.u.mble-bee inside his throat; 'Tis not a bee, but only a bark; For answer, shrill and eager, hark!

[Ill.u.s.tration: {PRINCE BEGGING.}]

"Roll over, Prince!"

He'll do all other things you ask; But this is a task, a dreadful task.

He hates the dust on his silky hide And in the fringe of his ears beside.

"Roll over, I say!"

Such a struggle as he goes through; He wants to do it, and don't want to!

He rubs one black ear on the floor, Rubs a little, and nothing more.

"Ah, Prince! Ah, Prince!"

Do you call that minding? Yet, I find Yours is a common way to mind: Willing to do what you like to best, And only half-way doing the rest.

MRS. CLARA DOTY BATES.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {THE CHILDREN BY THE LILY POND.}]

WHERE THE PRETTY PATH LED.

Little Fred went to spend his long vacation with his grandpa and grandma in the country. Fred's grandpa had an old white horse named Betsy. He had owned her ever since mamma was a little girl, and Fred and Betsy soon became great friends.

Every day grandma would give Fred two biscuits, two apples and two lumps of sugar in a little basket and he would take them over to the pasture. Betsy soon learned to expect him, and waited for him at the bars. She knew that half of what was in the basket was meant for her.

A very pretty path came in at one end of the pasture. Fred often wondered where it went, but he never dared to go in very far alone.

One day his two cousins, Alice and Frank, came to make grandma a little visit. Grandma told Fred he must show them all over the farm.

The next morning, after he had taken them out to lunch with Betsy, he thought it would be a good chance to go down the little path. Alice and Frank said they would like to go very much. Fred was still a little afraid, and kept very near Alice. But he forgot everything else, when, at the end of the path, they came upon a lovely little pond. It was all covered with great white lilies and their green pads.

They wanted to get some lilies to take home. They tried to reach them from the bank, but lilies have a provoking way of growing just out of reach. Then they tried to hook them in with sticks, but got only three or four, without stems. Then they looked for a board to use as a raft.

At last Frank said they must wade for them. He and Fred took off their shoes and stockings, pulled up their trousers, and went in. Fred used a long stick to feel the way before him, so as not to get into water too deep.

This time they were successful, and got just as many lilies as their hands would hold.

Grandma was delighted with them; she said she had not had any lilies from that old pond since grandpa used to bring them to her years and years before.

MRS. F. T. MERRILL.

A LETTER TO MOTHER NATURE.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A LITTLE GIRL WRITING A LETTER.}]

"You dear old Mother Nature, I am writing you a letter, To let you know you ought to fix up things a little better.

The best of us will make mistakes--I thought perhaps if I Should tell you how you might improve, you would be glad to try.