The great bare tree looked down and smiled, "Good-night, dear little leaves," he said.

And from below each sleepy child Replied, "Good-night," and murmured, "It is so nice to go to bed!"

_Susan Coolidge._

THE LITTLE LADYBIRD

Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home!

The field-mouse has gone to her nest, The daisies have shut up their sleepy red eyes, And the bees and the birds are at rest.

Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home!

The glow-worm is lighting her lamp, The dew's falling fast, and your fine speckled wings Will flag with the close-clinging damp.

Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home!

Good luck if you reach it at last!

The owl's come abroad, and the bat's on the roam, Sharp set from their Ramazan fast.

Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home!

The fairy bells tinkle afar!

Make haste or they'll catch you, and harness you fast With a cobweb to Oberon's car.

Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home!

To your house in the old willow-tree, Where your children so dear have invited the ant And a few cozy neighbors to tea.

Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home!

And if not gobbled up by the way, Nor yoked by the fairies to Oberon's car, You're in luck! and that's all I've to say!

_Caroline B. Southey._

THE BLUEBIRD

I know the song that the bluebird is singing, Out in the apple-tree where he is swinging; Brave little fellow, the skies may look dreary; Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery.

Hark! how the music leaps out from his throat, Hark! was there ever so merry a note?

Listen awhile and you'll hear what he's saying, Up in the apple-tree swinging and swaying.

"Dear little blossoms down under the snow, You must be weary of winter, I know; Hark, while I sing you a message of cheer; Summer is coming and spring-time is here!

"Little white snowdrop! I pray you arise; Bright yellow crocus! come, open your eyes; Sweet little violets, hid from the cold, Put on your mantles of purple and gold; Daffodils! daffodils! say, do you hear?-- Summer is coming and spring-time is here!"

_Emily Huntington Miller._

THE BLUE JAY

O Blue Jay up in the maple tree, Shaking your throat with such bursts of glee, How did you happen to be so blue?

Did you steal a bit of the lake for your crest, And fasten blue violets into your vest?

Tell me, I pray you,--tell me true!

Did you dip your wings in azure dye, When April began to paint the sky, That was pale with the winter's stay?

Or were you hatched from a blue-bell bright, 'Neath the warm, gold breast of a sunbeam light, By the river one blue spring day?

O Blue Jay up in the maple tree, A-tossing your saucy head at me, With ne'er a word for my questioning, Pray, cease for a moment your "ting-a-link,"

And hear when I tell you what I think,-- You bonniest bit of spring.

I think when the fairies made the flowers, To grow in these mossy fields of ours, Periwinkles and violets rare, There was left of the spring's own color, blue, Plenty to fashion a flower whose hue Would be richer than all and as fair.

So, putting their wits together, they Made one great blossom so bright and gay, The lily beside it seemed blurred: And then they said, "We will toss it in air; So many blue blossoms grow everywhere, Let this pretty one be a bird."

_Susan Hartley Swett._

THE VIOLET

Down in a green and shady bed A modest violet grew; Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, As if to hide from view.

And yet it was a lovely flower, Its colors bright and fair!

It might have graced a rosy bower, Instead of hiding there.

Yet there it was content to bloom, In modest tints arrayed; And there diffused its sweet perfume, Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go, This pretty flower to see, That I may also learn to grow In sweet humility.

_Jane Taylor._

THE FERN SONG

Dance to the beat of the rain, little Fern, And spread out your palms again, And say, "Tho' the Sun Hath my vesture spun, He hath labored, alas, in vain, But for the shade That the Cloud hath made, And the gift of the Dew and the Rain."

Then laugh and upturn All your fronds, little Fern, And rejoice in the beat of the rain!

_John Bannister Tabb._

KING SOLOMON AND THE BEES _A Tale of the Talmud_

When Solomon was reigning in his glory, Unto his throne the Queen of Sheba came, (So in the Talmud you may read the story) Drawn by the magic of the monarch's fame, To see the splendors of his court, and bring Some fitting tribute to the mighty king.

Nor this alone; much had her Highness heard What flowers of learning graced the royal speech; What gems of wisdom dropped with every word; What wholesome lessons he was wont to teach In pleasing proverbs; and she wished, in sooth, To know if Rumor spoke the simple truth.

Besides, the queen had heard (which piqued her most) How through the deepest riddles he could spy; How all the curious arts that women boast Were quite transparent to his piercing eye; And so the queen had come--a royal guest-- To put the sage's cunning to the test.

And straight she held before the monarch's view, In either hand, a radiant wreath of flowers; The one, bedecked with every charming hue, Was newly culled from Nature's choicest bowers; The other, no less fair in every part, Was the rare product of divinest Art.

"Which is the true, and which the false?" she said, Great Solomon was silent. All-amazed, Each wondering courtier shook his puzzled head, While at the garlands long the monarch gazed, As one who sees a miracle, and fain, For very rapture, ne'er would speak again.

"Which is the true?" once more the woman asked, Pleased at the fond amazement of the king; "So wise a head should not be hardly tasked, Most learned liege, with such a trivial thing!"

But still the sage was silent; it was plain A deepening doubt perplexed the royal brain.

While thus he pondered, presently he sees, Hard by the cas.e.m.e.nt,--so the story goes,-- A little band of busy, bustling bees, Hunting for honey in a withered rose.

The monarch smiled, and raised his royal head; "Open the window!"--that was all he said.

The window opened at the king's command; Within the room the eager insects flew, And sought the flowers in Sheba's dexter hand!