The chickens hide beneath the shed

And wear their ruffled capes;
The very weather this for ducks
To show their waddling shapes.
From yonder farm a rooster gives
A dull, despairing crow;
It's raining, raining, raining

Over there, we know.

The grass has grown a deeper green,

The sky a darker blue;
And, O, we little know the good
A summer shower can do!

The birds are singing loud and clear-
And this is what they say:

"Come out, come out, come out again!
The clouds are gone away!"

THE TREE AND THE FLOWER.

FROM THE GERMAN.

[Render in a natural, conversational style.]

"How sad is my fate!" one day said the mayflower. "What benefit do I receive from these beautiful green leaves and my little silver bells, that sound and ring in the mild May air? My leaves will soon fall withered to the ground, the echo of my bells will cease, and I be gone, faded, lost, forgotten. But you, proud tree, can live centuries, and can wave your head in the mild spring air, as well as elevate it in a storm; years come and go, but you remain the same, firm and strong. Oh, that I too were a tree, how glad and happy should I be

"Go, foolish little flower," said the tree; "be content with thy destiny, as I also must try to be. Believe me, I have often envied the flowers, when gay and happy children have twined them into wreaths for their parents; or when I have seen you taken for decorating churches, and felt that you were indispensable at every festi

val, while I was left standing here alone, with only the tempest for my playmate. Go, then, silly little flower; be satisfied with your lot in life; you only die to revive again, more beautiful and lovely than ever."

"What answer did the little flower make to all this ?" inquired a little boy, who, like most children, was fond of asking questions. "It felt ashamed and kept silent," said his mamma, "and bever again indulged in ungrateful complaints."

THE IMPATIENT HEN.

GEORGE COOPER.

[Simply and with distinctness.]

This is the tale of a queer old hen
That sat on eggs exactly ten.

She made her nest with pride and care,
And weather foul and weather fair
You always found her at her post,
For patience was her daily boast.
Alas! how oft it is our lot
To brag of what we haven't got.
This will apply to hens and men,
And boys and girls.

Days passed, and when

The sun began to warmer grow,

And grass and leaves began to show

Their twinkling green on hill and vale;
When sweet and pleasant was the gale,
This queer old hen began to long
To join once more the noisy throng
Of idle gossips-half a score-

That strutted by the old barn door.

"Oh, dear: oh, dear! here I am tied!
A weary lot is mine," she sighed;
"No gleam of pleasure do I catch;

Why don't these tiresome chickens hatch?

It worries me in heart and legs

To sit so long upon these eggs;

I'm sick of pining here at home.

Oh, chicks, chicks, chicks, why don't you come?
Your little houses, white and warm,

I've sheltered from the angry storm.

"There's Mother Dominique, next door,
Her darlings number half a score,
And they've been out a week or more;
And now she wanders at her ease,
As proud and happy as you please.
So, stir your pinky little pegs,

My yellow bills, come out and walk,

Or else I'll doubt my eggs are eggs,

And think they are but lumps of chalk!"

Then something rash and sad befell;
This old hen pecked each brittle shell,

And, not so wonderful to tell,

Her treatment, which was very rude,

Killed on the spot her tiny brood!
despised by fowls and men,

And now,

She lives a broken-hearted hen!

This is the moral of my lay:
To reap success in work or play,
Why spoil whatever you've begun
Through eagerness to have it done?
Remember poor Dame Partlet's fate;
Don't be impatient-learn to wait!

THAT'S HOW.

CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE.

[Earnestly.]

After a great snow storm a little fellow began to shovel a path through a large snow bank before his graudmother's door. He had nothing but a small shovel to work with,

"How do you expect to get through that drift?" asked a man passing along.

"By keeping at it," said the little boy, cheerfully, that's how!" That is the secret of mastering almost every difficulty under the suu. If a hard task is before you stick to it.

Do not keep thinking how large or how hard it is, but go at it, and little by little it will grow smaller until it is done.

So, armed with basket and with bag,
They, lest their trade should sometimes drag,
Agreed to share, if either found

A nice "tit-bit" in all their round-
A precious morsel of meat or cake,
Fruit, tart or pie, to "give or take."

Now lucky Jimmy soon espied
A rosy apple, and sought to hide
From his companion's greedy eyes
His unexpected, luscious prize;
But following his mother Eve,
Who, with an apple first deceived,
Took still another road to crime,

The fruit concealing for a time;
She shared with Adam the tempting fruit,
H⚫ sought his palate alone to suit !

Now, wary Tom, made keen and bold
By years of strife with want and cold,
Read in his comrade's sparkling eyes
Possession of some valued prize,

And claimed his share by contract right,
Else, from his size, by right of might.

Jim passed the apple, while Tom agreed
To take a bite, and stick to creed

Of "give and take;" he opened wide
Capacious jaws, and lo! inside
The apple popped! Poor little Jim
Saw but a morsel left for him;

"See here!" exclaimed the luckless wight, "You've taken the apple and left the bite!"

THE SUN AND THE JACKAL.

JOEL BENTON.

[Descriptively.]

The sun came down to earth one day
And sat in quiet on the road;
But all who came or went that way,
Unmindful of him, onward strode,

Except the little Jackal. He

Observed the sun admiringly: "This handsome little child, I find, The heedless men have left behind."

Then lifting him upon his back,

He screams with vigor at the heat: "Get down! Alack a-day, alack!" And hurries off with quickened feet.

So, ever since, the Jackal's back
Has worn a sun-marked stripe of black,