Grace. Oh! I wish they could have left the Crocuses. But what is the welkin?

Aunt C. The skies, or firmament. the word in German as wolken, clouds. Grace. And Æolian?

Alice knows

Aunt C. Æolus was in Greek mythology lord of the winds; so Eolian means windy. It is generally applied to music made by the wind, because there is an instrument called Eolian harp, arranged to be played upon by the winds.

Grace. Like the telegraph wires, where the wind makes such pretty tones.

Alice. I am sure we have not found half enough verses about flowers.

Grace. Alice found me these pretty verses to say to

you.

Alice. They are in the Youth's Companion, that nice paper we get from America.

OUR FLOWERS.

Oh, Maggie loves the lily fair,
And Annie loves the rose;
But John and I, and Willie too,
Love every flower that blows.

We love the golden buttercup,
We love the daisy white,

The violet blossoming in the shade,
And the roses in the light.

The wall-flower and the marigold,
And the pretty London pride,

And the blue-bell hanging down its head,
Its laughing eye to hide.

And the hollyhock that turns about
Its head to chase the sun;

Oh, dearly do we love the flowers-
We love them every one.

Far better than our painted toys,
Though gilded bright and gay,
We love the gentle flowers that bloom
In the sunny summer day.

For it is God who made the flowers,
And careth for them all,

And for our Heavenly Father's love
There is not one too small.

He fans them with His gentle wind,
He feeds them with His dew;

And the God who loves the little flowers,
Loves little children too.

Alice. Is it not pretty? I must find a tune for it, and let the Infant School children sing it.

Alice. We had Partlet and Chanticleer, but I am sure there are plenty of delightful verses about Chickens and Ducks besides. I found one to-day called "The Motherless Turkeys."

Edmund. Are they Chickens or Ducks?

Alice. Turkey-chicks, you objector; besides, there is plenty about the other creatures in the verses.

THE MOTHERLESS TURKEYS.

The white Turkey was dead, the white Turkey was dead,
How the news through the barnyard went flying;

Of a mother bereft, four small Turkeys were left,
And their case for assistance was crying.

E'en the Peacock respectfully folded his tail,
As a suitable symbol of sorrow,

And his plainer wife said, "Now the old bird is dead,
Who will tend her poor chicks on the morrow?

"And when evening around them comes dreary and chill,

Who above them will watchfully hover?"

"Two each night I will tuck 'neath my wings," said the Duck, "Though I've eight of my own I must cover."

"I have so much to do! for the grubs and the worms
In the garden 'tis tiresome pickin';

I have nothing to spare-for my own I must care,"
Said the Hen with one chicken.

"How I wish," said the Goose, "I could be of some use,
For my heart is with love overbrimming;

The next morning that's fine they shall go with my nine
Little yellow-backed goslings out swimming."

"I will do what I can," the old Dorking began,
"And for help they may call on me too,

Though I've ten of my own, that are only half grown,
And a great deal of trouble to see to."

But those poor little things that are all legs and wings,
And their bones through their feathers are stickin';
"Very hard it must be; but oh! don't come to me,"
Said the Hen with one chicken.

"Half my care, I suppose, there is nobody knows,
I'm the most overburthened of mothers;

They must learn, little elves, to scratch for themselves,
And not seek to depend upon others."

She went by with a cluck, and the Goose and the Duck
Exclaimed in surprise, "Well, I never!"

Said the Duck, "I declare those who have the least care
You will find are complaining for ever."

And when all things appear to look threatening and drear, And when troubles your pathway are thick in,

For aid in your woe, oh! beware how you go

To a Hen with one chicken.

MARIAN Douglas.

Aunt C. It reminds me of a sentence I read the other day "You have not enough to do to have any leisure."

Edmund. I don't see any sense in it at all.

Grace. I see she was a cross old selfish thing; and I hope she lost her one chicken!

Alice. It is very droll; but I do not see the point of it, nor of what you said just now, Aunt Charlotte.

Aunt C. Did you never hear it said that it is the really busy people who will always find time and means to help others? A narrow, selfish, indolent heart attends to nothing but its one small charge, and makes it an excuse for offering no kindness.

Alice. I see; it is the man with the one talent again-doing nothing, yet fancying he is overloaded.