and June are far better. However, the show was to be the first week in July.

I said to the boys: "I'll make a collection of wild flowers. I know the names, and I can print. It will do no good for two or three of us to try to arrange flowers, but if you will get me what I need, I shall be very much obliged. If either of you wish to make another collection, there are ten kinds of mosses by the brook, and ever so many kinds of ferns among the rocks. We have names for them of our own, and they are English names. Perhaps they will do. But everything must come from our field."

.

The boys agreed, and they were very good. Richard made a box, rather high at the back. We put sand at the bottom and wet it, and then on top of that we heaped lovely masses of feather moss. I like to see grass with flowers, and we had very pretty grasses, so between every bunch of flowers I put a bunch of grass of different kinds. I got all the flowers and all the grasses ready first, and printed the names on pieces of cardboard to stick in with them, and then I arranged them by my eye, and Sandy handed me what I called for; while Richard was busy at the brook filling a large tray with damp sand and lovely

mosses.

Sandy knew the flowers and their names as well as I did. Of course we knew everything that lived in our field; so when I called, "Ox-eyed daisies, cock's-foot

grass, meadow-sweet, foxtail grass, dog-roses, shivering grass," and so on, he gave me the right things, and I had nothing to do but to put the colors that looked best together next to each other, and to make the grass look light, and pull up bits of the moss to show well. At the end of every label I added, "Out of Our Field."

I did not like it very well when it was done; but Richard praised it so much, it cheered me up, and I thought his mosses looked lovely.

The flower-show day was very hot. I did not think it could be hotter anywhere in the world than it was in the field where the fair was; but it was hotter in the tent.

We could not have gone in at all, — for a man was selling tickets at the entrance, but they allowed the competitors to go in free. When we got in there were a great many grown people, and it was hard work to get about among them and to see the stands where the flowers and fruit were arranged. Every few minutes we saw a ticket saying "First Prize," or "Second Prize," but it was sure to be placed on a tray of dahlias, or on fruit that we were not allowed to eat, or vegetables. The vegetables disappointed us so often that I began almost to hate them. I don't think I shall ever like very big potatoes (before they are boiled) again, particularly the red ones. It makes me feel sick with heat and anxiety to think of them.

We had struggled slowly all around the tent, and seen all the cucumbers, onions, lettuce, long potatoes, round

potatoes, and everything else, when we saw an old gentleman, with spectacles and white hair, standing before a table. And then we saw three nosegays in jugs, with all the green picked off, and then we saw some prettier ones, and then we saw my collection, and it had a big label in it marked "First Prize," and next to it was Richard's moss tray, with the hair-moss, and the pincushion-moss, and the others with names of our own invention, and it was marked "Second Prize." I gripped one of Sandy's arms just as Richard seized the other, and we both cried, "Perronet is paid for!"

- JULIANA HORATIA EWING.

FOUR-LEAF CLOVERS

I know a place where the sun is like gold,
And the cherry-blooms burst with snow;
And down underneath is the loveliest nook,
Where the four-leaf clovers grow.

One leaf is for hope, and one is for faith,
And one is for love, you know,

But God put another in for luck—

If

you search, you will find where they grow.

But you must have hope, and you must have faith,
You must love and be strong, and so,

If

you work, if you wait, you will find the place Where the four-leaf clovers grow. - ELLA HIGGINSON.

THE GLADNESS OF NATURE1

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,

When our mother Nature laughs around, When even the deep blue heavens look glad,

And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?

There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,
And the gossip of swallows through all the sky;
The ground-squirrel gayly chirps by his den,
And the wilding bee hums merrily by.

The clouds are at play in the azure space,

And their shadows at play on the bright green vale, And here they stretch to the frolic chase,

And there they roll on the easy gale.

There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower,
There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree,
There's a smile on the fruit and a smile on the flower,
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.

And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles
On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray,
On the leaping waters and gay young isles, -
Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away.

MARCH 1

The stormy March has come at last,
With wind, and cloud, and changing skies;
I hear the rushing of the blast

That through the snowy valley flies.

Ah, passing few are they who speak,
Wild, stormy month, in praise of thee!
Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak,
Thou art a welcome month to me.

For thou, to northern lands, again
The glad and glorious sun dost bring;
And thou hast joined the gentle train,
And wear'st the gentle name of Spring.

Then sing aloud the gushing rills,

And the full springs, from frost set free,
That, brightly leaping down the hills,
Renew their journey to the sea.

Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies,
And that soft time of sunny showers,

When the wide bloom, on earth that lies,
Seems of a brighter world than ours.