ful suspense, reduced to still more cruel certainty after long days of fruitless search? The turbulent waters sank to their level again, the blue waves kissed the white sands, and the rocks rose brown and warm in the sunlight; but never again was seen the little golden-haired figure flitting among them, or nestling in the dry sea-weed. A few months after the broken-hearted grandparents were gathered into God's Acre, a tortoise-shell comb was found in a crevice of the rock under the boulder; and, to this day, yarn-loving old fishermen protest they hear at times the strangest kind of music around the redhouse cliffs.

Their cheeks were blushing, their breath was sweet,
She could almost hear their little hearts beat;

And the tiniest lisping, whispering sound

That ever you heard came up from the ground.

"Little friends," she said, "I wish I knew

How it is you thrive on sun and dew!"
And this is the story the berries told
To little Pearl Honeydew, six years old.

"You wish you knew? and so do we!

But we can't tell you, unless it be

That the same kind Power that cares for you
Takes care of poor little berries too.

"Tucked up snugly, and nestled below Our coverlid of wind-woven snow,

We peep and listen, all winter long,

For the first spring day and the bluebird's song.

"When the swallows fly home to the old brown shed, And the robins build on the bough overhead,

Then out from the mould, from the darkness and cold, Blossom and runner and leaf unfold.

"Our clocks are the flowers; and they count the hours Till we can mellow in suns and showers,

With warmth of the west wind and heat of the south, A ripe red berry for a ripe red mouth.

"Apple-blooms whiten, and peach-blooms fall,

And garlands are gay by the garden-wall,

Ere the rose's dial gives the sign

That we can invite little Pearl to dine.

"The days are longest, the month is June,
The year is nearing its golden noon,
The weather is fine, and our feast is spread
With a green cloth and berries red.

"Just take us betwixt your finger and thumb
And quick, O quick! for, see! there come
Tom on all-fours, and Martin the man,
And Margaret, picking as fast as they can!

"O dear! if you only knew how it shocks

Nice berries like us to be sold by the box,
And eaten by strangers, and paid for with pelf,
You would surely take pity, and eat us yourself!"

And this is the story the small lips told
To dear Pearl Honeydew, six years old,
When she laid her head on the strawberry-bed
To hear what the red-cheeked berries said.

7. T. Trowbridge.

E

ABOUT ELIZABETH ELIZA'S PIANO.

LIZABETH Eliza had a present of a piano, and she was to take lessons of the postmaster's daughter.

They decided to have the piano set across the window in the parlor, and the carters brought it in, and went away. After they had gone, the family all came in to look at the piano; but they found the carters had placed it with its back turned towards the middle of the room, standing close against the window.

How could Elizabeth Eliza open it? How could she reach the keys to play upon it?

Solomon John proposed that they should open the window, which Agamemnon could do with his long arms. Then Elizabeth Eliza should go round upon the piazza and open the piano. Then she could have her music-stool

on the piazza, and play upon the piano there.

So they tried this; and they all thought it was a very pretty sight to see Elizabeth Eliza playing on the piano, while she sat on the piazza with the honeysuckle vines behind her.

It was very pleasant, too, moonlight evenings. Mr. Peterkin liked to take a doze on his sofa in the room; but the rest of the family liked to sit on the piazza. So did Elizabeth Eliza, only she had to have her back to the moon.

All this did very well through the summer; but, when the fall came, Mr. Peterkin thought the air was too cold from the open window, and the family did not want to sit out on the piazza.

Elizabeth Eliza practised in the mornings with her cloak on; but she was obliged to give up her music in the evenings, the family shivered so.

One day, when she was talking with the lady from Philadelphia, she spoke of this trouble.

The lady from Philadelphia looked surprised, and then said, "But why don't you turn the piano round?”

One of the little boys pertly said, "It is a square piano."

But Elizabeth Eliza went home directly, and, with the help of Agamemnon and Solomon John, turned the piano round.

"Why did not we think of that before?" said Mrs. Peterkin. we do when the lady from Philadelphia goes home again?"

"What shall

Lucretia P. Hale.