d
whooping cough; and no sooner did she recover from the scarlet fever
than she contracted pneumonia and nearly died. One morning Blanche was
applying hot bandages to relieve bronchitis, and before night Clara had
the small-pox.

The next day mamma stopped at the nursery door.

"Good morning, little nurse," she said; "how is poor Clara this
morning?"

"She's DEADED," said Blanche, with a long face.

"Dreadful! What did she die of, small-pox? It seems to me that that was
what she was suffering from last evening."

"No'm'" said Blanche, "'twasn't small-pox. She DID have that bad; but I
think she DIED of measles. The SUNERAL (Blanche could not say 'funeral')
is to be at twelve sharp. Will you come, mamma?"

"I'm so sorry, darling, but I must go to lunch with Mrs. Mathews at one.
But Jack will go."

The "suneral" took place at noon, and Blanche and Daisy, Jack and old
Hector followed poor Clara in Benny's wagon to the grave yard at the
bottom of the orchard. It was rather a jolly "suneral," for they had
"refreshments" under the trees afterward.

In the afternoon, as mamma, came up the orchard path, she was surprised
to see a doll's foot and leg sticking straight up out of the ground.

"Why did you leave her foot out in this way?" asked mamma.

"Well," said Blanche, "I thought perhaps she could get to Heaven
easier."

THE CHICKADEE-DEE.

Little darling of the snow,
Careless how the winds may blow,
Happy as a bird can be,
Singing, oh, so cheerily,
Chickadee-dee! Chickadee-dee!

When the skies are cold and gray,
When he trills his happiest lay,
Through the clouds he seems to see
Hidden things to you and me.
Chickadee-dee! chickadee-dee!

Very likely little birds
Have their thoughts too deep for word,
But we know, and all agree,
That the world would dreary be
Without birds, dear chickadee!

THE CHILDREN'S PARTY.

What a merry, merry rout!
See the wee ones dance about!
Dickie's leading off the ball;
There,--he almost had a fall.

Who's his partner in the whirls,
--Rosiest of all the girls?
But a doll--a DOLL you say;
Dancing in that sprightly way?

Well I never! Oh, see there,
See--just see those horses tear!
Meg and Madge will sure be thrown.
What a vicious looking roan!

Not a real live horse you say,
Prancing in that frightful way?