ar;
He knew he was wretched as wretched could be,
There was no one so wretchedly wretched as he.

_His Old Age_.

He finds he has sorrows more deep than his fears,
He grumbles to think he has grumbled for years;
He grumbles to think he has grumbled away
His home and his fortune, his life's little day.
But, alas! 't is too late,--it is no use to say
That his eyes are too dim, and his hair is too gray.
He knows he is wretched as wretched can be,
There _is_ no one more wretchedly wretched than he.

DORA.

JUNE.

For stately trees in rich array,
For sunlight all the happy day,
For blossoms radiant and rare,
For skies when daylight closes,
For joyous, clear, outpouring song
From birds that all the green wood throng,
For all things young, and bright, and fair,
We praise thee, Month of Roses!

For blue, blue skies of summer calm,
For fragrant odors breathing balm,
For quiet, cooling shades where oft
The weary head reposes,
For brooklets babbling thro' the fields
Where Earth her choicest treasures yields,
For all things tender, sweet and soft,
We love thee, Month of Roses!

ELAINE.

SPRING SONG.

Oh, the little streams are running,
Running, running!--
Oh, the little streams are running
O'er the lea;
And the green soft grass is springing,
Springing, springing!--
And the green soft grass is springing,
Fair to see.

In the woods the breezes whisper,
Whisper, whisper!--
In the woods the breezes whisper
To the flowers;
And the robins sing their welcome,
Welcome, welcome!--
And the robins sing their welcome,--
Happy hours!

Over all the sun is shining,
Shining, shining!--
Over all the sun is shining,
Clear and bright,--
Flooding bare and waiting meadows,
Meadows, meadows!--
Flooding bare and waiting meadows
With his light.

Sky Farm, March, '76. ELAINE.

[Grown people often write in sympathy with children, but here is a
little poem by a child written in sympathy with grown folks:]

ASHES OF ROSES.

Soft on the sunset sky
Bright daylight closes,
Leaving, when light doth die,
Pale hues that mingling lie--
Ashes of roses.

When love's warm sun is set,
Love's brightness closes;
Eyes with hot tears are wet,
In hearts there linger yet
Ashes of ro