ails ponder as to what will be best,
Should the stout mower blunder on their pretty home-nest.

But a cloud in a minute from her great white bed
Threw a big silver bonnet o'er the sun's golden head
And the quails, though they wondered would their home be beset,
Cried aloud, and it thundered: "More wet! more wet!"

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Then the great sturdy yeoman coming close to the nest,
With the heart of a true man beating soft in his breast,
Saw the parent-quails watching, with what fear who can tell?
Saw the baby-quails hatching, hardly out of the shell.

And who knows but he thought of his own precious baby
His dear little daughter in her mother's arms, maybe?
For he quickly made over that portion of meadow
With the sweetest of clover, and the softest of shadow.

To the quails who all summer lived alongside the lane,
Ever warning the farmer of the forth-coming rain;
For long ere it thundered and I hear the cry yet
They would call as they wandered, "More wet! More wet!"

* * * * *

DIDN'T-THINK is a heedless lad
And never takes the prize:
Remember-well wins every time.
For he is quick and wise.

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_THE LITTLE HOUSEWIFE_.

This little girl knows how to make
A batch of bread, or loaf of cake;
She helps to cook potatoes, beets,
To boil or bake the fish and meats.
She knows to sweep and make a bed,
Can hem a handkerchief for Ned;
In short, a little housewife she,
As busy as the busy bee.

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Let every girl learn how to do
All things that help to make life true;
That serve to keep the home-hearth bright;
That o'er life's burdens throw a light.
And then if she may never need
Herself to labor, she may lead
Her household in the better way,
That eft shall bring a brighter day.

The boys, too, let them learn to know
Of household duties, and to sew;
For oft a button, oft a rip,
By sewing they may save a "fip."
Yes, let them know that "woman's work"
With many a turn and many a quirk,
Is not "a play with straws," as some.
Would seem to think. 'Tis making home.

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_MOTHER-LOVE_.

"AR-G-O-O, ar-g-o-o," is the song of songs,
To the loving mother's ear;
"Ar-g-o-o, ar-g-o-o," these baby notes
Fill all the house with cheer.

The baby's laugh, the baby's coo.
The baby's every move,
Is music, joy, and grace to her,
Who is rich in mother-love.

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The preciou