Opal does not seem to have been extensively known or used by the ancients, although we know the Romans prized it highly and ascribed to it the power of warning against disaster. The Roman Senator Nonius owned one set in a ring which was said to be valued at nearly a million dollars. History records that for refusing to sell the stone to Mark Antony he was sent into exile. The next most famous Opal in history is one owned by the Empress Josephine which was called “The Burning of Troy,” on account of the brilliancy of the flames which shot forth from its depths. The present whereabouts of neither of these gems is known. A large Mexican Opal, now in the Field Columbian Museum, is carved in the image of the Mexican sun-god, and has a setting of gold representing the diverging rays of the sun. This gem is very ancient and is believed to have been kept by the Aztecs in a temple, so it is probable that the Aztecs knew and prized Opals. The Arabians believe that Opals fall from heaven with the lightning’s flash, a beautiful fancy, indeed. Modern usage makes the Opal the birthstone of the month of October, some of the properties assigned to it being that it has the power of making its wearer a general favorite, enhancing the keenness of his sight and shielding him from suicide. October’s child is born for woe And life’s vicissitudes must know; But lay an Opal on her breast And Hope will lull those woes to rest. Oliver Cummings Farrington. THE CROCUS. “Rest, little sister,” her sisters said— Violet purple and wild-rose red— “Rest, dear, yet, till the sun comes out, Till the hedges bud, and the grass blades sprout. We are safe in the kindly earth, and warm— In the upper world there is sleet and storm. Oh, wait for the robin’s true, clear note, For the sound of a drifting wing afloat; For the laughter bright of an April shower To call and wake you, sweet Crocus flower.” But brave-heart Crocus said never a word, Nor paused to listen for note of bird, Or laugh of raindrop * * * In rough green vest And golden bonnet, herself she dressed By the light of a glow worm’s friendly spark, And softly crept up the stairway dark, Out through the portal of frozen mold Into the wide world, bleak and cold. But somehow a sunbeam found the place Where the snow made room for her lifted face. —Madeline S. Bridges, in Ladies’ Home Journal. MARCH. The stormy March is 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 welcome month to me.