Wind is beautiful—not to the eye— You cannot see it—but hear it sigh Lowly and sweet in a gentle breeze, Rustling the tops of the lofty trees, Sending the yellow leaves to the ground, Playfully whirling them round and round, Filling the sails with their fill of air, Then dancing off on some freak more rare; Scat’ring the snow and the blinding hail, Shrieking aloud in the wintry gale, Rudely driving the pattering rain ’Gainst the lonely cottage’s humble pane, Uprooting the aged forest-tree, Then whistling loud right merrily; Owning no king save a _mighty One_! Following _His_ dictates, and _His_ alone. Water is beautiful—sounding clear, Like distant music upon the ear, Bubbling light, sparkling bright, bounding still With a joyous laugh adown the hill, Clapping its hands with a noisy glee, Shouting I’m bound for the sea, the sea! I’ll bear my spoils to the Ocean’s tide— Hurrah! hurrah! the earth’s my loved bride; I came through a lovely grassy glade, And caught the dew-drops from every blade; I stopped awhile in a shady spring Hearing the summer-birds sweetly sing, And I just ’scaped being pris’ner caught, A maiden to fill her pail there sought; But I laughed aloud with a careless ring, As off I rolled from the crystal spring. Small though I seem, I’m part of the tide That’s to dash against a tall ship’s side, Bearing silken goods far o’er the sea, Bringing back ingots of gold for me— For me to seize and to bury deep Where thousands of pearls and diamonds sleep Scorn me! who dares? I tell thee now, _I’m_ monarch, and _mine_ is the lordly brow. Oh! all is beautiful, all is fair— High Heaven, and earth, and sea, and air, The sun, the moon, and the stars on high, The clouds, the waters, and sands that lie Far away down where the mermaids roam And the coral insects build their home. * * * * * KATE RICHMOND’S BETROTHAL. BY GRACE GREENWOOD.