And the genial west wind bore the message of the grand old rose far and wide, and whispered it to every flower, and the flowers bowed in silence while he spake; but when he had passed along, they shook off their useless petals and prepared for their journey as they sweetly sang: “We are going home, we are going home; good-bye, old world, good-bye.” And when the west wind came again, he found them ready, and he gathered them all up in his arms and bore them away to the happy Summer-land. The north wind came with a biting blast, but he found no trembling leaf or shrinking flower; they had all departed with their friend, the west wind, to remain forever in that land of sunlight, where the south wind sings to them of the peace and beauty of their heavenly home. FOR THE LITTLE ONES. All day long the leafy branches Of the stately maple tree Waved their banners in the breezes Bold and fearless, strong and free; All day long the golden sunshine Bathed the pretty flowers in light, As they peeped above the grasses And revealed their faces bright. All day long a merry songster Warbled in the leafy tree, Waking all the air with music, Thrilling all the hours with glee; For he held a happy secret ’Neath his crimson mottled coat, Cause of all the liquid gladness Bubbling from his downy throat. Let me tell to you the secret— In a dainty, pretty nest, Hid among the leafy branches, There were cuddled down to rest Little tiny, cunning birdlings, Three in number—do you see? This was why the merry songster Warbled in his happy glee. All day long the birdies wondered What this strange, bright world could be, While their gentle-hearted mother Hushed them with her tender “Wee;” And the happy, singing father Brought them goodies fresh to eat, As he told them famous stories Of the flowers pure and sweet. What a happy, joyous summer Came to bless the maple tree As the birdies grew in beauty, Strength and vigor, full and free; And they filled the earth with music, Charmed the sunshine, woke the flowers, As they brought a peaceful blessing To the golden-hearted hours. WHO CAN TELL?