Then there is that wonderful poem of hers called “The Cry of the Children.” Surely you ought to know of that. It was suggested to her by reading the report which told about children being employed in the mines and manufactories of England. It is said that Mrs. Browning’s poem was the means of pushing an act of Parliament which forbade the employment of young children in this way. The poem has thirteen long verses, every one of which you should carefully read. Let me give you just a taste: “Do you hear the children weeping, O, my brothers! Ere the sorrow comes with years? They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, And that cannot stop their tears! The young lambs are bleating in the meadows; The young birds are chirping in the nest; The young fawns are playing with the shadows; The young flowers are blowing toward the west; But the young, young children, O, my brothers! They are weeping bitterly. They are weeping in the playtime of the others, In the country of the free. . . . . . . “‘True,’ say the children, ‘it may happen That we die before our time; Little Alice died last year; her grave is shapen Like a snowball in the rime. We looked into the pit prepared to take her; There’s no room for any work in the coarse clay; From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her, Crying ‘Get up, little Alice! it is day.’ If you listen by that grave in sun and shower, With your ear down, little Alice never cries. Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her, For the smile has time for growing in her eyes. And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled In the shroud by the kirk-chime. ‘It is good, when it happens,’ say the children, ‘That we die before our time.’” It will never do to take more room with this paper, and I have told you almost nothing about the dear lady who voiced the children’s cry so wonderfully, and to such purpose! Suppose you let me take her story, little bits of it, for the next PANSY. Besides, I want to introduce you to her dear “Flush.” PANSY. [Illustration: MRS. BROWNING’S AURORA LEIGH.] BABY’S CORNER. A GOOD TIME. THIS is Trudy. She is all ready to go with papa. They are going up in the woods to the “sugar bush.” It is April—a bright, sunshiny day, but the wind is cold, so she has to wear her warm coat and hood. [Illustration: JOHN BROUGHT THE PAILS OF SAP.] As Trudy ran along through the woods she saw a little bluebird singing on a branch, and she found yellow violets and tiny blue flowers with a long name. They had just poked up their heads through the snow. Brave little blossoms they were!