IN the spring, when the leaves all start, The crocus thrills at its glowing heart, The windflower opens its tinted cup, While the sap mounts merrily up and up. In the spring all the birds begin, Early and late to build and sing: Sweeter music was never heard Then the merry note of a building bird. In the summer the roses smile, Painting the roadside, mile by mile; The sweet-brier catches you as you pass, The violets thicken among the grass; Little nests run over with song, Little wings grow restless and strong; Daisies shine in the fields afar, Odors float where the lilies are. In the autumn the sap runs down, And leaves are tinted with gold and brown: In the winter when wild winds blow, The leaves are dead in a shroud of snow. MARY N. PRESCOTT. "CLEAR THE COAST!" I TOLD you last month how Robert hoped that Santa Claus would bring him a sled; and how Robert woke on Christmas morning to find by his bedside a beautiful sled, painted red, with thick iron runners. The next day he went with Uncle Charles to the hill on Boston Common, near Park Street, to see the boys coast. Here is a picture of the scene, drawn from life; and a very correct idea it will give you of the sport that may be witnessed in Boston after every snow-storm. Robert had his sled with him; and as he stood with Uncle Charles, looking at the coasters, the little boy longed to be _of_ them and _among_ them. But Uncle Charles said, "You are not quite old enough yet to coast in public: you have not had practice enough." Then a big boy, who had been admiring Robert's sled, stepped up and said, "I should like to try that sled, sir: I can take the little fellow on the sled in front of me. I will take good care of him, sir." Robert begged so hard to take his first lesson in coasting under the care of this big boy, that Uncle Charles at last consented; and in the picture you may see Uncle Charles waiting for the two boys to come along on the sled. He could not see them at first: but in about five minutes down they came like the rush of a torrent; and little Robert, as he saw Uncle Charles, cried out as loud as he could, "Clear the coast, clear the coast!" Uncle Charles clapped his hands; the ladies waved their handkerchiefs; and Robert felt quite proud, when, as he reached the bottom of the hill, some boys gathered round, and pronounced his sled "a first-rate runner." [Illustration] That was a proud day for Robert; for, before he left the Common, he was allowed to coast once all alone; and he did it in such good style, that the big boy told him he would make a "prime coaster." "What did he mean by a "_prime coaster_"?" asked Robert. "He meant," said Uncle Charles, "that, with a little more practice, you will coast very well,--as well, perhaps, as he does himself."