This is the way; here is the gate, This little creaking wicket; Here robin calls his truant mate From out the lilac-thicket. The walks are bordered all with box,-- Oh! come this way a minute; The snowball-bush, beyond the phlox, Has chippy's nest hid in it. Look at this mound of blooming pinks, This balm, these mountain daisies; And can you guess what grandma thinks The sweetest thing she raises? You're wrong, it's not the violet, Nor yet this pure white lily: It is this straggling mignonette,-- I know you think it silly,-- But hear my story; then, perhaps, You'll freely grant me pardon. (See how the spiders set their traps All over grandma's garden.) Long since I had a little friend, Dear as your darling sister, And she from over sea, did send This token, ere Death kissed her: 'Twas in a box, a tiny slip, With word just how to set it: And now I kiss its fragrant tip,-- You see I can't forget it. [Illustration] Well, here I get thyme, sage, and mint, Sweet marjoram and savory; (Cook says they always give a hint Of summer, rich and flavory); Here's caraway--take, if you will: Fennel and coriander Hang over beds of daffodil, And myrtles close meander. What's next to come, one may not know-- But then I like surprises: Just here, where tender roses blow, A tiger-lily rises. Here cock's-comb flaunts, and columbine Stands shaded by sweetbrier, And marigolds and poppies shine Like beds of glowing fire. A group of honest sunflowers tall Keep sentry in yon corner; And close beside them on the wall, The peacock, strutting scorner, Spreads out his rainbow plumes alone, Or stoops to pick a berry, Where briers climb the mossy stone Beneath those clumps of cherry. Now we'll turn back: you've seen but few Of my old-fashioned beauties, But take away a nosegay new To cheer you at your duties; Take pansies and forget-me-nots; Pluck pinks, bluebells, and roses, And tell me if you know a spot Where flourish fairer posies. Grandma herself no lovelier ground This side of paradise has found. M.A.C. [Illustration] GREAT-AUNT PATIENCE AND HER LITTLE LION. "What relation is she to me?" said black-eyed Fred, as he heard his mother say that her Aunt Patience was coming to visit them. "She is your _great_-aunt," said mamma; "and I want you and Bertie to be very polite to her." The little boys had heard their mamma say that Aunt Patience was "a lady of the old school," and that she was afraid the children would trouble her, as they were not quite so still as the little boys and girls used to be forty or fifty years ago.