Part 2 (2/2)

Daisy escaped unhurt, I with a slight cold, but Gerald and poor little Rough were the ones who suffered. Gerald had a severe attack of pneumonia, from which we had much ado to bring him back to health, and Rough was ill. They brought us the news from the stable on the next morning. We couldn't tell what was the matter; perhaps he had strained himself, perhaps had caught cold. We could not tell, nor could the veterinary surgeon we brought to see him. Poor Rough lay ill for weeks, and one bright spring morning he died.

They told us early in the morning, before we were out of bed, how, an hour ago, Rough had died.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE MUSIC LESSON.]

THE MUSIC LESSON.

Touch the keys _lightly_, Nellie, my dear: The noise makes Johnnie Impatient, I fear.

He looks very cross, I am sorry to see-- Not looking at all As a brother should be.

Whatever you're doing, Bear this always in mind: In all _little things_ Be both _thoughtful_ and _kind_.

THE FROST.

The frost looked forth one still clear night, And whispered, ”Now I shall be out of sight; So through the valley and over the height In silence I'll take my way: I will not go on like that bl.u.s.tering train, The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, Who make so much bustle and noise in vain, But I'll be as busy as they.”

Then he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest; He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed In diamond beads; and over the breast Of the quivering lake he spread A coat of mail, that it need not fear The downward point of many a spear That he hung on its margin, far and near, Where a rock could rear its head.

He went to the windows of those who slept, And over each pane like a fairy crept: Wherever he breathed, wherever he stept, By the light of the moon were seen Most beautiful things: there were flowers and trees; There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees; There were cities with temples and towers, and these All pictured in silver sheen!

But he did one thing that was hardly fair: He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there That all had forgotten for him to prepare-- ”Now, just to set them a-thinking, I'll bite this basket of fruit,” said he, ”This costly pitcher I'll burst in three, And the gla.s.s of water they've left for me Shall 'tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A woman and two children with a calf}]

MY PICTURE.

I have a little picture; Perchance you have one too.

Mine is not set in frame of gold; 'Tis first a bit of blue, And then a background of dark hills-- A river just below, Along whose broad, green meadow banks The wreathing elm trees grow.

Upon an overhanging ridge A little farm-house stands, Whose owner, like the man of old, Has builded ”on the sands;”

And yet, defying storms and wind, It stands there all alone, And brightens up the landscape With a beauty of its own.

Fairy-like my picture changes As the seasons come and go.

Now it glows 'neath summer's kisses; Now it sleeps 'mid winter's snow.

I can see the breath of spring-time In the river's deeper blue, And autumn seems to crown it With her very brightest hue.

Ah. I'd not exchange my picture For the choicest gem of art; Yet I must not claim it wholly; It is only mine in part; For 'tis one of nature's sketches-- A waif from that Great Hand Which hath filled our earth with models Of the beautiful and grand.

<script>