THE RIVER HAUNT. 5 1 



suggested the name of the early botanist, we might well 

 be filled with the story of the past and the promise of the 

 future. 



The River Haunt. 



BY ALICE B. WAITE. 



Where pale willows dip to waters 

 That reflect the skies soft blue, 

 Where the breezes sway young grasses 

 From darkening green to silver hue ; 

 Where the reeds and rushes quiver 



To the touch of swallow's wing, 

 As they lightly skim the river 



'Long the banks in flashing ring ; 

 Where "marsh-nuns," 'moug the blue flags, 



Brilliant pose for moment's rest, 

 Where " amber- wings " brightly gather, 



A glittering host o'er water-cress ; 

 Where the " red-wings " 'mong the alders 



Weave their dainty cradled nest, 

 Trilling low their tender warblings, 



To and fro on loving quest ; 

 Where the waves caress the lilies, 



Lilies caress my light canoe, 

 Beneath the overhanging willows 



Where the twilight glimmers through — 

 Here you'll find me oft at evening, 



Beside the reedy stream along ; 

 Bird and flower and brook invite me 

 To sing their lives in joyous song. 

 South Lyme, Conn. 



In truth, it is a thing to confound and almost terrify the imagi- 

 nation, to think that a grub, at the outset no bigger than a thread, 

 should include in itself all the elements of its moultings and meta- 

 morphoses ; should contain its triple and even octuple envelopes ; 

 nay, more, the sheath or case of its nympha and its complete but- 

 terfly, all folded up one in another, with an immense apparatus of 

 vessels, respiratory and digestive, of nerves for feeling and mus- 

 cles for moving ! — Michelet. 



