haps they had lived their life and would about them. One author stated that the 



have died had they remained in Cuba, ladies of Cuba sometimes fastened them 



We placed them in the insect cabinet in their hair as an ornament at evening 



really with regret, for we had never tired parties ; also that a large number of them 



of watching them and many people came on a tree would give sufficient light to 



to see them. We learned quite a little read by. We did not doubt it. 



REST H. METCALF. 



MY DOG-WOOD TREE 



Its slender portions roughly clad 



Are curved in lines distinct and bold, 

 Blending with grace the strength of steel ; 



So stands my tree through the winter's cold, 

 And I marvel not that lovingly 



The snow-flakes soft its twigs enfold. 



But when spring comes with long, bright hours, 



And promises of summer gay, 

 My tree is decked with blossoms white, 



That cluster close round its branches grey, 

 Companions of the violets blue, 



And friends of the frail wind-flowers, they. 



But when the sunset of the year 



Blends earth and sky in radiance bright, 

 My Dog-wood lights its jets of flame 



Where once had flaunted its blossoms white, 

 And the frost elves touch with magic brush 



Its leaves, and lo! they glow with light. 



In summer's heat, and winter's cold, 



It stands, a thing of beauty still, 

 A picture by my window framed, 



'Gainst the shaded background of the hill ; 

 A friend most true is my Dog-wood tree, 



Constant and strong through good and ill. 



KATE MATSON POST. 



188 



