ARHOK DA Y MANUAL. 65 



THE STORY OF A LEAF. 



I AM only a leaf. My home is one of the great trees that grow near the 

 school-house. All winter I was wrapped up in a tiny warm blanket, tucked 

 in a little brown cradle, and rocked by the winds as they blew. Do you not 

 believe it, little reader? What I say is true. 



Next fall just break off a branch of a tree, and see whether you cannot find 3 

 leaf-bud on it. It will look like a little brown knot. 



Break it open, and inside you will see some soft, white down; that is the 

 blanket. The brown shell that you break is the cradle. 



Well, as I was telling you, I was rocked all winter in my cradle on the branch. 

 When the warm days came, and the soft rains fell, then I grew very fast indeed. 

 I soon pushed myself out of my cradle, dropped my blanket, and showed my 

 pretty green dress to all who came by. 



Oh, how glad every one was to see me ! And here I am, so happy with my 

 little brothers and sisters about me ! Every morning the birds come and sing 

 to us ; the great sun shines upon us, and the winds fan us. 



We dance with the winds, we smile back at the bright sun, and make a 

 pleasant shade for the dear birds. Every day, happy, laughing school children 

 pass under our tree. 



We are always glad to see you, boys and girls glad to see your bright eyes, 

 and hear you say, " How beautiful the leaves are ! " 



REBECCA D. RICK.OFF. 



IN A FOREST. 



STRANGER ! whose steps have reached this solitude, 

 Know that this lonely spot was dear to one 

 Devoted with no unrequited zeal 

 To nature. Here, delighted, he has heard 

 The rustling of these woods, that now perchance 

 Melodious to the gale of summer move; 

 And underneath their shade on yon smooth rock, 

 With gray and yellow lichens overgrown, 

 Often reclined, watching the silent flow 

 Of this perspicuous rivulet, that steals 

 Along its verdant course, till all around 

 Had filled his senses with tranquillity, 

 And ever soothed in spirit he returned 

 A happier, better man. Stranger ! perchance, 

 Therefore, the stream more lovely to thine eye 

 Will glide along, and to the summer gale 

 The woods wave more melodious. Cleanse thou, then, 

 The weeds and mosses from this lettered stone. 



ROBERT SOUTH EV, i;c 



