firmly in place, then pushing out his st jir.- 

 ach, through his mouth, he wraps it 

 around the unfortunate oyster, and ty the 

 power of suction the oyster is drawn 

 from the shell and digested and the shell 

 cast away. You can easily see what a 

 nuisance they must be in an oyster bed. 



They are known as the opossum of the 

 sea, as they often appear to be quite dead 

 when they are very much alive. If you 



wish to be t are, put him on his back, and 

 if alive yc a will soon see a number of 

 semitransparent globular objects begin- 

 ning to move, reaching this way and that. 

 These are the ambulacra seeking to re- 

 gain their normal position. If you see 

 no motion, you may safely conclude that 

 he is an extinguished star. 



Rest H. Metcalf. 



IN THE MEADOW. 



A butterfly with spangles gay, 

 Met a bumble bee, one day, 



Where the sunshine warmly lay 

 Turning clover into hay. 



" Hark!" said lovely Shining Wings, 

 " Hear how loud that blackbird sings! 



Don't you think the summer brings 

 Just the brightest, sweetest things? 



" See the color of the sky; 



See the clouds that sail so high; 

 See the milkweed floating by" — 



Said the dainty butterfly. 



"Smell the clover blossoms there, 

 Scenting all the summer air; 



Nothing half so sweet or fair, 

 As this meadow, anywhere!" 



Bumble jerked his little head, 

 Then he rather crossly said: 



"Well, I like the clover red, 

 Not for perfume, but for bread! 



"All the world knows that a bee 



Much too busy is to see 

 Beauty merely. All that he 



Cares for is utility." 



Shining Wings then made reply: 

 " Though I'm but a butterfly, 



Beauty's faithful lover I, 

 And without it fain to die. 



" Life itself is naught, poor bee, 



It it's but utility; 

 Sure am I 'twas meant that we 



Should the beauty, also, see; 



"E'se there were no summer sky, 

 Nor the clouds to sail on high; 



Else no milkweed floating by, 

 Nor spangles for the butterfly!" 



Angry Bumble flew away, 



Leaving Shining Wings to stay 



Where the sunshine warmly lay, 

 Turning clover into hay. 



Sarah E. Sprague. 



