ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 
I So 
OLD-FASHIONED FLOWERS. 
W HERE are the sweet old fashioned posies, Morning-glories, tints of purple 
Quaint in form and br.ght in hue, Stretched on tints of creamy white. 
Such as grandma gave her lovers, Folding up their satin curtains 
When she walked the garden through ? Inward through the dewy night. 
Lavender, with spikes of azure, 
Pointing to the dome on high, 
Telling thus whence came its color, 
Thanking with its breath the sky. 
Marigold, with coat of velvet, 
Streaked with gold and yellow lace. 
With its love for summer sunlight 
Written on its honest face. 
Four-o’clock, with heart unfolding, 
When the loving sun had gone, 
Streak and stain of running crimson, 
Like the light of early dawn. 
Regal lilies, many petaled, 
Like the curling drifts of snow, 
With their crown of golden antlers 
Poised on malachite below. 
Dainty pink, with feathered petals, 
Tintec}, curled and deeply frayed, 
With its calyx heart half broken, 
On its leaves uplifted laid. 
Will the modern florist’s triumph 
Look so fair or smell so sweet, 
As those dear old-fashioned posies, 
Blooming round our grandma’s feet? 
Ethel Lynn, 
A MAY SONG. 
LITTLE ONE. 
FOR A 
MERRY little maiden 
In the merry month of May, 
Came tripping o’er the meadow 
As she sang this merry lay: 
I’m a merry little maiden, 
My heart is light and gay, 
And I love the sunny weather 
In the merry month of May. 
“ I love the little birdies 
That sport along my way. 
And sing their sweet and merry songs 
In the merry month of May. 
“ I love my little sisters 
And my brothers every day; 
But I seem to love them better 
In the merry month of May.” 
MERRY SPRING. 
M erry spring, 
Will you bring 
Back the little birds to sing? 
I am sad; 
Make me glad, 
Gentle, merry, laughing spring-. 
Winter’s snow 
Had to go 
From the hills and vales below; 
Then the showers 
Made the flowers 
Over all the hillsides grow. 
Mother said, 
“ They’re not dead 
Only sleeping in their bed; 
When spring rain 
Comes again, 
Each one lifts its tiny head.’ 
