ARBOR DAY MAM UAL. 
201 
THE PETRIFIED FERN. 
I N a valley, centuries ago, 
Grew a little fern leaf green and slender; 
Veining delicate and fibres tender; 
Waving, when the wind crept down so low. 
Rushes tall and moss and grass grew round it, 
Playful sunbeams darted in and found it, 
Drops of dew stole in by night and crowned it, 
But no foot, of man e’er trod that wa) r . 
Earth was young and keeping holiday. 
Monster fishes swam the silent main, 
Stately forests waved their giant branches, 
Mountains hurled theiir.snowy avalanches, 1 
Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain; 
Nature reveled in grand mysteries, 
But the little fern was not of these, 
Did not number with the hills and trees ; 
Only grew and waved its wild sweet way ; 
No one came to note it day by day. 
Earth one time put on a frolic mood, 
Heaved the rocks and changed the mighty motion 
Of the deep, strong currents of the ocean, 
Moved the plain and shook the haughty wood. 
Crushed the little fern in soft, moist clay. 
Covered it and hid it safe away. 
Oh the long, long centuries since that day ! 
Oh the changes, oh life’s bitter cost. 
Since that useless little fern was lost! 
Useless? Lost? There came a thoughtful man 
Searching nature’s secrets far and deep; 
From a fissure in a rocky steep 
He withdrew a stone o’er which there ran 
Fairy pencilings, a quaint'design, 
Veinings, leafage, fibres clear and fine, 
And the fern’s life lay in every line. 
So, I think, God hides spme souls away 
Sweetly to surprise us the last day. 
Mary L. Bolles Branch. 
Undpr the shady, roof 
Of branching elm star-proof. 
Milton’s Arcades . 
