But even while acknowledging this, our thoughts 
will revert regretfully to the sweet memories of 
early days, and we cannot help saying to the 
child:— 
“Linger yet upon the hour, 
Of the green leaf and the flower j 
Art thou happy ? For thy sake 
Do the birds their music make— 
Birds with golden plumes, that bring 
Sunshine from a distant spring, 
For thine eyes the roses grow 
Red as sunset, white as snow, 
And the bees are gathering gold 
Ere the winter hours come cold. 
Flowers are colouring the wild-wood. 
Art thou weary of thy childhood ? 
Break not its enchanted reign,-— 
Sitchi life never knows again." —L, E. L. 
