AN OCTOBER DAY-DREAM. 
Dedicated to the Secretary of the 
Upon a leaf-strewn bank I lay 
One pleasant, warm October day. 
The sun shown midway in the blue: 
And basking in his genial ray, 
Late butterflies and crickets gay, 
And all the insects hopped and flew; 
While desolately, far away, 
A katy-did his bow-strings drew. 
A drowsy honey-bee drew near, 
And as his humming caught my ear— 
“The flowers have gone away,” he said. 
“To day in judgment they appear, 
To show the lives they lived when here; 
For when their earthly forms are dead 
Their spirits seek a brighter sphere. 
Where they their purest fragrance shed. 
“So once a year when summer dies, 
The fragrant flower-spirits rise; 
But just before they enter in 
The lovely fields of Paradise, 
Their judge—the Flower Angel—flies 
To question what their deeds have been. 
Some hesitate in their replies. 
While others commendation win.” 
Still nearer came the honey-bee. 
“Rise up” he said “and come with me.” 
Then faded slo iv the sun’s bright beams. 
Vanished the hillside suddenly. 
While into scenes unknown went we. 
I followed him until it seems 
His drowsy, buzzing minstrelsy 
■Conveyed me to the land of dreams; 
Xcw York Flovxr Mission. 
For soon I was I know not where. 
A mingled fragrance filled the air, 
And gentle voices ; but my sight 
Could see nought else but, standing there, 
The gentle Flower Angel fair. 
I listened then with all my might, 
And heard each one its deeds declare— 
The life of every flower sprite. 
How some had passed their lives at ease, 
And bloomed the gardener’s pride to please; 
While others, far from mortal eye, 
Had blossomed for the honey bees, 
And cast then - seeds upon the breeze, 
Accomplishing their destiny. 
Some brightened Death’s solemnities; 
Some drooped in halls of revelry, 
And some had cheered the poor man’s door- 
Uncurtained windows covered o’er. 
By beauty hid deformity; 
While some the Altar placed before, 
Their silent, grateful witness bore 
To mercies shed like flowers free 
By Him who, than the lilies, more 
Cares, O ye faithless ones, for ye. 
At last some modest voices rose 
And told how they bad soothed the woes 
Of sufferers tossed on beds of pain; 
While some, where vice and misery grows, 
By love could hardened hearts unclose 
That else untouched might yet remain. 
Some thawed the memories age had froze, 
Made wrinkled foreheads young again. 
I saw a smile her face illume; 
The Angel for these last made room, 
And bade them rise above to dwell, 
Where they beneath the throne might bloom ; 
For to their Maker their perfume 
Of all was most acceptable. 
Let them the highest place assume 
Who thus in deeds of love excel. 
M. E. B. 
THE FLOWER CHARITY. 
1 Beauty and fragrance are scattered over the earth in 
blossoms of endless variety, radiant evidences of the 
boundless benevolence of the Creator of all things, who 
made them to gladden the heart of man and be a living 
inspiration of grace to his spirit.” 
“ Fairy ministers of grace ” are they, especially when 
■sent to soothe the weary hours when the sick must lie 
suffering on beds of pain devoid of home comforts, and 
cheerful objects whereon tired eyes can rest and feel re¬ 
freshed. The Flower Mission may be a sentimental 
charity, but if one of their distributors should be ques¬ 
tioned as she returns from her visits to the hospital wards 
or the crowded attics and gloomy basements of our tene¬ 
ment houses, she would tell you that flowers are more 
