23. THE DAFFODILS.

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed and gazed- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills
And dances with the daffodils.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

24. 'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER.

'Tis the last rose of summer

Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,

To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh!

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem ;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter

Thy leaves o'er the bed,
When thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,

When friendships decay,
And from Love's shining circle

The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie withered,
And fond ones are flown,

Oh! who would inhabit

This bleak world alone?

-THOMAS MOORE.

25. FROM THE TWENTY-FOURTH PSALM.

The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof,
The world and they that dwell therein;
For he hath founded it upon the seas,
And established it upon the floods.

FROM THE NINETEENTH PSALM.

The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handiwork.

Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge.

There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard.

THE HEAVENS DECLARE THE GLORY OF GOD.

The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue, ethereal sky,.

And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim;

Th' unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display,

And publishes to every land
The work of an Almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail
The moon takes up the wondrous tale
And nightly, to the listening earth,
Repeats the story of her birth;

While all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,

And spread the truth from pole to pole.

What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round the dark, terrestrial ball?
What though no real voice or sound
Amid their radiant orbs be found?
In Reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
Forever singing, as they shine,

"The Hand that made us is divine!"

-JOSEPH ADDISON.

PART II.

1. BEES IN THE HIVE.

I.

It is a June morning, full of sunshine and perfume, of bird-songs and leafy whisperings. As we stand upon the porch of the large old farmhouse, waves of fragrance are borne to us from the white clover in the near meadow and from the lindens which border the driveway.

Humming-birds are flashing among the scarlet beans, and butterflies are airily hovering over the rose-bushes.

"Whether we look or whether we listen,

We hear life murmur or see it glisten."

And here, darting right into the throat of the climbing honeysuckle, comes a honey-bee. This is just the day which bees like, so I propose that we visit to-day one of their cities, -a curious city with streets and gates, but no pavements; with houses, but no windows or chimneys; with intense activity, but no excitement or discord.

The sagacious eye of the farmer has been watching the bees this morning, and he has been heard