OCTOBER NINETEENTH

Childhood had its litanies

In every age and clime;

The earliest cradles of the race

Were rocked to Poet's rhyme.

Whittier

OCTOBER TWENTIETH

Sweet little maid, with winsome eyes

That laugh all day through the tangled hair;

Gazing with baby looks so wise

Over the arms of the oaken chair.

Harry Thurston Peck

OCTOBER TWENTY-FIRST

Everything in immortal nature is a miracle to the

little child.

Anatole France

OCTOBER TWENTY-SECOND

Even so this happy creature of herself

Is all-sufficient, solitude to her

Is blithe society, who fills the air

With gladness and involuntary songs.

Wordsworth

OCTOBER TWENTY-THIRD

The plays of childhood are the heart-leaves of

the whole future life.

Froebel