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B
LIND folks see the fairies, Oh, better far than we, Who miss the shining of their wings Because our eyes are filled with things We do not wish to see. They need not seek enchantment From solemn printed books, For all about them as they go The fairies flutter to and fro With smiling friendly looks. Deaf folk hear the fairies, However soft their song; Tis we who lose the honey sound Amid the clamor all around That beats the whole day long. But they with gentle faces Sit quietly apart; What room have they for sorrowing While fairy minstrels sit and sing Close to each listening heart? —From London Punch. |
THE BROWNIES
BY JULIANA HORATIA EWING
I
"C
HILDREN are a burden," said the tailor, as he sat on his bench stitching away.
"Children are a blessing," said the kind lady in the window.
It was the tailor's mother who spoke. She was a very old woman and nearly helpless. All day she sat in a large armchair knitting rugs.