A MERRY GO-ROUND.
What a merry go-round!
Not a ghost of a sound
As the snowflakes dance and spin:
Won't the wind play the flute,
Now the birds are all mute,
And the crickets have stopped their din?
The brook would be glad
To tinkle like mad,
If the snowflakes would only wait
Till the season is June,
And its voice is in tune
For their service, early and late.
Then the brown bee would hum,
And the frogs beat the drum,
And robin would lead the band:
Such a merry go-round,
To such a sweet sound,
Was ne'er known in snowflake-land.
MARY N. PRESCOTT.
THE SAVOYARD.
HIS boy, as you may see by his looks, is not one of our American boys. He is a native of Savoy, and is dressed in the costume of the peasants of that country.