When will the snow come, mother dear?
When will the soft white snow be here?
Upon my sled I want to go:
Oh for the snow! I long for snow.
I want to see it falling fast,
And covering all the ground at last,
So Dick and I can snowballs throw:
Oh for the snow, the splendid snow!
I look, as soon as it is light,
To see if all the earth is white;
I watch the clouds each day, but no,
There's not a single flake of snow.
I want to plunge about, waist deep,
In the great drifts so high and steep,
And wash Dick's face,—oh, you don't know
What lots of fun we have with snow!
We're going to build a fort, and you'll
See battles fought there after school!
And cannon-balls will fly—hallo!
Look! mother, look! here comes the snow!
ELIZABETH SILL.
A BASKET FROM HOME.
ALLOA, boys! Here's old Trott, the expressman, coming into the yard. What do you suppose he has brought?" exclaimed one of a group of boys in the playground of a country boarding-school.
"It is probably a box for me," said one of the older boys, with rather an important air.
This boy, being somewhat selfish, was not a favorite with the little ones, one of whom whispered to another, "I hope it isn't for him, don't you? None of the rest of us will get a peep into it if it is."
Presently the wagon stopped; and Mr. Trott pulled out a basket, and reading the address, "Master Robert Rand," said, "Is there any boy of that name here?"