XXIV.-SONG OF THE FLOWER-GATHERER.

1. It is summer, it is summer;
How beautiful it looks,

There is sunshine on the old grey hills,

And sunshine on the brooks,

A singing bird on every bough,
Soft perfumes on the air,
A happy smile on each young lip,
And gladness everywhere.

2. Oh! is it not a pleasant thing,
To wander through the woods,
To look upon the painted flowers,
And watch the opening buds;
Or kneeling in the deep cool shade,
At some tall ash-tree's root,
To fill my little basket

With the sweet and scented fruit ?

3. They tell me that my father's poor;
That is no grief to me,

When such a blue and brilliant sky
My up-turned eye can see.

They tell me too that richer girls
Can sport with toy and gem;
may be So, and yet methinks
I do not envy them.

It

4. When forth I go upon my way,
A thousand toys are mine,

The clusters of dark violets,

The wreaths of the wild vine.

5. And then the fruit, the glowing fruit, How sweet the scent it breathes,

I love to see its crimson cheek
Rest on the bright green leaves.
Summer's own gift of luxury,
In which the poor may share,
The wild wood fruit my eager eye
Is seeking everywhere.

-6. Oh! summer is a pleasant time,

With all its sounds and sights,
Its dewy mornings, balmy eves,
And tranquil calm delights.
I sigh when first I see the leaves
Fall yellow on the plain,
And all the winter long I sing,
"Sweet summer, come again."

SUMMARY.It is summer and everything looks beautiful. There is sunshine on the brooks and the gray hills. It is pleasant to wander through the woods, to watch the opening buds, and to fill my little basket with the sweet and scented fruit. I sigh as the falling leaves show the winter to be near, and I long for the time when summer will come back once more.

1. One cold winter morning, when I was a little

boy, I met on my way to school a smiling man with an axe on his shoulder.

2. "My pretty boy," said he, " has your father a grindstone?"

"Yes, sir," said I.

"You are a fine little fellow," said the man: " will you let me grind my axe on it?"

3. It pleased me very much to be called a fine little fellow; so I said, "Oh, yes, sir: it is down in the shop." I told him to come along and I would show him the place where the grindstone was fixed.

"And will you, my little man," said he, patting me on the head, "get a little hot water?"

4. Now how could I refuse? He was such a smiling, pleasant man! As fast as I could I ran into the house, and brought him a whole kettleful. 5. "How old are you ? and " What's your name?" he asked. I was going to tell him, but before I could answer he went on, "You are one of the finest lads I ever saw will you just turn a few minutes for me ?

6. Tickled with his praise, like a little fool, I went to work. I flung down my books on the floor, quite ready to begin. I took hold of the handle of the grindstone, and began to turn it while he went on smiling at me. It was a new axe, and I toiled and tugged and turned till I was tired enough to drop. I had gone on for a long time, and at last I heard the school bell begin to ring; but I could not get away from the hard work of putting an edge on the axe.

7. The bell rang again, and there I was still, turning away at the grindstone. My hands were blistered, my shoulders ached, and I was very tired indeed.

8. At last the axe was ground. What a sharp, keen edge it had! I remember how it shone in the winter sun. The man took it in his hand and

looked at it for some time with another of his smiles.

9. Then I looked up, expecting thanks. But the man suddenly turned toward me with a frown, and said, "You little rascal, you have played truant! Be off now: scud away to school, or you'll catch it!"

10. It was hard enough to turn a heavy grindstone so long, and on such a cold day; but to be called a "little rascal for doing it was too much. These harsh words sank deep into my boyish mind, and often have I thought of them since. When I see a man smiling as he asks a stranger to do some work for him, I always think of that winter morning and the axe which I had to grind.

11. Boys and girls, whenever you meet a flatterer, beware of him. You may be pretty sure that he has " an axe to grind," and wants you to turn the grindstone.

SUMMARY.-One cold winter morning I met a smiling man who wished to grind his axe. He praised me, and I showed him the place where the grindstone was kept. At his request I agreed to turn the grindstone. I went on for a long time, and at last I heard the school bell begin to ring; but I could not get away from the hard work of putting an edge on the axe. The bell rang again and there I was still, turning away at the grindstone. At last the man turned to me, and calling me 66 a little rascal," told me to be off to school. I often think of the man who had an axe to grind.

Ached, were in pain.
Flat-ter-er, one who praises
falsely.

Pleasant, nice in manner.
Tick-led, very much pleased.
Toiled, worked hard.

QUESTIONS.

Whom did the boy meet What did the man ask? How did the boy like his way of talking? What did the boy do? How did he feel before the work was

done? What did the man say? How did the boy feel at his words? What did he always remember about that axe? Why should you beware of a flatterer?