ETHEL’S EXPERIMENT.

WHITE flakes on the upland, white flakes on the plain, Frost bon-bons in meadow, in garden, in lane; And wise little Ethel—the strangest of girls— Puts on her grave thinking-cap, shakes her brown curls, And talks to herself, in a curious way, Of “snow” and a “ball” and a “hot summer’s day!” Then, down to the brook, where the gnarled willows grow, And the ice-covered reeds stand like soldiers in row, Our brave little girl trudges off all alone, And rolls a large snow-ball just under the stone That lies on the brink of the streamlet, and then In this wise begins her soliloquy: “When The Fourth of July comes, what fun it will be To have all this snow tucked away, for you see Nobody will guess how it came there,—but me!” Green leaves on the upland, green leaves on the plain, And bluebirds and robins and south winds again. The brook in the meadow is wide awake now, And fragrant bloom drops from the old willows bough, When Ethel remembers her treasure, her prize, That under the edge of the great boulder lies; And stealthily creeping close down to the brink, Where the slender reeds quiver—now what do you think Our little girl found? Why, never a trace Of the snow-ball—O no! but just in its place A tiny white violet, sweetest of sweet, Because of the coverlid over its feet Through all the long winter! And Ethel’s mamma, When she heard the whole story said, “Truly we are No wiser than children. We bury our grief, And find in its hiding-place Hope’s tender leaf!”