I wish that the grasses would learn to sprout,
That the lilac and rose-bush would both leaf out;
That the crocus would put on her gay green frill,
And robins begin to whistle and trill!

I wish that the wind-flower would grope its way
Out of the darkness into the day;
That the rain would fall and the sun would shine,
And the rainbow hang in the sky for a sign.

I wish that the silent brooks would shout,
And the apple-blossoms begin to pout;
And if I wish long enough, no doubt
The fairy Spring will bring it about!




HOW MATCHES ARE MADE.

BY F.H.C.


[Illustration]


A match is a small thing. We seldom pause to think, after it has
performed its mission, and we have carelessly thrown it away, that it
has a history of its own, and that, like some more pretentious things,
its journey from the forest to the match-safe is full of changes. This