, through which the immortal soul shone purer and
whiter than any lily, and softly said--'Consider the lilies of the
field; they toil not, neither do they spin;' and as I bent over to
kiss this immortal lily, I heard the gentle little mother murmur--'Yet
Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.' Truly the
innocence of a little child invests him with a greater glory than any
this world can give. Why may we not always retain it, pure and
undefiled?

"At last the carriage came to take me away; and they all bid me a kind
adieu; and Bailey and Daisy kissed me so lovingly, that I felt the
kisses all the way to my heart, where I mean to keep the memory of
them as long as I live. Wonderful to relate, something happened at the
very last moment, that made Bailey dance with delight, for Edith, shy
Edith, ran to me and put up her sweet pink and white cheek for a kiss;
and so I left beautiful Idlewild, a very happy Aunt Fanny."

The children were delighted with this account, which Minnie called "a
very nice _inscription_."

"And now about the birds, Aunt Fanny. You know you told us to put you
in mind."

"Oh, yes. Well, I will try to remember what I read in the Home Journal
a year ago about the dear little winter birds at Idlewild."

"There is a charming study at the north-west corner of the house; and
the father of Daisy, and Edith, and Bailey, began his beautiful little
story, by saying that he had two very sociable sets of visitors in
his study early every morning. First the little folks jump out of
their beds, and run in to him in their slippers and nightgowns, just
as Laina the cook, with her kind dark face, comes along with the
tea-tray for him, and bread for the second set of visitors. The
children crumble the bread very joyfully and carefully, and the window
is quickly opened, (for it is winter, and snowing,) and the
bread-feast is spread out over the roof of the portico.

"Then the children cluster round the fire, and talk about the dogs and
the peacock and their lessons, keeping one eye upon the window, near
which the snow-white hemlocks are bowing in the wintry wind.

"Presently--'Hush! There they are!' and the little nightgowns flutter
softly to the window, and gaze lovingly at fifteen or twenty little
birds, in only their bare feet and feathers, who have come with the
first peep of dawn, and are made happy with a bountiful breakfast.
They were dear old birds, that had been before, and no doubt