know,
Something slow, something low,--
Lulla-lullaby.

Barley heads and crested wheat,
Swaying gently to and fro,
Sing the music of the heat,
Sing the drowsiest song you know,
Something slow, something low,--
Lulla-lullaby.

Brooklet hidden in the grass,
Murmuring faintly as you flow,
Sing a sleep song while you pass;
Sing the dreamiest song you know,
Something slow, something low,--
Lulla-lullaby.

MABEL A. CARPENTER.
_Wellesley Magazine._

~Our Scarlet King.~

He comes along the great highway
In scarlet coat and crown,
And high the shrilling trumpets bray
And fierce his lancers frown.
Bright scarlet is his royal crest;
Bright scarlet shines his royal vest;
Oh! pr'ythee canst thou bring
A knight more nobly known and dressed
Than this, our Scarlet King.

See how he throws his largess gold
Into the bending trees.
He doth the forest walls enfold
In purple tapestries.
He giveth all a majesty;
He holds in fiel the shore, the sea;
Oh! pr'ythee come and sing
A song, and sing it merrily
To him, our Scarlet King.

Past crypt and wayside canopy,
Beyond each bloarny throne,
Full fleetly speed his heralds free
To make his advent known.
His scarlet banners bend and blow;
Our scarlet vintages shall flow;
And pr'ythee with us sing,
That proud October all may know
And hail--"our Scarlet King."

HAROLD M. BOWMAN.
_Inlander_.

~Bob White.~

At morn, when first the rosy gleam
Of rising sun proclaimed the day,
There reached me, thro' my last sweet dream,
This oft-repeated lay:
(Too sweet for cry.
Too brief for song,
'Twas borne along
The reddening sky)
_Bob White!
Daylight, Bob White!
Daylight!_

At eve, when first the fading glow
Of setting sun foretold the night,
The same sweet call came, soft and low,
Across the dying light:
(Too sweet for cry,
Too brief for song,
'Twas but a long,
Contented sigh)
_Bob White!
Good Night, Bob White!
Good Night!_

FRANCIS CHARLES MCDONALD.
_Nassau Literary Monthly._

~An Evening Song.~

O red, red clouds in the westering sky,
That are lit with a lamp of gold,
The hours are faint, they sleep, they die,
The stars are earthward rolled;
Make bright day's burial-place, make brig