FLOWER STORIES(Continue)

HOW THE SNOWDROP CAME

The whole earth was bare and desolate. The trees were bare, and the grasses were broken and brown. The snow fell fitfully.

Adam and Eve sat outside the Garden of Eden and remembered the beautiful green of the leaves and grasses, and the gorgeous colours of the flowers.

Then Eve shivered and sobbed softly to herself, for the earth seemed big and empty. All had once been lovely.

Then an angel in heaven looked down and saw Eve weeping. And the angel came down to comfort her.

As the angel spake to Eve a snowflake fell on her hair. The angel took it in his hand. "Look, Eve," said the angel, "This little flake of snow shall change into a flower for you. It shall bud and bring forth blossoms for you!"

As he spoke, the angel placed the snowflake on the ground at the feet of Eve. As it touched the earth it sprang up a beautiful flower of purest white.

And Eve, looking down, saw the blossom, and dried her tears and smiled in joy.

"Take heart, dear Eve," said the angel. "Be hopeful and despair not. Let this little snowdrop be a sign to you that the summer and the sunshine will come again."

And about the feet of Eve there sprang up through the snow numberless little white-cupped blossoms. Thus, the legend tells us, the snowdrop came to earth.

CALLING THEM UP

"Shall I go and call them up,–       Snowdrop, daisy, buttercup?" Lisped the rain. "They've had a pleasant winter's nap."       Lightly to their doors it crept,       Listened, while they soundly slept; Gently woke them with its rap-a-tap-a-tap! Quickly woke them with its rap-a-tap-a-tap!       Soon their windows opened wide,–       Everything astir inside; Shining heads came peeping out, in frill and cap;       "It was kind of you, dear rain,"       Laughed they all, "to come again. We were waiting for your rap-a-tap-a-tap! Only waiting for your rap-a-tap-a-tap!"

TO THE SNOWDROP

Pretty firstling of the year!   Herald of the host of flowers! Hast thou left thy cavern drear,   In the hope of summer hours?   Back unto thy earthen bowers! Back to thy warm world below,   Till the strength of sun and showers Quell the now relentless snow! Art still here? Alive? And blithe?   Though the stormy Night hath fled, And the Frost hath passed his scythe   O'er thy small, unsheltered head?   Ah!–some lie amidst the dead, (Many a giant, stubborn tree,–   Many a plant, its spirit shed), That were better nursed than thee! What hath saved thee? Thou wast not   'Gainst the arrowy winter furred,– Armed in scale,–but all forgot   When the frozen winds were stirred.   Nature, who doth clothe the bird, Should have hid thee in the earth,   Till the cuckoo's song was heard, And the Spring let loose her mirth. Nature,–deep and mystic word!   Mighty mother, still unknown! Thou didst sure the snowdrop gird   With an armour all thine own!   Thou, who sent'st it forth alone To the cold and sullen season,   (Like a though at random thrown), Sent it thus for some grave reason! If 'twere but to pierce the mind   With a single, gentle thought, Who shall deem thee harsh or blind,   Who that thou hast vainly wrought?   Hoard the gentle virtue caught From the snowdrop,–reader wise!   Good is good, wherever taught, On the ground or in the skies! –Barry Cornwall.