So the butterflies played in the garden, and were very happy. The children used to watch them, and many a wild race they had with the little ones, flying just out of reach of the tiny, pink hands. And one day Butterfly-blue lighted right on Baby Belle's little pink finger.

'Oh, mamma," said Baby Belle, "see this flower.

It's got feet and eyes.

without any stalk?"

What makes it fly in the air

Butterfly-blue gave a little laugh which nobody heard, when the baby called her a flower. And then she soared up into the clear air and flew away. She

flew a great way from home, and came to the ocean and

the yellow beach.

"This is a fine place," she thought. never come here before?"

The sea was very bright and beautiful that day. It was covered with silvery spangles. And near the sandy shore, great waves leaped and rolled and tossed white crests of foam and spray high in the air. Oh, it was glorious!

66

Take care, Butterfly-blue," said the Sea-breeze. "This is no place for you." He could say no more, he was so busy curling the crests of the waves.

"I'm all right, never fear," answered Butterfly-blue, and she flew on over the water.

“Oh,

"Come back, come back," cried the sunbeam. you silly little thing, I told you to live with the flowers."

"Oh, I wish you would let me alone!" said Butterfly-blue. "I am quite old enough to take care of myself. I am sick of the quiet garden. I want some fun."

Sunbeam hid his face on the breast of a cloud, and just at that moment Butterfly-blue flew too close to a curling wave, and its foam splashed her wings. And then the foolish little butterfly fell helpless upon the

waves.

The waves rolled her over and over in the foam until she lay dead on the sandy shore. Then a gentle hand picked her up and held her little, lifeless body for a moment, and tried to smooth out the torn and useless

wings. Yes, Butterfly-blue was dead, and a kind little boy and girl dug a grave and buried her there by the shining sea.

It is winter now, and the snow lies deep and white all over the ground. The leaves have faded and fallen, and the birds have flown away. Butterfly-dear played

in a lovely garden all summer and fell asleep with the flowers long ago.

But a lovely picture of a yellow and orange butterfly can still be seen over Baby Belle's little cot. And the name under the picture is

"BUTTERFLY-DEAR."

MAUD BALLINGTON BOOTH, "Sleepy-time Stories."
mission of the publishers, G. P. Putnam's Sons.

Used by special per

MEMORY LESSON.

I've watched you now a full half-hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And, little Butterfly! indeed

I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless! not frozen seas,
More motionless! and then

What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!

This plot of orchard ground is ours,

My trees they are, my sister's flowers;

Here rest your wings when they are weary,

Here lodge as in a sanctuary!

Come often to us, fear no wrong;

Sit near us on the bough!

We'll talk of sunshine and of song,

And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long

As twenty days are now.

Dionysius was king of Sicily. He had once been

a common citizen, but he was a clever man, and had made himself king, though there had often been plots to kill him.

Among his friends was a man named Damocles, who was always telling Dionysius what a great man he was, and how happy he ought to be. He thought it was wise to flatter a tyrant so as to stand high in his favor. But Dionysius was not so easily flattered.

One day Damocles had been saying a great many nice things to the king.

"I suppose," said Dionysius, "that you would like to change places with me. Is that why you are always praising everything I have?"