to his, so parched and dry, he would reply, striving to be gay for her dear sake,—

'Ah, Jenny, you have brought on your wings some sunlight from our old home, my darling.'

One evening, when as usual she flew to the prison, she found him lying at the bottom of the cage, speechless and motionless. Frantically she tore at the cruel bars, beating them with her wings in an agony of despair.

'My own love, my own love!' she cried aloud in her anguish; 'speak to me once again!'

Her beloved voice seemed to possess the power to recall him back to life, for he heard her, though the shadows of death were stealing over him.

'Jenny, darling,' he feebly whispered, as she bent low to catch the faintest word, 'they have broken my heart. Ah, why did they keep me thus captive?'

'Oh, do not die!' she moaned; 'think how lonely I should be in this wide world without you.'

'If I were but free, we should be so happy again, love,' he said, gasping painfully for breath as he spoke.

'I will release you,' she cried, and strove with all her strength to unfasten the prison door, but in vain—it resisted all her efforts.

'What shall I do? what shall I do? He will die, and I cannot help him,' moaned forth the poor Wren in accents of despair.

'My sweet one,' he murmured, 'do not grieve so bitterly. Death were better far than life if separated from you; but, before I close my eyes for ever upon this world which the good God who loveth us hath created so beautiful, bring me just one spray of those little blue flowers.'

'I know them!' she eagerly cried; 'a cluster grew beneath our nest.'

'Yes,' he continued; 'and when I used to return home I could see them afar off, and would think, "Jenny is there, and their blue eyes are looking upon her." Bring me one tiny spray, darling, and if I die when you are from me, we shall not seem so very far apart, for those sweet flowers will whisper to me of you.'

She waited no longer, but flew rapidly away to bring the blossoms on which he wished to look once again; but she had not long gone when a young girl came to the cage, and saw the poor captive bird as Jenny had found him—still and motionless as though dying, and her heart was filled with tender pity, that its brief life should thus be so soon ended.

'Poor birdie! I fear it is dying,' she said. 'I will unfasten the cage; perhaps the fresh air will revive him, and bring back his failing strength.'

And with kindly hands she opened the prison door, thus giving him liberty.

The cool, fresh air, stirring his drooping feathers, aroused him from his lethargy; at first he could not believe that the door was open, that he was free. It was almost too much happiness for the poor sick bird to bear; yet it was true—freedom was his, and his first thought was of Jenny.

He would fly to meet her, as he knew she would soon return, bearing with her the blue flowers he loved, and then, when she saw him coming towards her,—free, yes, free!—would not all past sorrow be forgotten in the ever-present joy? So, with a twitter of gratitude to the girl who had opened his prison door, he fluttered his wings, just to try their strength, poised a while in the air, then away he flew with unerring instinct towards his dear home in the old oak tree.

But of Jenny?

With a sad weight upon her poor little heart, crushing it with the iron grip of despair, she reached the spot where the flowers grew, plucked a few blossoms from the stem, then away again, without pausing to rest, bearing the prized flowerets in her beak. She felt not fatigue; though her weary pinions sometimes faltered, still she heeded it not, still struggling on, eager to reach where he lay dying. Her only thought was:

'If he were to die, and I not with him.'

But slower and slower grew her flight; strength at last was failing, for it had been too severely tried; her breath came quick and fast, in short, fitful gasps, and her heart beat heavily beneath her quivering breast.

'Oh, but to see him once more!' she moaned, as she felt her weary wings failed to do her bidding. She tried to fly yet a little farther, in vain; her tired pinions fluttered for a while, then down she sank, slowly, slowly, on to the calm bosom of a rippling stream that was flowing on over its pebbly sands with soothing melody.

'Jenny, Jenny, my own love, where are you? I have sought you so long, my darling,' she heard the well-known voice exclaiming.

She raised her dying eyes, and saw her loved mate hovering above her in the summer air.

'I am here, love,' she faintly murmured.

Then with all the old love-light beaming from her soft, gentle eyes, she turned to gaze at her poor desolate mate, who was rending the air with his piteous cries, then closed them for ever, with a look of perfect peace, murmuring softly,—

'Dearest, forget me not.'

And the rippling stream bore her gently away echoing with a plaintive wail her dying words:

'Dearest, forget me not.'

The poor widowed bird caught the flowers as they were floating away on the breast of his lost love, and carried them to his now desolate home; but one little blossom, in tender pity for sweet Jenny Wren, detached itself from the others to linger still with the poor dead bird; and when the stream had carefully borne its precious burden to a shady nook, where she could rest, for ever freed from sorrow and pain, the flower was carried with her, and, taking root above the spot where she lay buried, put forth its blue blossoms in loving remembrance of that fond, faithful heart.

And thus it is how we became dwellers close to tranquil streams, and why our name is still 'forget-me-not.'

PARABLE SECOND.

THE SNOWDROP—FAITH.

y life has been so tranquil, that I fear it will not possess much interest; for, when first recollection dawned, I remember finding myself far down in the earth—a small bulb, not much to look at, I am thinking. But very happy were the days spent there with my companions. We in our ignorance deemed the world a dreary place, and wished we could for ever stay where it was so cosy and warm; but our Mother Earth was carefully instructing us, teaching us the same precious lessons she unfolds to her other children, if they will but read the ever-open book, by man called 'Nature.'

I know not how long it was that the Frost King kept the land bound captive in icy chains, but at last the signal for freedom came. The trees awoke from their winter sleep, and, casting off their sombre garments of sheathed leaves, came forth in vestments of tender green; the bees, too, sent out their pioneers, who hastened back to the hives with the glad tidings of the sunshine and of awakening flowers. The birds flew hither and thither on joyous wings, twittering their simple gratitude to Him who 'heareth the ravens cry;' for they indeed were thankful that the dark days were past, and that 'the time of the singing of birds had come.' As to the little brooks and streams, how rejoiced were they to be free once more! they bounded away over the sandy shallows or pebbly beds, laughing for very gladness, and