My little Maedchen found one day
    A curious something in her play,
    That was not fruit, nor flower, nor seed;
    It was not anything that grew,
    Or crept, or climbed, or swam, or flew;
    Had neither legs nor wings, indeed;
    And yet she was not sure, she said,
    Whether it was alive or dead.

    She brought it in her tiny hand
    To see if I would understand,
    And wondered when I made reply,
   “You’ve found a baby butterfly.” 
   “A butterfly is not like this,”
    With doubtful look she answered me. 
    So then I told her what would be
    Some day within the chrysalis: 
    How, slowly, in the dull brown thing
    Now still as death, a spotted wing,
    And then another, would unfold,
    Till from the empty shell would fly
    A pretty creature, by and by,
    All radiant in blue and gold.

   “And will it, truly?” questioned she—­
    Her laughing lips and eager eyes
    All in a sparkle of surprise—­
   “And shall your little Maedchen see?”
   “She shall!” I said.  How could I tell
    That ere the worm within its shell
    Its gauzy, splendid wings had spread,
    My little Maedchen would be dead?

    To-day the butterfly has flown,—­
    She was not here to see it fly,—­
    And sorrowing I wonder why
    The empty shell is mine alone. 
    Perhaps the secret lies in this: 
    I too had found a chrysalis,
    And Death that robbed me of delight
    Was but the radiant creature’s flight!

MARY EMILY BRADLEY.

 FOR A’ THAT.

 Robert Burns, the plowman and poet, “dinnered wi’ a lord.”  The story
 goes that he was put at the second table.  That lord is dead, but Robert
 Burns still lives.  He is immortal.  It is “the survival of the fittest”
“For a’ That and a’ That” is a poem that wipes out the superficial
 value put on money and other externalities.  This poem is more valuable
 in education than good penmanship or good spelling. (1759-96.)

    Is there, for honest poverty,
      That hangs his head, and a’ that? 
    The coward slave, we pass him by,
      We dare be poor for a’ that;
    For a’ that, and a’ that,
      Our toils obscure, and a’ that;
    The rank is but the guinea’s stamp,
      The man’s the gowd for a’ that!

    What though on hamely fare we dine,
      Wear hoddin-gray,[1] and a’ that;
    Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
      A man’s a man for a’ that! 
    For a’ that, and a’ that,
      Their tinsel show, and a’ that;
    The honest man, though e’er sae poor,
      Is king o’ men for a’ that!

    Ye see yon birkie[2] ca’d a lord,
      Wha struts, and stares, and a’ that;
    Though hundreds worship at his word,
      He’s but a coof[3] for a’ that;
    For a’ that, and a’ that,
      His riband, star, and a’ that,
    The man of independent mind,
      He looks and laughs at a’ that.