Blue-Bird's Corner.

Hutt News, Volume 6, Issue 16, 14 September 1938, Page 8

Blue-Bird's Corner.

Dear Boys and Girls, — "The Fairies are coming to town!" or so we would say, if this work-a-day world allowed lis to believe that it is the fairy folk who make the flowers and care for them till they are fresh and fragrant no more. Flowers are being brought to our town from near and far to be made into one glorious pageant of, colour. . Of course you all know that I mean the Flower Show, and I hope you will all go to see just what can be accomplished with flowers when they are given care and attention. Brighteyes and I are really very excited about it all. What reflections of loveliness will be thro w n on OTir Mirror of Beauty, and how the Fire of Enthusiasm will flame up.lictf -though we may inspiration in whatparticular choice of action—that is real magic— when we can transform the energy from one uplifting influencemusic, poetry, lovely scenery, happy comradeship—to construct some jnasterpiece along the line of talent that is our gift in life. So, to-day, I will leave you with those thoughts, as you know our I journeying is always hastened I along the Blue Trail at this time of the year. Golden days in your gardens, and don't forget the Flower Show. BLUEBIRD.

THE WAY TO HAPPINESS IS BY MAKING OTHEBS H/iPPY.

island long and narrow, sonic thirty feet by twelve, a" veritable untrod Eldorado, glorious in gold from end to end, a fringe of reeds by the water's edge, and save for that—daffodils. A great oa stands at the meadow's neck, an oak with gnarled and wandering roots where a man may rest, for it is bare of daffodils save roi ; group of three, and a solitary one apart growing close to the ok tree's side. I sat down by my lonely little sister, blue sky overhead, green grass at my feet decked, like the pastures of the Blessed, in glorious skeen; a sea of triumphant, golden heaus tossing blithely back as the wind swept down to play with them at his pleasure. . • It was toxoid -witho/it to appropriate] to "toyself' without the burden and banc of worldly possession. ''Thou sayest that I am—a King," said the Lord before Pilate, and "My kingdom is not of this world." We who are made kings after His likeness possess all things, not after this world's fashion but in proportion to our poverty ; and when we cease to toil and spin, are arrayed as the lilies, in a glory trans cending Solomon's. Bride Poverty—she who el'' ' ■. Cross with Chirst—stretches out eager hands to free us from our chains, but we flee from her, and lay up treasure against her importunity, while Amytas on his seaweed bed weeps tears of pure pity for crave-

mouth Caesar of great Possessions. Presently another of spring's, lovers cried across the water, "Cuckoo, cuckoo," and the voice of the stream sang joyously in unison. It is free from burden, this merry little river, qnd neither weir nor mill bars its q u ick way to the sea as it completes the eternal circle, lavishing gifts of coolness and refreshment on the children of the meadows. It has its birth on the great lone moor, cradled in a wonderful peat smelling bog, with a many-hued coverlet of soft mosses—pale gold, orange, emerald, tawny, olive and white, with the red stain of sun--dew and tufted cotton-grass. Under .the old grey rocks which watch its rise, yellow-eyed tormantil stars the turf, and bids "Godspeed" to the little child of earth and sky. Thus the journey begins; and with ever-increasing strength the stream carves a Way through the dear brown peat, wears a fresh wrinkle on the patient stones, and patters merrily under a clapper bridge which' spanned its breadth when the mistletoe reigned and Bottor, the grim rock idol, exacted the toll of human life that make him great. On and on goes the stream, for it may not stay; leaving of its .fresh* ■ness with the fstrjetchfes eager I*agam east and West as eaciHtaKe? up his separate burden of service —my friend to cherish the lower meadows m their flowery joyance I —and so by the great sea-gate back to sky and earth again. The river of God is full of wa- | ter. The streets of the City are j p u re gold. Verily, here also hav- | ing nothing we possess all things. The air was keen and still as I walked back in the early evening, and a daffodil light was in the sky as if Heaven mirrored back earth's radiance. Near the station some children flatted past, like little white miller moths homing through the dusk. As I climb ed the hill the moon rode high in a golden field—it was daffodils to the last.