For the CHILDREN

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17647, 21 September 1925, Page 11

For the CHILDREN

A LEGEND OF SUN, MOON AND STARS. Here is an old legend which the Indians used to'believc long ago. The Sun was master of the heavens, the Moon was his wife, and the Stars his children. But the Sun was not a very kind father, for used to eat the Stars, his children, whenever he could catch them. So whenever he came cut in the morning, they ran away and hid until night time, when he had gone to bed, and then they came out to play around their mother, the Moon, for she was very kind to them and they liked to play and dance around her. But once a month, when the Sun had eaten up some of the Stars, the Moon grieved so much that she put a black veil over her face, but as time wore on her face grew bright and happy once more. TIIE FLOWER OF THE SPRING DAFFODIL. “Daffy-down-dilly has come up to town, In a yelloy.- petticoat and a green gown.” You cannot help thinking of this at the name of daffodil, can you ? And the bigger boys and will of a certainty be able to recite Wordsworth’s “Daffodils,” which ends;— “And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.” Everything about the daffodil is poetic, even its name, which is a corruption of Asphodel. It belongs to the Amaryllis order, too, and the name •Amaryllis seems as though one ought to sing it. I think. The Welsh folk have taken the. daffodil for their badge now, instead of the leek. Wise Welsh! I don’t blame them, do you? Fancy going about on St David’s Day with a leek in one’s buttonhole and trying to feci patriotic. A daffodil is much more inspiring. Had it not been for that leek the Welshman might have had a much prettier nursery rhyme written in his honour. Naturally the rhymer, thinking of leek stew, wrote of food and produced: Taffv was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief, Taffy came to my house And stole a piece of beef; T went to Taffy's house, Taffy wasn't heme, Taffy come to my house, And stole a morrow bone; T went to Taffy’s house, Taffy was in bed, 1 took up the marrow bone And beat about his head. But poor Taffy was only thinking of getting something to put in the stewpot with the leeks! The name Taffy is a corruption of David, as I guess you children all know quite well. Those who do know all about it must realise that Aunt Edith wants to tell the one little girl or boy who just happens not to know! From David it became Davy, from that it grew to Tafv, and then to Taffy. You know, too, that the leek became the badge of Wales through a decisive battle of theirs being fought in a leek garden. The enemy, not being used to the pungent fumes, retired without ceremony ! The leek has no flower to speak of, so the Welsh chose the flower with a leaf to match. Had they been botanists they would have chosen a lily instead of a daff, as the leek belongs to the lily tribe; but lilies bloom not on St David’s Day, and daffodils conveniently do! THE ROSE. THE THISTLE, THE SHAMROCK AND THE LEEK. The sleek, slim leek. With its haunting reck; But the favourite. T. suppose, In its odour for the nose. Is the rose—the English rose. Do ye dare to touch the thistle. The bonnie Scottish thistle. I'll warrant that ye’ll whistle Like the barefoot Dane; While the shamrock- -should vou wear it, You'd be mighty green to dare it. Save at night in the dark, dark lane! TIIE RAMBLER ROSE. Oh, there is a garden next to mine, A little wild garden fring'd with pine, Quaint-clipped figures in box and yew, ■ And a high black fence divides the two.

J Three years ago in the month of May. My next door neighbour went away, Off for a month «x> the cool blue sea, n Locked uy- firs gate and took the key. An old-fashioned garden makes few .j cares, Well-rooted “hardys,” apples and pears; My neighbour departed with never a doubt, For who in May e’er fears a drought? But my next door neighbour quite fori; lie fad planted a rose in his garden ■’ plot, : I saw it there from my ladder one day When tying a shoot that had gone 1 astray. ® Poor little rose tree parched and dry, With never a rain cloud in the sky! But what is my neighbour’s rose to ■ me ; If my next door neighbour takes the | key? i Jt is certainly no affair of mine! Shall I leave it there to wither and t pine 1 When just a drink from my garden hose s Would save the life of that thirstyI rose ? | In return for a drink from my garden ' hose That grateful, wandering rambler-rose ’ Has climbed my fence and smiles on ' me ' W ith all the wealth of its blossoming j tree. , 7 am sitting now in my rambler bower, Y\ hero the petals fall in a crimson For mine is every blossoming shoot While my next door neighbour owns [ the root —E. E. W.