THE PIXIES’ BIRTHDAY PARTY.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18544, 18 August 1928, Page 18 (Supplement)

THE PIXIES’ BIRTHDAY PARTY.

CIRCLE NEWS.

MUSIC CIRCLE. The above very popular circle met on Saturday last and enjoyed an afternoon with the German composer, George Friedric Handel. Members are showing an increasing desire for knowledge of the great composers. Afternoon tea and dancing concluded the programme. Miss Hilda Cossgrove was appointed secretary to the Circle, and the next subject set was an “All Nations” afternoon. It is hoped that every nationality will be represented Aunt Hilda would be pleased to know in advance what pieces will be given, so that a complete national afternoon may be arranged. Following was, the programme submitted, all the performers acquitting themselves really well: — “Allegro in G” (Handel), Glad3 _ s Davie; “Two Boj’s” (recit.), Jim Humphreys; “Maori Haka," Alec Thomas; “Sarabande in F” (Handel), Rae Dcttmer; “Largo” (Handel), Marjorie Alexander; “Dance of the Gnomes,” Bernard Bale; in F-* (Handel), Kathleen Dettmer; “Admirals All” (recit.), Ted Anderson; “Minuet in G” (Handel), Olive Burson; “Minuet from ‘Sampson’ " (Handel), Gwen Butterfield; “I Love a Little Cottage” (song), Jim Humphreys; “Clematis” (John Major), Hazel Williams; “Light of Heart” (Helen . Nicholls), Phyllis Nielson. Any member of the “Star” Circle who enjoys music may attend any meeting of the Music Circle, plus a small basket. Watch the Notice Board for meetings arranged. There will be a levy of 3d each next time. TWO SPRING EPISODES. THE DAFFODIL BABY. The daffodil baby was tucked up in her little brown cradle down below the surface of the cold brown earth. A friendly earthworm wriggled down to her. “Is it springtime yet?” said the little bulb impatiently. “Oh. N'ay, Nay!” cried the worm. “ The world is cold and white, and not a flower is to be seen.” The baby daffodil sighed and lay down again. A month later she woke up and called to her friend the worm. “It is too soon to grow yet,” said the worm, “ but you can begin to make your leaves.” The baby worked and worked until nearly a fortnight later, when the worm told her to make haste and push her way up above the ground. Oh. joy! it was spring, and the daffodil must make her bud. She worked and worked again, and at last her dainty yellow frock lay folded neatly inside its green covering. Then came the sunbeams, and with their help she burst open the 1 strong green bud and opened out her delicate bloom. The breeze shook her gently, and the sunbeams played in her leaves, making her tremendously happy. There was only one cloud in her short, happy life, and that was—-

the earthworm could not come to talk I to her, as her long stalk rose far I above the ground, and, as you know, worms cannot climb. Joyce Lethaby. 131, Cranford Street, St Albans. AMONGST THE SPRING FLOWERS. “May we go out now?” asked the little seeds of Mother Nature. “ No, not till Spring comes. She will De coming soon. Hark! I hear her footsteps! Yes, here she comes. Now don’t crowd up together. There is plenty of room. As soon as Spring arrives, poke your heads up above the earth, and drink in the lovely warm sunshine, which Spring has very kindly asked Mr Sun to give you. Between intervals of sunshine you will receive cool, refreshing showers. They will not hurt you. You will need it for your growth. Here she is. Be ready now ! ” concluded old Mother Nature. Tap, tap, lap. Spring visited each tiny seed and told them to rise. Up rose the violet. “Oh I how beautiful it is up here, after being packed under the earth all that while. Come along, Primrose.” “ Oh —er —isn’t it cold up there. I think I’ll stay down here a little longer. I don’t like the idea of ‘cool, refreshing showers.’ I’m not coming up yet.” It was no use arguing. Primrose refused to share the warm sunshine. However, in a few weeks’ time she made her appearance above the ground. All the spring flowers looked around them. “ I wonder why that little tree over there is not in flower yet!” exclaimed the Primrose. “ Violet, you are quite close to him. Ask him why he is not in flower yet.” “ I don’t bear flowers till summer. 1 need more sunshine than you do. 1 am the Rose-tree. Haven’t you ever heard of me before?” “No; Spring never told us anything about summer flowers. I don’t expect she knows anything about them. We will never see your lovely flowers (to the Rose-tree) ; we will be withered and dead. Still, let's bloom our brightest while we can.” Thus spake the Spring flowers! Iris Stubberfield, Dallington.