Wheat. MAT. man v shades ol tender glcfill Are rippling, shimmering, pulsing with do light, Jn. cool and billowy, like the glimmering sheen • IX some grand river in the morning light, Thrilling with hope, its life is Inir, , Its joy is lull, sll through the lovely Msy I Amply grows anil waves, uor trios to bear The coining hurilen ol the harvest 'lay. JVSIt. ' SUeepcd in hot sunshine, lightly swing "The long bright stall - whose bearded heails hang ilown Reueath their fruitful bunlen, which the spring, Departing, !■ 1 upon them s* it crown. Sweeter anil graver life has grown, The green jul touched to goM hv decp'ning June, Warm, bright with glowing, with its mellow ing tosie Flecked with tlie shadows of. the afternoon. iUir. s serrieil ranks tlie golden shear e* (•leant lainlly in the sunset's lading red, While some reluctant blackbird slowly leaves The fruitful gleaning* for his rjulot bed; And thus, with full iruition blest, The wheat stands rrnped. It bath no uiore to yield. Aral thnnklully, tielorr be seeks bis real. The weary reaper gn/c* o'er his tlcld Cornelia Sri taring THE CHILD SPY. [lis n tup was Stenne, little Stenne. He was a "child of Paris." thin and pale, and was ten, perhaps lift eon years old, for one can ncv.i r say exactly how old those children arc. 1f i mother was dead, and his latin r. an ex-marine, was the guardian of a square in tlie quarter of the femple. The nurse* and babies, the old ladies who always carry their own folding chairs, and the poor mothers, all that small world of i'aris which seeks shelter from vehicles, in those gardens that are surrounded by pavements, knew father Stenne and loved him. They knew that under his rough mustache, which wig* the terror of dog* and dis turbers of benches, was hidden a kitid, tender and almost motherly smile, and that in order to bring it forth they had only to say to tlie good man: " How is your little son?"' For Father So* ne loved hisuit.e son *o inueh! He was so happy in the afternoon when, after hi- school, the little IMJ> would call for him, and together they would make tlie rounds of the paths, stopping at each lunch to spenk to the habitues of tie square and to answer their good wishes. But when the sieg< began everything was sadly changed. Father Stenne'.* square was closed and filled with pe troleum. and the poor man, condemned to an incessant surveillance, passed hi.* life in the d'.si rtcd, upturned paths, quite alone, not permitted to smoke, and only seeing hi* little son late in the evening at his home. You should have seen his mustache when he spoke of the Prussians. Little Stenne. however, did sot complain of this new life. A siege! Nothing is more amusing for suelt urchins. No more school, no more studies! Holiday all the while, and tho-strects as exciting ns a fair. Tlie child ran aiwiut all day till niglit fnll. He followed the battalions ol lh Quarter to the ramparts, choosing those tnat had a good hand. Little Stenne was well posted ob that subject. He would tell you very glibly that the Ninety-sixth band was not worth much, hut the Fifty-fifth had an excellent one. Sometimes lie would watch the mobiles training, and then there were tlie pro cessions. • * * With his basket un- 1 Cer his arm he would join the long fib-* that were formed in the dark cold winter , mornings, when there was no gas, be fore the butchers' and bakers' shops. There, with their f.vt in the wet, the people would make acquaint ances and talk politics, and, as he was Mr. St enne's son, everybody would ask hint Ids opinion. But the most amusing of all were the afternoon game*, especi ally the famous g.imeof gnlo hc, which the Breton mobiles made the fashion during the siege. When little Stenne was not at the ramparts or baki r's ihop you would I*- sun* to find him at tlie sqnnrc of the Chateau d'F.au. He did not play, however j it needed t much money; he was satisfied in watching the players with ail his eyes. One especially, a great fellow in a hue workman's hb>U e. who only p .id with five-fran pieces, excited his ad miration. When he ran one roubl hear the coins jingling under his blouse. One day as h<- was picking up a piece Ilia' had rolled under little Stenne's teet. Ihe great, fellow said to him in a low tone: "That make* you wink, hey? Well, if you wish. I'll tell you where they're to be found." The game over, he took him to a coiner of the souarc and proposed that he should join him in selling newspnpers to (lie Prussians—that lie would make ti.it ty francs for every trip. At first Stenne was very indignant and refused, and what wis more, he remained away from the gnme for three days—three t* of gaioche* piled on the foot of his bed and five-franc pieces moving over it, bright and shining. The temptation was too strong for him. The fourth day he returned to the Chateau d'Kau, saw tlie large fellow and was overcome. • • • • * They set out one sunny morning, a linen bag thrown over their shoulders and their newspapers hidden under their blouses. When the* reached the Flan ders gate it was yet hardly dawn. The great tellow took St une by tlie hand and appr incited the sentinel—a good civilian witii a red nose nnd kind air Ue said to liitn, with a plaintive tone: " Let us pas*, my good monsieur. Our t ••liter is 111 nnd papa is dead. We are gelrg to see. my little brother nnd I. if * VTi enn't find some potatoes to pick up in the fi •Id*." fie eried, and Stenne, who was ashamed. lower* d his head. The sen tinel looked at them a moment, and the->, giving a glam-e over the white, dorert'sl road, "