I

A FABLE.

KNOW not what sly little fairy
Crept into the woods that day,

But every birdie tried singing,
Each in his neighbor's way.

Said Robin, " I'm tired of shouting
My loud notes the whole day through,
I'll warble softly and sweetly,

Like my neighbor dressed in blue."

Said Bluebird, "I'm tired of singing
My poor little piping song;
I'll make my notes like the robin's,
Saucy, and bold and strong."

Said Bobolink, ceasing his singing
Atop of a blossoming spray,

66

'I'm sick of my tinkling nonsense,
I'll sing like the thrush to-day."

Said the Thrush, "I'm tired of lisping
Sad notes to these shadows dark,

I'll hie me away to the meadows

And merrily sing like the lark.”

Bobolink began; - such an odd little noise;
Said the solemn pine-trees, "Hush!
You're just a saucy meadow bird,
You never will be a thrush."

The thrush and robin and bluebird!
You ought to have heard the brook
Laugh at their queer performances;
The grasses bent double and shook

Their airy heads with laughter,

The daisies stared and blushed
For their friends, the little musicians.
Just then the gray sky flushed,

And the sun came up to the rescue,
Wearing his comforting smile,
"My dears," he said, "this nonsense
Is never worth your while.

"Go each and attend to singing
Your own sweet song of praise,
There's naught in the world so foolish
As aping your neighbor's ways."

- Popular Educator.

THE BIRDS' LAWN PARTY.

HE birds of the woodland, in soft summer weather,

THE
Once gave a lawn party, way down in the heather.

Their neat invitations were written, you see,
On the prettiest leaves from the prettiest tree.

Then daintily tied with a fine silver thread,
And gracefully hung round a carrier-dove's head,

Who sped on her mission with a joyful glee,
And delivered each note with an "R. S. V. P."

To flowers and insects and plants, one and all,
Were sent invitations to attend the grand ball.

The night soon arrived, and the moon shone so bright,
That the birds sang together in happy delight.

The Bullfrogs and Tree-toads, who lived very near,
In new coats of green satin were first to appear.

Then followed musicians, a numerous band

Who were led by Mosquitoes from Cedar Swamp Land.

The Beetle came in with Miss Grasshopper Green;
Then Crickets and Flies were the next to be seen.

That the Wasp and the Spider, both stylishly dressed,
Were the most graceful dancers, by all was confessed.

There were Robin Redbreast and dear Jennie Wren;
Causing all the Magpies to chatter again.

And the Nightingale, too, in a loving refrain,
Was wooing the Dove, his old sweetheart, again;

While lingering near, in a blackberry bush,

Was the silver-tongued Linnet, and fair bride, the Thrush

Now who do you think the chaperons there!
Why, the three Mrs. Owls, from Dismal Swamp Square.

The flowers and plants, though the last to appear,
Wore the loveliest costumes of any one there.

With just one exception - the Butterflies gay,
Whose costumes are made by the fairies, they say.

The Daisies were peerless in robes of pure white,
And their proud, happy mothers looked on in delight.

The Buttercups followed, of riches untold,

For each was arrayed in a gown of pure gold;

And the Clovers looked sweet in pale pink and white,
As they merrily danced in the moon's silver light.

The Rosebud, the fairest, and queen of them all,
Was acknowledged the belle of this beautiful ball.

The music was charming, the feast was quite grand; There were sweetmeats enough for all guests in the land.

For each little flower who daintily sups,
The Fairies served dewdrops in lily-bell cups.

The dancing continued, the merriment, too,
Till the Moon became weary, and softly withdrew.

The Fireflies said they would serve in her place,
Since the Moon had so selfishly hidden her face.

Then the three Mrs. Owls from guest to guest flew,
Said, "The Moon has retired; I think we must, too."

The Fireflies came with their swift-flashing light,
And escorted the flowers and plants home that night.

All the guests bade adieu, and their homeward way wended, From the nicest affair they had ever attended.

THE HAPPY BIRD.

OH,

H, if I were a little bird
Happy would I be,

Perched all day on a leafy tree;

Oh, down in the meadow

Drinking in the dew,

I'd be a merry bird, say, wouldn't you?

Not a single grammar lesson,

Not a word to spell,

Funny old schoolhouse

Without any bell!

Oh, a cherry for a lunch

And a blossom for a book

And a dinner with the honey bee,
Down by the brook.

- Selected.

THE HIDDEN SONGSTER.

ARK!

H Hear you not that long, shrill strain?

Where is the singer hid?

I've looked, and looked, but all in vain.

Comes back in answer to my call.
"Did what? Did what?" I cry.

But "Katy-did,” and that is all

He gives me in reply.