55 



a knowledge of the future that was denied 

 to man. 



We have some idea of how these peo- 

 ple regarded the movements of the birds 

 from one of the ancient Greek writers, 

 who, in a play , entitled "The Birds.*' 

 makes them give the following account of 

 themselves : "We point out to man the 

 work of each season. When the crow 

 takes his flight across the Mediterranean 

 it is seed-time — time for the pilot to sea- 

 son his timber. The kite tells you when 

 you ought to shear your sheep ; the swal- 

 low shows you when you ought to sell 



your watch-coats, and buy light dresses 

 for the summer. We birds are the hinge 

 of everything you do. We regulate vour 

 merchandise, your eating and drinking, 

 and your marriages." 



This Greek play-writer probably 

 voiced the sentiments of the majority of 

 the people, who had implicit faith in what 

 they called "the prophecies of the birds ;" 

 and it is not surprising that they en- 

 dowed the eagle — the king of the feath- 

 ered tribes — with almost supernatural 

 wisdom. 



Phebe Westcott Humphrey. 



THE SNOWDROP'S PHILOSOPHY. 



"I should think you'd lose heart in this frosty air," 



Said a sparrow one day to a snowdrop fair. 



"You're almost hidden down there in the snow. 



And I see you shiver whene'er the winds blow. 



If I were you I wouldn't bloom 



If I couldn't grow with the roses in June. 



What right have they any more than you, 



To live in the summer when skies are blue 



And bright with sunshine the whole long day? 



They have it easy enough, I must say ; 



But you're so meekly quiet and white. 



You're afraid to speak up when yoij have the right." 



"But, my dear," said the snowdrop, "can't you see 



That summer can do very well without me ? 



My place is to blossom right here in the snow. 



No matter where the roses grow. 



It's lovely to be a summer flower, 



But I am content to do all in my power 



To sweeten the gloom of this wintry day, 



And be brave if the sky is so cold and gray. 



I cannot be helpful by being sad ; 



I have my work and that makes me glad 



To bloom my fairest and grow my best, 



And let kind nature do all the rest. 



Wildea Wood. 



