BUILDING FOR BIRD TENANTS, 



When on walking through a city park 

 on a blustery winter day one suddenly 

 spies the little bird houses, built by the 

 custodian and perched high up among 

 the branches of the trees, a smile invari- 

 ably creeps over the face and a thought 

 of summer steals into the tired brain. 

 Would that the building of bird houses 

 became more fashionable among our 

 boys ! 



One of the simplest and most artistic 

 of them may be formed from a cocoanut 

 shell. The opening may be so made that 

 the piece of shell cut out can be turned 

 up like a little,, porch roof over the door. 

 If these be fixed just at nest-building 

 time and the architect should kindly 

 leave the 'nut inside the shell the birds 

 will be most grateful. 



Down south many of the door-yard 



trees seem to be growing gourd fruit. 

 In reality the gourds fwith an opening 

 in the side of each) are tied on or hung 

 there by means of their own crooked 

 necks to make nests for the birds. 



Sometimes one may see whole rows 

 of them upon a pole which is nailed to 

 a stable roof and often they are found 

 hanging to the ragged edge of the roof 

 of a negro cabin. As far as I can learn, 

 the idea originated with the colored peo- 

 ple, who take great pride in the number 

 of birds they can attract about them by 

 this and other kindly means. The lit- 

 tle yellow houses seem to delight the 

 birds so much that one is seldom put up 

 in vain, and the tenants pay lavishly with 

 coins of song and many a trill of joy. 

 Lee McCrae. 



THE LIGHT OF THE LEAVES, 



Hurry, skurry through the air 

 Leaves are falling everywhere. 

 Gold and crimson meet or miss 

 Smile or blush at the frost king's kiss. 



Whirling, twirling, o'er the ground, 

 Forced by merry winds around; 

 Piled by childish hands on high. 

 There, like martyred saints, to die. 



Crackle crackle, sound their knells, 

 Imprisoned sunshine in them dwells 

 Like liny tongues, 'twixt earth and sky 

 They whisper love to passers by. 



Falling, ever falling^, they. 

 Consumed to make the world more gay ; 

 The misty cloud of smoke o'erhead 

 Seems like the veil Shakiiia spread. 



Down and down comes memory's leaf. 

 Bright with hopes or sere with grief ; 

 The brightest one in life's huge pile 

 Is that from which our bonfires smile. 



-Cora May Cratty, 



15'2 



