"GO TO THE ANT, THOU SLUGGARD, " BUT NOT TO 



THE SQUIRREL. 



Squirrels have always been consid- 

 ered the most provident of creatures, 

 and from time immemorial they have 

 been held up as examples to thriftless 

 people who will not save for a rainy 

 day. So it is decidedly amusing to 

 know that the ''City Fathers" of Mem- 

 phis had to dip into the public treasury 

 last year to pay a food bill for the squir- 

 rels of their central park. 



This park, Court Square, is the very 

 heart of the city, and all summer long 

 the tame little animals had whisked 

 from bench to bench begging peanuts 

 or bits of lunch from the loungers. 

 They were so comically impudent, 

 searching pockets and peering into bags 

 and baskets like veteran custom-house 

 ofScials, that they never failed to get a 

 generous supply of all the nuts that 

 came into the park. When loungers 

 happened to be few, one who showed 

 any disposition to feed them would be 

 besieged by the clamorous, greedy lit- 

 tle fellows; they would swarm around 



him and over him, like street-urchins 

 about a broken down banana wagon. 



Summer lasts long in this country, 

 and even New Year's day found the 

 park full of strolling people and the 

 squirrels still supplied with daily pea- 

 nuts. Like children waited upon con- 

 tinually, they lost their energy; so much 

 luxury stifled their prudent instincts; 

 they failed to store away a single nut! 

 But how were they to know that the 

 red benches would be deserted by and 

 by? That the loungers would loll be- 

 side grates instead of beneath the drip- 

 ping trees during January and February 

 days? 



How well the}^ fared while dining at 

 the city's expense I cannot say, but I 

 shall watch carefully to see what they 

 will do next fall. And I am wondering 

 if any amount of prosperity w^ould make 

 the industrious bee cease to labor, or 

 cause that model of thrift, the ant, to 

 forget to put up her winter's stock of 

 preserves. Lee McCrae. 



THE CHARMED SNOWSTORM, 



Flecking the shaken air with crystal down 



That floats and wavers in bewildering way, 

 The winter's soft, delightful reverie 



Becomes material thought, in home-sweet play. 



And while the hills, and all the background hide 

 To faintest outlines through the speckled haze. 



Low, soft, sweet voices of the magic air 



Proceed from out a wave of coming fays. 



And by the door, and 'neath the window sill. 



The dear-tongued twitterers of the silent storm — 



The fairy snowbirds — hop and flutter round. 

 In one vivacious little, twinkling swarm. 



And so the day rides on in even flow ; 



And so the down piles, through the windless day ; 

 While Nature's God seems nearer, with the snow 



That draws to peace all thoughts beside, away. 



— W^iLLis Edwin Hurd. 



215 



