who gather bushels of them to eat dur- 

 ing the winter." 



"I wish I could gather bushels of 

 them. Do you know that hickory and 

 butternut trees are much more scarce 

 than those of the walnut? I wonder 

 why ! Their wood is not as valuable. I 

 believe I see father and old Fan coming 

 on yonder hillside." 



"Yes, they will be here in a few min- 

 utes, so I will say good-bye, fair maid, 

 for you cannot work and talk, too. In 

 a few short days the trees will all be 

 asleep, nor waken again until spring, 

 when the warm sap coursing through us 

 will rouse us to new Hfe and activity. 

 The earth will be smiling and you will 

 be looking forward to blossom time." 



"That reminds me of a lovely piece of 

 poetry which I found in part of an old 

 magazine the other day. It was entitled 

 'God in Nature,' and did not bear the. 

 author's name. I wonder why ? He 

 need not have been ashamed of the pure 

 thoughts which he clothed in such beau- 

 tiful language. Father has stopped to 

 talk to a neighbor, so if you will listen, 

 I'll recite it to you." 



'T will listen, fair maid." 



"We walk through the meadows in spring- 

 time, 



Where the bluebells and buttercups grow. 

 Where myriad dewdrops are sparkHng, 



And these secrets we long to know : 

 Why are the buttercups yellow? 



And why are the bluebells blue? 

 Who sprinkled the clover with dewdrops? 



Who made all creation look new? 



"A short time ago it was winter, 



Not a crocus or grass-blade in sight; 

 But now, what a marvellous wonder, — 



With verdure the landscape is bright! 

 Could the wisest of men in a lifetime 



One daisy or violet make? 

 Or sprinkle one meadow with dewdrops? 



Or the strong power of winter break? 



"We walk in the forest at noonday, 



When breezes of summer blow. 

 And list to the music unrivalled 



Which the birds of the wilderness know, 

 And again we would learn some secrets : 



Who taught the robin it's trill? 

 Who gave the mockingbird lessons? 



Who bids them the lone forest fill 

 With melody sweeter than ever 



Echoes through lordly halls? 

 Earth's masters of harmony listen 



Entranced when the nightingale calls ! 



"Could the skillfulest man in a life time 



Make one flute like the voice of a bird, 

 Or build a cathedral as glorious 



As the groves where their anthems are 

 heard? 

 Art, science, philosophy, learning, 

 - Can never the mystery attain ; 

 God alone knows the secrets of nature, 



He creates, He withholds, He explains. 

 Every rosebud unfolds at His bidding. 



Every grass-blade, He calls from the sod; 

 All nature fulfills its great mission. 



Upheld by the wisdom of God." 



''As you say, I see no reason why the 

 author should be ashamed of those lines. 

 Here comes you father and old Fan. 

 Get to work, fair maid, that he may not 

 have to bend his back ; that's right. And 

 now, farewell." 



Evelyn Singer. 



SING! BOBOLINK, SING! 



Sing! Bobolink, sing! 

 Wliile glories of dawn are bright and so clear, 

 Sing, while thy mate and thy nestlings are near, 

 Sing while the sunbeams the dew drops now kiss, 

 Soar, toward the heavens and sing of thy bliss! 

 Sing! Bobolink, sing! 

 Sing of thy bliss ! 



— Du. A. C. Ferguson. 



