But the forest reaped its glory in the 

 snow-storms. Fihny, floating bridal veils 

 adorned the bending limbs. Grotesque 

 shapes and pleasing fancies rose, side by 

 side. Every tree was transfigured, be- 

 coming a giant by day and a ghost at 

 night. Fine, powdery snow-mist filled 

 the air, glittering like diamonds beneath 

 the moonlight. In this atmosphere the 

 stately trees seemed to live and move 

 as the gods on Olympus. Then, as the 

 wind rose to a gale, they grappled with 

 each other and smote, limb on limb, trunk 

 against trunk, grating, groaning, sough- 

 ing, sighing, till many were stripped of 

 their glistening raiment, and limbs and 



twigs lay on the driven snow like the 

 corpses of contending armies. 



Long since has Wynnedam forest 

 fallen beneath the woodsman's axe, and 

 to-day a. thriving village stands on its 

 fertile soil. The sparkling rivulets still 

 keep their ancient channels, but they run 

 through lawns and terraced gardens, and, 

 though the children of Wynnedam treas- 

 ure them above all waters, the silvery 

 currents seem to sigh for the good old 

 days when they ran wild and free through 

 Wynnedam Wood. 



John Jordan Douglass. 



COLORADO LARK BUNTING. 



When the Colorado dandy spreads his gold upon the ground, 



And the busy bees are humming in the penstemons around, 



Then the merry wee lark-bunting lets his raptures overflow. 



As he chases Mrs. Bunting o'er the meadows to and fro, 



Upward dashing, wings a-flashing, 



Hear the ripple from his throat — 



Running scales of liquid laughter, 



But of joy is he the quafter, 



Gliding, sliding thro' the air ! 



Ail his vocal powers ringing. 



Suddenly you see him swinging, 



Downward winging, downward singing, 



Till he tumbles pell-mell after 



Her, who causes all this laughter. 



Drunk with pleasure, there's no measure 



That can scan the rhythm sweet, 



As in flocks they soar together 



In the lovely May-day weather; 



Sky of blue above them coaxing, 



Flowers of blue below them hoaxing. 



Sure their Eden's hard to beat 



'Mid pulsing air and blossoms sweet! 



— Mrs. a. G. Goetting. 



