A SONG OF BUDDHA'S LOVE. 



267 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY F. S. MERRILL, 



LOUNGING ON HIS FRONT STOOP. 



Columbian Ground Squirrel. Spermophilus Columbianus 



Amer. 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY GEO. C. EMBOD1 



NEST OF SCARLET TANAGER. 



A SONG OF BUDDHA'S LOVE. 



B. C. GIBSON, IN HARTFORD, CT., TIMES. 



A little bird sat on a green Bo-tree 



Singing of Buddha's love; 

 An archer passed — " Tis well," said he, 

 "I will slay this bird on the green Bo-tree, 



On those branches high above." 



The little bird sat on the green Bo-tree, 



Singing of Buddha's might. 

 The archer shot his arrow — see! 

 It flies toward the mark, — but the green 

 'Bo-tree, 



Wind-blown, swayed to the right. 



And the arrow passed the little bird 



Singing of Buddha's might. 

 The archer listened, — and as he heard, 

 His heart grew soft at the song of the 

 bird, 



And his eyes took in the Light. 



The sunlight gleamed on the green Bo- 

 tree, 

 The little bird sang, and the wind 

 laughed low. 

 And the archer said: "There ne'er shall be 

 A living creature slain by me," — 

 And he broke his arrows and bow. 



The little bird sat on the green Bo-tree, 



Sinein^ of Buddha's love, 

 And he sang his song for you and me. 

 And he sang- for the World, on the green 

 Bo-tree, 



In the branches high above. 



AMATEUR THDTO BY A. H. MERRILL. 



GREY SQUIRRELL. 



EDITING A PROPOSAL. 



The young man took a piece of paper 

 and a pencil from his pocket and laid the 

 paper on his knee. 



"I will have something important to 

 tell you in a minute, Miss Jones," he said. 



Then he read over carefully what he 

 had written and crossed out a word. 



"Superfluous," he said, half to himself. 



He went over it again and crossed out 

 another word. 



"It's just as strong without that," he 

 muttered. "We are all too prone to use 

 adjectives and adverbs, anyway." 



He picked up the paper and seemed 

 about to begin to read from it, but sud- 

 denly stopped. 



"That whole sentence might as well 

 come out," he said. "The meaning is per- 

 fectly clear without it. Concisenes 

 really the crying need of the hour." 



Then turning to the girl, he said: "Be 

 mine!" 



Thus we see the power of habit. For 

 years his duty had been to edit the "copy" 

 of prolific correspondents.— Chicago Post. 



