ARBOR DA V MANUAL. 
167 
THE BIRDS AND THE CHILDREN. 
A LITTLE brown birdie sat up in a tree 
And hid his head under his wing. 
He was iust as sad as a birdie could be, 
And not one sweet song did he sing. 
“ Oh, Birdie, come tell us why you are so sad, 
We, children, want to hear you sing. 
Have you done something ever and ever so bad, 
That you hide your head under your wing? 
“ Did you snatch something nice from your sister or brother. 
Like some naughty children, we know? 
Did you fly far away, when told by your mother 
That but a short way you could go ? ” 
The Birdie from under his wing took his head, 
And looked at the children below. 
“ I have not been naughty at all,” then he said, 
“ I’ll tell you why I’m mourning so. 
“A bright, handsome bluejajr just flew past this tree, 
And laughed at my rusty, brown coat; 
And if I’m so homely as he said, you see, 
There’s no use in singing a note. 
“ For no one will care for a homejy bird’s song, 
- And I’d better not sing any more.” 
Then all the children said, “ Birdie, you’re wrong, 
We’ve been told by wise folks o’er and o’er, 
“That fine feathers only don’t make a fine bird. 
Jays cannot sing sweetly like you. 
They look wdli who do well, we often have heard, 
And, Birdie, we’re sure it is true. 
“ So sing to us now,— sing your very best song ! 
We’ll stay here and listen to you.” 
Then the bird for the children sang sweetly and long,— 
Sang all the nice songs that he knew. 
E. T. Sullivan. 
T HE tall oak, towering to the skies, 
The fury of the wind defies, 
From age to age in virtue strong, 
Inured to stand and suffer wrong. 
O’erwhelmed at length upon the plain, 
It puts forth wings and sweeps the main ; 
The self-same foe undaunted braves, 
And fights the wind upon the waves. 
Iames Montgomery. 
