PYGMIES OF THE SKY 
Dainty little elfin thing! 
_ Are you fairy on the wing, 
Come to us from rosy bower, 
Shpping nectar from each flower; 
Or a sunbeam earthward sent | 
On some happy mission bent? 
You, so earnest in your quest 
That you dare not pause to rest; 
Touched with rainbow colors bright 
Radiant in the noonday light; | 
Did you drop from out the skies 
A rare gem from paradise? 
Little songster of the air, | 
I bow before such courage rare, 
Ashamed that I a coward be 
To meet the task laid out for me; 
And could there be a sweeter song 
Than ae that hum of courage strong? 
_—Nina Moore 
From Moa to Alaska is a voyage that man may take, 
when he has plenty of money, in as comfortable a fashion 
as his inventions can provide. Huge walls surrounding 
mighty engines are necessary for his safety and pleasure. 
The world has been searched for materials for his motive — 
power, his food, and his covering. Hundreds of people have 
had to unite to make his journey possible; but there are 
many travellers that take these thousands of miles on a pair 
of wings and they earn their living as they travel. Size 
does not appear to be really needful for the journey, neither 
does coin, nor vessel, nor chart, nor road, for even the 
pygmies of the sky are not daunted by the long leagues. 
Fancy, for yourselves, the tiny bodies, not so large as 
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