rilling, tra-la, tra-la,
Their glad songs are filling, tra-la, tra-la,
The wood and dale, the meadow and vale,
The Springtime is come, tra-la, tra-la.

The gentle May breeze, tra-la, tra-la,
Plays o'er the green leas, tra-la, tra-la,
Dandelions twinkle, violets sprinkle,
The sward 'neath the trees, tra-la, tra-la.

The garden flowers gay, tra-la, tra-la,
Are here to stay, tra-la, tra-la,
The rich red rosies and all the posies,
Say Springtime is here, tra-la, tra-la.

Springtime is here, tra-la, tra-la,
Brooklets run clear, tra-la, tra-la,
Birds are winging, flowers springing,
For Springtime is here, tra-la, tra-la.

(Simple costumes make this more effective. All the girls wear white
gowns--Chorus has a simple Greek dress. Arbor Day a crown of flowers
and scepter, her maids baskets of flowers; the flower girls wear
chaplets of blossoms, artificial ones are best; The Holidays can wear
appropriate dress; the School-Children enter as if from play with their
baskets, dolls, flowers, fishing rods, etc.)

A BROKEN WING.

In front of my pew sits a maiden--
A little brown wing in her hat,
With its touches of tropical azure,
And the sheen of the sun upon that.

Through the colored pane shines a glory,
By which the vast shadows are stirred,
But I pine for the spirit and splendor,
That painted the wing of that bird.

The organ rolls down its great anthem,
With the soul of a song it is blent;
But for me, I am sick for the singing,
Of one little song that is spent.

The voice of the preacher is gentle;
"No sparrow shall fall to the ground;"
But the poor broken wing on the bonnet,
Is mocking the merciful sound.

--_Selected._

HUNTING THE WILD.

One Christmas, over forty years ago, my grandfather sent to me from
Colorado a real Indian bow and arrows. It was a beautiful bow with a
sinew string and wrapped in the middle and at the ends with sinews. The
arrow-heads were iron spikes, bound in place with wrapping of fine
sinews. The eagle feathers' tips were also bound with sinews.

It was a beautiful, snow-clad Christmas morning, and I remember how I
yearned to go with this bow and arrows into the cedar grove to shoot
the birds feeding there. This yearning must have expressed its