WHE UNCLE JIM mean to be HEN I grow up I You never knew another man He's handsome and he's very smart, He's good as gold; he loves a joke; A lot of boys I know would like But if I could be Uncle Jim You bet I'd be content! -TUDOR JENKS. HOW THE FROGS LEARNED TO SING (A Sioux Legend) WITH the first warm days of April, all the frogs who had been thawed out by the warmth of the vernal sun travelled leisurely toward "Chokan-meda." The old bullfrog, Nashka-be-doka, took up his chosen abode, with his wife, on the sunny shore of their favorite lily pond. He took particular pains to select a spot where many leafy lily pads were spread upon the placid surface of the snow-water, so soft and clear. Underneath the shallow water was soft, loose soil, and so gradual was the slope that even this mire soon became comfortably warm. In this hot-bed the little froglets would ere long awaken as tiny long-tailed creatures. There were heavy rushes near by, which it takes but two jumps to reach, for protection for the parent frogs if danger should come near them, also for shade when the sun is too warm. The little pond itself lay hidden in the deep woods. Mrs. Frog thought it beautiful, and appreciated her husband's thoughtfulness in selecting so beautiful a place for their Summer home. They were both very happy. They had all the sunshine and all the fresh air they needed, and at evening they watched the moon and the stars together. They were people of leisure. They did not have to worry. They were not in the least concerned about the rest of the world. One fine night, Nashka-bedoka remarked to his wife, "My dear, you should sing!" "Sing! why, what is that?" she innocently replied. "Oh, it is to speak in sweet, high and melodious voice, as the trees talk when the wind blows!" "Ah, but I am bashful! Why do you not sing first, so as to show me how?" she asked. "How shall I sing?" inquired her husband. "You must sing," she replied, "as the Spring rain talks with the spirit of air among the deep, moist clouds!" nant. It was then the frog man sang his first Spring song, like the thunder, full and deep and resoSoon the frog woman joined in a higher key, and in alternating bass and treble rang out their hymn of thanks to the "Great Mystery." Afterward the frog babies were taught to add their tiny pipe; and since that day none of them has forgotten to sing, every evening and morning of the glad Springtime. -DR. CHARLES A. EASTMAN. A A FABLE THE EQUINE AND HIS EQUAL Lean Horse once Looked over the Fence into the Next Field, and Saw a Lean and Ragged Man Spading up the Ground. "Let Me In There," he said. "I will Work the Soil for you while you Feed me, and we will both grow Fat and Sleek." "You're On," said the Man; and He and the Horse were Pros-per-ous and Happy until they both Waxed Fat and Saucy. Then they Got Mad at each other, and the Boss said he would Show that Plug that a Man can Kick Harder than a Horse. He Put a Muzzle on the Poor Beast, and Gave him Oats at the Rate of One Grain a Day, and the Neigh-bors Sat up Nights to Keep Him Off the Grass. Soon the Horse was too Weak to Work any More. So the Field was Ne-glect-ed, and He and the Man both starved to Death. Before he Died the Wise Guy said to the Weeping Crowd, "This is Your Funeral, too, my Fool Friends. Let me Hand you this Moral, to Frame and Hang over your Empty Dinner Tables": THE MARE MAKES MONEY COME JUST AS FAST AS MONEY MAKES THE MARE Go. -JAMES J. HILL. I THE SNOW WEAVER HAVE watched a queer weaver at work all the day On a cloak which he makes in a wonderful way Of tiny white feathers laid one upon one In a velvety pile till the garment is done. With the sky for a roof, and the world for his room, In slippers of ermine he works at his loom, While Boreas shakes the whole house with his tread Till one frightened girlie creeps down in her bed, And covers her little pink ears out of sight When she hears his rough voice in the dead of the night, And even the daffodil hearing him scold. Hides deeper down still in her blanket of mold. O weaver, before you have finished your task, |