O, could I fly, I'd fly with thee;
We'd make, with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the spring.

XXIII. —THE OAK TREE.

MRS. HOWITT.

[Mary Howitt is the wife of William Howitt; and both she and her husband are popular living writers of England. Mrs. Howitt's poetry is distinguished by its freshness of feeling and grace of expression.]

[George P. Morris, a living American writer, is one of the editors of the Home Journal. He is the author of many popular songs.]

WOODMAN, spare that tree;
Touch not a single bough;
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.

XXV. THE TRUMPETER SWAN AND THE BALD

EAGLE.

MAYNE REID.

[This passage is from the Young Voyageurs, another work of Captain Mayne Reid's, and a sort of continuation of The Boy Hunters, from which an extract may be found a few pages back. In the interval between the incidents of the two books, the boys, Basil, Lucien, and Francis, are represented as having lost their father, and as having set out on a journey to an uncle living at one of the northern posts of the Hudson's Bay Company. They are accompanied by their cousin Norman, a young man a little older than Basil. Their journey is performed partly in a canoe, and partly on foot. The book is written with the same spirit and animation as the Boy Hunters. The following adventure occurs while they are floating down the Red River, to Lake Winnipeg, in a canoe.]

Ir was the spring season, though late. The snow had entirely disappeared from the hills, and the ice from the water, and the melting of both had swollen the river, and rendered its current more rapid than usual. Our young voyagers needed not therefore to ply their oars, except now and then to guide the canoe; for these little vessels have no rudder, but are steered by the paddles. An occasional stroke of the paddle kept them in their course, and they floated on without effort.

Norman

land cousin

such was the name of their Canadian or Highsat in the bow, and directed their course.

He

This is the post of honor in a canoe; and as he had more experience than any of them in this sort of navigation, he was allowed habitually to occupy this post. Lucien sat in the stern. held in his hands a book and pencil; and as the canoe glided onward, he was noting down his observations. There were various trees and shrubs on the banks of the stream; and Lucien lectured upon their properties and characteristics to his companions, as they floated along. Norman listened with astonishment to his scientific cousin, who, although he had never been in this region before, knew more of its plants and trees than he did himself. Basil also was interested in the explanations given by his brother.

On the contrary, Francis, who cared but little for botanical

studies, was occupied differently. He sat near the middle of the canoe, double barrel in hand, eagerly waiting for a shot. He had killed several wild geese and ducks in the course of the day but this did not satisfy him. There was one bird on the river that could not be approached. No matter how carefully the canoe was managed, the shy creature always took flight before they could get within range of him. The very difficulty of getting a shot at them, together with the splendid character of the birds themselves, had rendered Francis eager to obtain one. The bird itself was no other than the great wild swan, the king of aquatic birds.

"Come, brother," said Francis, addressing Lucien, “you have talked long enough about the bushes. Tell us something about these swans. See, there goes another of them. What a splendid fellow he is! I'd give something to have him within range of buck shot.”

As he spoke, he pointed down stream to a great white bird that was seen moving out from the bank. It was a swan, and one of the very largest kind,—called a "trumpeter," on account of its note, which resembles the sound of a French horn, or trumpet, played at a distance.

It had been feeding in a sedge of the wild rice; and no doubt the sight of the canoe, or the plash of the guiding oar, had disturbed and given it the alarm. It shot out from the reeds with head erect and wings slightly raised, offering to the eyes of the voyagers a spectacle of graceful and majestic bearing that, among the feathered race at least, is unparalleled.

A few strokes of its broad feet propelled it into the open water near the middle of the stream, when, making a half wheel, it turned head down the river, and swam with the current.

At the point where it turned, it was not more than two hundred yards ahead of the canoe. Its apparent boldness in permitting them to come so near without taking wing led Francis to hope that they might get still nearer; and, begging his com panions to ply the paddle, he seized hold of his double-bar