hey chase sprawling long-legged creatures across the
window-panes; yonder, hundreds of them may be observed dragging out a
rat or a mouse which they have killed: even snakes can not escape from
the sharp and poisonous bite of these bold foragers. It takes from three
to four hours for them to clear out a house. They will not leave it
until they are sure that not a living thing remains. Then they stream
out again, carrying their prey with them; and the inhabitants gladly
return, satisfied that they will have a month or two of comfort after
this ants' house-cleaning."

"I do b'lieve you's half funnin' again, Uncle Ben," declared Willie,
with an aspect of severe doubt. "How's little tings like ants goin' to
pull out snakes an' rats? I'd jes like to know that!"

"But I forgot to tell you that these ants are much larger than any we
have here. Some of the tropical ants are an inch long, and as large as a
large wasp; so you may imagine that a whole army of them is not to be
trifled with."

"Is it them that's the soldiers, Uncle Ben?" asked Willie.

"The soldiers? Oh, you want to hear about the soldiers--But, I declare,
if there isn't the dinner-bell! Who would have thought that we had spent
so much time over the ants?"

THE PLUMES OF CRECY.[1]

BY LILLIE E. BARR.

I was reading of kings and nobles,
Tourney and knightly gage,
Till the summer twilight faded
From Froissart's ancient page.
Then in the darkened parlor
I saw a fairer sight--
The brave old King whose valor makes
The shame of Crecy light.

He stood on the little hill-side,
Taller than all his peers,
Quite blind, but with eyes uplifted,
Hoary with many years.
Still wearing his golden armor,
Crowned with his royal crown,
Leaning upon the sword with which
He struck the Soldan down.

And high in his gleaming helmet
Three ostrich plumes, snow white--
From the Paynim's brow he tore them
In some Jabluna fight.
All scarred with Carpathian arrows,
His heart with Honor flames:
"Advance!" he cries, "and fight for France,
Bohemia, and St. James!"

But two of his knights staid by him,
And little did they say;
The blind old King talked with his heart,
And that was in the fray.
Alas! alas! He heard too soon
The sounds of shameful flight;
"Thank God," he sighed, "Bohemia's blind!"--
He would not see this sight.

"Now, friends, one more good deed I claim