ad,
But the same couch beneath
Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead,--
Tremendous still in death!

Ah, what was then Llewellyn's pain!
For now the truth was clear;
The gallant hound the wolf had slain,
To save Llewellyn's heir.

Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe;
"Best of thy kind, adieu!
The frantic deed which laid thee low
This heart shall ever rue!"

And now a gallant tomb they raised,
With costly sculpture decked;
And marbles storied with his praise
Poor Gelert's bones protect.

Here never could the spearmen pass,
Or forester, unmoved,
Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass
Llewellyn's sorrow proved.

And here he hung his horn and spear,
And oft, as evening fell,
In fancy's piercing sounds would hear
Poor Gelert's dying yell.

WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER

* * * * *

THE SNOWBIRD'S SONG

The ground was all covered with snow one day,
And two little sisters were busy at play,
When a snowbird was sitting close by on a tree,
And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee,
Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee,
And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee.

He had not been singing that tune very long,
Ere Emily heard him, so loud was his song:
"Oh, sister, look out of the window," said she;
"Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-de-dee.
Chick-a-de-dee, etc.

"Oh, mother, do get him some stockings and shoes,
And a nice little frock, and a hat if he choose;
I wish he'd come into the parlor and see
How warm we would make him, poor chick-a-de-dee."
Chick-a-de-dee, etc.

"There is one, my dear child, though I cannot tell who,
Has clothed me already, and warm enough too.
Good morning! Oh, who are so happy as we?"
And away he went singing his chick-a-de-dee.
Chick-a-de-dee, etc.

FRANCIS C. WOODWORTH

* * * * *

FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT

Is there for honest poverty
Wha hangs his head, and a' that?
The coward slave, we pass him by;
We dare be poor for a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Our toils obscure, and a' that;
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,--
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin gray, and a' that?
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,--
A man's a man for a' that.
For a' that, and a' th