And his rifle startles the cheerful lark,
As she carols his morning song.

The hunter's life is the life for me!
That is the life for a man!
Let others sing of a home on the sea,
But match me the woods if you can.
Then give me a gun--I've an eye to mark
The deer, as they bound along!
My steed, dog, and gun, and the cheerful lark,
To carol my morning song.

[Illustration: THE SYLPHS OF THE SEASONS]

* * * * *

WHAT IS LIFE?

BY MARY M. CHASE.

One sunshiny afternoon, a little girl sat in a wood playing with moss and
stones. She was a pretty child; but there was a wishful, earnest look in
her eye, at times, that made people say, "She is a good little girl; but
she won't live long." But she did not think of that to-day, for a fine
western wind was shaking the branches merrily above her head, and a family
of young rabbits that lived near by kept peeping out to watch her motions.
She threw bread to the rabbits from the pockets of her apron, and laughed
to see them eat. She laughed, also, to hear the wild, boisterous wind
shouting among the leaves, and then she sang parts of a song that she had
imperfectly learned--