THE PRINCE AND THE KING.
When on a visit to his grandfather, the King of the Medes, it is said that the great King Cyrus - 
then a young prince of
but twelve years old - one day acted the part of cup-bearer to the King. 
After praising his grandson for his grace and dexterity, " You have omitted one thing,"' said the 
King: "you forgot to
taste."
" No, grandfather, I did not forget. I feared that there was poison in the cup."
"Poison! In the wine! " exclaimed the King..
"Poison," repeated Cyrus. " At the last entertainment you gave the nobles of your Court, I noticed 
that, after they had
drunk a little of that liquor, their heads seemed turned. They shouted, sang foolishly, and knew not 
what they talked.
Even you yourself, dear grandfather, seemed to have forgotten you were King."

HOW THE OAK-TREE BECAME KING.
Long, long ago the oak was a small, plain tree that grew alone in the forest. Its trunk was bent by 
the fierce winds that blew, its leaves were coarse, and for acorns it had
only rough little balls.
But the flowers that grew at its feet knew the little oak-tree, and thanked it every day for its kindly 
shade.
The oak-tree spread its leaves and branches to sift the sunshine and rain, that they might fall lightly on 
the tender blossoms. When it looked down on their upturned faces, it quivered 
through every leaf, and softly murmured in the breeze, " 'Tis sweet to live for the
flowers I love."
And the little birds knew the oak-tree. They loved to nest in its branches.
" Rap, rap, rap," knocked the little woodpecker, one bright spring morning. " May I, too, have a home 
with you ? "

THE GIANT OAK IN SHERWOOD FOREST FAMED IN THE STORY OF ROBIN HOOD.

" Oh! do not let it in," cried a shrill little voice. "It will pick a hole in your side." The 
oak-tree paused while each leaf held its breath, then sweetly murmured, " The
woodpecker must have a home." and clearly called, "Come in."
Then the woodpecker picked the wood out from the oak with its strong, sharp bill, till it had made a 
hole large enough for its nest ; and the oak-tree was glad because the woodpecker had 
found a home.
The little squirrel knew the kind oak-tree, which dropped down acorns for him. The cold days were 
coming, and he must gather his winter store. So he ran away to the
friendly oak, and asked for all the acorns it could spare.
"Do not   give your, acorns," piped a thin voice; "they will be your little oaks next year."
Then the oak-tree trembled through all its leaves, but it answered, " The long, cold winter is 
coming, and the squirrel must have food." Then it shook down its acorns, and said, "Here, little 
squirrel, take them. May you be happy through the wild winter! " And the squirrel 
took the  acorns, and carried them away.
The cold days came, the birds flew away, the flowers and leaves slept under the snow, and the oak was 
alone.

THE WOODPECKER.
THE SQUIRREL.

Then, one evening, as dusk was gathering in the woods, a traveller came through the forest. He was 
numb with cold, and far from home. As he came 
near, the oak-tree heard him say, " What shall I do ? I must
surely perish with the cold in the night that is coming on." And the oak-tree reached out its twigs 
to touch the traveller.
"Oh, do not do it," shrieked the wind.
But the oak-tree listened not. " Good traveller," it said, " take me, and build a fire at which to 
warm yourself through the night, and do not die." So the traveller cut down
the branches of the oak-tree, and built a fire, and warmed himself, and laid himself down to sleep.
The fire burned on, and grew brighter in the dark. The flames rose higher and higher, and, in the 
flames, a tree arose that grew and grew - larger than all the forest-trees,
and far above their heads.
And, by the firelight, all the night, the fairies worked, making the leaves for the wondrous tree. 
They wove them of glossy green, and cut them into fairy shapes such as
grew nowhere else in all the forest. And other fairies set themselves to carving acorns of rare 
beauty for the tree.
The light grew and faded, and faded and then grew, till, in the morning's sunrise, there stood the 
grand oak-tree, its branches clothed in living green, and acorns hanging
from its twigs. Merry birds sang among its leaves, and beautiful flowers blossomed at its feet. A voice 
was heard through all the forest, saying, " Behold your king ! " and
each tree echoed back, "' Behold the king! "
-BERTHA HORTENSE GAULT.





WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.
One day an old gentleman was riding with a friend along a country road, and asked him to turn down a 
lane somewhat out of their way.
" What is your object ? " inquired the friend.
" Merely to look at an old tree planted by my grandfather long before I was born. Under it my sisters 
and I used to play when children, and there, too, I often listened to
the good advice of my parents. Father, mother, sisters - all are gone ; nothing but the old tree 
remains." After a slight pause, he added, " Don't think me foolish. I never
ride in this direction but I turn down this lane to look at that old tree. I have a thousand memories 
about it, and I always greet it as a dear friend."
The old gentleman had scarcely uttered these words when he cried out, " There it is." Near the tree 
stood a man with his coat off and an axe in his hand.
"You're not going to cut that tree down, surely! "
" Yes, I am," said the wood-cutter.
" What for?" asked the old gentleman, in a choking voice.
" What for! Well, I will tell you. I want the tree for firewood."
" What is the tree worth to you for firewood ? "
" Why, about two pounds."
" Suppose I give you that sum, will you let it stand?"
"Yes."
" You are sure of that
" Positive."
" Then give me an agreement to that effect, and the money is yours."

Block by Lands Department.]
THE DEATH OF A FOREST GIANT.

They went into the cottage close at hand - the cottage in which the old gentleman had been born, but 
which was then occupied by 
the wood-cutter. The agreement was drawn up and signed, and the
money paid over. What happened made a strong impression on the mind of the friend, who was Mr. G. 
P. Morris, afterwards 
noted, in the United States of America, as a writer of songs, and led
him to write the following beautiful verses :- 
Woodman, spare that tree ;
Touch not a single bough.
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas my forefather's hand
That placed it near his cot
There, woodman, let it stand
Thy axe shall harm it not.
That old familiar tree,
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o'er land and sea,
And would'st thou hew it down
Woodman, forbear thy stroke;
Cut not its earth-bound ties
Oh! spare that aged oak
Now towering to the skies
When but an idle boy
I sought its grateful shade
In all their gushing joy,
Here, too, my sisters played.
My mother kissed me here;
My father pressed my hand
Forgive this foolish tear,
But let that old oak stand.
My heartstrings round thee cling
Close as thy bark, old friend.
Here shall the wild bird sing,
And still thy branches bend.
Old tree, the storm still brave;
And, woodman, leave the spot
While I've a hand to save,
Thy axe shall harm it not.


SIR SPECKLE TROUT AND MASTER MINNOW.
It was a very hot afternoon in summer, and Tommy had sat for a long time by the pool, catching 
nothing.
The flies were humming drowsily among the flowers and reeds, and the heat made Tommy so sleepy 
that 
his head began to nod. Then all at once a strange thing
happened, so strange that I don't think it can ever have happened to you.
What do you think it was ? Tommy found that he could quite understand what the creatures all round 
him were saying. He knew what the minnows were talking about
as they darted to and fro in the pool; and he knew what the blue dragon-fly was saying as it sunned 
itself on a water-lily, talking to a butterfly on a flowering grass-stem. The trout were telling stories and 
laughing under the bank where the green flax grew, and 
where they had been feeding all the afternoon instead of coming out
and taking the worm that was wriggling on Tommy's hook.
There was quite a buzz of chatter, and Tommy sat still and listened.
" Mother," said a little minnow in its tiny voice, "shall I ever be as big as you and dad? "
"My dear child," laughed his mother, " I hope you will some day."
" Mother," began the minnow again, after flitting to and fro for a while, "when will you and dad be 
quite grown-up, like these big handsome gentlemen with the
speckled waistcoats who are feeding under the bank yonder?"
His mother smiled, and a shout of laughter came from the trout.
" Ho, ho !, " said the biggest; " do you hear what the little chap over there is saying?
Thinks he'll grow into a trout some day! "
 "He, he, he! " giggled a number of tadpoles, swimming past and waggling their funny
little tails; "so you are going to be a trout some day, are you ?"
The butterfly smiled, and the dragon-fly stopped talking, and looked down into the pool with his 
big, round eyes.
A frog jumped down from the bank and came along the bottom of the pool in funny long leaps, 
entangling his limbs sometimes in the water-cress.
" What's that?" he asked, "minnows growing into trout Not nearly so strange, I think, as that you 
tadpoles should turn into frogs; and some of you are sprouting legs
already."
The, tadpoles only wriggled with laughter,
 and those who had legs jerked them until the water was full of tiny ripples.
The biggest trout came from under the bank, followed by some of the others, and swam slowly through 
the pool.
" Ho ! " said the big one, whose name was Sir Speckle Trout, " some of our friends are making a 
mistake. Minnows were put here to be useful to us. Sometimes we
eat them--" Here all the minnows made a scamper for the sides of the pool, and. remained under the 
ferns.
"We are the great folk of the pool," went on Sir Speckle. "We are so wise that sometimes the creatures 
who live up there on the dry land ask one of us to come and rule their country for them."
All the creatures in the pool crowded round to listen.
" Are you sure that is what they want you for ? " asked the frog, who sat on a weedy stone, staring 
with all his might.
"My dear sir," answered the trout, "why else should we be asked to come ? "
"I thought--" began the frog.
"Then do not think," replied the trout, with his grand air. " Frogs ought not to think."
The frog shut his mouth very tightly, and puffed himself out with surprise, staring until his eyes 
nearly started from his head. He still believed the trout was wrong, but
the other creatures were looking at him so reprovingly that he did not like to speak.
" The wisest trout in the pool is usually the one chosen," went on Sir Speckle. "He is generally big 
and hungry. The last was my friend Sir Spotty Trout; and the next -
ahem! - the one they know will rule them with most wisdom-will be-hum !-myself."
With that he coughed behind his fin,  and tried not to look too proud. 
" What do I hear you say  ? " cried the dragon-fly ; " you poor silly fish! "
All the pond creatures were looking up at the dragon-fly, quite shocked.
Sir Speckle swam to where he sat, and made one snap at him.
" Ungrateful fish!" cried the dragon-fly, rising into the air; I was only giving you good advice--"
"The one chosen," went on the trout, swimming back as though nothing had happened, " is crowned 
with 
parsley--"
"With parsley," said a stickleback, who was much interested; " what's that ?"
"It's-it's some beautiful glittering stuff," answered the trout, who did not like to say that he was 
ignorant.

"HE SNAPPED AT THE DRAGON-FLY."

" You silly," laughed the dragon-fly, who was still listening, although at a safe distance, "you will be 
sorry if you go."
"These interruptions are unbearable," cried the trout angrily; and, leaping high out of the water, 
he snapped at the dragon-fly, missed him, and made a ring that spread
all over the pond, and set the water-lilies rocking.
"You never will let any one tell you the truth," was all the dragon-fly said, as he flashed away.
" That's the way to treat rude persons," said the trout.
Just then some one came down to the pool, and Tommy could not speak for surprise when he saw that 
it 
was his father, and that he had brought his fishing-rod with
him.
Tommy's father fitted his rod together, chose a fly, and began to cast.
Soon there came a jerk at the line, and, just as Tommy expected, it was Sir Speckle who had taken the 
fly.
" My friends, I am sent for," said Sir Speckle. " I shall be king--"
" Good-bye, Sir Speckle," cried the other trout and the pond creatures, crowding around and trying to 
shake his fin; "good-bye, your Majesty---"
"Farewell, my late subjects," said Sir Speckle. " Hi, you up there, don't tug so hard; gently, I tell you, - 
ah! "
A terrible splash was the last that was seen or heard of Sir Speckle.
" Do - do you think he will really like being a king?" asked the minnows, darting about excitedly.
" I-don't-know," replied the frog, leaping to shore.
" Mother," said the small minnow, coming from behind the stone where he and some little friends had 
hidden themselves, " I am glad I'm not going to grow into a trout. I
don't want to be a king."
-The School Newspaper.

A COCKATOO.
I know a cockatoo, a wonderful bird, much
more affectionate than  many human beings,
and considerably wiser. An old friend he is;
I have known him thirty years and more, and
can safely say that his equal exists nowhere.

A COCKATOO.

Poor bird, his beauties are faded, for, at different times of his life, he has broken both his wings, and 
has picked off his feathers a good deal, but he still keeps his lemon-coloured crest in all its beauty.
Cocky always objected to being chained to his perch, and bit all his chains in two ; the consequence 
was that he either crept down or 
fell from his
perch when the
family was out, and tore strips out of valuable drawings, devoured the binding of several
books, and spoiled a wooden step-ladder.
Cocky was, of course, severely reproved; but, unfortunately - and this is the worst thing about him - 
reproof 
has no effect on
him whatever; he rather enjoys it. But his virtues fully make amends for his little failings.
His powers of attachment are very great; and, though he is civil to many, his affections are reserved for 
a chosen few. His two younger mistresses, Miss A and Miss B, he has known from 
childhood. When still of tender age, they would mount upon chairs,
and he would permit them to scratch his head and otherwise fondle him. And now it would move a 
heart 
of stone to see the delight with which he greets either of them
after a long absence.
Cocky's powers of language are great, and he never forgets anything. Between twenty and thirty years 
ago there lived and died a Scotch terrier, whose name, " Rag,"
Cocky repeats to the present hour, and then barks in imitation of the dog. If you say to Cocky (when he 
is in the mood), " Call the dog," he whistles, says " Here," and
barks, often shaking his head as he utters " bow-wow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow," with great quickness.
As this produces merriment in the looker-on, Cocky is delighted, and generally repeats the 
entertainment with shouts of " Hurrah! " or imitation laughter very quick and
decided. He will then bow, say " How do you do ? " and dance up and down upon his bearer's hand in 
the highest possible spirits. And, if that bearer does not wear a
pretty thick glove, woe betide him or her.
Cocky loves to be scratched gently behind his crest, and, when he is in a quiet mood, implores his 
friends to indulge him, saying, "Scratch a poll! scratch a polly ! " or,
when he is very sleepy, he tries to " make believe " that he is being petted ; he scratches himself 
with his claw, but very delicately and carefully, and with his head
turned up in a most droll-looking manner.
It is touching to hear him at times - when the room is quiet and the people are reading their books, 
and, therefore, not thinking of him - pitying himself in a low, crooning
voice, "Poor poll ! Poor old cocks ! Scratch a polly !"
Then, like the children, he makes funny mistakes. Thus he has been known to say, instead of "Shake 
hands," " Shake polly ! " and "' Scratch a breakfast ! " a
sad token of approaching  old age. But Cocky generally knows well what he says. When he says 
"Shake 
hands ! " and the unwary visitor complies, Cocky steps upon
his hand instantly. " Kiss me!" he well understands, and often imitates the sound of kissing with that 
wonderful beak, which can 
imitate whistling, barking, laughing, coughing, the creaking of a
door - nearly every sound that one can make.
Cocky loves coffee, and bread and butter, and sugar-candy; and, when the coffee comes in after 
dinner, no one has any peace till he is served with a teaspoonful, not
too hot. The signal is given by all his seed being tossed out of his seed-box and cast on the 
floor, and he refuses all attention till he gets what he wants. Wise Cocky!
And well can his friends read the expression of his countenance. When you look at that black bead 
which is Cocky's eye, you would think that it could contain no
expression. There never was a greater mistake. His mistresses can easily tell when Cocky is 
affectionate, gay, cross, or sleepy. They can read all his moods ; and he
has his naughty fits
like a child, when he pinches even his best friends, and won't be pleased with anything,
when he persists in giving dismal screams at short intervals, and becomes vulgar and low-bred. Indeed, 
when from any cause it has been necessary to 
banish him
from the parlour for a while, there is a great difference in Cocky's manners; but they soon recover 
their polish again.
Dear Cocky! He is beloved by his mistresses because he has been their playmate from childhood in 
homes they will
never see again. May the day be far distant when we shall miss him from his old wooden perch, and 
when we must
bid farewell to our favourite for ever.
-	"Children's Hour," South Australia.

