OAK.--The English name of trees of the genus _Quercus_. Oaks are found over nearly the whole northern hemisphere, except the extreme north; in the tropics along the Andes, and in the Moluccas. All oaks are readily recognized by their peculiar fruit, consisting of an acorn with a cup which never completely encloses the nut. Some of the oaks furnish valuable timber. Tannic and gallic acids are obtained from them and the bark of many is useful for tanning. The nuts not only supply human food but that of various animals. The species vary so much that the genus is puzzling to botanists. The character of the wood is affected by the soil and locality in which the trees grow, lumbermen making distinctions not recognized by botanists. The white oak is long-lived, and specimens supposed to have been in existence before the settlement of the country are still standing. It is of slow growth, but does not cease to grow as it gets larger. The oak is much esteemed as an ornamental tree. The names of some of the varieties are: Post oak, burr oak, swamp oak, live oak, black oak, willow oak, scrub oak, scarlet oak, and California evergreen oak. THAT ROOSTER. BY ELANORA KINSLEY MARBLE. He was a noble looking fowl, that rooster, and challenged my admiration by his unusual proportions, glossy plumage, and proud, exultant air. As I paused in my walk to view him his sharp eyes were instantly fastened upon mine and a note of warning issued from his handsome throat. Away scampered the hens and young chicks, but the rooster, advancing a pace or two, lifted one foot menacingly, as if to defy my taking one step further. "Dear, dear!" I exclaimed, "you make a great fuss over nothing. I only stopped to admire you and your family. Be assured I meant you no harm." "_Gluck, gluck, gluck_," replied he angrily. The spectacle of a champion standing on one leg and sending forth such a cry of defiance struck me as so ridiculous that I involuntarily burst into laughter. Every fowl in the inclosure at the sound stood motionless. "What was that?" questioned one motherly old hen of another. It was a queer gibberish which she spoke, and most people would have failed to understand it, but to me--who had been listening to the voices of nature the whole day long, to whom the trees had whispered their secrets, the brooks had murmured their complaints, the birds had caroled their stories--to me the language of these feathered creatures was perfectly intelligible. "I don't know, I'm sure," replied the other, "but somehow it sounded rather pleasant." "Pleasant!" exclaimed a young white and buff hen, tossing her pretty head, "it appeared to me she was making fun of us."