Beautiful, the little brood Blesses faithful motherhood, And the lessons they impart, Doves and nestlings, reach my heart. What the wisdom from the dove? That the best of life is "love." So I listen while they coo-- "_Coo-goo-roo-o-o, Coo-goo-roo-o-o._" THE SORROWFUL TREE. There is a tree in Paris to which the name "The Sorrowful Tree" is given. Perhaps because it blooms only in the evening. When the first star appears in the heavens, the first bud of the Sorrowful Tree opens, and as the shades of night advance and the stars thickly stud the sky, the buds continue gradually opening until the whole tree looks like one immense white flower. On the approach of dawn, when the brilliancy of the stars gradually fades away in the light of day, the Sorrowful Tree closes its flowers, and ere the sun is fully risen not a single blossom is visible. A sheet of flower dust, as white as snow, covers the ground around the foot of the tree, which seems blighted and withered during the day, while, however, it is actively preparing for the next nocturnal festival. The fragrance of the blossom is like that of the evening primrose. If the tree is cut down close to the roots a new plant shoots up and attains maturity in an incredibly short time. In the vicinity of this singular tree there usually grows another, which is almost an exact counterpart of the Sorrowful Tree, but less beautiful, and, strange to say, it blooms only in the daytime. MARKED WITH BLEEDING HEARTS. In one of the cages at Lincoln Park are two pigeons or doves most peculiarly marked. They belong to the variety known as the "Bleeding Heart." Their backs and wings are of a bluish slate color, while their breasts are white, save for a spot of vivid crimson in the center. This spot is precisely like the stain which would be produced by a wound. It is about an inch in length, and the color fades out at the edges softly in little streaks. One can scarcely believe the little creatures are not victims of some cruel thrust, and the park employes say that lovesick people are wont to lean for hours on the railing opposite the cage, and, fixing their sad eyes on the birds, will moan in sympathy while they shed bitter tears. [Illustration: LILY OF THE VALLEY. Life-size. CHICAGO: A. W. MUMFORD, PUBLISHER. COPYRIGHT 1900, BY NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.] THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. PROF. W. K. HIGLEY, Secretary, Chicago Academy of Sciences. Fair flower, that, lapt in lowly glade, Dost hide beneath the greenwood shade, Than whom the vernal gale None fairer wakes, on bank or spray Our England's lily, of the May, Our lily of the vale!