Wings that flutter in sunny air; Wings that dive and dip and dare; Wings of the humming-bird flashing by; Wings of the lark in the purple sky; Wings of the eagle aloft, aloof; Wings of the pigeon upon the roof; Wings of the storm-bird, swift and free, With wild winds sweeping across the sea-- Often and often a voice in me sings-- Oh for the freedom, the freedom of wings! --_Mary F. Butts._ I KNOW NOT WHY. I lift mine eyes against the sky, The clouds are weeping--so am I; I lift mine eyes again on high, The sun is smiling--so am I. Why do I smile? Why do I weep? I do not know, it lies so deep. I hear the winds of autumn sigh. They break my heart, they make me cry. I hear the birds of lovely spring, My hopes revive, I help them sing. Why do I sing? Why do I cry? It lies so deep I know not why. --_Morris Rosenfeld._ THE BRAVE BOAR. ELLA F. MOSBY. "Upstairs, downstairs, And in my lady's chamber," The French chronicles of the reign of Francis I. tell the following wonderful story of a boar hunt: "'Twas in a grand forest that stretched for miles around a castle--an old-fashioned castle of ramparts and towers, of wide halls and winding stairways. Oliver, the twelve-year old son of the master of the castle, had set his heart on going with his father to hunt the wild boar with the gentlemen of the neighborhood. The forest was the home of a great many wild creatures, great and small. Squirrels and hares lived there; wide-antlered stags and timid does with their young fawns beside them, foxes, boars that feasted on the black acorns and chestnuts that covered the ground, and fierce gray wolves, seen chiefly in winter. The boars were the fiercest of all, even the sows would fight for their young ones, and there was one old boar who was by this time quite famous for his courage, his cunning and his great age. He was called Pique-Mort, which means death-thrust, because he had in his savage onslaughts fatally wounded so many men, horses and dogs. "Oliver's father had ordered the great hunt against this very old warrior, who, by the way, had grown so shrewd that he could not always be roused from his secret lair even by the beaters and prickers who went ahead of the hunters. But he surely would appear to-day. The forest was ringing with horns and bugles, the neighing of horses, the baying of noble hounds, the hallooing and joyous clamor of the sportsmen.