The peacock's disposition is as variable as that of many other creatures, some being mild and good-tempered, while others are morose and jealous in the extreme. His train, though popularly called his tail, is in reality composed of the upper tail coverts, which are enormously lengthened and finished at their extremities with broad, rounded webs, or with spear-shaped ends. The tail feathers are of a grayish brown color seven or eight inches in length, and can only be seen when the train is erected, that being its appointed task. The female is much smaller than her mate and not nearly so handsome, the train being almost wanting, and the color ashy brown, with the exception of the throat and neck, which are green. The peacock lives about twenty years and the beautiful variegated plumage of the male's train appears about the third year after birth. THE SONG OF THE LARK. ADA M. GRIGGS. The peasant girl, her feet all bare, With her rustic grace, has a noble air. She's queen of the stubble-field and she, In mind, is free as the lark is free. Her thought, above all meaner things, Is soaring with the lark that sings. No hampered child of the city streets, Who bows his head whomsoe'er he meets, Who toils for a pittance with little rest, But should envy the freedom in this breast. She's the child of nature; vice does not lure; She's clothed upon with a life that's pure. The wholesomeness of her atmosphere Does more for man than his logic drear. Who delves in books' philosophic lore, Sees nature's problems--but little more. 'Tis God's own child who has eyes to see What is closed to the eye of philosophy. The artist who dabbles with color and brush Sees but the reflection of nature's flush. The skilled musician knows not pure tone; He hears but the resonance of his own. 'Tis the peasant girl, as she hurries along, Who hears the lark's good morning song. She hears it with gladness; her heart is gay; All nature greets her in festal array. The lark makes her world a world of song His notes in her heart sing her whole life long. She's the true musician, artist and seer; She looks upon nature with vision clear. The lark brings her day without shade or sorrow, And crowns each day with a sweet tomorrow. He gives a joy only nature can, A boon sent down from heaven to man. O little lark, sing on! sing on! The country dark new life will don. The tones thou'lt hurl from thy tiny heart Peace will unfurl and new joy impart. THE HERALD OF SPRING. CHARLES E. JENNEY. Before the snow flies A bit of Summer skies Comes flitting down Through Winter's frown To cheer up waiting eyes.