"WHEN I was little," said grandma Gray, "We used to welcome the month of May With a song and a dance on the village green, Choosing and crowning our May-day queen. We used to choose of the prettiest girls, The one who had the sunniest curls, The one who had the merriest eyes, As clear and bright as the May-day skies. "We made her throne of the daisies white, And of yellow buttercups, golden bright, And we twined gay blossoms about the hair Of our dear little queen so sweet and fair." So grandma said, and the children heard, And a loving thought in each heart was stirred; And they whispered together, and laughed in glee, "Dear grandmamma shall our May-queen be!" [Illustration] Then they brought the chair with the cushioned seat, And the cushioned footstool for grandma's feet, And led her merrily to the throne, And crowned her queen of their hearts alone. They twined the daisies and buttercups bright In the queen's soft hair so silvery white, And better than jewels or necklace rare, Were the clasping arms of those children fair. And the bees and butterflies hovered around; And the sunbeams danced all over the ground; And the birds sang merrily in the trees; And the breath of summer was in the breeze; And the delicate hue of the azure skies Seemed to lend new light to the loving eyes Of happy, dear old grandmamma Gray, Crowned by the children their "Queen of May." MARY D. BRINE. SING, PRETTY BIRDS. SING, pretty birds, and build your nests, The fields are green, the skies are clear; Sing, pretty birds, and build your nests, The world is glad to have you here. Among the orchards and the groves, While summer days are fair and long, You brighten every tree and bush, You fill the air with loving song. At early dawn your notes are heard In happy greeting to the day, Your twilight voices softly tell When sunshine hours have passed away. Sing, pretty birds, and build your nests, The fields are green, the skies are clear; Sing, pretty birds, and build your nests, The world is glad to have you here. M. E. N. HATHAWAY. [Illustration] MARY AND JENNY. MARY strikes the shuttle-cock a hard blow with the battle-door. Up it goes into the air, and down it falls into the grass. There it is; but the next thing to be done is to find it. Who will pick it up? [Illustration] Jenny stands with her hands behind her. She has a roguish look. What has she in her hands? Is it an apple? No. Is it an orange? No. Is it a ball? No. Guess again. Ah! I know what it is. It is the shuttle-cock. [Illustration] G. H. I. [Illustration: DRAWING-LESSON. VOL. XXIX.--NO. 5.] PIGGY'S SPOON.