But at last there came a dark morning; all day the rain poured steadily down and the two little birds stood, huddled, side by side upon the tree, their feathers draggled and their bodies cold with the damp and wind. Since early morning the little white bird had been sad, and his heart full of misgivings, yet it was a great comfort to him through all the storm, to turn from time to time and look at the little figure at his side, and know that his precious companion was near him. But once as he looked, he seemed to see a wonderful change coming over the little bird. Could the dark light of the forest, he wondered, be misleading him: yet as he watched and watched he saw it all too clearly: his companion was becoming jet black, like the other birds he had seen about him in the forest. Soon the rain washed away the last little speck of white covering and then with an angry cry, knowing that she had been found out, she flew away, and doubtless joined her real companions in the wood. So thus he saw how he had been deceived, and that all along this had been merely a little black bird, painted white, who had at first, through the days of sunshine, played her part well, but who, at the coming of the first storm, had been shown forth in her true color. The little “white black bird” and Chopin met but once again. The former in _Ma Vie_ gives this laconic account of the meeting “Je serrai sa main tremblante et glacée. Je voulu lui parler, il s’echappa.” MACPHERSON WILTBANK. DO POSTERS POST? Do posters post? although they sprawl In loud profusion at each stall; Gibson’s pretentious black-and-whites, Nankivell’s freaks and Bradley’s frights, And Rhead’s red maidens, lean and tall. Although we know each artist’s scrawl, _The book they note_ we can’t recall; And though their wild effect delights, Do posters post? Their lines and forms our eyes enthrall, Their color schemes our tastes appall, The keen collector glibly cites Beardsley and all his satellites, They’re works of art, but after all, Do posters post? CAROLYN WELLS. TWO FABLES. THE HORSE AND THE ELK. An Elk was one day browsing on the twigs in a dingy Forest, when he was accosted by a Horse who called over a neighboring Fence: “You look Hungry, Old Man.” “I am both Hungry and Lonesome,” replied the Elk. “Well, it’s what you deserve; why don’t you come over into this Pasture and be Civilized?” “I prefer the Freedom of the Forest,” replied the Elk. “But if you joined our Society and submitted to our Rules you might even associate with me—as it is I’m quite Ashamed to be seen talking to you!” “To change the subject,” said the Elk, “I just saw two men over in the edge of the woods coming this way with a Halter, and from their Conversation I think one of them has Bought a Horse.”