ARBOR DAY SONG.
[Air:—“ Upidee.”]
O, Arbor Day is here at last,
Tra, la, la! Tra, la, la!
The cold of winter now is past,
Tra, la, la, la, la!
Now all the trees are green and bright
The flowers are dancing in the light;
Birds are singing in the trees,
Tra, la, la! Tra, la, la!
Boughs are swaying in the breeze,
Tra, la, la, la, la!
The skies are clear, the skies are blue,
Tra, la, la! Tra, la, la!
The trees and flowers are drest anew,
Tra, la, la, la, la!
Their sweetest songs the birds now trill,
And brooks go tumbling down the hill;
To the woods now haste away,
Tra, la, la! Tra, la, la!
This is happy Arbor Day,
Tra, la, la, la, la!
A WONDERFUL TREE.
Did you ever hear of a tree bearing glue, towels, cloth, tinder, and bread? There is just such a wonder; it is found on the Pacific islands and is called the bread-fruit tree.
It is about as tall as a three-story house, and the branches come out straight from the tree like so many arms. They are covered with leaves nearly two feet long and deeply gashed at the edges, while half hidden among them are the fruits, growing like apples on short stems, but larger and having a thick, yellow rind.
This fruit is like bread; and it is in season during eight months of the year, the natives finding a good living in it. They gather it while it is green, and bake it in an oven. Scraping off its outer blackened crust, they come to the loaf, which is very much like nice white bread; but it must be eaten soon after baking, else it grows harsh and loses its pleasant taste.
As for glue, it oozes from the trunk of the tree and is found useful for many purposes; the leaves make excellent towels for the few natives who care to use them, and from the inner bark of the tree a kind of coarse cloth can be made. Besides this, its dried blossoms are used for tinder in lighting fires, and the wood is in great demand for building purposes.
With a few of these wonderful trees in the front yard, housekeeping ought to be an easy matter.
THE TREE PLANTER.
We are building for the future;
Every loyal youth and lad
In his May-time seed or sapling
Founds a dwelling green and glad.
Where the song birds of the morning
Round their cradle-homes will play.
And the rain will store its treasure
For the streams that wear away.
