SCHOOL GARDENS.
There is nothing more desolate than the average surroundings of the public school, and it would be cheerful news to learn that the recent pamphlet brought out by the United States Department of Agriculture upon the School Gardens of the Rhine might bring about a reform in this direction. Attention is called to the matter by a writer in the Outlook, who finds the pamphlet highly suggestive. Says the writer: "It is a common experience to enter from an absolutely barren schoolyard into a schoolroom decorated with botanical and natural history charts, and to find these charts and text-books are the only mediums used for teaching these branches of the natural sciences. The pamphlet above named shows the practical application of the schoolroom work. The grounds are cultivated entirely by the pupils, two hours' work per week being compulsory. The result is that the community life is affected. The farms and gardens are cultivated with new knowledge; the boys and girls work in the home grounds with greatly increased interest. Destructive insects and disease are watched for. The products of the farms and gardens in this district bring the best prices, because they are handled with care and intelligence. The first requisite for such work is such practical knowledge as will make success possible. The introduction of the school garden into this country is entirely feasible. It would create a new avenue of employment for the students in our agricultural colleges and experiment stations; it will make another avenue for the use of the knowledge collected by our Department of Agriculture. Our township system would make a practical division for the control of one agricultural supervisor and instructor."—The Western Journal of Education.
THE FLICKER'S MISTAKE.
"My dear," said Mrs. Flicker, one bright day, as Mr. Flicker came flying home in high feather, "we have made a mistake—a horrible mistake."
Now, Mr. Flicker was a very polite bird, but he was so used to his wife's little peccadilloes that, though sometimes he listened patiently to her tale of woe, at other times he just tossed his head, absolutely without fear of what man might do to him. On this particular day the warblers were whistling and flashing in and out of willow trees across the stream, the wild grape and strawberry and the sweet clover made the air fragrant, the sun shone out gaily from a cloudless sky, far and wide on the earth lay greens upon greens, and overhead stretched heaven's blue—a June day—why should Mr. Flicker fear? With Mrs. Flicker it was different; she had laid the eggs, she had patiently kept them warm; she was now watching her little baby Flickers jealously; what wonder that she grew morbid and fearful, and exaggerated every small annoyance! Mr. Flicker saw now that she was trembling with excitement, as she said again, "We have made a horrible mistake."
"What about?" asked he.
"Do you know," she said, solemnly, "what kind of a tree this is in which we have put our nest?"