arching branches. It is tall and graceful, and it makes cool shade by grassy roadsides.

In the far Northwest the Douglas Spruce grows, a tall, vigorous evergreen. In the far Northeast the White and Red Spruces are just as beautiful, only smaller. And near these grows the "Pointed Fir," the Balsam.

All the little children in America love the SugarMaple Tree, because it gives us the delicious maplesugar and maple-syrup. It is one of the finest trees in our towns and woods.

Nothing makes us more healthy and happy than to spend much time in the silent woods. We can find new flowers, we can build log cabins, we can watch for birds and rabbits and foxes. Every boy and girl who lives in the country ought to belong to a woodcraft club that goes with some grown-up friend to the woods in pleasant weather. City boys and girls in America have near-by parks where the finest trees of all kinds grow.

It is not only the big things that are beautiful. Some of the littlest things in the world are the fairest.

Of all the lovely little things on earth we best like flowers and birds, don't we? Do we all know that our

country is famous among scientists for flowers and birds? We have a great many kinds of song birds in the United States and a great many kinds of flowers. There are too many birds to be named in this book, but we can find handbooks in the Public Library that will give us colored pictures of them.

What a wonderful thought God had when he made birds! They gladden our eyes, they gladden our hearts, and they destroy the harmful insects that make war on flowers and fruits. They are our little brothers of the sky. One friend of the children says, "They are the flowers of the air."

Flowers of the earth are equally lovely. We like to pick them in the fields and we like to raise them from seed in our gardens. America is a vast garden of flowers. She has flowers of the tropics, and flowers of the cold, flowers brought from Europe, and flowers native to the land. No country is more favored with these little lovely things.

Big beauties and little beauties, our dear America is rich in them all. We are grateful for them all. We hope to see many of them. We will look for them and read about them, and wherever we find a beautiful thing we will help to keep it beautiful. We will not break a tree or crush a flower. We will not hurt

the birds or take their nests. We will protect the gracious woods from fire.

Because we are Americans, and these beauties of America are ours, we will do our best to keep our country forever what one of our favorite songs calls her, "America the Beautiful."

AM an American. My language is English; Eng

I fish is Amangan, My languas

English is the language of the King James Bible, one of the most wonderful books in the world, the book which has helped form all American literature.

English is the language of our American Constitution, the ablest plan of popular government in the world. It is the language of our American National

Hymn, and of the beautiful patriotic songs we sing

in school.

English is the language of England, the United States, Canada, and Australia. It is the mother tongue of nearly two hundred million people.

America has many newcomers from other lands, who do not yet speak good English. Until they speak good English, they cannot really understand America. All America's history and all her government are explained in English. Until they understand and speak good English, they cannot be the best Americans.

America welcomes all who come to her seeking to be free and to work for the freedom of all. America welcomes their languages. All are dear and beautiful. But America says, "English first! America's language is English. Have as much knowledge as you can; knowledge of languages is good. But your own language, if you are an American, must be English."

English is a rarely beautiful tongue. It can express all kinds of thought and feeling, and can make you see all kinds of pictures in your mind. Some English verses sound like rippling water and singing birds. Others make you think of the trampling of horses' feet and the roar of thunder.

Ask some grown-up friend to read you this poem