extreme head of the procession two other teams of horses were attached to the ends of the ropes to give direction to the line, though there was much more likelihood of the horses being run over than of their doing much good.

Many of the schools had banners to carry at the head of their lines, and all the children of the schools of the city had received badges which entitled them to the freedom of the streetcar lines of the city for the entire day. As rapidly as one relay completed its part of the course, the children stepped back, at a signal

walls should stand,- a reminder of the days when the population of the city consisted of the builder of the house and his family. The man who erected the building, Colonel J. H. Stevens, is yet alive, and but for illness would have been present at the celebration.

The building was erected forty-six years ago not so long a time in the Eastern States, but a quite extended period for a city in the newer West. The house was built on the banks of the Mississippi River, within sound of the roar of the Falls of St. Anthony, now the motive-power

The relay thus relieved then took the cars for the park, and there awaited the building. At the end of five hours the odd procession reached the beautiful park. Here the mayor of the city, the members of the board of park commissioners, and representatives of other departments of the city, formally received the old house, and it was turned over to the park board to be maintained as a home for various interesting relics as long as its weather-beaten

It will be many days before the children of the schools of Minneapolis forget the time when, ten thousand strong, with banners flying and cheers resounding, and the stirring notes of the bugler's horn ringing out on the soft May air, they moved this humble but historic building to its last peaceful resting-place,

Where the Falls of Minnehaha

Flash and gleam among the oak-trees,
Laugh and leap into the valley.

"

IN May the gardener goes around
And with his spade he digs the ground.
He makes our front-yard garden-plot,
Then plants in it forget-me-not;
Pansies, too, with faces shy-

Always peeking at the sky.

And while he works with all his might I watch and make him do it right.

Now with my iron spade and rake,
I, too, a garden-plot can make.
My flowers very seldom grow
(I do not know the reason though);
And if I work the whole day through
The gardener cares not what I do.
He does not seem to think that he
Can learn a single thing from me.