bird, which I knew by the greater brightness of his plumage, and his more slender form, seemed to be fondest of bringing sticks, one of which was too long for the mouth of the jar to admit. It was very amusing to witness his efforts to get the stick in; but it would not do; the stick fell to the ground. All day long, these pretty creatures were busy at their work; one usually watched while the other was in the jar arranging the nest for their expected brood. In about a week, it was evident that their work was completed, for they carried in no more sticks or dried grass. They were gone a great part of the day, I suppose playing, after so much hard work, but they returned at evening. Some one in the neighborhood fired a gun. This scared the bluebirds so that they staid away for two whole days; and, when they returned, it was amusing to see how timidly they entered their house. Then they would fly off to another tree at a distance, and make believe they had nothing to do with the one their nest was in. At last, they grew bolder; and, every evening at sunset, I saw the mother bird go into her nest while her mate went to roost.

There was a slight feeling of despondency in my heart when I first went to look out of this window; but when I saw these birds, and witnessed the scene of faithful love and domestic industry and happiness set forth by these little creatures, the spirit of complaint was rebuked within me, and I learned a new lesson of serene trust and assurance that all were cared for by the Creator of all.

But I must tell you the rest of the story of the bluebirds; and I am sorry to say, they met with sad trials. The first encroacher, as they supposed him to be, was a woodpecker; he seemed, as I thought, to mean them no harm; but as soon as they heard his tap, tap, tap, they flew at him very angrily and drove him away. A more dangerous enemy was at hand, one that from his size you would not have supposed dangerous to them. A little wren, not nearly so large as the bluebird, came one day to the tree; and, seeing the jar, having examined it, and being pleased with it, resolved to take it for herself. The little thief waited till the bluebirds had gone upon some expedition; and then, without any ceremony, without any fear of any thing, she entered the jar, and was evidently confirmed in her purpose of taking possession of it. Probably she held a consultation with her mate; but this I did not witness, as I did that between the two bluebirds. The next day this pert little Madam Wren, or her mate, I could not tell which, came again, and, perching on the topmost branch of the tree, poured forth a loud triumphant song, and then, as soon as the coast was clear, entered the house she was resolved to appropriate to herself. In a minute after, she appeared at the mouth of the jar with her bill full of the dried grass of which the bluebird's nest was made, which she threw out on the ground disdainfully. Back again she flew, and in an instant brought some more and threw it out. This she did with the most impudent look you can imagine. Then she flew swiftly in and out, like a little termagant, throwing out of the mouth of the jar, sticks, dead leaves, grass, with all the nice soft things which the poor bluebird had been a week in collecting. Every now and then, she came out for a minute and sang as sweetly as if she were not engaged in such a piratical work; and the little rogue looked up in my face so saucily, too, as much as to say, 'Who cares for you?' Then she began singing at the top of her voice, exulting over her work of destruction. Can you suppose it was any sense of honesty that prevented her using the bluebird's nest after having stolen her house? No, Jenny Wren had no principle. You would have laughed to see how scornfully she tossed out those dead leaves. Every thing went out of the nest pell-mell. The little monster! what could the poor bluebirds say or do? This bird evidently had no conscience, at least not a good one, that is plain. Never did general rejoice more over the capture and destruction of a city than this little bit of a bird rejoiced over the destruction of the bluebird's nest, and at the unlawful possession of the house. I saw her carrying in a long stick that suited her better than the short ones that the bluebird had carried in: she found she could not get it in if she took it in the middle; so she changed the place, and held it by the end, and so by that means got it in. She was more cunning than the bluebird. Now you might hear the two little robbers sing again. They are happier than any king can be nowadays. Poor, dear, beautiful bluebirds! What has become of them? Then came the mother. She looked into the jar and saw the destruction of her nest—all her week's work. How distressed she seemed! but the victorious wrens had no pity on her. They drove her away. She disappeared. The saucy conquerors flew in and out of their stolen house twenty times a minute, caring for nothing. They could have had no moral sense; but they were very amusing, and they were nothing but birds; they knew no better; so we must forgive them."

"I like stories about animals better than any other stories," said Frank. "I think animals know as much, and sometimes more than we do. So, Mother, do tell us all you can think of about elephants, bears, and lions, as well as dogs, and cats, and birds."

"I have laid up in my memory two or three dog and cat stories, which I will tell you, and then I will see what I can remember of lions, bears, and elephants. But first I must tell you what I have lately read about courts of justice among the crows."

"What is a court of justice?" asked Harry.

"A court of justice is an assemblage of men who meet together to ascertain if any one who is accused of doing a wrong thing has really done it or not. If he is proved to have committed the offence, he is declared to be guilty; if he is not proved to have done it, he is declared not guilty.

A writer on the history of the Feroe Islands describes these extraordinary courts as if he had witnessed them. He says, these crow-courts are observed here (in the Feroe Islands) as well as in the Scotch Isles. The crows collect in great numbers, as if they had been all summoned for the occasion. A few of the flock sit with drooping heads, others seem as grave as if they were judges, and some are exceedingly active and noisy, like lawyers and witnesses; in the course of about an hour the company generally disperse, and it is not uncommon, after they have flown away, to find one or two left dead on the spot.

Dr. Edmondstone, in his View of the Shetland Islands, says that sometimes the crow-court, or meeting, does not appear to be complete before the expiration of a day or two,—crows coming from all quarters to the session. As soon as they are all arrived, a very general noise ensues, the business of the court is opened, and shortly after they all fall upon one or two individual crows, (who are supposed to have been condemned by their peers,) and put them to death. When the execution is over, they quietly disperse."

"I shall never look at a crow, Mother, again," said Harry, "without dislike—cruel creatures."

"We don't understand these things," said his mother; "animals have no compassion for their sick companions; they kill them sometimes for being sick. It seems very cruel, but we don't understand enough to judge."

"Now, Mother, what new story have you about dogs?"

"The story I shall tell you now seems to show that dogs have good hearts, and are compassionate and magnanimous. A dog was placed to watch a piece of ground, perhaps a garden. A boy ran across the forbidden place. The dog chased him. The boy, greatly frightened, ran very fast, fell, and broke his leg. The dog, when he came up and heard the boy's cries, did not touch him, but ran up to the passers by, and barked till he attracted their attention, and brought some one to the aid of the poor boy, who could not move.

The faithful creature had performed his duty in driving away intruders; but he had too good a heart, and was too