Frontispiece.
Mrs. Dudley stood by her little boy, looking from the window.
THE
Nest in the Honeysuckles,
AND OTHER STORIES.
WRITTEN FOR THE AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION.
Philadelphia:
AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION,
No. 316 CHESTNUT STREET.
NEW YORK: No. 147 NASSAU ST.
BOSTON: No. 9 CORNHILL....CINCINNATI: 41 WEST FOURTH ST.
LOUISVILLE: No. 103 FOURTH ST.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by the
AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
No books are published by the American Sunday-School Union without the sanction of the Committee of Publication, consisting of fourteen members, from the following denominations of Christians, viz. Baptist, Methodist, Congregational, Episcopal, Presbyterian, Lutheran, and Reformed Dutch. Not more than three of the members can be of the same denomination, and no book can be published to which any member of the Committee shall object.
CONTENTS.
- PAGE
- THE NEST IN THE HONEYSUCKLES.7
- CHAPTER I.7
- CHAPTER II. GOING TO HOUSEKEEPING.10
- CHAPTER III. PLEASANT NEIGHBOURS.14
- CHAPTER IV. HOME DUTIES AND HOME PLEASURES.16
- CHAPTER V. HOME LIFE AND HOME EDUCATION.21
- CHAPTER VI. GOING ABROAD.27
- "MAY I POP SOME CORN?"33
- "WHICH WOULD YOU RATHER I SHOULD DO?"36
- THE BIRDS AND THE SNOW-STORM.40
- THE FIRST STRAWBERRY.43
- "I PRAYED ALL DAY FOR HELP."44
- "EVER SO MANY BEAUTIFUL THINGS."47
- LILY AND HER DUCKLINGS.51
- PRAYING FOR RAIN.56
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
- Mrs. Dudley stood by her little boy, looking from the window.
- Eddie popping corn.
- The lady was sitting at her desk writing, when the boys entered.
- "I wouldn't be so mean."
- His mother kissed his plump, brown cheek.
- First interview with the news-boy.
- Nelly brought forth her purse.
- The elder held out her hand.
- Willie was one day sitting with his grandmother by the open window.
THE NEST IN THE HONEYSUCKLES.
CHAPTER I.
"Do come here, mother," said Eddie, carefully tip-toeing from the window, and beckoning with his hand. "Here is something I want to show you. Come carefully, or I am afraid you will frighten it."
Mrs. Dudley laid aside her book, and stepped cautiously forward, Eddie leading the way back to the window. "What is it?" she inquired.
"It is a bird with straw in its mouth, and I do believe it is going to build a nest."
Mrs. Dudley stood by her little boy a few minutes, looking from the window. Presently a robin alighted on the walnut tree, directly before them, with a bunch of dry grass in its mouth. It rested a few seconds, and then flew in among the branches of a honeysuckle which twined around the pillars, and crept over the top of the porch. A fine, warm place it was for a nest, sheltered from the north winds,
Eddie and his mother watched the bird for some time. It would bring straws, and arrange them in its nest, as only a bird can; and then it would away again, and come back, perhaps, with its bill covered and filled with mud, which it used for mortar in fastening the materials in their places. Then it would get in the nest, and, moving its feet and wings, would make it just the right shape to hold the pretty eggs she would lay in it, and the little robins she would love so well, and feed so carefully.
The robin was industrious, and worked hard to get the house finished in season. I think she must have been very tired when night came, and she flew away to her perch to rest till morning. I do not see how she could balance herself so nicely on one foot, as she slept with her head turned back, and half-hidden beneath her wing.
Eddie often watched the robin during the day. He was careful not to frighten it. "I wonder how the robin could find so nice a place. I should not have thought it would have known about it,"—he said to his mother, as he saw the bird fly in, almost out of sight, among the clustering branches.
Mrs. Dudley told Eddie God taught the birds where to build their nests, and that he took care of them, and provided food for them.
Is it not wonderful that God, who has built the world in which we live, and all the bright worlds we can see in the sky, should attend to the wants of the robins and sparrows, and other birds which he has made? We should forget them, if we had much of importance to attend to, or we should be weary of providing for their wants; but our heavenly Father never forgets, and never grows weary. He hears the ravens when they cry, and not even a sparrow falls to the ground without his knowledge. "Are ye not much better than they?" our Saviour said to his disciples, when endeavouring to teach them to trust in the love and parental care of God, and not to be anxious in regard to their temporal welfare.
If God so cares for the birds, whose lives are short, and who have no souls to live in another world, will he not much more care for those who are made in his image, and for whom the Saviour died?
No good thing will he withhold from those who walk uprightly, who try to obey his commandments, and look to Christ for salvation from sin. I hope, my dear children, when you see the birds, you will remember God's love to them and to you.
I have given you all I know of the history of one day of the robin's life, but Eddie will observe it while it lives in its house in the honeysuckle, and will tell me all he sees of its domestic arrangements. I hope to tell you with what kind of a carpet it covers the floor, and what it hangs on the walls, and how it brings up its little children, if it should be so happy as to have any to gladden its quiet home, and cheer it with their chattering tongues. I am sure it will have pretty flowers and green leaves for pictures to look at, painted by One whose skill no artist can rival; and it will need no Cologne for perfume for the breath of the honeysuckle is more delicious than any odour which the art of man could prepare.
CHAPTER II.
GOING TO HOUSEKEEPING.
I promised to tell you more about the nest in the honeysuckles. Eddie has observed it with great attention, and has kept me well informed in regard to it. I have stepped out upon the porch with him, and, kneeling down, and looking over the side, I have had a peep myself at this wonderfully contrived home of the robins. It is partly supported by a cornice, which runs around the porch, and gives it a firmer foundation than the small branches of the honeysuckle could do.
But I must not forget to tell you about the finishing of the nest. The second day, the robin was at work before six o'clock in the morning; so you see birds are early risers, and like to have their work done in good season. They know how pleasant it is to see the rosy dawn, and welcome it with their sweetest strains of music. I wonder how many of my little friends see the sun rise, these bright mornings! If they would awake with the birds, they must, as wisely as the birds, go to their places of rest before the shades of evening shroud the world in darkness. If they sit up late, they will lose the morning songs, which fill the woods with sounds of gladness, and which resound from every tree and shrub about the houses of those who love these pleasant visitors, and refuse to allow them to be frightened from their premises.
The robin rose early, as I have told you, and resumed her labours for a short time. Through the day she came occasionally to see how the house was drying, but did not seem to be at all busy. She had accomplished so much by her previous industry, that there was no necessity for much exertion, and she felt quite at liberty to enjoy herself, taking short excursions in the country, and returning sometimes alone, and sometimes in company with her mate. He, once in a while, visited the nest; but was so well satisfied with the domestic arrangements of his wife, and had so much confidence in her ability and skill, that he manifested no disposition to interfere with any of her plans, but cheerfully acquiesced in them, and cheered and encouraged her by singing her one of his sweetest songs, telling her how dearly he loved her, how highly he esteemed her, and how truly happy he was that he had so pleasant and agreeable, and at the same time so housewifely, a companion. She appeared quite as well pleased to be appreciated as any wife or housekeeper of my acquaintance, and it made her labour a labour of love. We all like to be appreciated.
I see the robin is a plain, common-sense bird in her notions, and wants nothing for mere display. Every thing which could add to the real comfort of her family she has provided, and has no desire for any thing further. Many house-keepers might learn a valuable lesson from her prudent, comfortable arrangements.
When the dwelling was completed, and suitably dry for occupancy, the robin deposited there four bluish-green eggs. I assure you they are beautiful, and are great treasures to her. In about twelve days from the time Eddie first saw her carrying straws into the honeysuckles, she became very domestic, never leaving home but for a few minutes at a time. Her four eggs now occupy all her attention and her great business seems to be to keep them warm with the heat of her own body. She does not complain of being confined at home, but is entirely satisfied to attend to the duties which devolve upon her. She is not uneasy that she cannot sing like her husband, or, like him, attend to the interests of Robindom; but quietly and discreetly she labours in her appropriate sphere, and feels no wish to leave it for a less secluded and less happy life. Her heart is satisfied with the happiness of her home, and she feels no uneasiness—no ungratified longings for something to occupy her, aside from the duties she so cheerfully performs.
Madam Robin was entirely satisfied with the success of her labours, and she had reason to be. No bird could have done better. This consciousness of having done well did not make her proud; it only gave her such self-respect as every one feels who is conscious that an allotted task has been faithfully performed; and the praise of her husband was no injury to her, as she was not silly enough to think of herself more highly than she ought to think.
As the house was for a summer residence, she selected fine straw-matting, instead of woollen carpets for it. She put it down with great care, perfectly smooth and even. The wall was covered with the same cool material, delicately woven. Wasn't it nice?
CHAPTER III.
PLEASANT NEIGHBOURS.
The location
An abundance of fresh, soft water can be obtained not far from Honeysuckleville, and this is always a recommendation in favour of any place, either for men or birds. Fruit also abounds. There will be bright red currants for the little folks; strawberries, too, more than they can eat, and raspberries in any quantity they may wish. I must not forget the cherries, of which birds are so fond, and which they can have at any time when they are ripe, for merely the trouble of picking.
It is not surprising, with all these advantages in its favour, that Honeysuckleville should find more than one family happy to settle within its borders. For some time, two song-sparrows have made it frequent visits; and have finally decided, after a careful survey, that no more desirable spot can be found for a summer residence. They have accordingly commenced building, not more than two feet from the mansion of the robins. Their house is much smaller—a cottage—but quite large enough for them. It nestles so lovingly in the shadow of the vines, that I am sure domestic comfort must be found there. Discord and contention could not abide in so peaceful a retreat.
The song-sparrows will be pleasant neighbours. They are exceedingly fond of vocal music, and their clear melodious voices fill the new settlement with harmony. In that terrible snow-storm which occurred in the middle of April, I often saw a sparrow alight on a bough of a tree near the house, and send up to heaven such a strain of full, gushing melody, as melted my heart with pity and admiration. It reminded me of a child of God in the midst of trials and afflictions, yet rejoicing in faith, and trusting continually in the care of a Father in heaven. Was the cold little sparrow singing itself away, as it was once believed the swan sung its own death-song? Or may the new neighbour of the robin be the very one whose voice rang out so clear and loud, above the howlings of the storm? I trust no rude blast nor chilling frost will mar the pleasure of our feathered friends, but that they may prosper in their plans, and never forget seeking a home in the vine which winds so gracefully around the porch of Mrs. Dudley's cottage.
The song sparrow is not the only neighbour of the robin. A pair of cat-birds have a nest in a lilac near the honeysuckle, and one of them sings hour after hour on the walnut-tree opposite to the window and often comes near enough to the house to look through the open casement. These birds have lived for several summers in that same lilac, and annually make all the repairs necessary to render their dwelling habitable. They have raised several broods of birdlings, much to their own enjoyment, and of Mrs. Dudley's bird-loving family.
CHAPTER IV.
HOME DUTIES AND HOME PLEASURES.
Our robin has been a keeper-at-home ever since those four bluish-green eggs demanded her attention. She has occasionally left, for a few minutes at a time, to procure food and drink, or to take a little exercise; but she has never forgotten her quiet abode, and the duties which there require her almost constant presence. She loves the green fields, the leafy trees, and the clear blue sky, and delights to hop about with her mate over the fresh grass and the clean gravel-walks; but better than all she loves those pretty eggs, which lie so cozily in the bottom of her straw-built nest.
Before she commenced house-keeping, she was very fond of travelling, and many a mile has she wandered, over hill and valley, in company with her friends. She assisted at concerts, and was universally admired; but she had the good sense to give up these enjoyments without a murmur, when higher claims called for her undivided care. Whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing well; and the robin will doubtless be repaid for the unwearied patience with which she performs her unostentatious duties. Some people are inclined to think domestic labour dishonourable, and the cares of house-keeping a burden; but our feathered friend is wiser than they. She does with her might what she finds to do, and she does it heartily. Every act of duty, faithfully and cheerfully performed, is acceptable to God; and his children do his will when they endeavour to attend to their various occupations in such a way as he can approve. If all house-keepers felt that, in attending to the different departments of their work as they should be attended to, they were honouring Him who has made this care necessary for the comfort of families, it would be a blessing to themselves, and to who all who dwell under the same roof with them. We cannot consider any thing which we do to please our heavenly Father of small importance, and no favour can be degrading which he requires of us.
We may all learn a lesson from the robin who lives in the honeysuckles, and we shall see how she was rewarded for her devotion to the employment which Providence assigned her. The wisest of men, in describing the character of an excellent woman, says: "The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her." "She will do him good, and not evil, all the days of her life." Our feathered friend's husband is absent much of his time (as most gentlemen are obliged to be) from his well-ordered home; but he always thinks of it with pleasure, and hastens to it whenever he can find time to do so. Sometimes he only stops a moment, but it is a precious moment to them both, for their hearts and interests are one. They are cheered, in their separation, by the pleasant memories of these brief interviews, and by bright anticipations of future enjoyment.
I have observed, Mr. Robin thinks it of importance to look nice at home, as well as when he is abroad. I have seen him alight on the walnut-tree, and carefully arrange his toilet, before going into the presence of his wife. She must feel complimented by this delicate attention, indicating so high a regard for her, and such anxiety to preserve her esteem. I should not wonder if she was a little proud of her handsome husband. However this may be, I am sure it is her greatest happiness to deserve his respect and love, and honourably to perform all the duties which devolve upon her in her married life.
Madam Robin was sitting one day in her vine-shaded home, looking out through the slender branches of the honeysuckle, which were gently swayed by a refreshing breeze, when she heard a slight tap. She listened eagerly. Another tap—presently another. How her heart fluttered! It proceeded from one of those highly-prized eggs, and she knew it was the timid knock of a birdling, who was in that little chamber, and was waiting to have the door opened. Of how small consequence all her self-denial and her seclusion from general society seemed, when that thrilling tap sounded on her ear! She continued to listen, and within those four tiny chambers she heard the same rapping repeated; and more than that, the sweet word, Mother, might seem faintly to greet her ear. How she longed for her mate to return, that he might enjoy, with her, this new happiness! When husband and wife love each other, as they should, all pleasure must be shared, or it will still be imperfect. She waited, almost impatiently for his coming; and when he alighted on the honeysuckle, she looked so full of grateful joy, that he knew that something more than usual must have occurred. He affectionately kissed her bill, and then, in a low tremulous voice, she told him the glad news. He was quite as much pleased as she, although he did not appear so excited. Had employment in the open air given a firmness to his nerves, which her sedentary
It was pleasant music to their ears to hear those four new voices in their secluded home; and though they knew it would increase their labour to provide food for those gaping mouths, what cared they for their own comfort, if they could nurture their precious charge, and rear them to be an honour and a blessing?
When the doors of their chambers were quite open, out came the baby-birds, with a few downy feathers covering them!
"How very little they are!" said Eddie, with one breath; and, "How big their mouths are!" with the next. To be sure, they do look very small, and their mouths are very large for such diminutive bodies, and they open them so wide that it almost seems as if one of them could jump down another's throat.
The robin now often comes home, and brings food to his family. It is gratifying to see how attentive he is to his dear children and their mother; and I hope I may be able, some day, to tell you that they repay his attachment, by growing up fine, obedient birds. It will not be long before their education will be commenced, and I will tell you whether they are taught at home, or are sent away to school, and what progress they make in acquiring their accomplishments.
CHAPTER V.
HOME LIFE AND HOME EDUCATION.
The birdlings still live in the honeysuckles.
"How they do grow!" Eddie exclaims, when he looks at them. "I shouldn't think they could ever have lived in those little eggs."
They are now almost half as large as the old birds. They are well covered with feathers, and their mottled breasts are very pretty.
"They don't have to dress as we do," said Eddie. "Their clothes grow." And he thinks it would be a great convenience if his clothes grew too, for then they would always be large enough for him, and his mother would not have so much sewing to do.
Sometimes these little birds lie in the bottom of the nest, quietly sleeping, while their father and mother are both away, getting them food. At other times they feel wide awake. Then they stretch their wings, stand upon their feet, and peep over the side of the nest. From the parlour-window, the children can look up directly at their secluded home, and can see them amusing themselves and practising their lessons. The honeysuckle grows almost as fast as the birds, and the tender, overhanging branches make a roof which keeps off all the rain.
The old birds are mindful of their children, but do not consider it necessary to be with them all the time. So other parents endeavour to implant good principles in the hearts of their children, and then leave them to their self-control; ever keeping a watchful eye on the influences which surround them, and using their proper authority, when it becomes necessary, to restrain from evil, and guide in the way of virtue. The child that has never learned to depend upon himself, or to control his own passions, and to do right because it is right, will hardly be able to sustain himself when the presence of his parents is withdrawn.
The robins know very well that children grow weary of long lectures; so they give them here a little and there a little instruction, as occasion demands.
They are decided in their family government, but not severe. Their children are taught to obey promptly and cheerfully, but they have no slavish fear of their parents. Their presence is not regarded as a restraint; for, at all suitable times, they have freely permitted their little ones to laugh and frolic to their hearts' content. They willingly listen to all the plans of the birdlings, and lend an attentive ear to the story of their joys and their sorrows. Their sympathy is never withheld; their griefs are never considered as of no consequence because they are brief and soon forgotten.
The parent birds do not leave their young alone but a little while at a time. They often fly home to see them, and sometimes perch on the walnut-tree, and talk with them. Their musical chirpings are pleasant to hear. We don't understand the bird-language; but we judge, by the soft tones, that it is something kind and agreeable they are saying. Perhaps they are talking about their plans for the future, when they all know how to use their wings, and can fly about together.
Very often, during the day, the robins bring worms to fill the gaping mouths. It is surprising how much they eat. No wonder they have grown plump and large, for they eat and sleep as much as they please. We expect soon to see them flying about from tree to tree, and hopping along the ground. We hope that great cat, which steps about so softly, will never find them. She is welcome to all the rats and mice she can put her paws on, but we never like to see her climb a tree, for we fear she will destroy some of our cheerful friends, who build near the house in full confidence that they shall not be disturbed.
The young robins are not lonely in their rural home. The plainly-dressed sparrows and the brilliant yellow-birds look in upon them, and, now and then, their cousin, the oriole, comes, clad in the richest golden plumage, and sings them a song. If he had dipped his feathers in the gorgeous sunset he could not be more beautiful. The delicate little humming-birds sip nectar from the deep horns of the honeysuckle; and the red-winged starling, in his glossy black coat, and his dashing scarlet epaulette, occasionally comes from his home in the meadow, to make them a call. He does not like Honeysuckleville quite as well as his dwelling in the grass, just above the water. If he was not so confirmed in his habits, I think he would be strongly tempted to become a neighbour of the robins. A few weeks ago, when his favourite resort was five or six feet under water, he and his friends seemed to be in great uncertainty what course to pursue. They had several mass meetings on the quince-bushes, in full sight of Honeysuckleville, and a great many speeches were made. It sounded to me like incessant chattering, and as if all were talking at the same time. I could not understand a word they said, and I cannot tell you the result of their deliberations. Whatever it may have been, when the water subsided, they returned to their old haunts by the river-side.
These I have mentioned are not the only visitors whose society our friends enjoy. The swallows gracefully skim through the air, and greet them with their merry voices. The wren often favours them with one of his sweetest melodies, and the blue-bird flies around the corner to sing a song on the walnut-tree. He has a curious little nest of his own, hidden away under the eaves. The cat-birds, of course, are always near, as they live in the lilacs. The oriole has suspended his nest, like a basket, from a limb of the great pear-tree; and when the robins know how to fly, they can return some of his visits.
The old robins, now and then, play peep with the young birds. They fly almost up to the nest, and poise themselves for an instant on the wing, just long enough to say, "Bo-peep!" and then away! almost before they can be seen. Pretty soon they return again, generally bringing some nice morsel with them. They often first alight on a small branch of the vine, below the nest, and then hop up to it.
What a chirping the birdlings keep up with their mother! They like to talk as well as Eddie Dudley and some other children, whom I have heard pleasantly called little chatter-boxes. Children have much to learn, and must ask many questions. The world is new and strange to them, and is a constant source of surprise and wonder. I do not suppose people ever learn faster than before they are six years old, or ever learn more in the same length of time. They are constantly observing, and in this way the stock of their ideas is continually increasing.
The young birds are now seeing and thinking, as well as birds can. Their time for action has not come. Like dear children in their happy homes, they are preparing for the responsibilities of life; and, if they honour and obey their parents, as far as birds are expected to do, and as all children should, I doubt not they will faithfully perform the duties which will hereafter devolve upon them.
From observations I have made, I conclude the robins neither send their children to school nor employ a governess for them. They have so made their arrangements that either one or the other has time to attend to their education. Sometimes the father, and at other times the mother, assumes the labour of teaching, and their dearly-loved pupils are quite as attentive to their instructions as any children I have ever seen.
CHAPTER VI.
GOING ABROAD.
It was on a bright, warm, breezy morning in early June, that our friends at Honeysuckleville decided that the home education of their children had been attended with such success as to encourage the hope that they would "come out" creditably to themselves, and their parents. Arrangements were accordingly made, and I assure you there was much talking and no little excitement and bustle upon the occasion. It was proposed to spend some weeks in travelling, that the young people might enjoy themselves, and acquire much useful information, which could be obtained no other way.
The weather was delightful. A few light, fleecy clouds were floating in the blue sky, continually changing from one form of beauty to another. The sun shone forth in his splendour, cheering the tender grass and the up-springing seeds, and drawing them nearer and nearer to his bosom. They stretched toward him their feeble blades and diminutive leaves, as if they would gladly be clasped in his arms; but their growing roots were striking deeper and deeper into mother earth, and binding them closer and closer to her.
The gentle, cooling zephyrs were playing among the leaves, and winning sweet music from the tiny voices, which responded in glee to their salutations. Often they lifted the soft hair from the brows of the children, and frolicked amid their curls, and fanned their sun-burnt cheeks. It was a morning which all nature enjoyed. There could not have been a finer day to start upon a journey. As birds do not need a change of dress, there was no trunk to pack, and no travelling-bag to be laden with comforts. All the preparation necessary was the usual attention to the toilet, and the instruction and advice which the exigency required.
The hearts of the young adventurers fluttered with excitement. There was a mingling of curiosity to visit the great world of which they had heard such glowing descriptions, and of fears to trust themselves to the power of their wings to bear them from their pleasant, happy home, and keep them out of harm's way. They had seen Pussy, as she walked about in her white and black robe, and though she seemed so gentle, they had been warned against her as one of their most deadly enemies. They knew she was often prowling about, with stealthy tread, to prey upon the unwary. They feared that, instead of flying to the walnut-tree, as was the plan, they should fall upon the grass, where she could pounce upon them and destroy them, notwithstanding the screams and agonizing entreaties of their parents. Puss is a full believer in the doctrine that "might makes right;" and she is as unmoved by the cries and appeals of her victims as if they had no hearts to suffer, and were made merely for her own use.
Many words of encouragement were addressed to them by their parents. They told them how they themselves had suffered from similar fears; how difficult it was for them to trust implicitly in the wisdom of their own father and mother; and how they stood, tremulous and fearful, on the top of the nest, wishing they had sufficient resolution to obey, and yet fearing to venture; but how easy and pleasant they found it to spread their wings in the air, and be borne up by it, when they fully determined to make the attempt.
Our little birdlings still hesitated, just as I have seen children hesitate and quiver with terror when for the first time they go into the water to learn to swim. They know their father tells them the truth, for he has never deceived them. He has bound a life-preserver beneath their arms, and has promised to remain near, to catch them, if they begin to sink; yet they are afraid, and draw back. They lack faith. When at last they timidly push from the shore, and find themselves buoyed up on the water, their delight is almost unbounded, and they are as unwilling to leave as they were reluctant to enter it.
The old robins stood on one of the branches of the walnut-tree, and endeavoured to persuade their timid brood to come to them. They were not stern and severe, for they had not forgotten their own youth, and they sympathized deeply with these children; but the father found he must be decided, so he told them, (as it seemed,) authoritatively, that they must hesitate no longer. He would count one—two—three; and when he said three, they must spread their wings and do as well as they could. The mother smiled lovingly upon them, and they determined to obey, whatever effort it might cost. "One—two—three," counted the robin, in his full, musical tones. The birdlings fluttered their wings, and strained every nerve to alight by the side of their parents. With what joy they felt their feet clinging round the branch! How elated they were with their success! They chirped continually, and merry and brisk was the conversation. "What is this?" one asked, and "What is that?" said another, till it seemed as if the old birds would be weary of their questions; but they never lost their patience; they thought the little folks remarkably intelligent.
When they were rested, away flew the birds to the elm, and called to their young. Grown courageous by success, they quickly followed, and, through the whole day, they were flying about from tree to tree, enjoying themselves highly.
At sunset, I saw them on the locust-tree, near the cottage, inhaling its delicious perfume, with their faces toward the west, wondering, perhaps, what occasioned all that glorious beauty, as the sun escaped from their view.
Presently they flew to a great cherry-tree, and, from the chirping and calling, we concluded they spent the night in its shelter. How strange it must have been to them, this first night of their perching! The sky was clear, the stars twinkled, and the half-moon shed her silvery light on the earth, and gleamed through the cherry-leaves, as it had done through the honeysuckles; but it was not home, that cherry-tree, and they sighed as they thought of their birthplace. They sat close to their mother's side, and felt that, after all, where she was, was the best place for them. They curled up one foot into the soft down, and turned back their heads till their bills were beneath their wings. The lids slowly closed over their eyes, and they slept quietly and sweetly, till wakened in the morning by the warbling of songsters who welcomed the rosy dawn.
A new sense of responsibility filled their hearts. They were no longer mere children, their every want supplied by others; but they were youth, and must begin to provide for themselves, and depend upon their own energies. We frequently hear the young robins among the trees, but we seldom see them. We really miss them, and think of them as pleasant visitors who have been spending a few days with us.
We hope that Honeysuckleville will not