76 ' STORIES ABOUT BIRDS. 



hatched, the parent birds feed them with green caterpillars and other insects. 

 All the time they are being hatched the beautiful songs are heard, but when 

 the little birds have to be fed the melody ceases. Then nothing is heard from 

 the once brilliant performer but a low croak, and a snapping noise if he is 

 alarmed. He is busy helping his partner attend to the little ones. 



And in August, quite in the midst of the summer, he leaves us altogether. 



We have almost forgotten his appearance, but this is not at all striking. 

 He is a plain brown bird, with rather a rich tint, and the under surface of his 

 body is a dull white. His voice is all \\'c care for. 



As a rule, the nightingales are not at all plentiful, except in certain places. 

 About London they sing in a delightful manner, and several of our southern 

 counties are highly favoured by their presence. But the birds seem to dislike 

 the northern part of the country, and arc rarely seen there. 



THE ROBIN. 



Who does not love the robin } He is everybody's friend ; and he of all the 

 birds never leaves us. 



Ever welcome, he visits our window in the bleak winter's morning to 

 receive the crumbs allotted to him, and to repay us with his brisk little song. 

 In the summer, amid the crowd of feathered friends, he seemed to pass from 

 our notice. And he had his own affairs to look after — to build the nest, and 

 rear the young. Now this busy, anxious season is over, and he bethinks him- 

 self of his old friends, and draws near the gardens, where perchance a stray 

 grub may remain or be hidden under the grass, and where the friendly hand 

 will give him crumbs. 



His appearance and his attitude arc known to every one. He stands, his 

 head a little raised, his wings drooping, his mild, pleasant eye beaming with 

 intelligence. Sometimes he spies a worm wriggling in the grass, and he gives 

 a hop towards it, and pecks it, and devours as much as he can. Then he 

 resumes his former position. Now and then he sings his few sweet notes from 

 a wall or a decaying stump. His flight is rapid, but consists of short quick 

 starts from one place to another. Now he is on the bush, now on the fence. 



