STORES ABOUT BIRDS. 



was. At last the blackbird perceived that the end of the worm had caught 

 on the feathers of the breast, and was held tight, so that it could not be 

 moved. He at once began to remedy the mischief, and to disengage the 

 worm. It cost him a great deal of trouble to do so, but he succeeded at last, 

 and then he held the worm in his bill, and gently put it down the throat of 

 the little one. The poor little blackbird had narrowly escaped death, and as 

 it was, it lay almost as if it were senseless for a long time. But the parent 

 bird went on to his twig close by the nest, and sang one of his sweetest songs, 

 as if rejoicing that the danger was over. 



THE WATER OUSEL. 



There are many sweet and retired places still left in England. Here and 

 there, in some hilly county, you come on a wild glen, with a clear gushing 

 stream dancing along, often over stones and jutting pieces of rock. Here 

 ferns grow in abundance, and patches of purple heather, and here the birds 

 rejoice in a happy security. 



Just such a spot as this is where the merry little dipper dwells. He is a 

 neat compact bird, with rather glossy plumage. His throat is pure white, and 

 his breast a chestnut brown, blending into grey. The white patch on his 

 breast is seen sparkling in the sun as he stands perched on a stone in the 

 stream. Everybody likes to see him. The tourist, as he makes his way 

 through the delightful nook, pauses to say a kindly word to him. The angler 

 knows him well, and so docs the shepherd on the lone hillside. The naturalist 

 stops to point out a curious fact that perhaps you do not know. The dipper 

 is a relation of the thrush, and yet he seeks his food in the water. He fishes 

 in a small way on his own account, and it is well if he is content to do so in 

 some retired spot like this. 



The owner of some stream, who is trying to preserve his trout and salmon, 

 finds great fault with the dipper. He accuses him of devouring the eggs of 

 these valuable fishes, and persecutes him to the death. 



Here, however, are neither trout nor salmon, and we may pause a moment 

 and watch his proceedings. 



