THE EUROPEAN KINGFISHER. 



Little Folks : 



I shouldn't have liked it one 

 bit if my picture had been left 

 out of this beautiful book. My 

 cousin, the American Kingfisher, 

 had his in the February number, 

 and I find he had a good deal 

 to say about himself in his letter, 

 too. 



Fine feathers make fine birds, 

 they say. Well, if that is true, 

 I must be a very fine bird, for 

 surely my feathers are gay 

 enough to please anybody — 1 

 think. 



To see me in all my beauty, 

 you must seek me in my native 

 wood. I look perfectly gorgeous 

 there, fiitting from tree to tree. 

 Or maybe you would rather see 

 me sitting on a stump, gazing 

 down into the clear pool which 

 looks like a mirror. 



'' Oh, what a vain bird ! " you 

 would say; "see him looking 

 at himself in the water;" when 

 all the time I had my eye on a 

 fine trout which I intended to 

 catch for my dinner. 



AYell, though I wear a brighter 

 dress than my American cousin, 

 our habits are pretty much alike. 

 I am sure he catches fish the 

 same way I do — when he is 

 hungry. 



AYith a hook and line, as you 

 do? 



Oh, no ; with my bill, which is 

 long, you observe, and made for 

 that very purpose. You should 

 just see me catch a fish ! Down 

 I fly to a stump near the brook, 

 or to a limb of a tree which 

 overhangs the water, and there 

 I sit as quiet as a mouse for 

 quite a while. 



Everything being so qiliet, a 

 fine speckled trout, or a school 

 of troutlets, play near the sur- 

 face. Now is my chance! Down 

 I swoop, and up I come with a 

 fish crosswise in my bill. 



Back I go to my perch, toss 

 the minnow into the air, and as 

 it falls catch it head first and 

 swallow it whole. I tell you 

 this because you ought to know 

 why I am called Kingfisher. 



Do we swallow bones and all? 



Yes, but we afterwards eject 

 the bones, when we are resting 

 or roosting in our holes in the 

 banks of the stream. That must 

 be the reason people who write 

 about us say we build our nests 

 of fish bones. 



Sing? 



Oh, no, we are not singing 

 birds ; but sometimes, when fly- 

 ing swiftly through the air, we 

 give a harsh cry that nobody 

 but a bird understands. 



Your friend. 

 The English Kingfisher. 



191 



