lessly constructed that the eggs may be 

 readily seen through the bottom. The 

 nests are usually placed in trees and 

 shrubs, where they are well concealed by 

 foliage. The mother bird, though timid 

 at other times, is very courageous in the 

 defense of her eggs and young. Major 

 Bendire says : "Usually an egg is de- 

 posited daily, and as a rule incubation 

 does not commence until the set is com- 

 pleted." Sometimes, however, there is a 



considerable interval of time, from two 

 to eight days, between the laying of the 

 eggs, and the bird may begin incubation 

 with the laying of the first egg. The 

 Yellow-billed Cuckoo, unlike its Euro- 

 pean relative, rears its own young in a 

 nest built by the parent bird. It is pos- 

 sible, however, that they may very rarely 

 lay an egg in the nests of other birds, but 

 this is doubted by some of our best ob- 

 servers. 



AMONG THE TREES. 



THE LINDEN TREE. 



Mabel was reclining on a grassy 

 slope and looking at a tree whose 

 leaves, dark, glossy green above, and 

 apple-green with tufts of brown hair 

 at the axils of its veins, shimmered 

 and glistened in the early summer sun- 

 shine; myriads of bees filled the air 

 with their noise as they hovered around 

 the blossoms swinging on their long 

 stems. Her thoughts were busy with 

 the past, when she, a little child, 

 climbed her father's knee to listen to 

 tales of his childhood days, for his 

 earliest recollections were of a lime 

 tree, beneath which he rolled and 

 played; and when in boyhood Jays he 

 trudged, barefoot, along the country 

 road and with others of his age "toed 

 the mark" in the old log schoolhouse 

 at the crossroads, he and his com- 

 panions would gather beneath this tree 

 at eventide, and talk over those things 

 so interesting to boys. How often, 

 too, mounted on a chair, he would 

 recite those favorite verses, which, 

 some years later, his bearded lips had 

 taught his little daughter. 



Tenderly an.d lovingly, she repeated 

 the words, so fraught with memories 

 of the past: 



"Here's a song for thee — of the linden tree ! 



A song of the silken lime ! 

 There is no other tree so pleaseth me, 



No other so fit for rhyme. 



When I was a boy, it was all my joy 

 To rest in its scented shade, 

 When the sun was high, and the river nigh 

 A musical murmur made. 



When floating along, like a winged song, 



The traveler-bee would stop. 

 And chose for its bower, the lime-tree flower, 



And drink — to the last sweet drop. 



When the evening star stole forth, afar, 

 And the gnats flew round and round, 



I sought for a rhyme beneath the lime. 

 Or dreamed on the grassy ground. 



Ah ! years have fled ; and the linden dead, 



Is a brand on the cottiers floor, 

 And the river creeps through its slimy deeps. 



And youth is a thought of yore ! 



Yet they live again, in the dreamer's brain 



As deeds of love and wrong. 

 Which pass with a sigh and seem to die, 



Survive in the poet's song." 



The pendulous clusters of bloom with 

 their long, ribbon-like, greenish yellow 

 bracts, swayed gently in the light sum- 

 mer breeze, contrasting pleasantly with 

 the leaves which quivered and shim- 

 mered in the sunlight, and Mabel, gaz- 

 ing at the tree, heard the musical hum 

 of the words: 



"You would like me to talk to you? 

 to tell you the history of our family?" 



"Nothing would please me better, 

 you beautiful, sweet-scented tree!" 



"Take care; were I not a sensible 

 tree, I might be made vain by your 

 highly complimentary words." 



Tt is the truth," said Mabel, wish- 

 ing to .defend herself. 



"All the more reason to make me 

 proud. We are a proud race, any- 

 way, and an ancient one, for remains 

 of us are found in the cold lands of 



