A MODERN NARCISSUS 



Sir Redbird was forlorn. His Lady, 

 faithful mate of many seasons, was 

 dead. In vain his friends sought to con 

 sole him; in vain the dainty maiden- 

 birds in his neighborhood preened their 

 feathers and sang their sweetest songs 

 to distract him; his lordship refused 

 comfort. 



Six months passed, and finally, one 

 day, someone noticed a change in him. 

 Once more his brilliant plumage was 

 well arranged, once more he sang from 

 aloft his song, "What cheer, what cheer, 

 what, what, what." Curiosity was rife 

 among the birds, and some, more for 

 ward than the rest, followed him one 

 day, they found him swinging on 

 the branch of an orange tree, close to 

 the closed window of a packing house. 

 Inside the glass, on another branch, was 

 another bird, which cocked its head, 

 ruffled its feathers, and swang up and 

 down in concert with Sir Redbird. So 

 happy was his lordship that he sang his 

 sweetest, clearest song, his little throat 



fairly bursting with the tale of the 

 love which this beautiful bird in the 

 packing house had inspired in his breast. 



In a little while he flew away, and re 

 turned with a great, black mulberry in 

 his beak. Flying against the glass, he 

 pressed the fruit to the bill of his love, 

 who had flown to meet him. Again and 

 again he flew, until the glass was crim 

 son with the juice and a pile of seeds lay 

 on the sill below. Next he tried a worm, 

 but that she would not take, and so he 

 had to sit off by himself, and eat alone. 



Day after day he did the same thing 

 until, the season being nearly over, 

 someone moved the boxes stacked 

 against the inside of that closed window, 

 and lo! the bird never came again. 

 In vain did Sir Redbird sing his loveliest 

 songs, in vain did he bring his sweetest 

 berries ; his little love was gone. 



After watching for many weeks he 

 finally gave up the search, never know 

 ing it was but his own reflection he had 

 been making love to, all of the time. 

 MILDRED VAN DEMAN. 



A STORY OF A BLUEBIRD 



I had read many times of the success 

 of bird-lovers with wild birds in cages, 

 and I had resolved to try what I could 

 do in that line whenever I found the op 

 portunity. One beautiful day in May 

 I discovered a Bluebird's nest in an old 

 pump near by. I watched it with zealous 

 care and when the wee birdlings were 

 hatched the first day of June I redoubled 

 my attentions. The days crept on and 

 my fledglings grew. The twelfth, thir 

 teenth, and fourteenth day passed. The 

 fifteenth day, at noon, the birds were 

 snugly sleeping in their cozy nook and 

 I saw no signs of leaving. Imagine my 



consternation a little after four o'clock 

 that afternoon to see the nest empty! 

 Everywhere I might look I could find 

 no trace of the young birds. I searched 

 as long as I could that night and renewed 

 my quest early the next morning. I 

 was sure the birds could not be very far 

 off, for the nearest trees were many rods 

 away. At last, in the wet grass I found 

 one bedraggled bird, and still later, the 

 half-eaten body of another. The fate of 

 the third blue baby I never knew. The 

 one I captured I took home with me, 

 feeding it often with egg and potato and 

 giving at each meal a few drops of wa- 



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