LETTER No. IX. 



IN A SUBURBAN GARDEN 

 (continued}. 



NE Saturday afternoon at the end 

 of May I noticed an old thrush and 

 a young one sitting on the top 

 branches of an acacia. The young one 

 began fluttering its wings in a beseeching 

 kind of way, which said plainly enough, " I 

 want a worm, father ! " Said the old one, 

 " You sit there and watch me, and I will show 

 you how to get one." 



He then flew down to the lawn, and began 

 picking ; presently, after looking about to see 

 that Charlie was out of the way and that he 

 was not being watched, he plunged his head 

 deep into the grass, and tugged away might 

 and main, his wings spread out, his head 

 down and his tail up by turns. It was a 

 struggle betwixt our great Mother Earth on 



