ing to my room I opened the screen to 
let him in, but this startled him and he 
flew away. 
The sun had gone dowp by this time 
and I supposed he had at last returned 
to the nest. As I sat at the supper 
table I heard him calling to me and 
went outside. 
He was in atree in a neighbor’s yard, 
but when he saw me he at once flew 
down on my head, and it was comical 
to see him try to express his joy. 
After that he spent his days among 
the trees, but at sunset always came to 
the house and slept in a box in my 
room. 
Whenever he was hungry he would 
come to the window and call for food. 
His favorite resting-place was on my 
shoulder or head and he seemed to be 
very fond of company. 
One morning I saw Jack and Jill fly- 
ing from tree to tree with him and that 
is the last I ever saw of any of them. 
BIRDLAND SECRETS. 
SARA E. GRAVES. 
Tell me what the bluebird sings 
When from Southland up he springs 
Into March’s frosty skies 
And to our New England flies, 
Where, upon some sunny morn .« 
Hear we first his note lovelorn. 
Now he ’mong the maple flits, 
Now upon a fencepost sits, 
Lifting wings of heaven’s own blue 
As he warbles, clear and true, 
Song so plaintive, soft and sweet, 
All our hearts with welcome beat. 
What the message full he brings 
When in March’s ear he sings? 
Tell me what our robins think 
When our April airs they drink, 
Following close in Bluebird’s train 
With their blither, bolder strain. 
Sit they high on maple tall 
Chirping loud their earnest call, 
Redbreasts glowing in the sun, 
Then across the sward they run 
Scampering briskly, then upright, 
Flirt their tails and spring to flight. 
Or, when drops the light of day 
Down the westward golden way, 
Robin mounts the tallest branch 
Touched by sunset’s quivering lance; 
Carols forth his evening tune 
Blithe as Earth were in her June. 
Tell me what the sparrow says 
In those first glad springtime days, 
When the maples yield their sweet, 
When Earth’s waking pulses beat, 
When the swollen streams and rills 
Frolic down the pasture hills. 
Winter birds and squirrels then 
Grow more lively in the glen, 
And, when warmer airs arise, 
Sparrow sings her sweet surprise 
From the lilac bushes near, - 
Song of faith and hope and cheer. 
Tell me, when the longer train 
Up from Southland sweeps again, 
Filling fields and glens and woods— 
Wildest, deepest solitudes— 
With more brilliant life and song, 
Golden lyre and silver tongue, 
Bells that ring their morning chimes 
Wood nymphs voicing soothing rhymes 
Stirring all the sun-filled air 
With hymns of praise and love and 
prayer. 
Tell me whence their motive power, 
Tell me whence so rich a dower, 
Tell me why are Jzrds so gifted; 
Whence their imprisoned spirits drifted; 
Whither swells this tide of love 
Flooding all the air above? 
Whither these enchantments tend? 
A brief bird life—is this its end? 
