A BRIGAND BIRD. 
a ie kea is an Outlaw birdof New 
Zealand for each of whose bills 
the government offers a reward 
of a, shilling. The kea)uisea 
gourmand. It prefers the kidney of a 
sheep to any other part of the beast. 
Coming down out of the mountains 
in winter, it attacks the sheep, alight- 
ing on their backs, and tearing away 
the hide and flesh until it reaches the 
titbits which it seeks. 
How the birds learned to tear away 
the skin to get at the flesh forms a 
curious story of the development of 
bird knowledge. The birds had been 
feeding on the refuse of cattle and 
sheep killed for human consumption. 
They learned to associate the idea of 
meat with the living animal, and now 
they kill the sheep for the meat with- 
out waiting for human aid or consent. 
The Maoris have a legend about this 
bird to the effect that it used to be a 
strict vegetarian, building its nest on 
the ground. The sheep came and 
trampled on the nests, and the birds 
attacked them furiously, drawing 
blood. 
They liked the flavor of flesh, and 
have ever since been eating it. The 
bird builds its nest in trees now, out of 
the reach of the sheep’s hoofs. 
THE BROOK. 
Little brook, little brook, 
You have such a happy look, 
Such a very merry manner as you swerve and curve and crook; 
And your ripples, one by one, 
Reach each other’s hands and run 
Like laughing little children in the sun! 
Little brook, sing to me, 
Sing about a bumble- bee 
That tumbled from a hly-bell and mumbled erumblingly 
Because he wet the film 
Of his wings and had to swim, 
While the water bugs raced round and laughed at him. 
Little brook, sing a song 
Of a leaf that sailed along 
Down the golden braided center of your current swift and strong, 
And the dragon-fly that lit 
On the tilting rim of it, 
And sailed away, and wasn’t scared a bit! 
And sing how oft in glee’ 
Came a truant boy like me 
Who loved to lean and listen to your lilting melody, 
Till the gurgle and refrain 
Of your music in his brain 
Caused a happiness as deep to him as pain! 
Little brook, laugh and leap! 
Do not let the dreamer weep; 
Sing him all the songs of summer till he sink in softest sleep; 
And then sing soft and low 
Through his dreams of long ago, 
Sing back to him the rest he used to know.—Anon. 
