August is all but silent; here and there 



The cheerless bunting- thrums a wiry chord : 

 The last-fledged wagtail claims his mother's care, 

 Who trips with food to meet him on the sward. 



September brings the ring-ouzel to strip 



The rowans, teaches rooks a softer note, 

 Blackens the bramble^ reddens haw and hip, 



And sets the clotted thistle-down afloat. 



Sad-faced October bids the swallows flee, 



Musters the waders on the sandy shore. 

 Flings the leaves down in showers from bush and tree, 



And shows us many a nest unseen before. 



November finds the garden bare indeed; 



The birds begin to look for crumbs again, 

 Flung out by kindly hands to serve their need, 



And almost lay aside their fear of men. 



Lastly, December enters, glad to ply 



His frosty whip and make us own his power; 



Only the robin and the wren defy 



His frown and hail with song each milder hour. 



— Henry Johnstone. 



BIRD SYMPATHY. 



A little bird incident I saw recently 

 proves beyond doubt that among the 

 emotions accredited to the feathered 

 creatures, their sympathy for each other 

 in time of trouble is a fact. One win- 

 ter morning while walking to school, I 

 was attracted by a loud commotion in a 

 near-by maple, created by about a dozen 

 English sparrows. It seems that one 

 had caught his tail-feathers in a crevice 

 of the bark, and losing his balance had 

 fallen headlong over the branch, only to 

 hang securely fastened by his tail. His 

 frantic efforts to release himself were of 

 no avail, for the more he fluttered and 

 chirped the more firmly the feathers 



seemed to hold. His mates and neigh- 

 bors were soon drawn in numbers about 

 him, and their efforts to help him were 

 amusing and curious in the extreme. 



Two or three at a time would actually 

 hang on him, and the way they hopped 

 about, chirped and took turns at hang- 

 ing on their unfortunate brother would 

 wring pity from a heart of stone. I 

 shook the tree violently, and scared all 

 the birds away, but still the tail-feather 

 held fast. When finally I succeeded in 

 freeing him, he fluttered away nearly 

 exhausted, a frightened but thankful 

 sparrow. 



Thomas Hays Uzzell. 



37 



