in holes and crevices, and by some unlucky move got his leg entangled 

 in a horse-hair which had been woven into a nest. His efforts to free 

 himself were hopeless and there he perished. His form dried and 

 embalmed by the summer's heat was yet hanging in September, the 

 outspread wings and plumage nearly as brilliant as in life. Did ybu 

 ever see any in winter? Note the time they first appear. Who has 

 seen them feed their young? Let me tell you what I have seen. 



Last summer, I saw a mother-bird capture a harvest-fly, and after 

 briiising it awhile on the groimd, she flew with it to a tree, and gave 

 it to the yoiuig bird. It was a large morsel, and baby made a brave 

 effort to swallow it, but did not succeed, so that mother took the fly 

 again to the side-walk, and proceeded to bruise and break it more 

 thoroughly. Then she again placed it in her baby's beak with an air 

 which seemed to say, "There; try it now." He swallowed and choked, 

 but the great fly was still too big for his tiny beak. The young bird 

 fluttered and fluttered and moaned, "I'm stuck, I'm stuck;" and the 

 anxious parent again seized the morsel, carried it to an iron railing,, 

 and came down on it with all the force of her beak, with never-tiring^ 

 perseverance. She offered it to her young a third time, with the same 

 result, except that this time he dropped it, and she was on the ground 

 as soon as the fly, and taking it in her beak flew to a high board fence. 

 Just then the father blue-bird appeared, and said very plainly and 

 curtly, "Give me that bug." But she would not do it, and flew away,, 

 and I never found out whether baby blue-bird got any portion of the 

 fly dainty. 



Watch carefully this summer and see if you can find a blue-bird 

 feeding its young. What kind of food do the young blue-birds eat? 

 Do they never eat other kinds? 



Let us go on through this old orchard. Just over that fence yonder 

 we will strike the old wood-road. See the ferns in their first dress of 

 tender green, wearing their droll little hoods; but we must not stop 

 for them to-day, for our March visitors have come and are calling for 

 us. There is the note I have been hstening for. Did you ever hear a 

 more charming song? How would you describe it? "One high note, 

 three times repeated, and then a trill like a canary." This is a song 

 we will hear frequently for, the song-sparrow never wearies of singing. 

 There; James is beckoning us eagerly. I suspect he has found the nest 

 in that clump of bushes, or under that pavement of board which is 

 raised from the ground a couple of inches. Has he disturbed the 

 birds? Something is the matter, for there they are with their wings 

 raised in a way expressive of horror and dismay. Let us hurry. Oh, 



