THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
241 
Rest, mother-bird ! and when thy young 
Take flight, and thou art free to roam, 
When withered is the guardian flower, 
And empty thy late home, 
Think how ye prosper'd, thou and thine, 
Amid the unviolated grove, 
Housed near the growing primrose tuft, 
In foresiglit or in love. 
In such a delightful nest the hen lays from eight to 
sixteen little tiny eggs, but seldom hatches more than 
half that number. The young birds make their ap- 
pearance in May, and they, with their parents, may 
easily be tamed, as I have found by experience. 
Being anxious io domesticate a young brood of 
these interesting little creatures, and knowing of a 
pair having built for three or four years in an out- 
house that contained garden implements, and other 
odd matters, I had an old hat fixed as near the spot 
they were wont to build in as possible. About the 
time they usually commenced their operations, they 
came to reconnoitre their old haunt. At first, they 
seemed rather doubtful— holding long debates, appa- 
