No bird is more generally known or more universally liked than our common robin. Every year he sings for us our praises to the coming spring from the tallest limb of the elm, and he hops across our lawn with a cuteness that forces a hearty welcome, and, differing from most birds, he seems to be more numerous each year. In a few days his mate joins him, and a search for a site for their first nest begins. The robin lays four eggs, and frequently raises three broods of young in a season, never, so far as I know, using the same site or the same nest twice in one season, or more certainly never using the same nest or site for two consecutive broods. Year after year the same corner in the porch or the same crotch in the apple tree will be used as a nesting place by the robin, and we have all wondered if the same robins came back every year, or if the young birds returned and used the nest in which they were hatched. The birds look and act wonderfully familiar when the old site is occupied, and many people are sure they remember the birds from the year preceding. I have never seen a statement from any ornithologist throwing light on this interesting question, and I twice made an attempt, without success, to obtain the information for myself. All thrushes except the robin are mottled on the breast, and the breast of the young robin is mottled for the first season, so the young can be readily told from the old birds. The robin is a great lover of angleworms. The young follow the mother while she gathers worms to feed them, and about the time for weaning the young birds I have frequently seen the mother bird pick up straws and sticks and offer them to her young instead of food. This may be done to discourage them from following her any longer, but I think it is more probably caused by a return of the nest-building instinct to the mother. Some years ago I put a small bird box on a post in our yard, which was soon occupied by a pair of summer wrens, and all went nicely with them until a pair of English sparrows concluded to drive the wrens away and take the house for themselves, and for three or four days the wrens and sparrows were constantly fighting, but the wrens finally won and held possession of the house, although at a great sacrifice, for after the fight was over I raised the lid of the box and found the young birds dead, the fight evidently taking so much of the time and attention of the old birds that they allowed their young to starve. I removed the dead birds, and in a short time the wrens rebuilt the nest, and this time they closed the hole for entrance until it was scarcely large enough to admit my thumb.