Long before this the nest proper began to show signs of hard service. Before its occupants left it became a thing of the past, positively dissolving to a mere shelf or platform, and one side falling out entirely, the imperturbable twins sitting or standing upon what remained, content in the silence that all completed tasks deserve. As I have said before, one of these little grown-ups surpassed the other in size and vigor, insisting gently or forcibly upon the best standing-place, and vibrating its wings for several seconds at a time. Plainly this one would be the first to launch upon the world. Twenty-two days after hatching it spread its wings without apparent effort and alighted upon a neighboring twig. Clearly, life was regarded from a mature standard as it preened its plumage and looked about with an undaunted air. Two days later the smaller twin followed the example, reaching the upper branches as easily as if flight were an every-day occurrence, both birds flitting about the familiar tree, and fed by the parent, until after the third day, they were seen no more. * * * * * There is something noble, simple, and pure in a taste for trees. It argues, I think, a sweet and generous nature to have this strong relish for beauties of vegetation, and this friendship for the hardy and glorious sons of the forest. There is a grandeur of thought connected with this part of rural economy. It is worthy of liberal and freeborn and aspiring men. He who plants an oak looks forward to future ages, and plants for posterity. Nothing can be less selfish than this. He cannot expect to sit in its shade nor enjoy its shelter, but he exults in the idea that the acorn which he has buried in the earth shall grow up into a lofty pile and shall keep on flourishing and increasing and benefiting mankind long after he shall have ceased to tread his paternal fields.--_Washington Irving._ A DAY IN JUNE. Bright is this day of smiling June, When nature's voice is all atune In music's swelling flow, to sing Sweet songs of praise to nature's king. From azure heights the lark's loud song Is borne the balmy breeze along; The robin tunes his sweetest strain, And blithely sings his glad refrain Of summer days and summer joys; The tawny thrush his voice employs, In chorus with the warbling throng, To fill his measure of the song. The river, too, with rippling flow, As it winds through its banks below, And leaps and plays in merry glee, O'er rocky bed, 'neath grassy lea, Or silent glides through sylvan shade, To laugh again in sunny glade, Sends back its murm'ring voice to swell The music of each lovely dell, Where Flora decks with brilliant sheen The virgin sward of velvet green. --_From a forthcoming poem by Geo. H. Cooke, Chicago._