He was in a tree in a neighbor's yard, but when he saw me he at once flew down on my head, and it was comical to see him try to express his joy. After that he spent his days among the trees, but at sunset always came to the house and slept in a box in my room. Whenever he was hungry he would come to the window and call for food. His favorite resting-place was on my shoulder or head and he seemed to be very fond of company. One morning I saw Jack and Jill flying from tree to tree with him and that is the last I ever saw of any of them. BIRDLAND SECRETS. SARA E. GRAVES. Tell me what the bluebird sings When from Southland up he springs Into March's frosty skies And to our New England flies, Where, upon some sunny morn Hear we first his note lovelorn. Now he 'mong the maple flits, Now upon a fencepost sits, Lifting wings of heaven's own blue As he warbles, clear and true, Song so plaintive, soft and sweet, All our hearts with welcome beat. What the message full he brings When in March's ear he sings? Tell me what our robins think When our April airs they drink, Following close in Bluebird's train With their blither, bolder strain. Sit they high on maple tall Chirping loud their earnest call, Redbreasts glowing in the sun, Then across the sward they run Scampering briskly, then upright, Flirt their tails and spring to flight. Or, when drops the light of day Down the westward golden way, Robin mounts the tallest branch Touched by sunset's quivering lance; Carols forth his evening tune Blithe as Earth were in her June. Tell me what the sparrow says In those first glad springtime days, When the maples yield their sweet, When Earth's waking pulses beat, When the swollen streams and rills Frolic down the pasture hills. Winter birds and squirrels then Grow more lively in the glen, And, when warmer airs arise, Sparrow sings her sweet surprise From the lilac bushes near, Song of faith and hope and cheer. Tell me, when the longer train Up from Southland sweeps again, Filling fields and glens and woods-- Wildest, deepest solitudes-- With more brilliant life and song, Golden lyre and silver tongue, Bells that ring their morning chimes Wood nymphs voicing soothing rhymes Stirring all the sun-filled air With hymns of praise and love and prayer. Tell me whence their motive power, Tell me whence so rich a dower, Tell me why are _birds_ so gifted; Whence their imprisoned spirits drifted; Whither swells this tide of love Flooding all the air above? Whither these enchantments tend? A brief bird life--is this its end?