At supper time Leicester told his papa what they had seen the butcher birds do, and Aunt Dorothy said: “You must tell about it in school, Leicester; it will make a good Monday morning story.” That evening after Uncle Philip and Aunt Dorothy had gone home and the children had said their little evening prayer Leicester kissed his mother and told her he would try to be a good boy every day for a whole week. “And I hope I will have as good a time next Saturday as I have had to-day,” said he. And all night long the little stars peeping through the windows saw two happy little faces asleep upon their pillows. Mary Grant O’Sheridan. THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. I hear from many a little throat A warble interrupted long; I hear the robin’s flute-like note, The bluebird’s slenderer song. Brown meadows and the russet hill, Not yet the haunt of grazing herds, And thickets by the glimmering rill Are all alive with birds. —William Cullen Bryant. HOUSE-HUNTING IN ORCHARD TOWN. ’Tis up and down In Orchard town, When airs with bloom are scented, You’ll hardly find To suit your mind A nook that is not rented. The old sweet-bough, They all allow, The robin first selected. “Our home is here, Good cheer, good cheer, All other claims rejected.” “Chick-a-dee-dee, Don’t come to me!” The titmouse is refusing, “We’ve leased this tree, We’ll friendly be, But say you’re late in choosing.” “Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet,” Across the street The yellow-birds are moving. “Chip-chip-a-chee; So dear is she!” He scarce can work for loving. On lower floor, Beside her door, The wren is surely scolding. If one but glance She cries, “No chance To rent the flat I’m holding.” To hear her scold, The sparrow bold And jay, beside her dwelling, Cry, “Tschip, tschip, chee!” “Tease! tease! say we!” The noise and chatter swelling. On orchard wall, To quip and call, A stranger gay is listening; His mate can hear In meadow near, Where daisy-birds are glistening. Oh, Lady-link! Ho, ho! just think! To nest in trees what folly, When they might be, Like you and me, In Daisy-land so jolly! Down Pipin-way Where branches sway, An oriole hammock swings. Mistress starling And kingbird’s darling. Rest near with brooding wings. If you should go Down Blossom-row, Which runs right through the center, At each day, In morning gray, You’d hear from every renter.