It is impossible for anyone who has only seen these birds in a cage or small inclosure to conceive what must be the gorgeous appearance of a flock, either in full flight, and performing their various evolutions, under a vertical sun, or sporting among the superb foliage of a tropical forest which, without these, and other brilliant tenants, would present only a solitude of luxuriant vegetation. [Illustration: KING PARROT.] THE AMERICAN ROBIN. The Bird of the Morning. Yes, my dear readers, I am the bird of the morning. Very few of you rise early enough to hear my first song. By the time you are awake our little ones have had their breakfast, Mrs. Robin and I have had our morning bath and we are all ready to greet you with our morning song. I wonder if any of you have seen our nest and can tell the color of the eggs that Mrs. Robin lays. Some time I will let you peep into the nest and see them, but of course you will not touch them. I wonder, too, if you know any of my cousins--the Mocking bird, the Cat-bird or the Brown Thrush--I think I shall ask them to have their pictures taken soon and talk to you about our gay times. Did you ever see one of my cousins on the ground? I don't believe you can tell how I move about. Some of you may say I run, and some of you may say I hop, and others of you may say I do both. Well, I'll tell you how to find out. Just watch me and see. My little friends up north won't be able to see me though until next month, as I do not dare leave the warm south until Jack Frost leaves the ground so I can find worms to eat. I shall be about the first bird to visit you next month and I want you to watch for me. When I do come it will be to stay a long time, for I shall be the last to leave you. Just think, the first to come and last to leave. Don't you think we ought to be great friends? Let us get better acquainted when next we meet. Your friend, ROBIN. How do the robins build their nest? Robin Red Breast told me, First a wisp of yellow hay In a pretty round they lay; Then some shreds of downy floss, Feathers too, and bits of moss, Woven with a sweet, sweet song, This way, that way, and across: That's what Robin told me. Where do the robins hide their nest? Robin Red Breast told me, Up among the leaves so deep, Where the sunbeams rarely creep, Long before the winds are cold, Long before the leaves are gold Bright-eyed stars will peep and see Baby Robins--one, two, three: That's what Robin told me. THE AMERICAN ROBIN. "Come, sweetest of the feathered throng."