His nest, small and a plain one, too, is built on the ground by his industrious little wife. The inside is warmly lined with soft fibers of whatever may be nearest at hand. Five pretty white eggs, spotted all over with brown are laid, and as soon "As the little ones chip the shell And five wide mouths are ready for food, 'Robert of Lincoln' bestirs him well, Gathering seeds for this hungry brood." BOBOLINK. Other birds may like to travel alone, but when jolly Mr. Bobolink and his quiet little wife come from the South, where they have spent the winter, they come with a large party of friends. When South, they eat so much rice that the people call them Rice Birds. When they come North, they enjoy eating wheat, barley, oats and insects. Mr. and Mrs. Bobolink build their simple little nest of grasses in some field. It is hard to find on the ground, for it looks just like dry grass. Mrs. Bobolink wears a dull dress, so she cannot be seen when she is sitting on the precious eggs. She does not sing a note while caring for the eggs. Why do you think that is? Mr. Bob-Linkum does not wear a sober dress, as you can see by his picture. He does not need to be hidden. He is just as jolly as he looks. Shall I tell you how he amuses his mate while she is sitting? He springs from the dew-wet grass with a sound like peals of merry laughter. He frolics from reed to post, singing as if his little heart would burst with joy. Don't you think Mr. and Mrs. Bobolink look happy in the picture? They have raised their family of five. Four of their children have gone to look for food; one of them--he must surely be the baby--would rather stay with his mamma and papa. Which one does he look like? Many birds are quiet at noon and in the afternoon. A flock of Bobolinks can be heard singing almost all day long. The song is full of high notes and low, soft notes and loud, all sung rapidly. It is as gay and bright as the birds themselves, who flit about playfully as they sing. You will feel like laughing as merrily as they sing when you hear it some day. [Illustration: BOBOLINKS.] THE BLUE BIRD. "Drifting down the first warm wind That thrills the earliest days of spring, The Bluebird seeks our maple groves And charms them into tasselling." "He sings, and his is Nature's voice-- A gush of melody sincere From that great fount of harmony Which thaws and runs when Spring is here." "Short is his song, but strangely sweet To ears aweary of the low Dull tramps of Winter's sullen feet, Sandalled in ice and muffled in snow." * * *