All this time the devotion of the little one never changed, though it was so badly received. When the tanager turned savagely and gave his faithful friend a severe peck, instead of resenting it the hurt bird flew to another perch, where he stood a long time, uttering occasionally a low, plaintive call, as if of reproach, all his cheerfulness gone, a melancholy sight indeed. I waited only for warm days to set free the tanager, and at last they came. Early in June the bird was put into a traveling cage, carried into the country, where a lovely bit of woods and a pretty lake insured a good living, and the absence of sparrows made it safe for a bird that had been caged. Then the door was opened, and he instantly flew out of sight. The bird left at home seemed a little lost for a few days, moped about, often visited the empty cage, but in a short time entirely abandoned it, and evidently looked no more for his friend. But he is changed too: not quite so gay as before; not so much singing; and not a word of the soft chattering talk we heard so constantly while his beloved friend was here. THE ROSY SHIELD. Soft falls his chant as on the nest Beneath the sunny zone, For love that stirred it in his breast Has not aweary grown, And 'neath the city's shade can keep The well of music clear and deep. And love that keeps the music, fills With pastorial memories. All echoing from out the hills, All droppings from the skies, All flowings from the wave and wind Remembered in the chant I find. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. XIV. THE ROSY SHIELD. One of the most winning inhabitants of my bird-room last winter bore on his snow-white breast a pointed shield of beautiful rose-color, and the same rich hue lined his wings. With these exceptions his dress was of sober black and white, though so attractively disposed that he was an extremely pretty bird--the rose-breasted grosbeak.