The poem about birds' nests tells only of those made by our home-birds, but we can read of wonderful nests made by those in foreign countries. Perhaps the most clever nest-builder is a tiny Indian bird, called the "Tailor," because it actually sews leaves together, using both its bill and its feet, to make a safe hiding-place for its eggs, no bigger than peas, where neither snake nor monkey shall find them. It first chooses a plant with large leaves, then sews a dead leaf to the side of the green and living one, and in the space between the two, it lays its tiny eggs. It gathers cotton from a shrub, and with its long bill and slender little feet works away until it has spun a thread; then, using its bill for a needle, it pierces holes through the leaves, and sews them securely together. Should you not like to see such a wonderful nest, and still more to watch the little tailor--more like a bee than a bird in size--at his work? [Illustration: TAILOR-BIRD'S NEST] I will tell you of one more nest; it is of a very different kind, and is made by a swallow which lives in the islands east of Asia, and is generally called the Java swallow. The other day I was reading how one of our princes was entertained in China, and among the dishes on the table "birds'-nest soup" was mentioned. It made me think of how, long ago (when, as I told you, I was so foolish as not to like to ask questions, for fear the grown-up people should think I knew nothing at all), I heard of this kind of soup, and thought how disagreeable it must be to meet with bits of hay and moss in one's soup, and what queer people the Chinese must be not to mind it. Now I know that these nests, which are sold in China for their weight in silver, are made of a clear jelly which comes from the swallow's mouth. The nests are built against the sides of rocky cliffs, so that it is very dangerous work to procure them. I do not know whether the Duke and Duchess of Connaught liked the soup, but it was offered them as a very great delicacy. Chrissie and his brothers have a canary, and a very loud singer he is. No doubt he was born in England. but his family are foreigners, as you know, and come from Madeira and the Cape Verde and Canary Islands. But if, as I have heard, they were brought to this country so long ago as the time of Queen Elizabeth, we cannot be surprised that they are so much at home with us now, and will lay their pale blue eggs, and hatch their yellow broods, and live even thirty years in their pretty cages, in which they certainly seem to be as happy as the days are long. I hope if you have a canary of your own, you are very careful to give it its seed and water quite regularly, and to keep its little house as clean as a new pin; for how sad it would be to neglect the happy little creature who is entirely dependent upon you for everything!