and I had to move aside the gra.s.s before I could see it. The parent-birds, I daresay, were somewhere near, but I found only the little ones, looking as if they were almost all mouth, so widely did they open their yellow beaks. If you find such a treasure, and are very careful not to touch, or even to peer and peep too much, you may have the great interest of watching over the rearing of the little family; seeing the parents bring them food, and teach them to fly; and then, when the brood has flown, the deserted nest will belong to you, if you choose to keep it; but I am afraid you would not care for a lark's nest, for it is not beautifully finished, as some birds' nests are, but really only the dry-gra.s.s lining of a hole in the ground. The eggs are brown, like the bird itself, which is so beautiful in its song--that lovely song which you can hear even when you can hardly see the tiny singer.

"Far in the downy cloud,"

or but a speck in the deep blue; for the lark will

"Soar up and up, quivering for very joy,"

singing all the time, till he is out of sight--yet never forget that low spot, hidden with gra.s.s, where his nest is.

You know why it is said that "the cuckoo builds no nest at all," don't you?

May has a verse which calls him "a most conceited bird," because from the time when he comes back from Africa we hear him constantly calling his own name, 'coo-coo, coo-coo!' Still, I don't think the cuckoo should be called "conceited" when it is we who have given it its name from the call which is natural to it; but it is a most unfaithful bird, and leaves its little ones to be brought up by others, not taking the trouble to build a cradle for them, nor will the mother sit upon her eggs. I used to think the reason why we saw so few cuckoos was because this bird laid only one egg; but I have read that she lays eight, each one in the nest of some bird much smaller than herself. The cuckoo is grey, and about the size of a blackbird; but her eggs are small, not bigger than a hedge-sparrow's or a lark's. She lays her egg on the ground, and then lifts it with her bill into the nest which she has chosen. The stranger bird is hatched first, and always behaves as if the whole nest belonged to him. He grows bigger and bigger, until at last he throws the little sparrows over the side of the nest to make room for himself. When the "woolly bears "--the caterpillars on which they feed--are all gone the cuckoos fly off to find them in South Africa.

How different from this bird is the faithful dove, who would not desert her little one, even to save her own life! I must tell you the story of the particular dove of which I am thinking.

When the famous city of Pompeii--which had lain for eighteen hundred years buried beneath the ashes and mud which fell upon it during a terrible eruption of Mount Vesuvius--was brought to light again, as the workmen were digging among the ruins of what had been a beautiful house, in a niche overlooking the garden they found the skeleton of a dove. They were not surprised that, as the sky grew darker and darker upon that dreadful day, and the soft, choking shower of ashes fell more thickly, many of those who ran for their lives should have lost their way in the darkness, and fallen to rise no mare. The skeletons of men and women had been found, just as they had fallen while trying to escape; but this dove, with her swift wings, why did she not flee away? Ah, as they lifted her from her nest the secret was revealed: beneath her lay the egg which the timid, gentle creature, so brave in her love and faithfulness, would not leave.

If you ask me about fossil-birds, I must tell you that very few have been found. However, if you go to the British Museum, look out for a large stone slab covered with footprints of birds. It was taken from a quarry in an American valley, and is a piece of sandstone, which was once soft enough to receive the impress of the feet of the giant wading-bird, probably much larger than an ostrich, which once walked across it with long strides. You will also trace upon it the tracks of smaller birds. In New Zealand very large bones of an extinct bird have been found, but the most remarkable remains have been discovered in Germany of a bird which has been given the name of "Lizard-tailed," because it has a tail with vertebrae, from each joint of which feathers spring. Three claws are attached to the ends of the wing-bones, like the single claw of the bat. What is left of this specimen, which is thought to have been about the size of a rook, is to be seen in the Natural History branch of the South Kensington Museum. I mention this in case you should have a chance of visiting it there.

And now, to speak of those birds which we know best, I think there are none which seem to belong to us so much as these three--the thrush, the blackbird, and the robin; for they are with us all the year. The thrush begins to sing very early, before there are any leaves for him to hide himself among, while the robin's song is heard not only in autumn, but in winter when all others are silent. All these birds feed upon worms and insects, not on grain and fruit like the larks and finches and starlings; but they are very glad of berries in winter when they can get them.

The other day I met a little boy about seven years old carrying a basket with some dozen snails in the bottom of it, and looking as if he had found a wonderful prize.

"What are you going to do with them?" I said.

"Give them to our thrush. He cracks the sh.e.l.ls and eats them, he does."

"Does your thrush sing?" I asked.

"Oh, yes!" he replied. "You can hear him all over the house."

The song of even a captive thrush is sweet indeed; but I would rather hear its voice in a choir of birds singing in the woods.

The blackbird's clear note, like the thrush's, may be heard very early in the morning, and on still evenings, as it "sings darkling" in some leafy bower. Its eggs are bluish green, with dark spots, while the thrush's five eggs are light blue. There are white blackbirds--if such a thing can be--in the Alps, and occasionally in this country; with us you may know the c.o.c.k by its being very black, while the hen is brownish-black, and I think both birds are best known by the "orange tawny" bill. But neither the blackbird nor the thrush is so pretty as the "little bird with bosom red" of which we are all so fond.

"Our thrushes now are silent, Our swallows flown away; But robin's here in coat of brown, And scarlet breast-knot gay."

Some time ago I was reading the account which a boy, who had always lived in town, gave of his first sight of a robin-redbreast. His master told him to write for his composition all about a holiday which the boys had had given them, so he gave an account of how he had gone for a long day in the country with his father and his little sister. Of all the sights he saw that day, none delighted him so much as to see a robin perched upon a clothes'-prop in a garden--for this bird always likes a high perch--singing with all his might and "showing all his red." This boy had read about robins at school, and learnt verses about them; but when he actually saw one, and heard it sing, he says it made him "tremble all over with pleasure."

A lady, who has told many interesting stories about what she has herself observed, says that one day her gardener was struck by the strange conduct of a robin, which the man had often fed. "The bird fluttered about him in so strange a manner, now coming close, then hurrying away, always in the same direction, that the gardener followed, its retreating movements. The robin stopped near a flowerpot and fluttered over it in great agitation.

It was soon found that a nest had been formed in the pot, and contained several young. Close by was a snake, intent, doubtless, upon making a meal of the brood."

This little story seems to show that the redbreast understood that the man who had been so kind was not only good enough but also strong enough to save his little ones from the danger which threatened them. Can you learn any lesson from it?

I have not time to tell you of all the feathered creatures mentioned in the Bible, which were found and written down for me in those nice little three-cornered notes, some of which I still have. You will not be surprised to hear that each contained one reference, and some many more; but the text about which we had most talk was found by Chris--those words spoken by the Lord to His disciples to show how precious they were to their Father: "Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows"

The boys wanted to know whether these birds were the same as our sparrows, which are so common everywhere, even in the busy streets London, and so mischievous in the country, eating the grain, and stealing the peas, and nipping off the young buds of the gooseberry-bushes.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Our little English Robin; The bird that comes about our doors When winter's winds are sobbing.]

I could not answer this question; so we got the Bible Dictionary and read there that a great many of our smaller birds, such as the starling, linnet, goldfinch, blackbird, lark, wagtail, and thrush, are found in Palestine, and that the Tree-sparrow has been seen in great numbers on Mount Olivet; while another kind, the Rock-sparrow, is often found perched upon a large stone, all alone, like the solitary bird mentioned in the hundred and second Psalm.

One, of whose work among the poor of Lancashire you may some day hear, tells us that when he was on a visit to America in 1873, he strolled one morning round a miniature park in New York, glad to find shelter from the hot beams of the sun. Looking up, he saw a great many boxes fastened, some to the stems, some to the branches of the trees. Surprised at this, he asked a gentleman on one of the seats, "What is the meaning of those boxes suspended up there?" and he was told that twelve years before, not a single leaf was to be found upon any of those trees, now so full of beautiful foliage. At that time, a small grub called the inch-worm had the disagreeable habit of breeding in the bark, climbing up the boughs and stripping them of every leaf. Thus it was in the orchards, gardens, and parks in many States of the Union.

At length a thinking man who kept his eyes open, suggested a remedy--to import several thousands of English sparrows, providing them with little wooden houses, and feeding them daily until they were settled in, and contented with their new home. Thousands of beautiful little boxes were volunteered and fixed in the trees, and thousands of young sparrows were brought over. A State law was pa.s.sed inflicting a penalty of one dollar--nearly five shillings--or a week's imprisonment, on any person who killed one; and most happy was the result. The inch-worm was destroyed, the trees became healthy and green, and now the spirited little English birds hop and chirp in every garden and park in the Union!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "ONLY A LITTLE SPARROW."]

A restless little House-sparrow would seem an unlikely bird to become tame, but I have heard of one which was rescued, having fallen from his nest, and lived for two years on the happiest terms with his master, who says of his pet bird; "He was only confined to his cage during the morning: from midday until the next morning he was free to go about the house, but was of course mostly kept to one room. He always slept at the foot of my bed, and as soon as it was daylight he would come up and creep into my arms, and nestle there till I rose.... I fed him on seed and sand, but he had food with me besides, such as a little potato at dinner-time, and bread and b.u.t.ter at tea-time."

Does this account of a tame sparrow encourage you to try to attach one of these little birds to yourself? I am afraid it would not be possible unless, as in the case of this birdie, it was one taken from the nest.

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 s.p.a.ce 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?

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 d.u.c.h.ess 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!

I once knew a little girl who had a present of a canary when she was seven years old. I think she was realty too young to have the care of a bird, but she was very, very fond of her d.i.c.k, and used to bring him home groundsel and chickweed when she went out for a walk, and often had the pleasure of standing upon a high chair and putting a lump of sugar between the bars of the cage as a special treat for her pet.

All went well until one morning, when she opened the cage door and saw, instead of the pretty, pecking, chirping birdie hopping from his perch to greet her, just a soft yellow ball of feathers lying at the bottom of the cage. Ah, the sad story was soon told--her pet had been starved to death, and she had been the cause! This was what nurse told her, when she ran sobbing to her with the poor dead bird in her little hand. "It is very cruel of you," she said; "you just went to your play, and forgot all about your poor little d.i.c.k, and now he is dead; you will never hear him sing his sweet song again."

The poor child was too sorry and too frightened to say anything, and yet in her heart she knew she had not forgotten her birdie; she was quite sure that she had filled his gla.s.s with seed and given him fresh water, only the day before. This was quite true; but I will tell you what she had done, and then you will see why I said I thought she was too young to have the entire charge of any living creature. After filling the gla.s.s with seed, she had put it back again, as she thought, into its place, where there was a round opening for the bird to come and peck at the seeds. But she had turned the gla.s.s round, so that the back of it was towards this hole, and the open part right away from her poor d.i.c.k, who might peck and peck against the hard gla.s.s, but could not get one seed. I think if nurse had known just how it all happened, she would not have said this little girl was cruel for neglecting her bird; but she was a very careless child, and this thoughtless act cost her pet his life, and his mistress many a bitter tear.

Now for one more true story, and then we must finish our chapter about "feathered fowl." You remember the little girl who was so nearly carried off by a great eagle; this story is about a man whose life was saved by an enormous sea-bird, whose wings when spread out measure about twelve feet across. It is called the "Wandering Albatross," and often follow ships in the southern seas a long way, looking very beautiful and majestic as it seems to float in the air. One of these huge birds had been following a ship on board of which was a regiment of soldiers, on their way home to England. Among them was one man, who, though he seemed to care for n.o.body, and always laughed at those who read the Bible, was very, very unhappy.

G.o.d's word says that there is no peace to the wicked, and this poor man never had any rest or comfort, and was constantly disobeying the officers and getting into disgrace. He had no fear of G.o.d, and so one morning, when no one was near him, he suddenly jumped over the ship's side into the sea, thinking that he would put an end to his life and his misery.

But just as he sank beneath the waters, G.o.d put it into the heart of this poor sinner against his own soul, to cry to Him for mercy; and then in a moment, in His great kindness, He sent the answer to that despairing cry.

The great albatross, always ready to pick up anything which was thrown overboard by the sailors came sweeping by. The drowning man put up his hand and caught it by the leg, and such was the strength of the bird that it was able to bear his weight until a boat from the ship came and rescued him. I do not think I should like to tell you this story, which has such a dark and sad beginning, but for its bright ending. It was a long time before this poor soldier recovered; but when he was able to walk about the deck again, all was changed for him. He knew that G.o.d had not only, in this remarkable way, saved him from drowning, but there was great peace in that heart which had been so full of trouble; for he had learned to know the Lord Jesus Christ as the blessed Saviour who had loved him and given Himself for him--so I think this is really a very beautiful story.

You will find many of the Flying Fowl of which we have been speaking mentioned in this poem, which reminds us of how G.o.d cares for the wildest as well as the weakest of them all.

"WHO PROVIDED FOR THE RAVEN HIS FOOD?

"All the world lay still and silent in the morning grey, And at once a thousand voices hail the glorious day; For the great Sun, glowing crimson, rises o'er the sea-- 'Welcome Day!' they sing together, 'Day that is to be!'

Oh, how glad and sweet and joyous is that morning hymn!

Whilst the golden day is stealing through the valleys dim-- Thrush and blackbird, lark and linnet, doves that coo and hum Wild delight and soft rejoicing, for the day is come.

Not a thought, of care or wonder what the day will bring, For the Father careth for them in the smallest thing.

There upon the pathless mountains is their table spread, All by G.o.d are known and numbered, by His hands are fed.

Some in deep and tangled forests where the berries glow, Some, where children's crumbs are scattered on the garden snow, Some where, through the river sedges, Mayflies glance and play, Some where mountain tarns lie gleaming in the hollows grey.

For the wild and hungry eagle, for the wren so small, All is ready--food and gladness, free to each and all."

FRANCES BEVAN.

Taken by permission, from _Hymns by Ter Steegen and others_. Second Series.