totally worthless cats, every one of which destroys a number of birds each year. If we enjoy having the song birds in our vicinity, some of us have a very queer way of showing our appreciation.
In spite of the fact that country children are in close touch with nature, they study it least. The farmer too is the one most benefited by the birds; yet he is not unlikely to be their enemy. We are therefore especially anxious that our magazine, and the work of the Audubon Society in general, should reach the rural schools."—Thos. R. Moyle, Appleton, Wis.
THE ROBIN AND THE FLOWER.
A robin once sat in the bright winter's sun,
A foolish red robin was he,
For he sang a sweet song that spring time had come
When the day was as cold as could be.
So gay was his song of the warmth of the hour,
So merrily babbled the sound,
That it stole through the dream of a dear little flower
Who was slumbering under the ground.
The sleeper awakened, soft lifted the sod
And harkened the robin's sweet song,
Full glad was her heart and thankful to God
That winter so quickly had gone.
The robin still sang and the dear little flower
Unfolded her petals of pink:—
"I'll hold up my chalice," said she, "for a shower
That from me my robin may drink."
The singer flew quickly to welcome his love,—
His love that was faltering low:—
Oh, where was the warmth from the heaven above?
Instead of a shower there was snow.
The robin quick covered her o'er with his wing,
"Don't leave me, I love you," he cried:
And he kissed her so tenderly, poor little thing,
But the blossom, his loved one, had died.
Red robin still sits in the bright winter's sun,
But a sorrowing robin is he;
No longer he sings that the springtime has come
When the day is as cold as can be.
