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his door, probably with the idea of concealing his nest. With us, robin never builds on the ground; his nest is placed in trees, where, from its size, it is very conspicuous; once in awhile, however, he builds about a house, but in such a case usually places his nest in some spot shaded by a vine or the branches of a tree. For two summers in succession, we had a nest on a window-sill of the second story, and this spring two pairs seem to be building about the eaves; but in all these instances, the spots chosen are screened by Virginia creepers. Then again with us, robin is only musical early in spring; the rest of the year he is a very silent bird. Some few occasionally linger through the cold weather as far north as the Mohawk, but this seems accidental; many take a south-eastern direction toward the sea-shore, and many more go still farther south to a milder climate. They are with us, however, eight or nine months of the year—honest, homely creatures, running about the grass-plots and paths around our doors, so that they are everywhere considered as friends of the house. I have seen it asserted that the early colonists gave to the gaudy oriole the name of “ English robin,” showing how fondly memory colored all they had left behind, since one bird is very plain in his plumage, the other remarkably brilliant. The name of robin, however, has now attached itself decidedly to the large red-breasted thrush, with which we are all familiar; and although differing in many respects from the Robin Redbreast of Europe, yet with the name he also inherits the favor of his kinsman, getting all the credit in this part of the world of watching over the Babes in the Woods, picking berries to feed them, and gathering leaves for their covering. This afternoon, as we saw the robins running over the graves in the churchyard, or perched on a tombstone looking at us with