He repaid our attentions from the very beginning. He immediately began to pick up in flesh and to increase the volume of his rudimentary feathers. Soon he commenced to call for his food as lustily as any spoiled child. When it was brought, he would throw his head back and open his yellow-lined beak to a width which no one would credit who did not see it. Into this enormous cavity, which seemed almost larger than the bird, his mistress would thrustand the more vigorously the better he seemed to like it — ball after ball of the yolk of hard-boiled egg mashed up with Irish potato.

A mocking-bird is called "Bob" just as a goat is called "Billy" or " Nan," as a parrot is called " Poll,” as a squirrel is called "Bunny," or as a cat is called Pussy" or "Tom."

Perhaps under another name he would not have thriven so well. His growth in body and in mind was amazing. By the time he was two months old he clearly showed that he was going to be a singer. About this period certain little feeble trills and whistles began to vary the monotony of his absurd squeals and chirrups. The musical business, and the work of feathering himself, occupied his thoughts continually. I can but suppose that he superintended the disposition of the black, white, and gray markings on his wings and his tail as they successively appeared. He certainly manufactured the pigments with which those colors

were laid on, somewhere within himself, - and all out of egg-and-potato.

There is one particular in which Bob's habits cannot be recommended. He eats very often. In fact, if Bob should hire a cook, it would be absolutely necessary for him to write down his hours for her guidance; and this writing would look very much like a time-table of a great railroad. He would have

to say:

"Bridget will be kind enough to get me my breakfast at the following hours: 5, 5.30, 5.40, 6, 6.15, 6.30, 6.45, 7, 7.20, 7.40, 8 (and so on, every fifteen or twenty minutes, until 12 M.); my dinner at 12, 12.20, 12.40, I, 1.15, 1.30 (and so on, every fifteen or twenty minutes until 6 P.M.). My supper is irregular, but I wish Bridget particularly to remember that I always eat whenever I awake in the night, and that I usually awake four or five times between bedtime and daybreak."

With all this eating, Bob never neglects to wipe his beak after each meal. This he does by drawing it quickly three or four times on each side, against his perch.

So far as

His repertory of songs is extensive. we can see, the stock of songs which he now sings must have been brought in his own mind from the egg, or from some further source whereof we know nothing. He certainly never learned these calls:

many of the birds of whom he gives perfect imitations have been always beyond his reach.

When he is curious, or alarmed, he stretches his body until he seems incredibly tall and of the size of his neck all the way. When he is cold, he makes himself into a round ball of feathers.

I think I envy him most when he goes to sleep. He takes up one leg somewhere into his bosom, crooks the other a trifle, shortens his neck, closes his eyes, and it is done. He does not appear to hover a moment in the borderland between sleeping and waking, but hops over the line with the same superb decision with which he drops from his perch to the floor.

There is but one time when he ever looks sad. This is during the season when his feathers fall. He is then unspeakably dejected. Never a note do we get from him until it is over. Nor can he be blamed. Last summer not only the usual loss took place, but every feather dropped from his tail. His dejection during this period was so extreme that we could but believe that he had some idea of his personal appearance under the disadvantage of no tail. This was so ludicrous that his most ardent lovers could scarcely behold him without a smile; and it appeared to cut him to the soul that he should excite such sentiments.

But in a surprisingly short time his tail-feathers grew out again, the rest of his apparel reappeared

fresh and new, and he lifted up his head; insomuch that whenever we wish to fill the house with a gay, confident, dashing, riotous, innocent, sparkling glory of jubilation, we have only to set Bob's cage where a spot of sunshine will fall on it. His beads of eyes glisten, his form grows intense, up goes his beak, and he is off.

Finally we have sometimes discussed the question: is it better, on the whole, that Bob should have lived in a cage than in the wild-wood? There are conflicting opinions about it; but one of us is clear that it is better. He argues that although there are many songs which are never heard, as there are many eggs which never hatch, yet the end of a song is to be heard, as that of an egg is to be hatched. He argues that Bob's life in his cage has been one long blessing to several people who stood in need of him; whereas in the woods, leaving aside the probability of hawks and bad boys, he would not have been likely to gain one appreciative listener for a single half-hour out of each year.

mock'ing-bird, a bird common in the | pig'ment, coloring material.

Southern States, noted for its

rich song and power of imitating the notes of other birds.

rep'er to ry, list of pieces that one can speak, sing, or play.

de jec'tion, sadness.

ru di men'ta ry, just beginning to lu'di crous, absurd; amusing.

form.

dis po si'tion, arrangement.

ju bi la'tion, rejoicing.

SIDNEY LANIER was born in Georgia in 1842 and died in 1881. He was a poet, and a lover of music and of nature. His "Boys' King Arthur" and "Boys' Froissart" are excellent reading.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW was born in Portland, Maine, February 27, 1807. When he was only three years old he was sent to a private school where he learned his letters, and when he was six he began to go to Portland Academy. At this age, his teacher, Mr. Carter, wrote of him: "Master Henry Longfellow is one of the best boys we have in school. He spells and reads very well. He also can add and multiply numbers. His conduct last quarter was very correct and admirable."

The boy began early to try to rhyme; his first poem that we know about, one called "Venice, an Italian Poem," was written when he was barely thirteen. His first published poem appeared in the Portland Gazette a little later, under the title of "The Battle of Lovell's Pond.”

He was very studious and eager to learn. When he was fourteen he had passed the entrance examinations for Bowdoin College, and at fifteen he entered as a sophomore, his parents having thought him too young to go to college before. At one time Longfellow, like many other boys, wished to go to West Point, but his uncle, General Wadsworth, did not approve of this plan, and refused to give his permission. So Longfellow went to Bowdoin College