To all these demonstrations, though they continued for half an hour, chebec, calm in his own tree, was perfectly indifferent. What he wanted was to make the robin leave his premises, and that he had done. What the robin said about it afterward did not concern him in the least. He possessed the true flycatcher temperament.

Curiously enough, the only bird who refused to leave at the bidding of this peremptory personage was one of nearly his own size, and with no reputation for belligerency, a white-breasted nuthatch, a mother at that, with a little one following her about.

When a chebec descended upon the pair like a small tornado, Mamma Nuthatch met him with defiance, actually running at him, driving him back to his own tree and then quietly resuming her way, calmly uttering her quaint "quank! quank!" and stuffing innumerable morsels into the mouth of her charge.

Madam Chebec is fully as bumptious as her mate. One that I knew laid claim to a row of five trees, because she had a nest in one of them. She drove away chickadees, purple finches, and indeed any birds she could intimidate by hurling herself upon them.

At another time I caught one of these birds presumably the female, as she was building-helping herself to a neighbor's goods. An oriole was building her hammock in an elm; and chebec would wait on a neighboring tree till the builder and her devoted protector had gone for material, and then, approaching the half-finished nest in wary fashion, she would hover before it and twitch at the loose ends till she pulled out a mouthful, with which she

would fly away. Three or four times an hour this little performance took place, and the flycatcher's nest in an apple tree by the barn grew apace. Whether one or both

of the pair were at work I could not determine.

The flycatchers, though usually rather plainly dressed, are certainly most useful in their lives. We have dubbed them tyrants, a name which few of them deserve; and we have classed them among songless birds, though the best known of them, the kingbird, the wood-pewee and the phoebe at least, have each a sweet, though not very loud song. As a family, flycatchers are not nervous. Any one of them that I know will let one stare at pleasure at their home life. Apparently they are sure that the nest is safe, and they have a sublime confidence in their ability to defend their own.

What should commend them above all to our friendship is this, that not one of them, so far as I know, ever disturbs the fruits of the earth that we claim as our own. Their food, without exception, is insects that are a pest to us. Even the kingbird, which is accused of eating bees, has been proved to take only the drones. For once, a name has been properly bestowed. In fact as in name, these intelligent little fellows are flycatchers.

By permission of "Our Animal Friends."

-Olive Thorne Miller.

Die when I may, I want it said of me by those who knew me best, that I always plucked a thistle and planted a flower where I thought a flower would grow.

-Abraham Lincoln.

DOUGLAS AND MARMION.

The train from out the castle drew;
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu.

"Though something I might plain," he said, "Of cold respect to stranger guest, Sent hither by your king's behest,

While in Tantallon's towers I stayed, Part we in friendship from your land, And, noble earl, receive my hand."

But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke:

"My manors, halls, and bowers shall still

Be open, at my sovereign's will,

To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.

My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation stone:
The hand of Douglas is his own,
And never shall, in friendly grasp,
The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire;

And "This to me!" he said;
"An 'twere not for thy hoary beard,

Such hand as Marmion's had not spared

To cleave the Douglas' head!

And first, I tell thee, haughty peer,
He who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate.
"And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,

Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,
I tell thee thou'rt defied!
And if thou saidst I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"

On the earl's cheek the flush of rage

O'ercame the ashen hue of age:

Fierce he broke forth: "And dar'st thou then

To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall?

And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go?

No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no!

Up drawbridge, grooms! — what, warder, ho! Let the portcullis fall.”

Lord Marmion turned - well was his need-
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung;
The ponderous grate behind him rung;
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Nor lighter does the swallow skim,
Along the smooth lake's level brim.

And when Lord Marmion reached his band,
He halts, and turns with clenched hand,
And shout of loud defiance pours,

And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

-Sir Walter Scott.

FORTUNE AND THE BEGGAR.

Fortune once suddenly appeared to a beggar who carried a ragged old wallet and grumbled incessantly over his hard lot.

"Look you," said Fortune. "I have long desired to help you. Open your wallet and I will fill it with ducats. You shall have all it will hold on one condition only: all that fall into the wallet shall be gold; but should one fall outside, all will turn into dust. Your wallet is old: don't overload it."

The overjoyed beggar opened his wallet and the ducats fell in a golden stream, soon making the wallet heavy. "That is enough said Fortune; "stop while you are safe; the wallet is sure to burst."

But the greedy beggar, against repeated warnings, insisted upon having more, and still more, until the wallet burst, the treasure turned to dust-and Fortune disappeared, leaving the beggar with his wallet as empty as before.

- Russian Fable.