bird must be, one would conjecture, the strangest morsel of animated life in the whole world. Would you not like to find a humming-bird's nest?'

Yes, that he would, Duncan declared, Freddy of course echoing his words; and both boys came to the conclusion, that as soon as they were grown up they should go to America and to the West Indies, for the express purpose of procuring humming-birds, nests, eggs and all, and bringing them home to rear in England.

MONG the pets of these little Mortons was an out-door pensioner called Robby, a certain robin who, with a numerous flock of sparrows,

had become so well acquainted with the breakfast hour at Mortonfield, that the lawn outside the diningroom was literally alive with them about that hour, twittering and hopping to and fro for the crumbs which the children regularly threw to them.

This Robby became one day a subject of conversation. between the children and their aunt, the latter being called upon to answer many inquiries concerning his relatives in the new world. Were the American robins the same sort of bird? Were they equally tame? Did the people feed them from their windows? What kind of nests did they build? And so forth.

Now it happened that, concerning robins' nests, Miss Morton had heard of a very remarkable one which had been made in the garden of some people she knew. So the very next time an opportunity presented itself of

satisfying the cravings of these young naturalists for 'stories,' Aunt Jenny related to them the following one :—

'But first I must tell you, my dear children,' she began, 'that the American robins are not like your little pet English "Robby," with his bright black eyes, and his plump round form, and his smooth red breast. My robins do not come hopping over the snow, with a beseeching chirp to ask for a breakfast of crumbs, or peeping confidingly through the window-pane, as yours does.

'I do not think you would pronounce my American robins half so pretty and so winning. In the first place, they are much larger birds; their form is less round, their eye less full and bright, and their breast is of a more dingy red.'

'Then I don't think they ought to be called robins at all, Aunt Jenny,' said Duncan.

'Well, Dunny, the truth is, that though called "robins," my pair claim no relationship with our English red-breast. They are of the thrush family—great, strong, resolute thrushes, who make up their minds to do a thing, and do it. But though their figure and dress be less handsome than the real robins, they might tell you they at least have a finer voice; for you know that all the thrushes are distinguished for their great musical talent. Therefore, dear children, please remember that the Mr. and Mrs. Robin of this story were thrushes, after all! The migrating thrush is their real name; only, because they are brown birds with reddish breasts, and not speckled, and come peeping and prying about near to people's dwellings, they are

commonly called "robins " in the United States. Americans-many of whom have relations in England-love English names, and anything that reminds them of "the old country," as they call Europe.'

'Then, are there no real robins in America, Aunt Jenny?' exclaimed Duncan.

'Yes; there is a very large family of real robins, who, though they have not red breasts, claim cousinship with our winter pet. Most of the real robins are decked in even gayer plumage than our English robin, yellow and blue being very favourite colours of theirs. Some are brown, with yellow breasts and yellow caps; some have yellow wings and tail; or brown, with blue, white, grey, or black feathers about them. You would admire the real robin of America, I am sure; though now, perhaps, you would rather hear about the pair of red-breasted thrushes who are the robins of this story.'

'Yes, we should. Tell us about the yellow ones afterwards,' said little Freddy.

'Well, then, my American "robins" lived in Maine; which, if you will look at your map of the United States of America, you will find is a large State far up to the north-east, on the Atlantic coast. In the winter it is a very cold State; therefore Mr. and Mrs. Robin and a host of their relations, who all loved warmth and sunshine, went away every autumn to one of the warmer States far to the south,—perhaps to Texas, or to Mexico, or to one of the West India Islands; I am not sure where exactly. But remember they are migrating birds; that is, birds who

fly away to other countries for a season and come back again.'

'How do they know where to go?' Maggie inquired.

'God has given them this wonderful power of finding their way thousands of miles across land and sea and back again. Instinct that power is called; and sometimes instinct seems superior to reason, for neither you nor I— who both have the gift of reason-could find our way without a guide, far, far away to a distant country which we had never seen,-straight to it through the pathless air and back again : could we?'

'No; that, indeed, we could not,' replied the children. 'Did they always come back to the same place again ?' Straight back to the very same village in Maine, and the very same tall old pear tree in the orchard where they had reared their brood the year before. And the same wonderful instinct that guided them there, told them when it was time to set about making another nest for another young brood.'

'How very wonderful of them!' exclaimed Maggie. 'What sort of a nest was it?' Duncan asked.

'In the selection of materials for their abode our Mr. and Mrs. Robin were not at all particular. A good strong nest they had determined to build-one which would stand a good deal of blowing about in that high tree, for there are terrible hurricanes sometimes over there; and as our robins had a wonderfully clever way of sticking things together with a kind of cement they made for themselves, few things came amiss. Bits of paper or string or rag