some children,” said Bobbie, with a sage nod of the head, “who talk all day long.”

“Yes,” smiled his mamma, “without saying very much, either. But this little bird works while he chatters.”

“I reckon he stops at noon time,” said Bobbie, “as other birds do.”

“No, even then the silence of the woods is broken by the Red-eyed Vireo’s voice. He is such a busy little fellow, he can’t find time for a nap.”

“Hm!” remarked Bobbie; “the other birds must find him a tiresome fellow, I think.

“Has he any other names, mamma?”

“Yes, he is called the Red-eyed Greenlet or Red-eyed Fly-catcher. One gentleman calls him ‘The Preacher.’ To him the bird seems to say, ‘You see it; you know it; do you hear me? do you believe it?’”

“I’m going to look out for that red-eyed preacher next summer,” said Bobby, with a laugh.

“One lady who makes a study of birds thinks he says, ‘I know it! would you think it? musn’t touch it; you’ll rue it!’ He makes a pause, as you see, after each sentence.”

“Tell me something about their nests?” said Bobbie, deeply interested.

“They are made of bark fibers, cobwebs, bits of paper, and scraps of hornets’ nests, in the form of a little pocket. This is suspended from the fork of two or more twigs high up in the tree, making a sort of cradle for the little ones.”

“Rock-a-by, baby, on the tree top,
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.”

hummed Bobby. “How jolly!”

“Yes,” said mamma; “and they take care that it is under some green leaves, which act as an umbrella to keep the sun out of the mother’s eyes while she sits on the four pretty white eggs.”

“And out of the little ones’ red eyes, too,” laughed Bobbie. “How cute!”

red-eyed vireo.
From col. Chi. Acad. Sciences. Copyrighted by
Nature Study Pub. Co., 1898, Chicago.

THE RED EYED VIREO.

ED-EYED VIREO, Red-eyed Greenlet, and Red-eyed Fly-catcher are the names variously applied to this pretty representative of his family, of which there are about fifty species. The Red-eye is an inhabitant of Central America and Mexico, its northern limit being the lower Rio Grande valley in Texas.

The exquisite little creature is tinted even more delicately than the Wax-wing, but with much the same glossy look and elegant air. The ruby-tinted eye, and the conspicuous white line above it, with its border, are good characteristics by which to distinguish it from its relatives.

The Red-eyed Vireo is found alike in the shade trees of lawns, in orchards or woodlands, and is especially fond of sycamore groves along streams. The male is a tireless songster, and even at noon-tide of a sultry summer-day, when all other warblers are silent, his monotonous song will be heard. He-ha-wha, or he, ha, whip, in rising inflection, and he, ha, whee, in falling cadence. He has also a chip, a chatter like a miniature of the Oriole’s scold, heard only in the season of courtship, and a peculiarly characteristic querulous note which, like others, can not be described with accuracy.

“The Preacher,” a name which Wilson Flagg has given this Vireo, exactly reflects the character of the bird and its song. “His style of preaching is not declamation,” says the writer. “Though constantly talking, he takes the part of a deliberate orator who explains his subject in a few words and then makes a pause for his hearers to reflect upon it. We might suppose him to be repeating moderately, with a pause between each sentence, ‘You see it—You know it—Do you hear me?—Do you believe it?’ All these strains are delivered with a rising inflection at the close, and with a pause, as if waiting for an answer.”

From morning till night this cheery bird sings as he works, from May to September. “His tender and pathetic utterances,” says Brewer, “are in striking contrast to the apparent indifference or unconsciousness of the little vocalist who, while thus delighting the ear of the listener, seems to be all the while bent on procuring its daily food, which it pursues with unabated ardor.”

As noxious and destructive insects constitute the Vireo’s chief food he may properly be classed among the beneficent birds. Seeking for these is his constant occupation, as he hops along a branch, now peering into some crevice of the bark or nook among the foliage, ever uttering his pretty song during the interval between swallowing the last worm and finding the next.

The nest of the Red-eye is built in a horizontal branch of a tree, usually in a small sapling that responds to all the caprices of the wind, thus acting as a cradle for the little ones within. The nest is cup-like in shape, and always dependent from small twigs, around which its upper edges are firmly bound, with a canopy of leaves overhead. It is woven of a variety of materials, fine strips of bark, fibres of vegetables, and webs of spiders and caterpillars. It is said that two nests of the same species are rarely found alike. Some are built of paper fibres, and bits of hornets’ nests, and another may be a perfect collection of scraps of all sorts.

The eggs are three or four, white with a few black or umber specks about the larger end.

It was in the nest of the Red-eyed Vireo that Hamilton Gibson found twisted a bit of newspaper, whose single legible sentence read: “* * * have in view the will of God.”*

THE EARLY OWL.

An Owl once lived in a hollow tree,
And he was as wise as wise could be.
The branch of learning he didn’t know
Could scarce on the tree of knowledge grow,
He knew the tree from branch to root,
And an owl like that can afford to hoot.

And he hooted—until, alas! one day,
He chanced to hear, in a casual way,
An insignificant little bird
Make use of a term he had never heard.
He was flying to bed in the dawning light
When he heard her singing with all her might,
“Hurray! hurray! for the early worm!”
“Dear me,” said the owl, “what a singular term!
I would look it up if it weren’t so late,
I must rise at dusk to investigate.
Early to bed and early to rise
Makes an owl healthy, and stealthy, and wise!”

So he slept like an honest owl all day,
And rose in the early twilight gray,
And went to work in the dusky light
To look for the early worm at night.

He searched the country for miles around,
But the early worm was not to be found;
So he went to bed in the dawning light
And looked for the “worm” again next night.
And again and again, and again and again,
He sought and he sought, but all in vain,
Till he must have looked for a year and a day
For the early worm in the twilight gray.

At last in despair he gave up the search,
And was heard to remark as he sat on his perch
By the side of his nest in the hollow tree:
“The thing is as plain