this songster of the night!

It was none other than the Nightingale, the queen of song, the glory of
the woods; and the Blackbird flew back to his nest, lost in admiration
of the small brown-coated singer, his heart filled with gratitude for
the glorious song.

END OF CHIRP THE THIRD.

CHIRP THE FOURTH.

AUTUMN.

The strawberries had entirely disappeared, the raspberries and
gooseberries had followed, the last of the hay had been some time
gathered in, and dry grass had taken the place of flowery meadows. The
corn which had been green and soft was rapidly becoming hard and golden.
It was now that the Blackbird became aware that the sun was once more
beginning to go earlier to bed, and yet to get up later.

"No doubt the sun is getting tired," thought the Blackbird, "and no
wonder; he has been up and shining so many hours lately. I shall be glad
when he has had a good long rest, and begins to rise early again, for
the birds are not singing so sweetly as they used to do, and even the
poor flowers begin to droop."

However, the days were still beautiful, though the blue sky was now
often obscured by clouds, and the evenings were getting rather chilly.

The oaks were still as fresh as ever, but many other trees had changed
their bright green for the deeper and more golden tints of autumn. In
some places brown and crisp leaves already formed a thick carpet, and
the beeches were fast flinging their ripe nuts to the ground. For all
that, it was a little hard to realise that Autumn had already begun, for
many flowers yet lingered, and the white and yellow roses still
enlivened the gray face of the old mansion.

However, as the Blackbird had learnt to know, there were fruits and joys
for every season, and if the strawberries and cherries had gone, were
there not rosy-cheeked apples and delicious pears, which had been
wanting in the summer?

There was one apple-tree in the orchard which he specially remembered;
he had noticed it in the spring with its wealth of pink-white blossoms.
The blossoms had quickly fallen, and he recollected hopping and frisking
about among the soft, rosy petals as they strewed the grass. He had
regretted the fall of these pretty leaflets, and, of course, had gone
to the old Rook for consolation.

"Wait a while," had been the Rook's sage remark; "they have only fallen
off to give place to something better."

The old sage was right, they had been pushed off, in order that the
apples