New York, for the sake of the flowers, which were much prized
for bouquets and other ornamental purposes. However, the potatoes
themselves,"--I suppose this means the tubers,--"became such favorite
food in a few years, that the plants were promoted backward from the
flower-beds to the kitchen-gardens and open fields. The beauty of the
blossoms was forgotten in the usefulness of their roots."

The moral of this paragram is: If you are merely good-looking, you will
not be apt to get on in life, but will stay about where you are; and if
it should be found out that you can be put to use, you will be planted
in the open fields.

This doesn't seem to read quite right, somehow; but, dear me, what do we
want with a moral all the time? I leave you to find out what it ought to
be in this case, if you think it's worth while. Only, if you _do_ find
out, I wish you would let me know.

SHARP-WITTED ROBINS.

Detroit, Michigan.

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Z.R.B's anecdote, "A Congress of Birds," in
the July number, reminds me of an incident of which I was an
eye-witness:

A cherry-tree grew near the house, and was yearly full of luscious
cherries; but the robins scarcely allowed us to have one that did
not have their monogram picked in it. One year, however, my brother
determined to outwit the birds, and hung a large stuffed eagle from
one of the boughs. The birds assembled on a neighboring tree and
eyed the eagle sharply, while a grand consultation was held.
Finally, a courageous robin darted from the tree, swooped directly
under the eagle, and flew triumphantly back to tell the rest there
was nothing to be feared. At once the whole flock of robins flew to
the cherry-tree, and our hopes of a cherry-pie were doomed to
disappointment for that year.

H.P.B.

A VERY DEAD LANGUAGE.

I once heard of a green-colored South American parrot who was more than
one hundred years old. This aged fellow could speak in a real language
which was known to have been used by a tribe of South American Indians
who, it is supposed, petted and taught him when he was young. One by one
the Indians died, until there was no one left who could understand a
word of their language. The poor old bird tried hard to keep cheerful,
but there were sorry times when he would mope by himself and say over
some of the words of the language that had been spoken by his earliest
and dearest human frien