us, and find it very delicious food. I am sorry to tell
you this little bird is so fond of fighting that there was an old
proverb, "as quarrelsome as quails in a cage." And the Greeks and
Romans kept quails on purpose to see them fight, as some people did
formerly (I hope not now), game-cocks. Even to this day this is the
custom in India and China.

I always like to conclude with a pretty story for you if I can, but I
can find nothing likely to amuse you about the quail, except the
following account of the Virginian quail, related by a gentleman
residing in Canada. He "happened to have above a hundred at one period
alive, and took much pleasure in the evening, watching their motions
where they were confined. As it grew dusk, the birds formed themselves
into coveys or parties of twelve or fifteen in a circle, the heads out
and tails clustered in the centre. One bird always stood guard to each
party, and remained perfectly stationary for half an hour, when, a
particular _cluck_ being given, another sentinel immediately took his
place, and relieved him with as much regularity as any garrison could
boast. It became a matter of further curiosity to observe how they would
meet the extra duty occasioned by the havoc of the _cook_. For this also
a remedy was found, and the gentleman remarked with admiration that, as
their number decreased, the period of watch was extended from a half to
a whole hour, in the same form, and with unfailing regularity."

[Illustration: THE ROBIN REDBREAST.]

THE ROBIN REDBREAST.

Every little boy and girl well knows this pretty little bird. His bright
eyes and rosy breast delight us even before we hear his lovely song. And
do you not remember that when the babes in the wood were left alone, to
die, by that cruel robber, after wandering about till they were so weary
that they lay down and slept the sleep of death, it was the Robin
Redbreast who "painfully did cover them with leaves." One would think
the robin must be very fond of little boys and girls. One thing I am
sure of, and that is that they love him very dearly, that they delight
in the very sound of his name, that they scatter crumbs upon the window
sill for him in winter, and that they would not disturb his nest for
all the world.

Robins are not very often to be seen in the summer, for they fly far
into the depths of woods and lonely places to rear their young. So
amongst the chorus of sweet singers who make melody when leaves