he cedar
enters largely into their composition. The eggs are usually five, of a
pale greenish-blue.

The females of this species are distinguished by a greener blue color
and longer wings, and this bird is often called the Arctic Bluebird. It
is emphatically a bird of the mountains, its visits to the lower
portions of the country being mainly during winter.

Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbits' tread.
The Robin and the Wren are flown, and from the shrubs the Jay,
And from the wood-top calls the Crow all through the gloomy day.
--BRYANT.

THE ENGLISH SPARROW.

"Oh, it's just a common Sparrow," I hear Bobbie say to his mamma, "why, I
see lots of them on the street every day."

Of course you do, but for all that you know very little about me I
guess. Some people call me "Hoodlum," and "Pest," and even "Rat of the
Air." I hope you don't. It is only the folks who don't like me that call
me ugly names.

Why don't they like me?

Well, in the first place the city people, who like fine feathers, you
know, say I am not pretty; then the farmers, who are not grateful for
the insects I eat, say I devour the young buds and vines as well as the
ripened grain. Then the folks who like birds with fine feathers, and
that can sing like angels, such as the Martin and the Bluebird and a
host of others, say I drive them away, back to the forests where they
came from.

Do I do all these things?

I'm afraid I do. I like to have my own way. Maybe you know something
about that yourself, Bobbie. When I choose a particular tree or place
for myself and family to live in, I am going to have it if I have to
fight for it. I do chase the other birds away then, to be sure.

Oh, no, I don't always succeed. Once I remember a Robin got the better
of me, so did a Catbird, and another time a Baltimore Oriole. When I
can't whip a bird myself I generally give a call and a whole troop of
Sparrows will come to my aid. My, how we do enjoy a fuss like that!

A bully? Well, yes, if by that you mean I rule around my own house, then
I _am_ a bully. My mate has to do just as I say, and the little Sparrows
have to mind their papa, too.

"Don't hurt the little darlings, papa," says their mother, when it comes
time for them to fly, and I hop about the nest, scolding them at the top
of my voi