streams belong.
There are thoughts that moan from the soul of the pine,
And thoughts in the flower-bell curled,
And the thoughts that are blown from the scent of the fern
Are as new and as old as the world."

THE BRONZED GRACKLE.

You can call me the Crow Blackbird, little folks, if you want to. People
generally call me by that name.

I look something like the Crow in the March number of BIRDS, don't I? My
dress is handsomer than his, though. Indeed I am said to be a splendid
looking bird, my bronze coat showing very finely in the trees.

The Crow said _Caw, Caw, Caw!_ to the little boys and girls. That was
his way of talking. My voice is not so harsh as his. I have a note which
some people think is quite sweet; then my throat gets rusty and I have
some trouble in finishing my tune. I puff out my feathers, spread my
wings and tail, then lifting myself on the perch force out the other
notes of my song. Maybe you have seen a singer on the stage, instead of
a perch, do the same thing. Had to get on his tip-toes to reach a high
note, you know.

Like the Crow I visit the cornfields, too. In the spring when the man
with the plow turns over the rich earth, I follow after and pick up all
the grubs and insects I can find. They would destroy the young corn if I
didn't eat them. Then, when the corn grows up, I, my sisters, and my
cousins, and my aunts drop down into the field in great numbers. Such a
picnic as we do have! The farmers don't seem to like it, but certainly
they ought to pay us for our work in the spring, don't you think? Then I
think worms as a steady diet are not good for anybody, not even a Crow,
do you?

We like nuts, too, and little crayfish which we find on the edges of
ponds. No little boy among you can beat us in going a-nutting.

We Grackles are a very sociable family, and like to visit about among
our neighbors. Then we hold meetings and all of us try to talk at once.
People say we are very noisy at such times, and complain a good deal.
They ought to think of their own meetings. They do a great deal of
talking at such times, too, and sometimes break up in a fight.

How do I know? Well, a little bird told me so.

Yes, we build our nest as other birds do; ours is not a dainty affair;
any sort of trash mixed with mud will do for the outside. The inside we
line with fine dry grass. My mate does most of the work, while I do the
talking. That is to let the Robin and other bir