We've a charming new neighbor moved in the next door;

He is hardly new either, he's lived there before;

I should think he had come here two summers or more;

His winters he spends far away.

He is handsome and stylish, most fine to behold,

In his glossy black coat and his vest of bright gold;

He is "proud of his feathers," so I have been told,

And I half believe what people say.

His wife is a beauty, he's fond of her, too;

He calls her his "Judy;" I like it, don't you?

And he sings every day all the long summer through,

Yet he is not a bit of a bore.

For he's a musician of wonderful power;

I could list to his beautiful voice by the hour,

As he sings to his wife in their green, shady bower

In the elm tree that shadows my door.

He's a sociable neighbor, we like him full well,

Although we've not called yet, and cannot quite tell

All he says, tho' his voice is as clear as a bell,

And as sweet as the notes of a psalm.

Do you ask what his name is? Our dear little Sue

Was anxious to know it, and asked him it, too,

And this was his answer, I'll tell it to you—

"My name is Sir Oriole, ma'am."

—L. A. P., in Our Dumb Animals.