Birds have their trials as well as little boys and girls. To be sure they don't have to stand in a line, and shout "Twice one are two" at the top of their voices; but they have to learn to fly, and I think it very likely that they take singing-lessons, although I am not sure as to that.

One day last summer I was picking flowers in the woods, when, happening to look up, what should I see perched on a twig just in front of me but a cunning little bird!

At first I kept very quiet, lest I should frighten him away; but, as he showed no sign of moving, I ventured nearer and nearer, until I even covered him with my hand.

"Why, dear me! he's nothing but a baby-bird, and can't fly," I said to myself; and then I sat down on a mossy mound near by, and waited; for I knew the mother-bird was not far off, and I wanted to see what was going on.

It was not long before I heard a gentle whirr in the leaves overhead, and, looking up, saw two birds circling around the twig, but at some distance above it. Then one of them, the mother, of course, drew nearer and nearer in smaller and smaller circles, at the same time calling to her baby in encouraging little chirps.

Birdie on his perch seemed very much excited, turning his head from one side to the other in the cunningest way. But when his mother came close to him, only to dart off and call on him to follow, he looked so disappointed that I really felt as if I must comfort him.

The mother came back very soon and resumed her lesson in flying, and very hard work she found it too, for the little fellow was timid and refused to follow her, in spite of all her coaxing and scolding. After working a long while, she flew off, leaving her baby trembling on his perch. I pitied the poor little fellow, he seemed so forlorn and helpless.

The little bird, left to himself, got tired at last of staying where he was, and made one or two efforts to fly. He flapped his wings, rounded up his back until he looked like a ball of down, and leaned forward, as much as to say, "I'll do it now." But when he saw the awful distance between himself and the ground, his courage failed him, and he clung to his perch more tightly than ever.

After a while the mother-bird came back, bringing a large bug which she used as a bribe for her timid birdling, holding it under his very bill, and then darting off in the hope that he would follow. The youngster chirped for the bug, but he would not fly for it; and, after many efforts, the old bird, unable to resist his pleading, perched on a twig just beneath him, and held up the bug, which you may be sure he was not slow to seize and eat.

The little fellow now seemed to make up his mind to fly, even if he died in the attempt. He flapped his wings, rounded his back, and leaned forward as before, while the mother-bird flew about, fluttering and chirping to such an extent that the father came down from the top of a high tree to see how they were getting along.

The little bird was just about to fly, and I was just ready to clap my hands in applause, when, lo! there he was clinging to his perch again, trembling with fear, and chirping, "I can't do it. I dare not. Oh, dear!"

The two old birds flew away much disappointed; but the mother soon returned with another bug, and the lesson was repeated. Indeed it was repeated so many times, that I began to lose patience with the little coward, and to be full of pity for the poor tired mother.

His birdship had just eaten a bug, and the parent-birds were chirping and flying around, when, with the hope of helping them in their labors, I stepped forward, and tapped him on the bill with a flower-stem. The blow was so sudden and unexpected, that, before he had time to think, he lifted his wings and flew to a neighboring twig, where he clung, frightened and delighted at what he had done.

I left him then, with his father and mother making just such a time over him as your fathers and mothers made over you when you took your first steps.