The birds, the dear, beautiful birds, that come in the sweet spring time to build their nests among the fresh green leaves and fragrant blossoms of our home trees! How glad we are to see them! The little children love the birds. No kind and gentle boy will rob their pretty eggs or their tender young. But you may be happy in watching their graceful forms and varied colors, as they glide through the air or hop about on the ground. Our heavenly Father made them, and they praise him in their many toned songs. He feeds them, and teaches us thus to trust in his care. The God that provides for the birds will not forget you, for the Saviour says, “Ye are of more value than many sparrows.”
I always like to see children making acquaintance with the birds. If they watch their habits, they will learn some important lessons. I have been interested in some observations which a little friend of mine has recently made, and which she has told in her first school composition. It is as follows:—
“My dear Schoolmates,—I would like to tell you a story. A little chipping bird built a nest on a peach tree, near our kitchen window. It was a soft, pretty nest, lined with hair. A naughty little wren, wishing to build herself a nest, instead of looking about to find straws and hair, comes every day and takes them from the chipping bird’s nest. I think I shall not love her as much as I did before. I think I shall call her a little thief, instead of a little wren. I think little children should learn a lesson from the birds, and not take what does not belong to them, for they will be called thieves, and no one will love them if they do.”
INSECT LIFE AND ITS LESSON.
What a beautiful creature is the gaudy butterfly! Children, you do not wish to crush its golden wings, and destroy its brief, sunny life. O, no; you had rather see it free and happy. How cruel and wicked it is for children to destroy these beautiful creatures which God has made!
Here is a story in regard to a little boy and a butterfly.
“I was walking along through a pretty village, one summer day. The cottages were covered with woodbines and roses. The bees were busy carrying home honey to the hives, while the children were playing about so happily. I was thinking how soon the bright summer would be gone, and the leaves fallen from the trees, when a little boy ran by, chasing a beautiful butterfly. I was sorry to see him soon catch it, and hold it fast in his hand. I asked him if he knew how cruel and unkind it was. He said,—
“No, ma’am; I wanted it, to take home and put under a glass; it looks so very pretty. I did not know it would hurt it.”