THE MORNING MESSAGE.
BY K. M. M.
A beam was sent out by the morning sun
To carry the message that day had begun.
First the gay courier told his story
To the opening buds of the morning-glory.
The birds in their nest on the branch o'erhead
Heard every word that the sunbeam said,
And all at once in the trees was heard
The twittered "good-morning" of each little bird.
Then in at the window the messenger flew,
And all around him his gold he threw.
He scattered it here, and everywhere,
He gilded the braids of the mother's hair.
He glanced at the baby, who laughed with glee,
And danced for joy on his mother's knee.
And little Clara, the three-year-old,
Tried to catch at the shining gold;
And she said, "Mamma, if I'm good to-day,
Perhaps this beautiful sunbeam will stay."
Brooklyn, New York.
About a month ago my papa came home from Panama, and brought me two beautiful little birds for pets. I do not know any English name for them, but in Spanish they are called Verdones del Pacifico. They are about the size of a canary. Their bodies are beautiful dark blue, the wings and back are glossy black with a blue stripe, and the top of the head irised green. The under side of the wings is golden yellow. They have little bright black eyes, long bills like a humming-bird, and dainty little red legs and toes. They feed on bananas, and eat all day long. They are very queer little gymnasts, and hang head downward from their perch to reach their food. They do not sing, but the moment daylight begins they commence a sweet little peeping, which they keep up from morning till night.
We did not know they would eat insects; but one afternoon a big fly came buzzing round their cage, and they fluttered and peeped and pushed their bills through the wires in their efforts to catch it. My brother caught it and gave it to them in his fingers. They both dived for it, and had a fight to see which should get the biggest half. Since then we catch flies for them all the time, and whenever any one goes near their cage they begin to peep and watch, hoping for a fly.
Sometimes we shut the windows and let them fly around the room and hunt for themselves. They dart like lightning, and not a fly escapes them. They are growing very tame, and will come and perch upon my finger when they are tired flying.