The Nest in the Honeysuckles | Page 3

how truly happy he was that he had so pleasant and agreeable, and at the same time so housewifely, a companion. She appeared quite as well pleased to be appreciated as any wife or housekeeper of my acquaintance, and it made her labour a labour of love. We all like to be appreciated.
I see the robin is a plain, common-sense bird in her notions, and wants nothing for mere display. Every thing which could add to the real comfort of her family she has provided, and has no desire for any thing further. Many house-keepers might learn a valuable lesson from her prudent, comfortable arrangements.
When the dwelling was completed, and suitably dry for occupancy, the robin deposited there four bluish-green eggs. I assure you they are beautiful, and are great treasures to her. In about twelve days from the time Eddie first saw her carrying straws into the honeysuckles, she became very domestic, never leaving home but for a few minutes at a time. Her four eggs now occupy all her attention and her great business seems to be to keep them warm with the heat of her own body. She does not complain of being confined at home, but is entirely satisfied to attend to the duties which devolve upon her. She is not uneasy that she cannot sing like her husband, or, like him, attend to the interests of Robindom; but quietly and discreetly she labours in her appropriate sphere, and feels no wish to leave it for a less secluded and less happy life. Her heart is satisfied with the happiness of her home, and she feels no uneasiness--no ungratified longings for something to occupy her, aside from the duties she so cheerfully performs.
Madam Robin was entirely satisfied with the success of her labours, and she had reason to be. No bird could have done better. This consciousness of having done well did not make her proud; it only gave her such self-respect as every one feels who is conscious that an allotted task has been faithfully performed; and the praise of her husband was no injury to her, as she was not silly enough to think of herself more highly than she ought to think.
As the house was for a summer residence, she selected fine straw-matting, instead of woollen carpets for it. She put it down with great care, perfectly smooth and even. The wall was covered with the same cool material, delicately woven. Wasn't it nice?

CHAPTER III.
PLEASANT NEIGHBOURS.
The location selected by our friend, the robin, seems to be highly appreciated by many of the feathered race. Although the robin was the first settler, others have already decided that it affords great advantages in the way of shelter from the fierce winds, from the burning rays of a summer sun, and from the too-curious eyes of hawks and other birds of prey.
An abundance of fresh, soft water can be obtained not far from Honeysuckleville, and this is always a recommendation in favour of any place, either for men or birds. Fruit also abounds. There will be bright red currants for the little folks; strawberries, too, more than they can eat, and raspberries in any quantity they may wish. I must not forget the cherries, of which birds are so fond, and which they can have at any time when they are ripe, for merely the trouble of picking.
It is not surprising, with all these advantages in its favour, that Honeysuckleville should find more than one family happy to settle within its borders. For some time, two song-sparrows have made it frequent visits; and have finally decided, after a careful survey, that no more desirable spot can be found for a summer residence. They have accordingly commenced building, not more than two feet from the mansion of the robins. Their house is much smaller--a cottage--but quite large enough for them. It nestles so lovingly in the shadow of the vines, that I am sure domestic comfort must be found there. Discord and contention could not abide in so peaceful a retreat.
The song-sparrows will be pleasant neighbours. They are exceedingly fond of vocal music, and their clear melodious voices fill the new settlement with harmony. In that terrible snow-storm which occurred in the middle of April, I often saw a sparrow alight on a bough of a tree near the house, and send up to heaven such a strain of full, gushing melody, as melted my heart with pity and admiration. It reminded me of a child of God in the midst of trials and afflictions, yet rejoicing in faith, and trusting continually in the care of a Father in heaven. Was the cold little sparrow singing itself away, as it was once believed the swan sung its own death-song? Or may the new neighbour of the robin