ON THE MARTIN 1h

to drop the Squirrel in order to defend herself. The
poor animal kept falling through the air a long time,
till at last he alighted in the midst of a thick tree, the
eaves and tender boughs of which so broke his fall,
that, though stunned and breathless, he escaped
without material injury, and after lying awhile, came
to himself again. But what were his pleasure and
surprise to find himself in the very tree which con-
tained his nest. “Ah!” said he, “my dear native
place and peaceful home! if ever [ am again tempted
to leave you, may I undergo a second time all the
miseries and dangers from which I have now so
wonderfully escaped.”

ee

 

SECOND EVENING.

ON THE MARTIN.

“Look up, my dear,” said his papa to litt.e Wil-
liam, “at those birds’ nests above the chamber windows,
beneath the eaves of the house. Some, you see, are
just begun,—nothing but a little clay stuck against
the wall. Others are half-finished; and others are
quite built—close and tight—leaving nothing but a
small hole for the birds to come in and go out at.”

“What nests are they ?”’ said William.

“They are Martins’ nests,” replied his father: “and
there you see the owners. How busily they fly back-
wards and forwards, bringing clay and earth in their
bills, and laying it upon their work, forming it into
shape with their bills and feet! The nests are built
very strong and thick, like a mud wall, and are lined
with feathers to make a soft bed for the young.
Martins are a kind of swallows. They feed on fies,
enats, and other insects; and always build in towns
and villages about the houses. People do not molest
them, for they do good rather than harm; and it 1s very