the bird after he was caught.

Samuel said, "Sell him. I read of bobolinks being sold at bird-stores in
the city for two or three dollars each. We could get money enough to buy
snap-crackers and fireworks for next Fourth of July."

"Oh! I wouldn't do that," said Robert.

"Nor I," said little Maggie. "I should rather go without any money for
Fourth of July. Let's keep him, and put him in Dicky's old cage, and
teach him to sing."

"Perhaps you are counting your game before 'tis caught," said Robert.
"There are no birds near your trap yet."

Just then a large flock had discovered the scattered grain, and flew
down near the trap. Each one of the children watched in breathless
silence. Several birds entered the box, and chattered and feasted, but
the cover did not fall, and the time the children were waiting in
silence seemed very long. At length an old, strong bird caught up a
grain attached to the string, and gave it a violent jerk. Out came the
little prop, and down went the heavy cover, and a jolly old singer was
entrapped. He screamed and fluttered, and his frightened companions flew
away over the distant meadow.

The children ran to the trap, delighted with the capture they had made,
and each one got down on his knees and peeped into the trap. Sure
enough, there was Mr. Bobolink. He had on his black dress-coat and white
waistcoat and breeches, and a pretty yellow necktie. They all thought
him very handsome, and they laid plans for having him put into a nice
brass cage at the front of the house, where they could every day hear
his cheerful song. They were all delighted with their prize, and
thoughts of much enjoyment went through their minds.

"Take him out carefully," said Robert, as Samuel knelt down to open the
box.

"Don't hurt him," said Maggie; and Samuel raised the cover to put in his
hand.

There was a flutter and a scream, and Mr. Bobolink flew away, and soared
high into the air, and soon joined his travelling companions on their
way to Canada.

The children were much disappointed, and when they told their father he
laughed heartily, and repeated the old proverb:--

"A bird in the hand is worth two in the air."

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MIDSUMMER MORNING.

In my garden hear the lark
Carol aloft;
Hear the dove her matins sing
In answer soft.
The night has fled away;
Good morrow! lovely day.

Dawn has touched