ne right,
and helped her to mend an old cage into which they could put the poor
little bruised bird. Soon it took food from their hands, and grew quite
tame.

Peepy named it Bella, and kept it in her chamber where she could hear it
sing. Bella loved Peepy, and would fly about the room, and light on her
head, and play with her curls.

But as summer came on, and the weather grew warm and pleasant, Peepy
thought to herself, "Bella loves me, and is grateful for all my care;
but liberty is as sweet to birds as to little girls. I will not
selfishly keep this bird in prison. I will take it into the grove, and
set it free."

[Illustration]

So Peepy took it into the grove, and set it free; and Bella lighted on a
bough, and sang the sweetest song you ever heard. It then flew singing
round Peepy's head, as if to say, "Thank you! thank you a thousand
times, you dear little girl!" If Bella's song could have been translated
into words, I think they would have been these:--

"Darling little Peepy,
When you're sad or sleepy,
I will come and sing you a merry, merry song:
So do not be grieving
At this tender leaving;
I shall not forget you, dear, for Oh! love is strong."

Peepy went home rather sad with her empty cage. But what was her joy the
next day, to see Bella on the window-sill! She opened the window, Bella
flew in, and they had a nice frolic. Then, when the dinner-bell rang,
the little bird flew off. Peepy was happy to think it had not forgotten
her.

IDA FAY.

[Illustration: Song of the Monkey]

SONG OF THE MONKEY.

[Illustration: Music]

Words by MARIAN DOUGLAS. Music by T. CRAMPTON.

My master grinds an organ,
And holds me by a chain;
And when the money I pick up,
You laugh and shout again;
But though I dance and caper,
Still I feel at heart forlorn
I wish I were in monkey-land,
The place where I was born;
I wish I were in monkey-land,
The place where I was born.

2 There cocoanuts are growing
Around the palm-tree's crown:
I used to climb and pick them off,
And hear them--crack!--come down.
There all day long the purple figs
Are falling, I declare:
How pleasant 'tis in monkey-land!
Oh,