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BALTIMORE ORIOLE

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HE male of this bird is orange and black, while the female is dull yellowish and gray. They are sociable birds and seem to like the company of mankind, for their nests are, from choice, built as near as possible to houses, often being where they can be reached from windows. As they use a great deal of string in the construction of their nests, children often get amusement by placing bright-colored pieces of yarn where the birds will get them, and watch them weave them into their homes.

The song is a clear, querulous, varied whistle or warble, and the call is a plaintive whistle. The nest is a pensile structure, often hanging eight or ten inches below the supporting rim, and swaying to and fro with every breeze. They lay five or six white eggs, curiously scrawled with blackish brown.

These birds breed east of the Rockies, north to New Brunswick and Manitoba, and winter in Central America.

-Bird Guide.

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LAST NIGHT

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AST night the nightingale woke me,
Last night when all was still;

It sang in the golden moonlight,
From out the woodland hill,

I opened my window so gently;

I looked on the dreaming dew,

And O; the bird, my darling, was singing, Singing of you, of you.

I think of you in the day time,

I dream of you by night,

I wake and would you were here, love,
And tears are blinding my sight,

I hear a low breath in the lime tree,
The wind is floating through,
And O! the night, my darling,
Is sighing, sighing for you.

O! think not I can forget you;
I could not though I would,

I see you in all around me—

The stream, the night, the wood,

The flowers that slumber so gently,

The stars above the blue,

Heaven itself, my darling,

Is praying, praying for you!

-From the Swedish, by Theophile Marsials.

AFTER THE RAIN

HE rain has ceased, and in my room

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The sunshine pours an airy flood;

And on the church's dizzy vane

The ancient Cross is bathed in blood.

From out the dripping ivy-leaves,
Antiquely carven, gray and high,
A dormer, facing westward, looks
Upon the village like an eye.

And now it glimmers in the sun,
A square of gold, a disk, a speck:
And in the belfry sits a Dove
With purple ripples on her neck.

-Thomas Bailey Aldrich

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