Not I, said the cow, moo-oo! 
    Such a thing I’d never do. 
    I gave for you a wisp of hay,
    And did not take your nest away. 
    Not I, said the cow, moo-oo! 
    Such a thing I’d never do.

    Not I, said the dog, bow-wow! 
    I wouldn’t be so mean as that, now,
    I gave hairs the nest to make,
    But the nest I did not take. 
    Not I, said the dog, bow-wow! 
    I wouldn’t be so mean as that, now.

    Not I, said the sheep, Oh no! 
    I wouldn’t treat a poor bird so! 
    I gave the wool the nest to line,
    But the nest was none of mine. 
    Baa! baa! said the sheep; Oh no,
    I wouldn’t treat a poor bird so.

    I would not rob a bird,
      Said little Mary Green;
    I think I never heard
      Of any thing so mean. 
    ’Tis very cruel, too,
      Said little Alice Neal;
    I wonder if she knew
      How sad the bird would feel?

    A little boy hung down his head,
    And went and hid behind the bed,
    For he stole that pretty nest
    From poor little yellow-breast;
    And he felt so full of shame
    He didn’t like to tell his name.

Hymns for Mother and Children.

* * * * *

WHO STOLE THE EGGS?

    “Oh, what is the matter with Robin,
      That makes her cry round here all day? 
    I think she must be in great trouble,”
      Said Swallow to little Blue Jay.

    “I know why the Robin is crying,”
      Said Wren, with a sob in her breast;
    “A naughty bold robber has stolen
      Three little blue eggs from her nest.

    “He carried them home in his pocket;
      I saw him, from up in this tree: 
    Ah me! how my little heart fluttered
      For fear he would come and rob me!”

    “Oh! what little boy was so wicked?”
      Said Swallow, beginning to cry;
    “I wouldn’t be guilty of robbing
      A dear little bird’s-nest—­not I.”

    “Nor I!” said the birds in a chorus: 
      “A cruel and mischievous boy! 
    I pity his father and mother;
      He surely can’t give them much joy.

    “I guess he forgot what a pleasure
      The dear little robins all bring,
    In early spring-time and in summer,
      By the beautiful songs that they sing.

    “I guess he forgot that the rule is,
      To do as you’d be always done by;
    I guess he forgot that from heaven
      There looks down an All-seeing Eye.”

MRS. C. F. BERRY.

* * * * *

WHAT THE BIRDS SAY.

    When they chatter together,—­the robins and sparrows,
      Bluebirds and bobolinks,—­all the day long;
    What do they talk of?  The sky and the sunshine,
      The state of the weather, the last pretty song;