Let the birds live! Boy or man, why do you so relentlessly pursue unto maiming or death every little beautiful bird that alights in your garden? God made them to live, to make vocal with their clear wild music this beautiful earth He has given to man - to cheer with their early matin song the husbandman in the early springtime. At the opening of a bright day in May, how sweet, how fresh is the rich and varied melody of the thrush and the robin red-breast! The later, more diversified song of the bob-o'-link, as he rises from the waving green of the beautiful meadows of the Hudson, how well is its old familiar song remembered! The thrush is a great songster; he is a very talkative gentleman. He is often seen perched upon the highest brunches of the maples at the field's border, or the tall elms by the roadside. There is a sort of consciousness about the russet-coated fellow, which almost every one must have observed. He seems to know that you are planting corn, and he tells you as plainly as he can, in his own song-words," to put it in, cover it up, cover it up, put it in," etc., saying just what one imagines he would say if he could talk like men.

I recollect once a neighbor and friend of mine, who was planting corn by the roadside, took the oft-repeated lay of a talkative thrush, who had perched himself nearby, to enforce a lesson of energy upon a tardy though shrewd boy, who was dropping the corn in the hills. "Do you hear what that bird says?" said the farmer to the boy, whose name was Langdon. "No, sir, I do not." "Well, he says, 'Drop faster, Lang, drop faster; put in the com; be quick, be quick !" This practical lesson, so pleasantly enforced, not only quickened the physical energies of the boy, but awoke a new train of ideas in his mind, which, but for the bird, he might never have had. Upon coming into the field, in the afternoon, the particularly pleasant smile of Langdon arrested the attention of his employer, who remarked, "What pleases you so much this afternoon?" "What the bird says this afternoon. He sings another tune now." "Well, what is it?" The boy quickly replied, "Joe, pay Lang half a dollar! Joe, pay Lang half a dollar!"

The corn was planted, Lang had his half dollar, all parties were satisfied, and the bird was voted a pattern of industry. Should not such a bird be spared the fatal shot from the fowler's gun? Certainly, if for no other reason than cheering on to industry, and enlivening the hours of daily labor, he should live to sing the same old song by the shores of the Mystic for years yet to come. But he does more than enliven a dull hour by his sweet song; he is a valuable apprentice in the field of the orchardist; he is a worker, a destructive force that needs no apparatus to set it in motion; he is ever ready to act in obedience to his natural instincts.

In many of our field birds is seen a result of instinct that, to the uninitiated, seems almost wonderful in itself. I have seen one single pair of thrushes, who had made a nest in my garden, destroy upwards of three hundred of caterpillars of a single morning, or in the short period of three hours. Now, if they would destroy such a number in the short space of three hours, of a morning, is it unreasonable to suppose the same pair of birds, with the wants of a rising family to supply, would not, in the course of a single day, destroy six hundred caterpillars?

I think my estimate will be received as fair and reliable. Now I esteem a pair of thrushes and golden robins as almost equal to one hand at killing caterpillars per day; the birds are not afraid of killing the worm, while some farm laborers had much rather eat plum pudding within doors than kill these troublesome fellows with their fingers out of doors.

Therefore we say, spare the birds in the garden. Who has not watched with much pleasure the labor of one robin to take care of the little fledgelings who have just left the parental nest, and are seen every morning hopping up and down the gravelled road, or near the fountain 1 Do you not hear their familiar "pip-pup-pip," as, with wings drooping through helplessness, they utter their morning cry for food ! I have seen one old male bird, in the space of a single hour, catch and give to its young fifteen large caterpillars.

The robin is one of the most industrious of our familiar household birds; and as he is so great a friend to man, should find in man a generous protector; and we are pleased to know that our farmers, particularly in Massachusetts, are taking more effective measures for the protection of the birds. It is high time that long-legged, half-grown boys, had a better business than prowling through grass lands, over gardens, and about houses, shooting every robin and blue-bird, and every other inoffensive little bird to be seen. Let our yeomanry unite in passing a law, with penalties annexed, against the practice of this wanton, useless sport, and it will cease. In the economy of nature, these little winged ones play a most important part, and are of the most incalculable benefit to the husbandman. Several other reasons why they should be protected and loved, instead of maimed, driven away, and shot, I will tell you in my next paper.

[We are most decidedly in favor of stringent laws for the protection of birds. In some of the states there are already good laws on the statute books to meet the case; but, unfortunately, public sentiment is mainly wrong here. There is a very prevalent opinion that birds are not the friends of the fruit-grower; but this is undoubtedly a great mistake. It is true that some birds eat our cherries and strawberries, the cat bird especially; but even these more than compensate us in the destruction of myriads of insects that, if left to themselves, would well-nigh destroy every thing we grow. Let the birds, then, be protected from unnecessary destruction. - ED].