WE E love birds. When the first soft days of spring come in all their gentle sweetness, and woo us with their warmth, and soothe us with their smile, then come the birds. With us they, too, rejoice that winter's reign (and snow) is ended. No one of the seasons that come to "rule the varied year" abdicates his throne more to his subjects' joy than Winter. 2. How pleasant are the early hours of a day in spring! The air is laden with the perfect perfume of a thousand flowers and leaves and buds. And then, besides the pleasure of seeing jocund day go through that difficult gymnastic feat, described by Shakespeare, of standing "tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops," we have a glorious morning concert, to which we have a season ticket. 3. Such music! It seems the pure outpouring of the greatest gratitude to Him who made the morn so beautiful, so full of joy and light. It is the expression of most perfect praise, in ecstasy of song. Yes, indeed, we love. birds! 4. There is a deal of pleasure as well as profit to be derived from studying the habits and the character of birds. Nor is the study burdensome. Of all the lower orders of creation, as they frequent most freely the haunts and homes of men, so they approach us nearest in intelligence. They have their labors and amusements, their conjugal relations, and, like us, they build with taste and skill their houses; they have society, moreover, and the opera. In very many things they are our equals, in some, our superiors; and what in other animals at best is only instinct, in birds is almost reason. Nor 5. Among the first returning tourists from the south, in spring, are these pleasant little people, the bluebird, martin, and wren. They have particular confidence in man. is their confidence misplaced; for everybody hails with joy these harbingers of spring. Their company is peculiarly agreeable, and they seem to know it; for every year they come again to occupy the boxes, or perchance old hats, which were put up for them, and in them they build their nests, and there they live rent free; yet not exactly so, for they pay us with their notes. 6. Sometimes these little people have a deal of difficulty among themselves about these habitations. The martins come, and find the bluebirds have taken all these places, and there is a disturbance directly. After some considerable scolding, and twitting on facts, the martins take possession of a certain portion of the pigeon-cote, and keep it too, for not a pigeon dare go near them, while the smaller wrens content themselves with some spare corner of the portico, where they forthwith proceed to build their houses, with all the architectural skill derived from their great namesake, the builder of St. Paul's.* 7. There is a spice of waggish mischief about the wren somewhat amusing. Often when the bluebird has left his house, and gone to market or down town, the wren peeps in, and, finding no one there, proceeds to amuse himself by pulling out the straws and feathers in the nest; but should. perchance the bluebird come in sight, the wren remembers that there is something very interesting going on around. the corner of the barn, that demands his immediate attention. - 8. These birds the bluebird, martin, and the wren, together with the swallows (barn and chimney), and "honest robin" are half domesticated. They love to live near man. The bluebird and the robin are the only two among them who appear to have paid much attention to the cultivation of their vocal powers. They salute the morning with sweet songs. The wren and other small birds are in the garden, breakfasting on worms, or, as we sometimes express it, "getting their grub." 9. The martin, meanwhile, listens to the concert, as a * Sir Christopher Wren was the architect of St. Paul's Cathedral, London. critic, or as one of the audience; for he sits up in his private box, now and then uttering an approving note, as if of applause. Indeed, the martin is not very musical. Sometimes, in the bosom of his family, when he feels very social, he takes up his pipe, and then essays a song. But he never gets beyond the first few notes of "Hi Betty Martin," and then goes off on tiptoe. 10. But here we have a jolly little fellow, who makes up in sociability what he lacks in song. The small housesparrow, or, as he is generally known, the "chippin' bird," comes to our very doors. He hops along the piazza, gathering "crumbs of comfort" and of bread, and knows that not a soul within the house, not even that "unfeeling school-boy," would harm a feather of his tail. He keeps a careful eye, however, on the cat; for he is perfectly aware that she would consider him only a swallow, and he does not like to lose his identity. 11. Every farmer hates the crow, and we must acknowledge he is not a very lovable bird. He has neither beauty nor song; for his eternal caw, caw!" is a note renewed so often as to be at a decided discount. Nor has he civility of manners; and his ideas concerning private property are extremely vague. Yet of all the bird tribe, he is far the most intelligent. Nor is he a hypocrite. There he is, on that old tree by the roadside, clothed in a sable suit, and as you go by, looks demure, interesting, and melancholy. 12. But should there be a gun in the bottom of the wagon, though it is covered carefully with a bundle of straw, a blanket over that, and a large fat boy sitting on top of all, he knows it is there, and, trusty sentinel, alarms the whole community of crows in the region round about and away they wing, "over the hills and far away." "Caw, caw, caw!" You did n't catch him that time. He is very well aware that you intend to kill him just wants to see you try it, - that's all. t; if you can. He GIVE ME THE PEOPLE. CIII. GIVE ME THE PEOPLE. - S' OME love the glow of outward show, The shine of wealth, and try to win it : If I but like the people in it. II. A humble roof may give us proof That simple flowers are often fairest ; Whose claim is but of rank's creation! If I but like the people in it! 253 Charles Swain. — Adapted. I CIV. HEROISM OF A MINER. Na certain Cornish mine, two miners, deep down in the shaft, were engaged in putting in a shot for blasting. They had completed their affair, and were about to give the signal for being hoisted up. One at a time was all the assistant at the top could manage, and the second was to kindle the match, and then mount with all speed. 2. Now it chanced, while they were still below, that one of them thought the match too long. He accordingly tried to break it shorter. Taking a couple of stones, a flat and a sharp, he succeeded in cutting it the required length; but, horrible to relate, he kindled it at the same time, while both were still below! Both shouted vehemently to the man at the windlass; both sprang at the basket. The windlass man could not move it with both in it. 3. Here was a moment for poor Miner Jack and Miner Will! Instant, horrible death hangs over them. Will generously resigns himself: "Go aloft, Jack; sit down; away! in one minute I shall be in Heaven!" 4. Jack bounds aloft, the explosion instantly follows, bruising his face as he looks over; but he is safe above ground. 5. And what of poor Will? Descending eagerly, they find him, as if by miracle, buried under rocks which had arched themselves over him. He is little injured. He too is brought up safe. Well done, brave Will! Thomas Carlyle. T CV. GLAD CHIMES. I. WAS sabbath on the sea, a summer sea, The nerveless winds were resting in their caves, And, gently swaying with a motion free, Our good bark yielded to the breathing waves. II. A weary voyage of waiting and unrest Lay all behind us, gladly overcome; Before us, towering in the distant West, Rose the broad land of happiness and home. III. A welcome sight to our impatient eyes, IV. No sound disturbed the scene from shore or sea, |