beyond all limits. They consist of short expressions of two, three, or, at the most, five or six syllables, generally interspersed' with imitations, and all of them uttered with great emphasis and rapidity, and continued, with undiminished ardor, for half an hour or an hour at a time; his expanded wings and tail glistening with white, and the buoyant gayety of his action arresting the eye, as his song most irresistibly does the ear.

4. Ho sweeps round with enthusiastic ecstasy?; he mounts and descends, as his song swells or dies away; and, as my friend Mr. Bartram has beautifully expressed it, “he bounds aloft with the celerity of an arrow, as if to recover or recall his very soul, which expired in the last elevated strain.” While thus exerting himself, a bystander, destitute of sight, would suppose that the whole feathered tribes had assembled together on a trial of skill, each striving to produce its utmost effect — so perfect are bis imitations.

5. He very often deceives the sportsman, and sends him in search of birds that perhaps are not within miles of him, but whose notes he exactly imitates. Even birds themselves are frequently imposed on by this admirable mimic, and are decoyed by the fancied calls of their mates. or dive, with precipitation“, into the depths of thickets, at the scream of what they suppose to be the sparrow hawk.

6. The mocking bird loses little of the power and energy of his song by confinement. In his domesticated state, when he commences his career of song, it is impossible to stand by uninterested. He whistles for the dog; Cæsar starts up, wags his tail, and runs to meet his master. He squeaks out like a hurt chicken; and the hen hurries about, with hanging wings and bristled feathers, clucking to protect her injured brood. The barking of the dog, the mewing of the cat, the creaking of a passing wheelbarrow, follow with great truth and rapidity.

7. He repeats the tune taught him by his master, though of considerable length, fully and faithfully. He runs over the quiverings of the canary, and the clear whistlings of the Virginia nightingale or redbird, with such superior execution and effect, that the mortified songsters feel their own inferiority, and become altogether silent, while he seems to triumph in their defeat by redoubling his exertions.

8. This excessive fondness for variety, however, in the opinion of some, injures his song. His elevated imitations of the brown thrush are frequently interrupted by the crowing of cocks; and the warblings of the bluebird, which he exquisitely: manages, are mingled with the screaming of swallows, or the cackling of hens; amidst the simple melody of the robin, we are suddenly surprised by the shrill reiterations of the whip-poor-will; while the notes of the killdeer, bluejay, martin, baltimore, and twenty others, succeed, with such imposing reality, that we look round for the originals, and discover, with astonishment, that the sole performer, in this singular concert, is the admirable bird now before us.

9. During this exhibition of his powers, he spreads his wings, expands his tail, and throws himself around the cage in all the ecstasy of enthusiasm, seeming not only to sing, but to dance, keeping time to the measure of his own music. Both in his native and domesticated state, during the solemn stillness of the night, as soon as the moon rises in silent majesty, he begins his delightful solo?, and serenades us the livelong night with a full display of his vocal powers, making the whole neighborhood ring with his inimitable melody.

LXXIII. — THE INQUIRY.

1.

TELL me, ye wingéd winds, that round my pathway roar,
Do ye not know some spot where mortals weep no more?
Some lone and pleasant dell, some valley in the west,
Where, free from toil and pain, the weary soul may rest?

The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,
And sighed for pity, as it answered — "No."

2.

Tell me, thou mighty deep, whose billows round me play,
Know'st thou some favored spot, some island far away,
Where weary man may find the bliss for which he sighs -
Where sorrow never lives, and friendship never dies?

The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow,
Stopped for a while, and sighed to answer - "No."

3.
And thou, serenest moon, that, with such lovely face,
Dost look upon the earth asleep in night's embrace,
Tell me, in all thy round, hast thou not seen some spot
Where miserable man might find a happier lot?

Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe,
And a voice, sweet but sad, responded — "No."

Tell me, my secret soul, O, tell me, Hope and Faith,
Is there no resting-place from sorrow, sin, and death?
Is there no happy spot where mortals may be blessed,
Where grief may find a balm, and weariness a rest?

Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given,
Waved their bright wings, and whispered — “YES, IN

HEAVEN!"

22*

· LXXIV. - TUBAL CAIN.

MACKAY. (Charles Mackay is a living English author, who has written well both me prose and verse.)

1. OLD Tubal Cain was a man of might

In the days when the earth was young,
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright,

The strokes of his hammer rung;
And he lifted high his brawny' hand

On the iron glowing clear,
Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers

As he fashioned the sword and spear.
And he sang, “Hurrah for my handiwork!

Hurrah for the spear and sword !
Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well

For he shall be king and lord.”

2. To Tubal Cain came many a one,

As he wrought by his roaring fire,
And each one prayed for a strong steel blade,

As the crown of his desire;
And he made them weapons sharp and strong,

Till they shouted loud in glee,
And gave him gifts of pearls and gold,

And spoils of forest free.
And they sang, “Hurrah for Tubal Cain,

Who hath given us strength anew!
Hurrah for the smith! hurrah for the fire!

And hurrah for the metal true!”

3. But a sudden change came o'er his heart

Ere the setting of the sun,

And Tubal Cain was filled with pain

For the evil he had done.
He saw that men, with rage and hate,

Made war upon their kind;
That the land was red with the blood they shed

In their lustå for carnage blind.
And he said, “ Alas, that ever I made,

Or that skill of mine should plan,
The spear and the sword, for men whose joy

Is to slay their fellow-man!”

4. And for many a day old Tubal Cain

Sat brooding o'er his woe;
And his hand forbore to smite the ore,

And his furnace smouldered` low;
But he rose at last with a cheerful face,

And a bright, courageous eye,
And bared his strong right arm for work,

While the quick flames mounted high;
And he sang, “ Hurrah for my handiwork!”

And the red sparks lit the air “ Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made,"

And he fashioned the first ploughshare.

6. And men, taught wisdom from the past,

In friendship joined their hands, Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall,

And ploughed the willing lands;
And sang, “Hurrah for Tubal Cain !

Our stanche good friend is he;
And, for the ploughshare and the plough,

To him our praise shall be.
But while oppression lifts its head,

Or a tyrant would be lord,