"The Nightingale, as soon as April bringeth

Unto her rested sense a perfect waking,

Which late bare earth, proud of new clothing, springeth, Sings out her woes.". SIR PHILIP SYDNEY. It is never found further north than Yorkshire; and although attempts have been made to rear it in Scotland, by placing its eggs in the nests of small birds, where they were hatched, they have never been successful; the young brood always left with the autumnal migration, and never returned to the place of their nativity. The song of the nightingale, to the most enchanting sweetness unites a wonderful degree of strength, as its notes may be heard, in a calm night, at the distance of half a mile. When all other birds are hushed in silence, then this sweet bird commences her nightly song,

"Elate to make her night excel their day;"

and its variety and power are equal to its strength. The modulations from plaintive to sprightly, in warmer climates, follow each other in almost uninterrupted rapid succession; with us, the melody is seldom continued long without a pause—a natural stop, that gives a thrilling tremor to the listening ear. For weeks to

gether, if undisturbed, the male will sit and sing upon the same tree; and during breeding time, always at a distance from the nest, where the pledges of his love are treasured under the fostering bosom of his mate, yet still sufficiently near to charm her tedious watching with his lay. In a cage, the nightingale sings ten months; but sentimental wailers think its song in captivity is not so alluring; and while deprecating the tyranny of taking it from those hedges where it is most pleasing, greatly depreciate its imprisoned efforts. Bingley, however, is of opinion, that a caged nightingale sings more sweetly than those we hear abroad in spring.

Nightingales may be taught the notes of other birds, and even to sing by turns in a chorus, and to repeat

their couplet at the proper time. They are also said to be capable of learning to articulate words, and many stories are told of their proficiency.

THE AMERICAN MOCKING BIRD.

THIS bird is about the size and shape of our thrush; its colour is grey, with a reddish bill. It is celebrated for its imitative powers, assuming the tone of almost every animal of the forest, whom it seems to delight in quizzing, alluring at one time the smaller birds by the call of their mates, then terrifying them when they come near with the screams of some bird of prey; but its own natural music is the most enchanting. Wilson gives the following description of this pride of the American grove :-"The plumage of the Mockingbird, though none of the homeliest, has nothing gaudy or brilliant in it, and, had he nothing else to recommend him, would scarcely entitle him to notice; but his figure is well-proportioned, and even handsome. The ease, elegance, and rapidity of his movements, the animation of his eye, and the intelligence he displays in listening and laying up lessons from almost every species of the feathered creation within his hearing, are really surprising, and mark the peculiarity of his genius.

In his native groves, mounted upon the top of a tall bush or half-grown tree, in the dawn of a dewy morning, while the woods are already vocal with a multitude of warblers, his admirable song rises pre-eminent over every competitor. The ear can listen to his music alone, to which that of all others seems merely an accompaniment. Neither is his strain altogether imitative: his own native notes, which are easily distinguishable by such as are acquainted with those of our various song-birds, are bold and full, and varied, seemingly, beyond all limits. They consist of short

expressions of two, three, or, at the most, of five or six syllables, generally interspersed with imitations, and all of them uttered with great emphasis and rapidity, and continued with undiminished ardour for half an hour or an hour at a time. His expanded wings and tail glistening with white, and the buoyant gaity of his action, arresting the eye, as his song irresistibly does the ear. He sweeps round with enthusiastic ecstasy-he mounts or descends as his song swells or dies away-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."

The Mocking-bird is a native of Virginia and the other southern states. They often build their nests in the fruit-trees about the houses of the American planters, and are easily domesticated and taught artificial tunes.

BARNABY BOND AND THE BEGGAR-BOY.

AN EXERCISE ON THE LETTER B.

[The following singular composition was sent to us by one of our young friends. Not having seen it in print, we gave it to the printer; but having some doubt of the ability of the youth to produce such a piece, we wrote to him, and then he informed us, what he should have told us when he sent it, that he had copied it from "Early Days," an interesting little penny publication issued by the Wesleyans.]

BARNABY BOND, from Banbury, was busily baking a batch of brown bread and the best Abernethy biscuits in his comfortable abode, which he had built a little beyond the beach, when a barefooted boy, with nothing but a burnt and blackened blanket bound about his body by a broad belt, bashfully begged a

bit of broken bread, because he had had no breakfast. Barnaby Bond, being beneficent, bestowed the broken bread, beckoned the boy to sit on a bench in the bakehouse, and bade his wife Betty bring the bone of boiled beef and a basin of broth.

Now Betty was in a back building, boiling bacon, beans, and cabbage, basting a baron of beef, and beating batter for a pudding, because her brothers, Bertram, the barber, Bernard, the butcher, and Ben, the brewer, besides Bartlemy Bluebottle and Beadle Booble, were to be at the beach bakehouse that day, being Barnaby Bonds birth-day. Her beautiful baby, Barbara, was by the table, breaking a bun into a basket for her blackbird, and a bunch of blue-bells was beside her.

Betty, beaming with benevolence, brought the beef bone, and a basin of broth, also the baby, fearing to leave her behind. When Barbara beheld the beggar, she bent down to brush away some black that was on the boy's brow; and she bit off a piece of her bun for him, saying, "Bonnie, bonnie boy, baby's bun for bonnie boy!" He blushed, bowed humbly, and blessing them for their bounty, began to breakfast on the beef and bread.

Betty Bond went back to cook dinner; but she bore in mind to watch Barbara, who having put the bits of bun into the blackbird's beak, and played with the blue-bells, bowled about three balls which were kept in a baize bag.

Betty bustled as before, but her heart was throbbing in her bosom as if it would burst, for very trouble, and her breath became short:-that beggar-boy had brought to her remembrance her blooming Bobby, bright with beauty, whose loss she more bitterly bewailed than if he had been burned to death, or buried beneath the briny billows, for when first breeched, he had been borne away by a band of barbarous beggars, or gipsies. Poor Betty and her husband believed

that they went abroad; because the boatswain saw the beggars embark on board a brig at Bristol.

The baker, who had borne the bereavement little better than Betty did, felt a burden on his breast, and his benevolent heart beat fast, while beholding the barefooted beggar, for he remembered his own beloved boy, his first-born. Poor Barnaby! his brain became so bewildered, that the batch of brown bread, and the Abernethy biscuits he was baking, were sadly burned that day.

When both beef and bread were gone, and the basin of broth emptied, Barnaby Bond sat on the bench beside the boy, and asked by what name he went, and what business had brought him to the beach, barefoot, with nothing but a burnt and blackened blanket about his body: bidding him be brief, and boldly tell the truth. "The beggars," answered the boy, "who brought me from abroad, called me Billy Babington. Last sabbath-day they bade me embezzle some butter, a bale of bombasin, a bundle of brooms, and a bandbox of beaver bonnets, and bring them in a wheelbarrow, borrowed from a builder, to their cabin, built of bricks and boards, by the babbling brook before Bushy Bank. I bluntly told the beggars I would not obey them; that they had obliged me to beg when abroad, but had not been able, either by bribery or by brutal treatment, to make me a robber. You may be sure,' I said, 'now I am a big boy and on British ground, I will not be in bondage to a band of base beggars.' How they abused me! They called me babbling brat, blockhead, and blundering booby; and Barrabas Barebone, who hobbles and makes belief to be blind, swore he would break my bones, and bury me alive, if I rebelled in that brazen way; and he beat me on my bare back till it must be black and blue, if not blistered.

While I was in bed that night, sobbing and bemoaning myself, they were brawling and debating