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that most poetical of old mansions; and the ancient of relations also in America: the Whip-poor-Will, housekeeper, at that time its sole inhabitant, pointed the Willy-come-go, the Work-away, and the Who out this flower with a particular emphasis. “And are-you? being all of the same family. In Africa here's the rose of May,” said she, drawing out a and among the American Indians these birds are slender spray from a tangle of jessamine that hung looked upon with reverence or fear; for, by some about the stone-work of the terrace; "a main pretty they are supposed to be haunted by the dead, and by thing, though there's little store set by it now-a- others to be obedient to gloomy or evil spirits. The days."

Dor-Hawk of our own country has been subject to slander, as his name of the goat-sucker shows. This

name originated of course in districts where goats THE DOR-HAWK.

were used for milking, and furnished, no doubt, an

excuse for the false herd, who stole the milk and FERN-OWL, Churn-owl, or Goat-sucker,

blamed the bird. Night-jar, Dor-hawk, or whate'er

The Dor-Hawk, like the owl, is not seen in the Be thy name among a dozen,

day; and like it also, is an inhabitant of wild and Whip-poor-Will's and Who-are-you's cousin,

gloomy scenes; heathy tracks abounding in fern; Chuck-Will's-widow's near relation,

moors, and old woods. It is so regular in the time Thou art at thy night vocation,

of beginning its nightly cry, that good old Gilbert Thrilling the still evening air!

White declares, it appeared to him to strike up exIn the dark brown wood beyond us,

actly when the report of the Portsmouth evening gun Where the night lies dusk and deep;

was heard. He says also, that its voice, which reWhere the fox his furrow maketh,

sembles the loud purring of a cat, occasions a singuWhere the tawny owl awaketh

lar vibration even in solid buildings; for that, as he Nightly from his day-long sleep;

and some of his neighbours sate in a hermitage on a

steep hill-side, where they had been taking tea, a There Dor-hawk is thy abiding,

Dor-Hawk alighted on the little cross at the top, and Meadow green is not for thee;

ultered his cry, making the walls of the building While the aspen branches shiver,

sensibly vibrate, to the wonder of all the company. 'Mid the roaring of the river,

I can give no anecdotes of the bird from my own Comes thy chirring voice to me.

experience. I know him best by his voice, heard Bird, thy form I never looked on,

mostly from scenes of a wild and picturesque charAnd to see it do not care ;

acter, in the gloom and shadow of evening, or in the Thou hast been, and thou art only

deep calm of summer moonlight. I heard him first As a voice of forests lonely,

in a black, solemn-looking wood, between Houghton Heard and dwelling only there.

Tower, and Pleasington Priory, in Lancashire. Since

then I have become familiar with his voice in the Bringing thoughts of dusk and shadow; pleasant woods of Winter-down, and Claremont, in

Trees huge-branched in ceaseless change; Surrey.
Pallid night-moths, spectre-seeming;
All a silent land of dreaming,
Indistinct and large and strange.

Be thou thus, and thus I prize thee

Sing for the Oak-Tree,
More than knowing thee face to face,

The monarch of the wood;
Head and beak and leg and feather,

Sing for the Oak-tree,
Kept from harm of touch and weather,

That groweth green and good;
Underneath a fine glass-case.

That groweth broad and branching

Within the forest shade;
I can read of thee, and find out

That groweth now, and yet shall grow
How thou fliest, fast or slow;

When we are lowly laid !
or thee in the north and south too,
of thy great moustachioed mouth too,

The Oak-Tree was an acorn once,
And thy Latin name also.

And fell upon the earth;

And sun and showers nourished it,
But, Dor-hawk, I love thee better

And gave the Oak-tree birth.
While thy voice unto me seems

The little sprouting Oak-Tree!
Coming o'er the evening meadows,

Two leaves it had at first,
From a dark brown land of shadows,

Till sun and showers had nourished it,
Like a pleasant voice of dreams!

Then out the branches burst.
This singular bird, which is found in every part The little sapling Oak-Tree!
of the old world, as well in the cold regions of Sibe-

Its root was like a thread, ria, as in the hot jungles of India, and the lion-haunted Till the kindly earth had nourished it, furests of Africa, has, as we have said, a large class

Then out it freely spread :

On this side and on that side

Thou art some pixy, quaint and queer ;
It grappled with the ground;

Thou art not canny,

Poll, I fear!
And in the ancient, rifted rock

Look at that impish leer of thine;
Its firmest footing found.

List to thy scream, thy shout, thy whine,

And none will doubt but thou must be
The winds came, and the rain fell;

A creature of the faëry.
The gusty tempests blew;

Or tell me, Poll, art thou not kin
All, all were friends to the Oak-Tree,

To Jack o' lanthern? Come, begin!
And stronger yet it grew.

Answer me, Poll, was 't 'mong the fairies
The boy that saw the acorn fall,

Thou learnt thy many strange vagaries ?
He feeble grew and grey ;

Speak, pretty Poll!
But the Oak was still a thriving tree,
And strengthened every day!


Well, I don't care if I tell you all. Four centuries grows the Oak-Tree, Nor doth its verdure fail ;

You've got some company, I see; a short gentleman

and a tall; Its heart is like the iron-wood, Its bark like plated mail.

Many ladies, too, altogether two or three dozens,

I should not wonder if they are some of your uncles Now, cut us down the Oak-Tree,

and cousins!
The monarch of the wood;
And of its timbers stout and strong

Pray am not I a very fine bird,
We'll build a vessel good!

Green, and yellow, and scarlet?

Upon my word! The Oak-Tree of the forest

That man has a coat on like our Captain!
Both east and west shall fly;

And the blessings of a thousand lands
Upon our ship shall lie!

Poll, how do you do, my dear?
For she shall not be a man-of-war,

You look well; it's fine living here!
Nor a pirate shall she be :-

But a noble, Christian merchant-ship,
To sail upon the sea.

Ha, Captain, how do you do ?-Captain, your health

I say ; Then sing for the Oak-Tree,

Captain, I'll have the pleasure of drinking your The monarch of the wood;

health to-day! ha! ha ! ha! Sing for the Oak-Tree,

I'm very glad to see you !-You remember, perhaps, That groweth green and good ;

That wood in Carolina, the guns and all the traps ;That groweth broad and branching

To be sure you do !- Ladies, I'm a Carolina bird, Within the forest shade ;

Some come from the East Indies, from the Cape, too, That groweth now, and yet shall grow,

I have heard ;
When we are lowly laid !

But I'm of Carolina — to the Big-bone lick I've

been, -
Now in that country there is something to be seen!

Our Captain knows that ! Ay, Captain, I say,

Do you remember crossing the Cedar Swamp one

particular day, Parrots, with all their cleverness, are not capa. When I got out of your pocket and New away? ble of keeping up a dialogue ; otherwise we might Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! How it makes me laugh! suppose something like the following to be in charac- You'd a pretty chase after me !-ha! ha! a pretty ter with their humour and experience.

chase! Poll's MISTRESS.

And I sat in the hiccory trees, laughing in your face!

Ha! ha! ha! how I did laugh. I've heard of imp, I've heard of sprite ; Of fays and fairies of the night;

What cypress-berries, cockle-burrs, and beech-nuts Of that renowned fiend Hobgoblin, Running, racing, jumping, hobbling;

You may look all this country over, and find none

anywhere. Of Puck, brimful of fun; also

And what fun it was—me, and a thousand beside, Of roguish Robin Goodfellow. I've seen a hearth where, as is told,

To fly in the merry sunshine through those forests

wide, Came Hobthrush in the days of old,

And build our nests -Oh, what nosts we had !To make the butter, mend the linen, And keep the housewife's wheel a-spinning.

Did you ever see one of our nests, Captain? Eh, my

lad ?I've heard of pigmies, pixies, lares, Shoirim, gemedim, and fairies:

Captain. And, Parrot, on my honest word,

I've heard of nests of cinnamon, I hardly think thou art a bird ;

With the great Phenix set thereon;

grew there!


go there,

And swallows' nests, so rich and sweet, There, now, I am better! but my throat is quite hot;
Of which the Chinese people eat;

Can't I have a glass of water?-(She coughs.) Bless
But of your nests I never heard,

me, what a cold I've got! What kind are they, I pray thee, bird? Do, shut that window, Jenny, or we shall all die of

cold; PARROT.

And mend the fire, can't you, as you already have Nests! ha! ha! ha! what sort of nests should they be? been told ! You may fancy if you please, but you 'll never know And let's have a cup of tea, for I'm just tired to from me!

death. I never blab, not I! What sort of nest is built?

What a shocking cold it is! and I'm so short of Ha! ha! ha! with sheets and blankets and a fine breath!-(She coughs again.) Marseilles quilt! ha! ha! ha!

(She speaks in another voice.) Put it down in your little book, four-post bed, I Tea 's ready, if you please. Ready is it? say,

With the water in the pot? With damask moreen hangings, and made every day! Yes, ma'am! Well, then, I'll go and have my tea, ha! ha! ha!

while the muffin 's hot! Oh, how it makes me laugh! ha! ha! ha!

Exit POLL. I shall split my sides with laughing some of these days! ha! ha! ha!

The Parrot of which we have been reading, may CAPTAIN.

be supposed to have been the one of which so inter.

esting an account is given by Wilson in his American Come, now, you silly prate-a-pace

Ornithology. It was taken at the Big-bone lick, Tell us about that Big-bone place,

where he witnessed the extreme affection and strong Where our acquaintance first began;

sympathy which the parrots have for each other, and And of those swamps, untrode by man, of which we have imagined our bird to speak. Its Where you came, impudent and merry, merriment, 100, respecting the nests of the tribe, may For cockle-burr and hackle-berry.

pass as natural, considering the little light Wilson

could obtain on the subject, and the vivacious mockPARROT.

ery of the bird's disposition, even if it had had the of the Big-bone lick, did you say ?-Ay, we used to power of giving him the requisite information.

The parrot has been made to speak of her travels A Parrot 's very fond of salt! I really declare

with “the Captain" through the morasses and cedarI ve seen ten thousand of us there altogether, –

swamps, and of the trouble she gave him, “when A beautiful sight it was, in fine summer weather, many a time," says he, (Wilson) “I was tempted to Like a grand velvet carpet, of orange, green, and abandon it.” “And in this manner," he goes on to yellow,

say, “I carried it upwards of a thousand miles in my Covering the ground! Ah, Captain! my good fellow, pocket, where it was exposed all day to the jolting I had reason to rue the day you came there with your of the horse, but regularly liberated at meal-times

and in the evening, at which it always expressed gun! I would laugh if I could, but to me it was no fun- great satisfaction.” The Chickasaw and the Chacheigh-ho!

taw Indians, among whom he was travelling, collectNo fun at all, Captain, heigh-ho!

ed about him whenever he stopped, men, women,

and children, laughing greatly at his novel compaCaptain.

nion. Kelinky was the name the Chickasaws called

the parrot; but hearing the name of Poll, they imNay, Poll, cheer up, you 're better here

mediately adopted it, and through Poll's medium, he Than at the Big-bone lick, my dear!

and the Indians always became very sociable. “On PARROT.

arriving,” says Wilson, “at Mr. Dunbar's, below

Natchez, I procured a cage, and placed it under the Captain, how you talk! we Parrots love each other piazza, where, by its call, it soon attracted the passThere you shot dozens of us,—my father and my mo- ing flocks, such is the attachment they have for each ther,

other. Numerous parties frequently alighted on the I shall not forget it in a hurry,—what wailing and trees immediately above, keeping up a continual concrying,

versation with the prisoner. One of these I woundWhat flying round and round there was! What com-ed slightly in the wing, and the pleasure Poll expressforting the dying !

ed on meeting with this new companion, was really You, yourself, laid down your gun,-overcome by the amusing. She crept close up to it, as it hung on the sight,

side of the cage; chattered to it in a loud tone of And said you would not shoot again, at least that voice, as if sympathising in its misfortunes ; scratched night!

about its head and neck with her bill; and both, at Heigh-ho! I am just ready to cry!

night, nestled as close as possible to each other, someAnd I think I shall cry before I have done! (She times Poll's head being thrust among the pluniage of cries like a child.)

the other. On the death of this companion, she ap

To the exiled prophet good Bringing him his daily food.

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peared restless and inconsolable for several days. On reaching New Orleans, I placed a looking-glass inside the place where she usually sat, and the instant she perceived her image, all her former fondness seemed to return, so that she could scarcely absent herself from it for a moment. It was evident that she was completely deceived. Always when evening drew on, and often durir the day, she laid her head close to that of the image in the glass, and began to doze with great composure and satisfaction. In a short time she had learned to know her name; to answer and come when called on; to climb up my clothes, sit on my shoulder, and eat from my mouth. I took her with me to sea, determined to persevere in her education.” And, to give an ending rather different to Mr. Wilson's, here we have presented her to our readers in the possession of an English lady, and with her education, for a Parrot, very complete.


RAVEN. Yes, —- by Cherith-brook there grew Mighty cedars not a few; And a raven-tree was there Spreading forth its branches bare: 'Twas our home, when thither ran From the king an awful man, Robed and sandaled as in haste, With a girdle round his waist; Strongly built, with brow severe, And the bearing of a seer. Down by Cherith-brook he lay; And at morn and set of day Thus a voice unto us said, " By you must this man be fed ; Bring him Nesh, and bring him bread." And by us he was supplied, Duly morn and eventide, Until Cherith-brook was dried !


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I know it, bird. And when rain no more was heard Plashing down in torrents wild; When the face of heaven grew mild, And from mountain-summits brown The subsiding floods went down, And the prisoned creatures fain Scented the young earth again; Wherefore when the patriarch forth Sent thee to look round the earth And bring tidings to his door, Carn'st thou to the ark no more?

RAVEN. Narrow was the ark, but wide And fair the earth on every side; And all around in glens and plains Lay of life the lorn remains; Man and beast and bird, like seed Scattered on the harvest mead: How could I return to bear Tidings? I was feasting there!

POET. Raven, ha! I thought the same. But in after times ye came,

FLOWER COMPARISONS. An cousin Blanche, let's see What's the flower resembling thee! With those dove-like eyes of thine, And thy fair hair's silken twine; With thy low, broad forehead, white As marble, and as purely bright; With thy mouth so calm and sweet, And thy dainty hands and feet; What's the flower most like to thee ? Blossom of the orange-tree! Where may the bright flower be met That can match with Margaret, Margaret stately, staid, and good, Growing up to womanhood;


Loving, thoughtful, wise, and kind,
Pure in heart and strong in mind ?
Eyes deep-blue as is the sky
When the full moon sails on high ;
Eyebrow true and forehead fair,
And dark, richly-braided hair,
And a queenly head well set,
Crown my maiden Margaret.
Where's the flower that thou canst find
Match for her in form and mind ?

Fair white lilies, having birth
In their native genial earth;-
These, in scent and queenly grace,
Match thy maiden's form and face !

Now for madcap Isabel What shall suit her, pr'ythee tell ! Isabel is brown and wild; Will be evermore a child; Is all laughter, all vagary, Has the spirit of a fairy. Are you grave? - The gipsy sly Turns on you her merry eye, And you laugh, despite your will. Isabel is never still, Always doing, never done, Be it mischief, work, or fun. Isabel is short and brown, Soft to touch as eider-down; Tempered, like the balmy south, With a rosy, laughing mouth; Cheeks just tinged with peachy red, And a graceful Hebe-head; Hair put up in some wild way, Decked with a hedge-rose's spray. Now, where is the bud or bell That may match with Isabel ? Streaky tulip jet and gold, Dearly priced whenever sold; Rich in colour, low and sweet, This for Isabel is mcet.

LITTLE streams, in light and shadow
Flowing through the pasture meadow ;
Flowing by the green way-side ;
Through the forest dim and wide:
Through the hamlet still and small;
By the cottage ; by the hall;
By the ruined abbey still ;
Turning, here and there, a mill;
Bearing tribute to the river;
Little streams, I love you ever!
Summer music is there flowing;
Flowering plants in them are growing;
Happy life is in them all,
Creatures innocent and small;
Little birds come down to drink
Fearless on their leafy brink;
Noble trees beside them grow,
Glooming them with branches low,
And between the sunshine glancing,
In their little waves is dancing.
Little streams have flowers a many,
Beautiful and fair as any;
Typha strong, and green bur-reed;
Willow-herb with cotton-seed;
Arrow-head with eye of jet,
And the water-violet;
There the flowering rush you meet,
And the plumy meadow-sweet;
And in places deep and stilly,
Marble-like, the water-lily.
Little streams, their voices cheery
Sound forth welcomes to the weary,
Flowing on from day to day
Without stint and without stay.
Here, upon their flowery bank,
In the old-times Pilgrims drank;
Here have seen, as now, pass by
Kingfisher and dragon-fly;
Those bright things that have their dwelling
Where the little streams are welling.
Down in valleys green and lowly,
Murmuring not and gliding slowly;
Up in mountain hollows wild,
Fretting like a peevish child;
Through the hamlet, where all day
In their waves the children play, -
Running west, or running east,
Doing good to man and beast,
Always giving, weary never,
Little streams, I love you ever!

Last for Jeanie, grave and mild -
Jeanie never was a child !
Sitting on her mother's knee,
Hers was thoughtful infancy;
Growing up so meek and good,
Even from her babyhood.
All her mother's labour sharing;
For the house and children caring;
To her bed in silence creeping;
Rising early, little sleeping;
Learning soon of care and need;
Learning late to write and read;
To all hardships reconciled,
For she was a poor man's child !
What's the lowly flower of earth
Match for Jeanie's humble worth?

THE WOLF. Think of the lamb in the fields of May Cropping the dewy flowers for play; Think of the sunshine, warm and clear; Of the bending corn in golden ear;

Soon poor Jeanie's flower is met,The meek, precious violet!

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