And swallows' nests, so rich and sweet, Of which the Chinese people eat; But of your nests I never heard, What kind are they, I pray thee, bird? PARROT. Nests! ha! ha! ha! what sort of nests should they be? There, now, I am better! but my throat is quite hot; Can't I have a glass of water?-(She coughs.) Bless me, what a cold I've got! Do, shut that window, Jenny, or we shall all die of cold; And mend the fire, can't you, as you already have 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! I never blab, not I! What sort of nest is built? Ha ha ha! with sheets and blankets and a fine death. What a shocking cold it is! and I'm so short of Put it down in your little book, -a 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! Oh, how it makes me laugh! ha! ha! ha! I shall split my sides with laughing some of these days! ha ha! ha! CAPTAIN. Come, now, you silly prate-a-pace PARROT. while the muffin's hot! Exit POLL. The Parrot of which we have been reading, may be supposed to have been the one of which so interesting an account is given by Wilson in his American Ornithology. It was taken at the Big-bone lick, where he witnessed the extreme affection and strong sympathy which the parrots have for each other, and of which we have imagined our bird to speak. Its merriment, too, respecting the nests of the tribe, may pass as natural, considering the little light Wilson could obtain on the subject, and the vivacious mockery 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. go there, A Parrot's very fond of salt! I really declare Covering the ground! Ah, Captain! my good fellow, gun! I would laugh if I could, but to me it was no funheigh-ho! No fun at all, Captain, heigh-ho! CAPTAIN. and in the evening, at which it always expressed great satisfaction." The Chickasaw and the Chactaw Indians, among whom he was travelling, collect. ed about him whenever he stopped, men, women, and children, laughing greatly at his novel companion. Kelinky was the name the Chickasaws called the parrot; but hearing the name of Poll, they immediately adopted it, and through Poll's medium, he and the Indians always became very sociable. "On 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 Nay, Poll, cheer up, you 're better here PARROT. 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 hung on the sight, And said you would not shoot again, at least that voice, as if sympathising in its misfortunes; scratched night! Heigh-ho! I am just ready to cry! side of the cage; chattered to it in a loud tone of about its head and neck with her bill; and both, at night, nestled as close as possible to each other, some And I think I shall cry before I have done! (She times Poll's head being thrust among the plumage of the other. On the death of this companion, she ap cries like a child.) 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 even ing drew on, and often during 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. 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, Where's the flower that thou canst find Fair white lilies, having birth Now for madcap Isabel What shall suit her, pr'ythee tell! Be it mischief, work, or fun. Last for Jeanie, grave and mild- Soon poor Jeanie's flower is met,The meek, precious violet! LITTLE STREAMS. LITTLE streams, in light and shadow By the ruined abbey still; Typha strong, and green bur-reed; There the flowering rush you meet, Little streams, their voices cheery Those bright things that have their dwelling Where the little streams are welling. Down in valleys green and lowly, Murmuring not and gliding slowly; 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; Of little children singing low Through flowery meadows as they go; Of cooing doves, and the hum of bees 'Mong the lime-trees' yellow racimes; Of the pebbly waters gliding by, Of the wood bird's peaceful sylvan cry. Then turn thy thought to a land of snow Where the cutting icy wind doth blowA dreary land of mountains cold, With ice-crags splintered hoar and old, Jagged with woods of storm-beat pines, Where a cold moon gleams, a cold sun shines, And all through this distant land we'll go In a dog-drawn sledge o'er the frozen snow, On either hand the ice-rocks frore, And a waste of trackless snow before! Where are the men to guide us on? Men! in these deserts there are none. Men come not here, unless to track The ermine white or marten black. Here we must speed alone. But hark! What sound was that? The wild wolf's bark! With his gaunt, lean frame and his blood-shot eye? For they scent the track where the wolf has gone. Of that cruelest creature that e'er was made! Or think thee now of a battle field, The night comes down, and in they bound, THE PASSION.FLOWER I LOVE Sweet flowers of every sort, I love the musky roses red, The lilies white as snow. The aster and the columbine, Sweet-pea and virgin-bower, I love them all-but most I love Oh yes, the good old passion-flower! The young days of the Christian church, I see the bloody streets of Rome; I hear the women, angel-toned, The men with courage high, Preach their dear Lord amid their pangs, Forgive their foes-and die. 1 see, far from the world apart, The early fathers of the church, And there the wondering thousands come To hear them tell of Jesus Christ, I see the fearless fathers stand, In burning words and strong. Of spirit sad and mild, The wild flowers of the desert Grow round him thick as weeds, And, in their beautiful array, Of holy things he reads. The red is the dear blood of Christ, Christ was apparelled in. All four-leaved flowers bring to his mind And every thorn the cruel spear, I see him as he mused one day Beneath a forest-bower, With clasped hands stand, and upturned eyes, Before an open flower; Exclaiming with a fervent joy, "I have found the Passion-flower! "The Passion of our blessed Lord, With all his pangs and pain, Set forth within a little flower, In shape and colour plain! "Behold the ladder, and the cord With which his limbs were tied ; Behold his five deep, cruel wounds In hands, and feet, and side! "Behold the hammer and the nails; The bloody crown of thorn; And these his precious tears, when left Of God and man forlorn! "Up, I will forth into the world, And take this flower with me, To preach the death of Christ to all, As it was preached to me!" And thus the good old passion-flower Throughout the world was sent, To breathe into all Christian hearts It's holy sentiment. And in the after-times, when kings Of Christian fathers came; And to profess the faith of Christ No longer purchased shame : When abbeys rose in towered state; And over wood and dell, Went sounding, with a royal voice, The stately minster-bell : Then was the abbey-garden made All with the nicest care; Its little borders quaintly cut In fancies rich and rare. And there they brought all curious plants, For every saint's day of the year, And there was set, in pride of place, And there they kept the pious monks, Within a garden small, All plants that had a healing power, And thither came the sick, the maimed, -Oh, those old abbey-gardens I would I could call back again Those gardens in their pride, And the fat monk with sleepy eyes, That loved the flowers so well; With all their fancies quaint, And loved a little flower as much As his own patron saint! That gardened late and early, And twined into a bower, The good old passion-flower! Of Eve in Paradise! -Alas, the abbey lieth low; The Abbot's tomb is bare; His garden is a pasture field Wherein the flocks repose, And where his choicest flowers were set The common clover grows! But still we have the passion-flower, Although he lieth low, And ever may its holy flowers In pleasant gardens grow! To garland bower and window pane, To bring the abbey's garden back, That worked among the flowers. |