Original.

NATURAL SCIENCE.

BY PROFESSOR MERRICK.

BIRDS-DRESS.

BIRDS are beautifully attired. Of them it may be said, as of the lilies, that though "they spin not, yet even Solomon, in all his glory, was not arrayed like one of these." Still, there is no sacrifice of comfort for mere show. Their covering is peculiarly adapted to the purposes for which it was designed. It is warm and light. Feathers are, in an eminent degree, non-conductors of caloric, or heat, and are so constructed and arranged as to confine a large quantity of air near the body, which is an excellent protection from the extremes of temperature. And what lighter than a feather? How beautifully adapted for the clothing of an animal destined to move in so rare a medium as the air! Birds that remain in high latitudes through the year, are much more warmly clad than those that migrate to warmer regions. In addition to ordinary feathers, they are covered with a fine, soft down, in which they defy the fiercest blast of a northern winter. Aquatic birds are also covered with a very thick coat of feathers and down, which, when anointed with an oily secretion copiously provided by glands near the tail, effectually preserve them from becoming wetted, though in the water for days together.

In the color of their dress, birds present a greater diversity than is found in any other class of animals. Here may be found every shade, from the snowy white of the swan, to the coal black of the raven. The liveliest colors are seen in the tropical regions. But in all climates, as is meet, the female, and the young of both sexes, are generally "arrayed in modest apparel"-much less showy than that of the adult male.

|a tough horny substance, formed into a hollow cylin der-a disposition of the materials best calculated for resisting flexion. The upper part, or vane, consists of two rows of flattened filaments, arranged on opposite sides of the stem, with their edges in the direction in which the greatest force is to be resisted. This gives them sufficient strength to prevent their bending upward, when the air is beaten by the wing in the act of flying. But these filaments, which are arranged with their flat surfaces in contact, are found to adhere to one another with considerable tenacity. Attempt to separate them, and, if the feather be large, it will be seen that they are held together by no glutinous matter, but by an immense number of minute fibrils, arranged along the upper edge of the filament like a fringe, and so constructed as to catch upon and clasp those with which they come in contact. By the aid of the microscope, the same contrivance is seen in the smaller feathers. In some few species the feathers are not furnished with fibrils, but such birds are not fitted for flight. The ostrich is an example.

VOICE.

Birds are remarkable for their strength of voice. Though, as a class, much smaller than the mammalians, they can be heard at a far greater distance. This great power of producing sound is the result of their peculiar organization. The throat is large and strong, the lungs capacious, and connected with numerous other air vessels, and the whole arrangement such as to enable the bird to force the air from its body with great velocity. And what a pleasing variety of sound is produced by the different species. Harsh and soft, shrill and grave, gay and plaintive, are the notes that mingle in the general pæan. Several kinds of birds readily imitate the voice and notes of others, and some few the tones of the human voice, and the voice of other animals. The most celebrated of these is the American mocking-bird, (Turdus polyglottus,) which imitates the notes of nearly every other bird with such perfection as to deceive the most practiced ear. The powers of the parrot, in imitating the human voice, are well known.

THE SENSES.

Most birds molt or change their dress at least once a year-many twice. Some, in this change, undergo a great metamorphosis. The fire-wing blackbird, for example, before his migration to the south, lays aside his glossy black coat, with his bright red epaulets, for the plain garb of the female, from which he cannot then be easily distinguished. But though some few have In birds sight is by far the most extensive and acute their summer and winter dress, with them there is no of the senses. On this they chiefly depend in discover"change of fashion." Nor is there occasion; for their ing their food. The kite, when soaring at an immense dress is most beautifully adapted to their form, habits, elevation, perceives upon the earth the object of his and "circumstances in life." The blustering and gar-prey, though as diminutive as a field-mouse, or sparrulous jay would certainly appear quite "out of fix" row. The swallow discovers the tiny insect upon in the modest attire of the ground pigeon, or dove, which it feeds when darting through the air with the while the latter, in the gaudy plumage of the jay, velocity of an arrow. The sense of hearing is also would be about as appropriately clad, as a blushing quite acute-that of smell less so than among quadrucountry lass decked in the tinsel of a city belle. And peds. The supposed acuteness of this latter sense in what is appropriate one year is equally so the next. carnivorous birds, especially in those that feed on carrion, has been most clearly proved by Mr. Audobon to be erroneous. The organs of taste and touch are very imperfectly developed in this class of animals, and appear to afford them but little service.

In the structure of the feather there is very striking evidence of design. Take the large feathers in the wing. In these it is important that the qualities of lightness and strength should be in a high degree combined-a thing by no means common. We find the lower end, or the quill part of the feather, composed of

In their habits and instincts, birds are as remarkable as in their organical structure. On these subjects a

volume might be filled with the wonders of science. || often knotted, and in some places divide into two or A few remarks, however, must suffice for this place. three branches. These will be confined to the nidification and migration of birds, and their powers of imitation.

NIDIFICATION.

The nest is generally built by the female. In some species the male assists; and in the case of the most common species of wren, (Troglodytes fulvus,) the latter often completes his habitation even before he has selected his mate.

Some birds lay but a single egg in a season-others

domestic poultry, "those victims," as Buffon remarks, "which are multiplied without trouble, and sacrificed without regret," often furnish us with several hundred in a year. The period of incubation varies from ten to between thirty and forty days. During this time, and while the young need their protecting care, most birds seem, in a great measure, to lose their natural shyness. The murre allows itself to be seized by the hand, or killed on the spot, rather than forsake its eggs or young. The ostrich, however, is said to be an exception; and it is supposed that reference is made to this fact in the passage in Job, which states that "she

the dust, and forgetteth that the foot may crush them, or that the wild beast may break them. She is hardened against her young ones, as though they were not hers." But with all birds,

"The young dismissed, to wander earth or air,

There stops the instinct, and there ends the care." And here must end our brief remarks upon this subject, to give room for a few-and our limits require that they should be very few-upon

MIGRATION.

In making their nests, each species has its own plan, no two constructing them just alike. But with the same species there is a remarkable degree of uniformity. The robin of Europe builds its nest like the robin || fifty or more; indeed, the most common species of our of this continent-the young like the old, and undoubtedly those of the present day like those that nestled in the trees of paradise. Most birds place their nests upon trees-some build upon the naked rock-others burrow deep in the ground-some seek the barn or deserted dwelling, while others conceal their nests among the rushes and flags of marshes and fresh water pools, where they often float upon the surface of the water. In constructing their nests, some act the mason, some the carpenter, some the weaver, and some the tailor. The clift swallow is among the most skillful of the first class. It "conceals its warm and feathered nest in a receptacle of agglutinated mud, resembling a nar-leaveth her eggs in the earth, and warmeth them in row-necked purse, or retort." The nests of the barn swallow, martin, and phebe, are examples of ornithal masonry familiar to all. The crow works after but one "order" of architecture, and that is the log-cabin order, of which he gives but a rude specimen. He is but a poor carpenter at the best. The woodpecker far exceeds him both in industry and skill. The latter often provides a place for its nest by gouging out a spacious apartment in solid wood, with no other instrument than his wedge-shaped bill. The chimney swallow combines the mason and the carpenter. But the most skillful artisans are found among the weavers and tailors. Who has not admired the beautiful nest of the Baltimore oriole, or hang-bird, suspended from the depending boughs of the elm, or willow? Still more ingeniously constructed is the nest of the orchard oriole. This is composed chiefly of a species of tough grass, "formed into a sort of plaited purse, but little inferior to a course straw bonnet. The artificial labor bestowed is so apparent, that Wilson humorously adds, that on showing it to a matron of his acquaintance, betwixt joke and earnest, she asked if he thought it could not be taught to darn stockings." The nests so highly prized by the Chinese for soups, are woven of gelatinous fibres, the material for which is provided by the mouth and stomach. Of the tailor birds, the Sylvia sutoria of India, and a species of the same genus found in Italy, are the most remarkable. The former prepares a receptacle for its nest by sewing together, with thread, or fibres of bark, the edges of several leaves at the end of some pendulous branch, where its eggs and young are safe from the voracity of the serpents and apes. According to Kirby, the Sylvia of Italy unites the leaves of the sedges, or reeds, by real stitches. In the edge of each leaf, she makes, proba-ter by the way for months, regaling themselves upon bly with her beak, minute apertures, through which she contrives to pass one or more cords formed of spider's web. These threads are not very long, but are

But few birds spend their summer and winter months in the same place. Most prefer a more northern climate in summer than in winter. Change of temperature, however, is not the only cause that impels birds to change their place of residence. Some perform long journeys in quest of food, and others, far remote from their ordinary place of residence, seek a place of safety for rearing their young. In their modes and habits of traveling, they present a great diversity. Most perform their journey through the air, some in part upon land, and some almost entirely upon the water. Some,

"Ranged in figure, wedge their way,

-and set forth

Their airy caravan, high over seas
Flying, and over lands, with mutual wing,
Easing their flight,"

pursuing their course with an order and precision truly
surprising; while others dash along in utter confusion.
Some collect in countless numbers, others pursue their
journey alone. Some travel by day, some by night,
and others both by day and night. Some, by long and
toilsome flights, accomplish their journey in a few
days, rarely stopping for food or rest; while others loi-

the abundant supply of food which He who "feedeth them" has provided for their accommodation. The almost unerring certainty with which birds accomplish

The facility with which several species of birds imi-sleeping deep, while the mantle of night spread a pentate sounds was noticed when speaking of their voice; sive but pleasant gloom around us. Alone, on the starand examples will be given when describing the spe- board quarter, till the midnight hour had passed, I recies there referred to. "The imitative actions and pas-mained with my eyes immovably fixed upon the Sandy siveness of some small birds," says Nuttall, "such as Hook light-house till its last lingering ray fell upon goldfinches, linnets, and canaries, are, however, quite my vision; then I felt that I was on the sea, the deep as curious as their expression of sound. A Sieur Ro- blue sea, but still under the protection of Him who man exhibited in England some of these birds, one of hath measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, which simulated death, and was held up by the tail or and meted out the heaven with a span. How numerclaw without showing any active signs of life. A ous and how thrilling the reflections awakened in the second balanced itself on the head, with its claws in imagination by a luminous point, which, in the darkthe air. A third imitated a milk-maid going to market, ness of the night, appears at intervals above the agitawith pails on its shoulders. A fourth mimicked a Ve- ted waves that lave the shores of home. netian girl looking out at a window. A fifth acted the soldier, and mounted guard as a sentinel. The sixth was a cannonier, with a cap on its head, a firelock on its shoulder, and with a match in its claw discharged a small cannon. The same bird also acted as if wounded, was wheeled in a little barrow, as it were, to the hospital, after which it flew away before the company. The seventh turned a kind of wind-mill; and the last bird stood amidst a discharge of small fireworks, without showing any sign of fear."

The pleasant weather and the smooth sea were not of long continuance. A calm, however agreeable for a short time, soon becomes tiresome. Anxiety to reach the port of destination overcomes the love of ease and the fear of danger. Before sunset, the third day out, all hands at work, adjusting the ropes, spars, and other fixings of the ship, the playful gambols of the porpoises around us, and the dark heavy clouds floating in the atmosphere, portended the approaching blow. With the wind came on an unusual roll of the ship; and its constant companion, to a landsman, sea-sickness, seized upon me, producing sensations altogether indescribable, and equally unpleasant. If I stood still, it seemed an incubus was upon me-if I moved, I was in dan

A similar exhibition, according to the same author, in which twenty-four canary birds were the actors, was also shown in London in 1820, by a Frenchman named Dujou. One of these suffered itself to be shot at, and, falling down, as if dead, was put into a little wheelbar-ger of measuring my length upon the deck-if I cast row and conveyed away by one of its comrades.

OUR ACTIONS.

THE only things in which we can be said to have any property, are our actions. Our thoughts may be bad, yet produce no poison, they may be good, yet produce no fruit. Our riches may be taken from us by misfortune, our reputation by malice, our spirits by calamity, our health by disease, our friends by death. But our actions must follow us beyond the grave; with respect to them alone, we cannot say that we shall carry nothing with us when we die, neither that we shall go naked out of the world. Our actions must clothe us with an immortality, lothsome or glorious; these are the only title-deeds of which we cannot be disinherited; they will have their full weight in the balance of eternity, when every thing else is as nothing; and their value will be confirmed and established by those two sure and sateless destroyers of all other things-Time-and Death.

my eye on the agitated ocean, it appeared as if all the
apothecary shops in the world had cast their ipecac
upon its heaving surges. Matters growing worse and
worse on deck, after a desperate effort I got below.
But our pleasant cabin was now a vast hospital, cooks,
waiters, and stewards, acting the physician, attending
and administering with all the kindness of the most
"Drink a little more-
skillful sons of the healing art.
let it have its way-all over by and by-try to sleep,
and be composed," were their most common prescrip-
tions, and, if followed, would prove the most efficacious.
Under their kind and skillful treatment, the war of the
elements having ceased, health was soon restored. Sea-
sickness always proves a blessing in disguise-an evil
that good may come. It has no remedy but patient
endurance and heart-felt cheerfulness.

A WRECK.

At an unexpected moment, while comfortably seated in the cabin, a seaman's voice from the maintop, "a wreck to windward!" fell like lead upon my ears, producing a train of emotions that words cannot describe. On board all was excitement. I knew not where to

268

ocean!

SCENES AT SEA.

look, or what to do. A ship in distress on the wide The peremptory commands of the officers, and the What feeling in the heart could remain un-prompt "ay, ay, sir!" of the faithful sailors, soon touched amidst the scene! Our noble vessel seemed brought our gallant ship to "scud under bare poles." in agony as she dashed wildly through the mountain But before this necessary preparation for a "blow" waves to lend deliverance to suffering humanity. Our was through, some of the sails were torn in ribbons, worthy officers, and their efficient crew, exerted every and several of the spars riven, by the resistless storm. nerve to relieve, if possible, the distressed. In a few A steady hand was placed at the helm-every tar stood minutes we were close on to the wreck. It was the at his post, ready and willing to do his duty. The shattered hull of a brig, water-logged, and abandoned. ship, tossed like a feather, dashed fearlessly through I gazed upon it, tossing heavily upon the tumultuous the foam-encrested water. While the storm was raging, deep, with painful and thrilling interest. It was a mel- and the waves, mountain high, were rolling, numerous ancholy sight, and it has left an imperishable and sea birds could be seen, poised on the tip of the spray, mournful recollection upon the soul. Her masts shat- or sailing in the clouds. How homeless and desolate, tered-her helm lashed-her rigging torn, and her under such circumstances, the appearance of these lone deck swept clear-not a trace was left by which any dwellers upon the deep! To greet their flight, and for information concerning her could be obtained. She a moment to follow their rapid wing over the restless had evidently drifted for several days. But the waves deep, was a sight of abiding and pathetic interest. that broke over her, and the water that gushed in and Surely, if God watched over these frail wanderers, out of her hatches, indicated that her ill-fated hull || amidst the raging tempest, how great the security of would soon sink. What became of the poor crew, when the wreck-making billow came over them, is left for conjecture. They may have been rescued, or they may have gone down amidst the howling of the tempest. All we can say is, she left port, encountered a storm, and was lost. How many are the perils of the sea, and the dangers of those that go in ships, and dwell upon the great waters!

Kind reader, we have left our moorings-our all-important voyage on the sea of time is progressing. Have we a safe conveyance? Are we guided by the chart and compass of the Gospel? Have we Jesus with us in the ship? If we are safe, and our prospects fair, we may behold, on the tempestuous ocean of time, while our sheet anchor is Christ, and our destination the realm of endless glory, innumerable moral shipwrecks, and souls perishing-immortal hopes destroyed. Signals of distress are waving over a lost world-agonizing cries for deliverance, in one accumulated wail, come upon us from millions of undying souls. Shall we, with pious zeal, and holy haste, man the Gospel ship, and send the life-boat of mercy to their rescue? Let our influence, our prayers, and our efforts swell the spreading sails of the Gospel ship, that speedily she may find her way to every clime, and give salvation to a perishing world.

A STORM.

man, the master-piece of creation! The special prov-
idence of God-unwavering reliance upon his almighty
arm-was a stronghold—a place of perfect peace, when
surrounded by the perils of the ocean. The thick
darkness of the night that succeeded this tempestuous
day, occasionally illumined by the lurid glare of the
lightning's flash-the phosphorescent gleam of the
troubled ocean, lashed into fury by the increasing gale,
greatly magnified the sublimity of the storm. It was
a sleepless and solemn night-two hundred souls on
board-our frail bark struggling with the mighty ocean
in its untried strength. The parting of a rope-the
failure of a bolt—the springing of a timber, may let in
the waters, and all is gone. Our track was over our
grave, and at any moment we were all liable to sink
into it, without a coffin or a shroud-the deep wide
ocean grave yawned beneath ready to receive us.
Though the sea wrought, and was tempestuous, and
deep called unto deep, all was well-in the hand of
Omnipotence we were safe. Such a tempest, and per-
fect security amidst all its appalling dangers, impress
upon the mind the power and goodness of Jehovah in
their fairest lustre and brightest glory. Dreadful must
be the insensibility and ingratitude of the heart that
would not most humbly acknowledge, and devoutly
adore that Being whose invisible but omnipotent hand
guided our frail vessel in safety, and at whose word
"The gamboling storm

Came crouching at his feet."

DEATH ON BOARD.

During a few days, favored with a fair wind, sailing under close-reefed topsails, we made rapid headway, expecting shortly to gaze upon the green hills of the Emerald isle, and the lofty mountains of Wales. But No sooner had the wind abated, the waves yet rollere this pleasing sight could be realized, we had to ex- ing tremendously, than we were called to witness a perience a severe gale. How often are human hopes funeral. The insatiate archer, waiting only for the fallacious, and our most cherished expectations sadly nod of Omnipotence, lodged his arrow in the heart of disappointed. A storm at sea has been often described; an only son of his mother, and she was a widow. but fully to realize its awful grandeur, and sublime ter- The corpse was neatly clad in the usual habiliments rors, we must hear the howling tempest, see the tre- of a watery grave, wrapped in sail-cloth, with a weight mendous swells, and feel the dashing spray. The wind at the feet. It was borne aloft by two sailors, laid on a roared fiercely, and the rain fell in torrents-the pas- board on the larboard bulwark, and after appropriate sengers, with few exceptions, were below-every thing religious exercise, was cast into the unfathomed depths appeared in the habiliments of gloom and sadness. of the ocean grave, to rest till the clangor of the arch

TO A CLOUD.

angel's trump shall bid the earth and sea give up their || Anon, we call thee, as thou fliest on,

dead. As the body fell, a few bubbles arose, but as
quickly for ever fled, leaving no trace, no fond memo-
rial to designate the place of sepulchre:

"But the sea-bird's wail, and the stormy gale,
And the roar of ocean wave,

Sang deep and long the funeral song,
O'er the infant's trackless grave."

The burial was a solemn and affecting scene; but, alas! how soon did mirth and thoughtlessness succeed. The human heart is the same on sea as on land. The impression, produced by the late terrific tempest and the death on board, resembled the snow-flake falling upon the flinty rock-it passed away, and no mark was left.

On the twentieth day out, our noble ship was introduced into her transatlantic home, in the "Prince's Dock, Liverpool." Thus safely moored, our perils o'er, the scene irresistibly led my mind to contemplate the triumphant landing of the Christian voyager on the shores of blissful immortality. On our left was moored an East Indiaman, just arrived-her bulwarks stove-her masts in shivers-her sails and rigging rent in fragments. She barely made her port. Christian friend, how shall our voyage on life's tempestuous ocean end? Shall an entrance be ministered to you abundantly into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ? Or will you, as by fire, make the heavenly port? Now spread your canvass, and catch the celestial breeze-aim at high attainments in usefulness and holiness. Then, in full trim, will you bid farewell to the shores of time; and amidst the bursting halleluiahs of the ransomed hosts that have crossed the flood and gone before, will you, first in song, and nearest the throne for ever dwell.

"Then firmly let us grasp the helm,

Though loud the billows roar;

And soon, our toils and dangers past,

Our anchor we shall safely cast,

On Canaan's happy shore."

B. W. C.

Sailor of upper deeps, and ship of heaven;
But the resemblance holds in this alone,
That thou by winds invisible art driven.

Roll on, dark cloud, thy destiny fulfill,

No finite power thy onward flight can stay;
Tis God alone can scatter thee at will,
Or by his counsel guide thee on thy way.

Original.

ON HOPE.

BY WILLIAM BAXTER.

ANGELIC beam! thou cheer'st the heart
With radiance, heaven-born and divine;
O, cling to me! let us not part;

But closer let thy tendrils twine
Around me-let them, clust'ring, cling,

To strengthen, 'mid the storms of life;
And round me may thy golden wing

Be spread, in nature's dying strife!
Bereft of thee, each scene would fade-
Life's pathway then would cheerless be-
Its brightest sunshine turn to shade-

To billows change my smoothest sea.
Dark blighting cares would fill the breast,

Smiles ne'er would lighten up the eye,
Nought check fierce passion's stern control.
Our cherish'd wish would be to die-
To pass from this cold clime away,
And leave each dark deserted scene,
To wake in an unclouded day,

And view again its smile serene.
Hope, that blest feeling, gift divine,
A precious gem to mortals giv'n;
It radiant in God's courts shall shine,
Undimm'd amid the joys of heaven.

Original.

TO A CLOUD.

CLOUD! that careerest through the trackless air,
How dark and all-mysterious art thou!
Thy very lightnings, with their vivid glare,
Deepen the gloom that rests upon thy brow.

Who can reveal the secrets of thy womb

Who tell what thunders in thy bosom sleep-
And who the forms that thou wilt yet assume,
As, changing still, thou cleav'st the airy deep?

E'en Fancy's self, grown weary in the flight,
That boldly would thy mysteries unfold,
Furls its tired wing, and like a bird at night,
Sinks down to rest-thy secrets still untold.

We hear thy thunders bursting from afar,

And see, athwart thy breast, thy lightning's gleam;

And then, we deem the elements at war,

But gore and death are wanting to the dream.

HYMN.

WHY those fears? behold, 'tis Jesus
Holds the helm and guides the ship-
Spread the sails, and catch the breezes
Sent to waft us through the deep.

Though the shore we hope to land on,
Only by report is known,
Yet we freely all abandon,

Led by that report alone.

Render'd safe by his protection,

We shall pass the wat'ry waste-
Trusting to his wise direction,

We shall gain the port at last!

O, what pleasures there await us!

There the tempests cease to roar;
There it is that those who hate us
Can molest our peace no more.

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M.