On every breeze and knell We know its cause too well, She is no more! Earth shrouds with burial sod Her soft eye's blue Now o'er the gifts of God Fall tears like dew! THE HERO'S DEATH LIFE's parting beams were in his eye, Life's closing accents on his tongue, When round him, pealing to the sky, The shout of victory rung! Then, ere his gallant spirit fled, A smile so bright illumed his face, His was a death, whose rapture high And they may feel, who love him most, Fate hath no power o'er those who boast A treasure thus secure! THERE is no part of creation that seems more obviously designed by a beneficent hand, than the singing birds of the forest and the orchard. They are not only beautiful objects to the eye, but they minister, in an exquisite manner, to the gratification of the ear. The song of the robin, at morning and at evening; the warblings of the thrush, the notes of the little familiar chipping bird; these and many others, are charming sounds to all ears, and are afforded, without money and without price, to all who have a heart to listen. Among the class of thrushes, is the mocking bird, which Audubon esteems a finer singer than even the nightingale of Europe. It is peculiar to America, but occupies only the warm parts of it. It is seldom seen north of Maryland, but is common as far south as Patagonia. Not only a warm climate, but a low country seems most congenial to its nature. The berries of the red cedar, myrtle, gum berries, gall berries, and a profusion of others in the Southern States, furnish these birds with a perpetual feast. Winged insects also which abound there even in winter, form a favorite part of their food. The Mocking Bird builds his nest in different places, according to the latitude in which he resides. A solitary thern bush, an almost impenetrable thicket, an orange tree, cedar, or holly bush are favorite spots. Always ready to defend, but never over anxious to conceal his nest, he very often builds within a small distance of a house; and not unfrequently in a pear or apple tree, rarely higher than six or seven feet from the ground. The nest is composed of dry twigs, weeds, straw, wool and tow, ingeniously put together, and lined with fine fibrous roots. During the time when the female is sitting, neither cat, dog, animal, or man, can approach the nest without being attacked. But the whole vengeance of the bird is directed against his mortal enemy the black snake. Whenever this reptile is discovered, the male darts upon it with the rapidity of an arrow, dexterously eluding its bite, and striking it violently and incessantly against the head, where it is very vulnerable. The snake soon becomes sensible of his danger, and seeks to escape; but the intrepid bird redoubles his exertions, and as the snake's strength begins to flag, he seizes and lifts it up from the ground, beating it with his wings, and when the business is completed, he returns to his nest, mounts the summit of the bush, and pours out a torrent of song in token of victory. The plumage of the Mocking Bird has nothing gaudy or brilliant in it; but that which so strongly recommends him is his full, strong and musical voice, capable of almost every modulation, from the mellow tones of the wood thrush, to the savage screams of the bald eagle. In his native groves, mounted on the top of a tall bush, in the dawn of a dewy morning, while the woods are already vocal with a multitude of warblers, his admirable song rises preeminent over every competitor. The ear can listen to his music alone. Nor is the strain altogether imitative. His own native notes are bold and full, and varied seemingly beyond all limits. They consist of short expressions of two, three, or five and six syllables, generally interspersed with imitations, all of them uttered with great emphasis and rapidity; and continued for an hour at a time with undiminished ardor. His expanded wings and tail glistening with white, and the buoyant gaiety of his action arresting the eye, as his song most irresistibly does the ear. He sweeps round with enthusiastic ecstasy, - He mounts and descends as his song swells or dies away and as Mr. Bartram has beautifully expressed it, 'He bounds aloft with the celerity of an arrow, as if to recover or recall his very soul, expired in the last elevated strain.' While thus exerting himself a bystander would suppose that the whole feathered tribes had assembled together on a trial for skill—so perfect are his imitations. 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 bristling feathers, clucking to protect her injured brood. The barking of the dog, the mewing of the cat, the creaking of the passing wheel-barrow, follow, with great truth and rapidity. 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 red-bird, with such superior execution and effect, that the mortified songsters feel their own inferiority, and become silent, while he seems to triumph in their defeat by redoubling his exertions. 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 blue-bird, 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 reiterations of the whippoorwill; while the notes of the kildeer, blue jay, martin, baltimore, and twenty others, succeed with |