view of the neighboring shore and ocean, he seems calmly to contemplate the motions of the various feathered tribes that pursue their busy avocations below: the snow-white gulls, slowly winnowing the air; the busy sand-pipers, coursing along the beach; trains of ducks, streaming over the surface; silent and watchful cranes, intent and wading; clamorous crows, and all the winged multitudes that subsist by the bounty of this vast liquid magazine of nature.

4. High over all these hovers one whose action instantly arrests his attention. By his wide curvature of wing and sudden suspension in air, he knows him to be the fishhawk, settling over some devoted victim of the deep. His eye kindles at the sight, and, balancing himself with halfopened wings on the branch, he watches the result. Down, rapid as an arrow from heaven, descends the distant object of his attention, the roar of its wings reaching the ear as it disappears in the deep, making the surges foam around.

5. At this moment the looks of the eagle are all ardor, and, leveling his neck for flight, he sees the fish-hawk emerge, struggling with his prey, and mounting into the air with screams of exultation. These are the signal for our hero, who, launching into the air, instantly gives chase, and soon gains on the fish-hawk. Each exerts his utmost to mount above the other, displaying in these rencounters the most elegant and sublime aerial evolutions.

6. The unencumbered eagle rapidly advances, and is just on the point of reaching his opponent, when, with a sudden scream, probably of despair and honest execration, the latter drops his fish. The eagle, poising himself for a moment as if to take a more certain aim, descends like a whirlwind, snatches it in his grasp ere it reaches the water, and bears his ill-gotten booty silently away to the woods.

ALEXANDER WILSON.

IN the hollow tree, in the old gray tower,
The spectral owl doth dwell;

Dull, hated, despised in the sunshine hour,

But at dusk he's abroad and well!

Not a bird of the forest e'er mates with him, -
All mock him outright by day;

But at night, when the woods grow still and dim,
The boldest will shrink away.

Oh, when the night falls, and roosts the fowl,
Then, then is the reign of the hornéd owl!

And the owl hath a bride who is fond and bold,

And loveth the wood's deep gloom;

And with eyes like the shine of the moon-stone cold
She awaiteth her ghastly groom:

Not a feather she moves, not a carol she sings,
As she waits in her tree so still;

But when her heart heareth his flapping wings,
She hoots out her welcome shrill !

Oh, when the moon shines, and dogs do howl,
Then, then is the reign of the horned owl!

Mourn not for the owl, nor his gloomy plight!
The owl hath his share of good;

If a prisoner he be in the broad daylight, .
He is lord in the dark greenwood.

Nor lonely the bird, nor his ghastly mate;
They are each unto each a pride:

Thrice fonder, perhaps, since a strange dark fate
Hath rent them for all beside.

So when the night falls, and dogs do howl,
Sing ho! for the reign of the horned owl!
We know not alway,

Who are kings of day;

But the king of the night is the bold brown owl!

BARRY CORNWALL.

1. ONE might have thought this brilliant gem had been blown to us across the sea from some Indian isle, an exiled stranger amidst our birds of sober plumage. But no, it is a true dweller in the woods and beside the streams. Moreover, it lives and dies there, and never leaves us for warmer climes.

2. Doubtless we must seek it in the proper place. Let us cross this stile and follow the pathway. It leads us into

an ordinary wood, where the elm-trees branch over our heads, while underneath the ferns grow in graceful circles. The foot falls noiselessly upon the mossy carpet, and all is green and quiet; yet it is only an every-day walk there are neither rocks nor hills around us, nor torrent to hurry past us. But a little farther on we shall find the kingfisher. The path opens, the sunlight falls through upon the green moss-bed, and we come to a lonely lake in the very midst of the wood.

3. There are reeds and bulrushes standing in the water at one side; on the other is a steep bank overhung with alders and wych-elms. On a projecting branch of one of them we catch sight of something blue and green and yellow, but what it is we have not time to determine. The brilliant unknown plunges with a sudden splash into the pond, and vanishes as completely and as quickly as if it had been a stone thrown in. This is the kingfisher: but do not be uneasy about him; he will not be drowned, but will come up in a minute or two with a fish in his beak, and hardly a trace of the watery element on his glossy plumage.

4. The kingfisher has no objection to a dragon-fly as it darts by with colors beautiful as his own, the rainbow tints on the gauzy wings of the pursued vying with the feathers of the pursuer. But he is made for fishing, and may well be called the kingfisher from his adroitness in the art, as well as for the splendor of the dress in which he accomplishes it.

5. The success of his fishing depends on the calmness of the water, so that through the clear medium the keen eye of the fisher may be able to detect the fish below the surface. It has been even said that the brilliancy of his