Wild Pigeons, and making a loud and outrageous screaming. They generally roost in parties of thirty or forty, in the hollow trunks of old sycamores; clinging fast to the sides of the tree, holding by their claws and bills. They appear to be fond of sleep, and are extremely social and friendly towards each other.

The Carolina Parrot is thirteen inches long; the forehead and cheeks are orange red; down and round the neck is a rich and pure yellow; the shoulder and bend of the wings are edged with rich orange red. The general color of the rest of the plumage is a bright yellowish silky green, with light blue reflections. It is altogether superior to many of the foreign Parrots in elegance of figure and beauty of plumage. It is docile and sociable, and soon becomes perfectly familiar.

CAROLINA PARROT.

The Carolina Parrot inhabits the interior of Louisiana, and the shores of the Mississippi and Ohio, east of the Alleghanies. Their private places of resort are low rich alluvial bottoms along the borders of creeks; deep and almost impenetrable swamps filled with sycamore and cypress trees, and those singular salines or licks so interspersed over the western country. Here too is a great abundance of their favorite food. The seeds of the cypress tree and beech nuts are eagerly sought after by them.

The flight of these birds is easy and elegant, most usually circuitous, but sometimes in a direct line. They fly with great rapidity, in close compact bodies, like the

STUDY AND PLAY.

An idle fellow once saw a famous Greek philosopher playing at marbles with some children in the road. Glad of an opportunity to reprove a man, who was every way his superior, the idle fellow approached him and sneeringly asked, if he were not ashamed to spend his time in such a foolish and unbecoming manner, with children? This question was a good deal like the meditations of an owl, who once made himself extravagantly merry, because an eagle, who happened to be asleep, could not see. The philosopher, however, condescended to reply. Pointing to a bow, which lay unstrung upon the ground, he said :—

"Would yonder bow be fit for use, if it were kept always strung? No, it must be occasionally unbent, or it will loose all its strength and elasticity. So must I some

times relax from my severer studies, if I would preserve my mind vigorous and unwarped. The lark, although it flies higher than any other bird, sinks to the lowly ground to repose itself, and to build its nest.' ." The idle fellow, as you may suppose, hung down his head, and walked away.

SUMMER.

The months we used to read of Have come to us again, With sunniness and sunniness

And rare delights of rain; The lark is up, and says aloud, East and west I see no cloud.

The lanes are full of roses,

The fields are grassy deep;
The leafiness and floweriness

Make one abundant heap;
The balmy, blossom-breathing airs
Smell of future plums and pears.

The sunshine at our waking

Is still found smiling by ;
With beamingness and earnestness,
Like some beloved eye;
And all the day it seems to take
Delight in being wide awake.

The lasses in the gardens

Show forth their heads of hair, With rosiness and lightsomeness A chasing here and there;

And then they 'll hear the birds, and stand, And shade their eyes with lifted hand.

And then again they 're off there,
As if their lovers came,
With giddiness and gladsomeness,

Like doves but newly tame.
Ah! light your cheeks at Nature, do,
And draw the whole world after you.
LEIGH HUNT.

THE KING OF INDIA'S LIBRARY Dabshelim, king of India, had so numer ous a library, that a hundred bramins were scarcely sufficient to keep it in order; and it required a thousand dromedaries to transport it from one place to another. As he was not able to read all these books, he proposed to the bramins to make extracts from them of the best and most useful of their contents. These learned personages set themselves so heartily to work, that in less than twenty years they had compiled of all these extracts a little encyclopædia of twelve thousand volumes, which thirty camels could carry with ease. They had the honor to present it to the king. But, how great was their amazement, on his giving them for answer, that it was impossible for him to read thirty camel-loads of books. They therefore reduced their extracts to fifteen, afterwards to ten, then to four, then to two dromedaries, and at last there remained only so much as to load a mule of ordinary

stature.

Unfortunately, Dabshelim, during this process of melting down his library, was grown old, and saw no probability of living to exhaust its quintessence to the last volume. "Illustrious sultan," said his vizir, the sage Pilpay, "though I have but a very imperfect knowledge of your royal library, yet I will undertake to deliver you a very brief and satisfactory abstract of it. You shall read it through in one minute, and yet you will find matter in it for reflecting upon throughout the rest of your life." Having said this, Pilpay took a palm leaf, and wrote upon it with a golden pen the four following

sentences:

1. The greater part of the sciences comprise but one single word-Perhaps and the whole history of mankind contains no

more than three-they are born, suffer, die. 2. Love nothing but what is good, and do all that thou lovest to do; think nothing but what is true, and speak not all that thou thinkest.

3. O kings! tame your passions, govern yourselves; and it will be only child's play to you to govern the world.

4. O kings! O people! it can never be often enough repeated to you, what the halfwitted venture to doubt, that there is no happiness without virtue, and no virtue without the fear of God.

In many a pleasant path they run,
Nor knew nor heeded whither-

But the sun has set, and a storm seems near,
And the poor little boy is pale with fear:
He thought the old trees grew dark and tall,
And as he ran you might hear him call,
"Oh, mother, do come hither!"

His mother is all alone,

And sadly, sadly weeping;

The father to seek his son has gone, And how can she think of sleeping? She watches the clock, she watches the skies, "O! where is my poor little boy?"-she cries; "O! where will he pillow his little head?-And where can he find a sheltered bed, When the storm in its wrath is sweeping?'

The morning is fresh and fair,
There's silver dew on the blossom,
The mother she sits in her easy chair,
With her little boy on her bosom-
"Oh! mother, dear mother, don't weep I pray'
I'll remember to ask if I wish to go—"
For never again will I ramble away-
And each little boy must remember it too,
Lest his mother should grieve to lose him.

ILL-NATURE.

"Ellen, I wish you would run up stairs, and get for me the little apron, which you will find upon the table."—

"I shall not do any such thing. You may get it yourself. It is pretty well too, if I must run your errands."

This conversation took place between two sisters, the eldest of whom, named Mary, had charge of a little baby, who was creeping about upon the floor.

"I would get the apron myself, if I could leave the child," continued Mary, "but since you are so ill-natured, it is no matter."

The mother of the children had gone out that afternoon, and promised, that on her return, she would make each of them a present, if they had been good. Now do you think, that Ellen deserved a present, when she was so disobliging?

As soon as her mother entered the door, Ellen ran to her to claim the promised reward.

"Have you been good, Ellen?"

"O, very good. I have been quiet all the time you have been gone. I have n't thrown down the chairs, nor scratched the tables, nor broken the china, nor injured any thing."

"And, you have done all in your power to assist your sister, I suppose," said her

mother. "You have been kind, and gentle, and in good humor, all the afternoon?" Ellen hung down her head, for she did not like to tell an untruth.

"Here is the present," said her mother, handing her a beautiful little work-box. "Of course, you are conscious of having deserved it; and here is another for Mary." Ellen eagerly took the box from her mother's hand. She opened it, and examined its contents. It contained a pair of scissors, a silver thimble, a needle-case, some little articles made of ivory, and a lookingglass fastened underneath the cover. It was very pretty, and it took her some time to examine it. "How useful this will be to keep my needles and work in," said Ellen, "and how neatly it will look in my drawer! -But, but, have I come by it fairly? Did I do all in my power, to assist my sister? I was ill-natured, and do not deserve the box. It is not mine."

Ellen felt too unhappy to keep the box, and at last she sorrowfully returned it, saying: "Mother, I was not good. I do not deserve the present, which you have been so kind as to buy for me."

not been because I hoped to have the box, for I could have taken that at any time. It must have been because I have left off that ill-natured habit, which is so disagreeable to others as well as to myself. Shall I take the box now? No. I think I will wait a little longer."

With great self-denial, Ellen refrained from taking possession of the box for a whole month. At the end of that time, she took it down, and carrying it to her mother, said: "Here, mother, is the box, which you gave me, and though it is very pretty, I do not think it has made me so happy, as the victory, which I have gained over my illnature."

"You speak truth, Ellen," said her mother; "the ill-natured child is after all a greater enemy to herself than to any one else; while on the contrary, she who studies to oblige and make those around her contented, will be happier than jewels or riches can render her.”

Will my young readers take a hint from this simple but true story? Our lives are short, and you may never be happier in this world than now that you are children.

"Yes, mother, I was very ill-natured towards Mary, just now, when she asked me to go up stairs."

"Well Ellen, I will place the box on the shelf. When you think that you have overcome your habit of petulance and illnature, you may take it for your own."

Three days after this scene had taken place, Ellen entered the parlor. She looked at the box, and then placed her finger to her lips, and reflected. "Why, have I been so much happier," said she, "for these three days past, than I was before? It has

ments by ill-nature and petulance? Why should we not strive to render each other every obligation in our power, especially when such an act is a means of ensuring our own happiness?

ir

Ill-natured children will be disliked by young and old. Their selfishness will render them an object of aversion to others, while their cross and dissatisfied humor will make them a burden to themselves. Let us look to the example of our meek and longsuffering Saviour, and act according to his precepts.

Selected.

THE FISH-POND. Little Elizabeth had been walking with her brother Edward in Mr. Hanway's garden, and had been contemplating, with great delight, the beautiful silver trout, which were swimming merrily in the fish-pond, and which occasionally came to the surface of the water. Returning from this interesting scene, she met her cousin William, and gave him such a description of what she had witnessed, that, though he did not personally know Mr. Hanway, and therefore could not obtain access to the garden, he resolved to go and look over a fence, which commanded a good view of the pond; and that he might induce the fishes to come to the surface, he purchased a roll and some biscuits, which he might break and throw into the water.

As he went on his way, thinking of nothing but the delightful sight he was to see, he heard the voice of a poor woman, who, seated by the side of a ditch, earnestly solicited the charity of passengers: "Have pity, my dear little gentleman," cried she, "upon a poor woman and her poor child." She held in her hand a little boy, who was crying, and whose countenance, like that of its mother, indicated both hunger and sickness.

A mind of sensibility feels an irresistible desire to succor the distressed; but William, though he had a good, and even a tender heart, was too much occupied by the idea of the pleasure that he was going to enjoy, to be able to stop a single instant. The woman often repeated to him, pressing her infant to her bosom, "Alas, sir, I am ready to die with hunger;" but William, after having glanced his eye upon her, passed by, and, doubling his pace, pursued his way, fearing to be too late.

Presently, he saw the paling which separated the fish-pond from the road; but, to his great regret, he found so many persons looking ever it, that there was no room for him. He was obliged to wait till the crowd was somewhat diminished; and, as each was as curious as himself, he staid a considerable time before he was able to see the fish. And, though, after waiting a long time, he obtained a good view of the pond, he was sadly disconcerted, when he saw the whole surface covered with bread and biscuit. He took out one of his biscuits, however, and threw part of it into the water; but he did not see one of those pretty silver trout which, in disputing for the bread, had amused Elizabeth.

He tried a second piece; but it did not succeed better than the first. Disappointed in his design, he returned homeward with vexation in his heart.

On his way, he recollected the poor woman, and said to himself, "Why did I not give to that unfortunate mother all the bread which I was going to throw to the trout?"—It is thus that even the most sensible hearts sometimes lose the opportunity of doing a good action, because they run after pleasure with too much avidity.

INDUSTRY.

There is one precept, says Sir Joshua Reynolds, in which I shall be opposed only by the vain, the ignorant and the idle. I am not afraid that I shall repeat it too often. You must have no dependence on your own genius. If you have great talents, industry will improve them; if you have but moderate abilities, industry will supply their deficiency. Nothing is denied to welldirected labor; nothing is to be obtained without it.