bright showers fell-driving the sad, plaining, ill-omened whippoorwill farther away-what cared we on summer evenings? "Rigor now is gone to bed Strict Age and sour Severity With their grave saws in slumber lie!" Go listen, we may, to the Mocking-Bird down in the val ley, on the lone thorn tree-singing gleefully-singing quaintly-singing mournfully now and wildly: "And gushing then such a melodie As harp-strings make when a Sprite goes by!" Ha! ha! what a hotch-potch of minstrelsy he is pouring!— while the stars glint on the green leaves, and they are seeming to glint back those silver points earthwise, barbing his bright notes more keenly-what a dividing asunder of the joints and marrow the sharp delight of those loud quaverings doth bring? Many a time have we kissed the white innocence of an upturned forehead, and felt the light pressure of a "flowersoft hand" return the questioning of our gaze into the "fringed windows" of the soul-large, open, dewy, tremulous with ecstasy beneath that song. How could the earth-walking angel fail to think of Heaven when those rare snatches of her natal roundelays went by? Would that our kiss might be as pure and our spirit as appre ciative now of these "better symphonies!" The years! the years! what changes do they bring! The heated walls, the din of wheels, the dust and smoke of the great city are around us, and we are toiling wearily with the weary toiling crowd-while away by the scented woods this Mocking-Bird-our Philomel -"singing in summer's front! Now when her mournful hymns do hush the night, that wild music is in vain for us. We can only dream of it as the thirsty Arab dreameth of the palm-trees and the fountain-and as to "How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night!" we can only tell when these memories babble to our sleep! To be sure we sometime since did steal an hour from our duties, and run away like a truant school-boy to the country, emulous of the odors of new-mown hay upon our garments! We caught this infection of sweetness while "loafing" on the shady side of the ricks out in the shorn meadows, with eyes half closed, listening to Bobby Linkum chirruping his saucy thoughts about the despoliation of his forage-grounds. He is a very chatty, gay, abusive fellow, Robert Linkum is. The utile et dulci he has no respect for. What matter is it to him that grass smells sweeter for being cut, and that it makes the heavy wains go creaking to the barns, and the farmer's canvas pocket heavier too, when all this curtails his lineal prerogative of bugs and butterflies-puts him to shifts for "findings" to keep that wide-mouthed crew of little brawlers quiet he has hid yonder in the shrubs? One can see plainly he does not like it. He comes flutter ing sideways, chattering, raving and scolding, just above our heads, his eye cocked downwards, with a connoisseuring look, at our proceeding. He evidently thinks we are an awkward set of fellows, besides being mischief-doers. It does gladden one's eyes to see these waving lakes of green-heavy and deep-the rich promise of a golden prime. And then the fruits! The pregnant winds from the dewdropping south, since Lang Syne, have hardly been so prod igal; the ruddy flushing from under the green leaves of shiny clusters, deepens all the air, and clothes the trees right royally. We came back half mourning at our lot being cast amidst the stifling streets of Gotham, and more than half envying the "country folk" this prodigality of "the benedictions of the covering heavens" and teeming earth. But, thanks to our stars, we were not always thus "cribbed, cabined, and confined!" That we have a heart still, and some few tears left, to be spilt on occasion, we attribute solely to the fact that we have lived much abroad in the freedom of God's own woods and plains and rivers-that our voice has "Awaked the courteous Echo To give us answer from her mossy couch," in some strange, far places. We have met this same master Bobby Linkum masquerading in another dress through the savannahs of the pleasant south, and such tricks before high Heaven as the gad-about doth play, must make the angels smile-not "weep"-to witness! But be comforted, thou of little locomotion! thou shalt know, even at thine own fire-side, this fantastical, as well in his remoter wanderings toward the tropics, as in his lovemaking time in thine own meadows-for "Audubon! Thou Raphael of great Nature's woods and seas!" has been upon his track. He with the "Power to bear the untravelled soul Hear what he caught master Bobby at: During their sojourn in Louisiana, in spring, their song, which is extremely interesting, and emitted with a volubility bordering on the burlesque, is heard from a whole party at the same time; when, as each individual is, of course, possessed of the same musical power as his neighbors, it becomes amusing to listen to thirty or forty of them beginning one after another, as if ordered to follow in quick succession, after the first notes given by a leader, and producing such a medley as it is impossible to describe, although it is extremely pleasant to hear it. While you are listening, the whole flock simultaneously ceases, which appears equally extraordinary. This curious exhibition takes place every time that the flock has alighted on a tree, after feeding for awhile on the ground, and is renewed at intervals during the day." But these are not all the curious ways Robert has. He is very fashionable, and like the other "absentee" gentry of the south, follows the spring toward the north to do his courting. Now this is very sagacious of master Robfor he is aware that "spruce and jocund" maiden has a way of making up for her shorter stay in these boreal regions, by the displaying a greater profusion of "beck and nod, and wreathed smiles!" Sometimes the gallant is in too great a hurry to get the benefit of these sweet dispensations, and he reaches the amorous vicinage before his "sparking suit" has come out (the change usually occurs during his transit). Robert is so evidently mortified at the want of his “Sunday-go-to-mectins" at such a time, that Mr. Audubon puts forth the insinuation that the feathered "Mercutio" appears rather mopish for awhile;-such a volcanic heart has he, though, that in spite of this, "no sooner does a flock of females (who follow from a week to ten days after) make its appearance, than these dull-looking gentlemen immediately pay them such particular attention, and sing so vehemently, that the fact of their being of a different sex becomes undeniable." Rob gets his fine clothes on at last, and, while the loveseason lasts, becomes more sprightly than ever. "Their song is mostly performed in the air, while they are rising and falling in successive jerks, which are as amusing as the jingling of their vocal essays. The variety of their colors is at this juncture very remarkable. It is equally so, when, on rising among from the grass and flying away from the observer, they display the pure black and white of their wings and body." That love-song of Rob's has been greatly admired, and several efforts have been made by distinguished amateurs to set its music to words. Nobody has made much of it, except our Irving, and as we cannot quote him here, we shall not attempt to do it ourself!-for the truth is, Rob is such a rattling, voluble, reckless, mad, melodious ranter, that an attempt to translate him. is almost out of the question-indeed, it would take a folio of MS. to give all the little cataract of tender epithets that pours in liquid gushes from his blithe throat, as he goes fluttering and wagging up and down from one tall mullien top to another! But Robert is in love, and sober people should not judge him hardly-if they loved any one heartily as he loves Mrs. Mary Linkum-hid away yonder in the grass, brooding over those five speckled eggs-and their hearts were as light as his, they would be garrulous too-that is all! Ah, Bobby! Bobby! we fear you are but a graceless scamp at last-to think that after such a mirthful life of musical lunacy, you should turn freebooter before the year is out, and get your self shot at. Mr. Audubon tells a sad tale of your after doings. We have misgivings you're a dissipated, rollicking bird, at best, Rob! "No sooner have the young left the nest, than they and their parents associate with other families, so that by the end of July large flocks begin to appear. They seem to come from every portion of the Eastern States, and already resort to the borders of the rivers and estuaries to roost. Their songs have ceased, their males have lost their gay livery, and have assumed the yellow hue of the females and young, although the latter are more firm in their tints than the old males, and the whole begin to return southward, slowly and with a single clink, sufficient, however, to give intimation of |