and is now the famous rice-bird of the Carolinas. Last stage of his career: behold him spitted, with dozens of his corpulent companions, and served up, a vaunted dish, on some southern table.

Washington Irving.

EXERCISES IN ARTICULATION.

1. With us it begins about the middle of May.

2. Earlier than this, winter is apt to return on its traces.
3. He is most in song when the clover is in blossom.
4. The bobolink was the envy of my boyhood.

5. Oh, how I envied him! No lessons, no task, no school.
6. He has become a bon vivant, a gormand.

7. Pop! pop! pop! every rusty firelock is blazing away. 8. Does he take warning, and reform? Alas! not he.

XVIII. ROBERT OF LINCOLN.

ΜΕ

ERRILY swinging on briar and weed,
Near to the nest of his little dame,

Over the mountain-side or mead,

Robert of Lincoln is telling his name:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink,

Snug and safe is this nest of ours,
Hidden among the summer flowers.
Chee, chee, chee.

2. Robert of Lincoln is gaily dressed,

Wearing a bright black wedding-coat;
White are his shoulders, and white his crest,
Hear him call in his merry note:

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink,

Look, what a nice new coat is mine;
Sure there was never a bird so fine.

Chee, chee, chee.

3. Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife,

Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life,

Broods in the grass while her husband sings:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink,

Brood, kind creature; you need not fear
Thieves and robbers while I am here.

Chee, chee, chee.

4. Modest and shy as a nun is she;
One weak chirp is her only note;
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he,
Pouring boasts from his little throat:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink,

Never was I afraid of man,

Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can.
Chee, chee, chee.

5. Six white eggs on a bed of hay,

Flecked with purple, a pretty sight: There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink,

Nice good wife that never goes out,
Keeping house while I frolic about.

Chee, chee, chee.

6. Soon as the little ones chip the shell,
Six wide mouths are open for food;
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well,
Gathering seeds for the hungry brood:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink,

This new life is likely to be

Hard for a gay young fellow like me.
Chee, chee, chee.

7. Robert of Lincoln at length is made
Sober with work, and silent with care,
Off is his holiday garment laid,
Half forgotten that merry air:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink,

Nobody knows but my mate and I,
Where our nest and our nestlings lie.
Chee, chee, chee.

8. Summer wanes: the children are grown;
Fun and frolic no more he knows;
Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone;
Off he flies, and we sing as he goes:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink.

When you can pipe that merry old strain,
Robert of Lincoln, come back again.

"MR.

XIX.-MENDING THE PUMP.

R. Blifkins," said my wife, on the morning of a washing day, "Bridget complains that something is the matter with the soft-water pump." "Well, my dear," I replied, "I will see about it.” I had not quite finished reading my morning paper, and sat a moment to conclude the account of the last fearful casualty, when Bridget's face was thrust into the door, as red and bright as an oldfashioned brass warming-pan.

"Indade, mem," said she, "the pump's gone again."

2. "Well," replied my wife, "I've done all I could about it, unless I am expected to draw the box and fix it. I expect every day that I shall have to do such work. A woman's life is hard enough at the best; but a little additional service would not hurt her, I dare say. Perhaps, in the intervals of household duties, she might take in jobs of pump-mending." I said nothing. "Mr. Blifkins," continued my wife, "will you see to the pump?"

3. This was said in a tone that completely overcame the horror awakened by the casualty, and throwing the paper aside, I proceeded to the kitchen. I tried the handle of the pump, and, sure enough, the water refused to flow. A few drops only oozed from the nose, and, as I plied the handle, the pump gave forth a rumbling sound, as though it were surly in its refusal to yield the accustomed supply.

4. "This is a pretty state of things for washing day!" said my wife. "Well, my dear," said I, "I don't see how you can blame me for it. Thou canst not say I did it.""

I tried to take out the box. The screws that secured the top were rusty, and refused to turn.

"Mrs. Blifkins," said I, "where is the hammer?" 5. "How should I know where the hammer is?" she replied. "It is probably where you used it last. You leave every thing for me to take care of. My father used to say, 'A place for every thing, and every thing in its place.' I wish all men were as particular."

6. I remembered that I had used the hammer to repair a chicken-coop, some weeks before; and, proceeding to the spot, I found it, rusty and dirty, lying just where I had left it. A system like this, closely followed, would prove of immense advantage; for a memory of where an article was used would immediately suggest to the user the spot where it was to be found.

7. Returning to the kitchen, I commenced work. The rusty threads of the screws refused persistently to yield; but patience wins, and, after a half hour's sweating and fretting, I had the top removed and the pump-box in my hand. There were evident signs of decay in the leather; and, bringing my natural ingenuity to bear upon it, I hammered, and tacked, and cut, and pulled, until I fancied that I had attained perfection in my effort.

8. "Now we shall see the triumph of genius," said I, putting in the box. "Pour in some water, Bridget, and as I pump, you shall see the water flow."

I plied the handle vigorously; but in vain. No effect was produced but a sort of asthmatic wheezing. My triumph changed, and my cheerful notes partook of a more tempestuous character.