THE RAIN.

———

BY T. A. SWAN.

———

The birds sing gayly in their bowers,And we can gather what they sing;But what, falling ’mong leaves and flowers,What is the soft rain whispering.I cannot understand their word—Some tale those bright drops tell, I know,For the corn leaves move as if they heard,And barley fields nod to and fro.The lily turns its chalice upTo catch the legends as they fall,And on the blue-bell’s tiny cupRings many a fairy festival.The brooklet o’er the meadow spreads,And then, like elves, they dance and sing;And clovers hang their blushing heads,Like little creatures listening.It is some good thing they relate;For when the cloud has passed the sun,The green fields smile with joy elate,As the world had put new glory on.And so, to me, they chant a strainUncomprehended by the sense,But when they dash the window-pane,I feel their soothing influence.They lead me back to some bright scene,Some fair spot in the shadowy past,Which glows like the broad moon’s silver sheenFar off upon the waters cast.They ope the pleasant gate of dreams,And from the phantom-world beyond,How visions bright, in golden streams,Like gift from an enchanter’s wand.Kind dreams of sweet imagining—Of the maiden fair shall love me well;But mystic are the strains they sing,Who she may be they will not tell.And through the Future’s golden aisles,They bear me up on angel wing;And many a truth I’ve learned the whilesFrom the bright rain softly whispering.

The birds sing gayly in their bowers,And we can gather what they sing;But what, falling ’mong leaves and flowers,What is the soft rain whispering.

The birds sing gayly in their bowers,

And we can gather what they sing;

But what, falling ’mong leaves and flowers,

What is the soft rain whispering.

I cannot understand their word—Some tale those bright drops tell, I know,For the corn leaves move as if they heard,And barley fields nod to and fro.

I cannot understand their word—

Some tale those bright drops tell, I know,

For the corn leaves move as if they heard,

And barley fields nod to and fro.

The lily turns its chalice upTo catch the legends as they fall,And on the blue-bell’s tiny cupRings many a fairy festival.

The lily turns its chalice up

To catch the legends as they fall,

And on the blue-bell’s tiny cup

Rings many a fairy festival.

The brooklet o’er the meadow spreads,And then, like elves, they dance and sing;And clovers hang their blushing heads,Like little creatures listening.

The brooklet o’er the meadow spreads,

And then, like elves, they dance and sing;

And clovers hang their blushing heads,

Like little creatures listening.

It is some good thing they relate;For when the cloud has passed the sun,The green fields smile with joy elate,As the world had put new glory on.

It is some good thing they relate;

For when the cloud has passed the sun,

The green fields smile with joy elate,

As the world had put new glory on.

And so, to me, they chant a strainUncomprehended by the sense,But when they dash the window-pane,I feel their soothing influence.

And so, to me, they chant a strain

Uncomprehended by the sense,

But when they dash the window-pane,

I feel their soothing influence.

They lead me back to some bright scene,Some fair spot in the shadowy past,Which glows like the broad moon’s silver sheenFar off upon the waters cast.

They lead me back to some bright scene,

Some fair spot in the shadowy past,

Which glows like the broad moon’s silver sheen

Far off upon the waters cast.

They ope the pleasant gate of dreams,And from the phantom-world beyond,How visions bright, in golden streams,Like gift from an enchanter’s wand.

They ope the pleasant gate of dreams,

And from the phantom-world beyond,

How visions bright, in golden streams,

Like gift from an enchanter’s wand.

Kind dreams of sweet imagining—Of the maiden fair shall love me well;But mystic are the strains they sing,Who she may be they will not tell.

Kind dreams of sweet imagining—

Of the maiden fair shall love me well;

But mystic are the strains they sing,

Who she may be they will not tell.

And through the Future’s golden aisles,They bear me up on angel wing;And many a truth I’ve learned the whilesFrom the bright rain softly whispering.

And through the Future’s golden aisles,

They bear me up on angel wing;

And many a truth I’ve learned the whiles

From the bright rain softly whispering.

WILD-BIRDS OF AMERICA.

———

BY PROFESSOR FROST.

———

This bird is the only species of Parrot found native in the United States. It not only abounds in the rich and flowery groves of our Southern States, but is found in great numbers among the prairies of the West, on the banks of the Ohio and the Mississippi, and even along the shores of Lake Michigan. Most Parrots droop or die in cold weather; but the Carolina Parrots are frequently seen during a snow-storm, flying about in flocks, and by their loud cries seeming to enjoy the consciousness of their own hardiness. But though a resident in our Western States it is rarely seen east of the Alleghanies. Its favorite food—the seeds of the cockle-bur—abounds in the wilds and forests of the West. Amid the rich alluvial soils, shaded by dense forests of sycamore and buttonwood, or covered with impenetrable swamps, the Carolina finds a secure and delightful retreat. Here also are found the seeds of the cypress and hackberry, and the beech-nut; while the soil abounds with those formations known as licks, the salt of which is much relished by the Parrot. The Carolina possesses a full share of that love for destructive mischief which appears indigenous to his genus. In the natural state it cares little for apples, if other food be at hand, but it delights to mount an apple-tree, and twisting the fruit off one by one to strew it over the ground.

The Carolina Parrot is about thirteen inches long, and twenty-one across the spread wings. The head is red, the neck a rich yellow; and in other parts of the body these colors are sprinkled with considerable profusion. The remaining plumage is mostly a bright green, changing to yellow, with light blue reflections. The feet and bill are either a cream or flesh color, and the claws and shafts of the large feathers black. The plumage of the female differs very little from that of the male; but the young birds undergo several changes of color before assuming the dress of their parents.

In captivity this bird appears to lose little of its sprightly habits, although it never becomes entirely reconciled to the cage. Unless closely watched it will gnaw and break through the wood of its cage, and twist the wires, for the purpose of escaping. On the whole, it is a pleasing companion, being in a great measure destitute of the love for clamorous screaming which distinguishes most of the other Parrots. Its usual food in the cage should be corn andbeech-nuts, but if hungry it will eat apples, various kinds of seeds and berries.

Wilson in his American Ornithology gives the following interesting account of the Carolina Parrot, as seen by him in its native haunts in the West:

“At Big Bone Lick, thirty miles above the mouth of Kentucky River, I saw them in great numbers. They came screaming through the woods in the morning, about an hour after sunrise, to drink the salt water, of which they, as well as the pigeons, are remarkably fond. When they alighted on the ground, it appeared at a distance as if covered with a carpet of the richestgreen, orange and yellow; they afterward settled in one body on a neighboring tree, which stood detached from any other, covering almost every twig of it, and the sun shining strongly on their gay and glossy plumage, produced a very beautiful and splendid appearance. Here I had an opportunity of observing some very particular traits of their character: Having shot down a number, some of which were only wounded, the whole flock swept repeatedly around their prostrate companions, and again settled on a low tree within twenty yards of the spot where I stood. At each successive discharge, though showers of them fell, still the affection of the survivors seemed rather to increase; for, after a few circuits around the place, they again alighted near me, looking down on their slaughtered companions with such manifest symptoms of sympathy and concern, as completely disarmed me. I could not but take notice of the remarkable contrast between their elegant manner of flight and their lame and crawling gait among the branches. They fly very much like the Wild Pigeon, in close compact bodies, and with great rapidity, making a loud and outrageous screaming, not unlike that of the Red-headed Woodpecker. Their flight is sometimes in a direct line, but most usually circuitous, making a great variety of elegant and easy serpentine meanders, as if for pleasure. They are particularly attached to the large sycamore, in the hollow of the trunks and branches of which they generally roost, thirty or forty, or more, entering at the same hole. Here they cling closely to the sides of the trees, holding fast by the claws, and also by the bills. They appear fond of sleep, and often retire to their holes during the day, probably to take their regularsiesta. They are extremely sociable, and fond of each other, often scratching each other’s heads and necks, and always at night nestling as close as possible to each other, preferring at that time a perpendicular position, supported by their bill and claws. In the fall, when their favorite cockle-burs are ripe, they swarm along the coast or high ground of the Mississippi, above New Orleans, for a great extent. At such times they are killed and eaten by many of the inhabitants; though, I confess, I think their flesh is very indifferent. I have several times dined on it from necessity, in the woods, but found it merely passable, with all the sauce of a keen appetite to recommend it.”

For a long time this bird was almost unknown; and though specimens of it appear to have been examined even by scientific men, its identity as a distinct species remained hidden until the year 1814. In February of that year Mr. Audubon, while voyaging up the Mississippi, noticed here and there a solitary bird, soaring above the rocky cliffs, entirely different, as it appeared to him, from any species with which he was acquainted. After much search he discovered an eyry on the high cliffs of Green River, in Kentucky, and was enabledto make such observations as convinced him that this was a new, and hitherto unknown, species of Eagle. From its noble bearing and majestic size, he named it the Bird of Washington, a title by which it is now generally recognized. Some, however, confound it with the White-tailed Eagle, and others affirm that it is but a full grown Sea Eagle. With better reason it is supposed to be either identical with the great European Sea Eagle of Brisson, or but a variety of that bird. Audubon considers the species as rare. His principal residence is among the rocky shores of the Mississippi, the Missouri, and the great northern lakes—in those gloomy solitudes rarely disturbed by the step of man. Winter drives it from these favorite haunts nearer to the abode of civilization; and in a severe season the Washington Eagle has been seen in the vicinity of Concord and Boston. His principal food is fish; but instead of obtaining it in the same piratical manner as is common with the Bald Eagle, he descends, like the Osprey, into the same element with his prey. The circles which he describes in flying are wider than those of the White-headed Eagle, and when about to dive for prey, he sweeps downward in spiral rings, as though endeavoring to prevent the fish’s escape. When within the distance of a few yards, he darts forcibly down, and rarely fails to secure his object. He is also remarkable for flying near the surface of the water, especially when retiring with his prize; and when near the shore he may often be recognized by the same peculiarity.

The Washington Eagle is capable of being domesticated, and is then gentle and docile. The quantity of food necessary to sustain him, either in captivity or among his native wilds, is very great; and it would appear that they are capable, more than most birds of prey, of generating fat. Audubon’s specimen was three feet six inches in length, and weighed fourteen and a half pounds. Others have been weighed, much heavier. It should be mentioned as a curious fact, that repeated attempts by Dr. Haywood, of Boston, to poison one of these birds with corrosive sublimate were entirely unsuccessful, although doses of two drams were given to it at a time.

The general color of the upper part of this bird is copper-brown, dark and shining. The throat and breast are a cinnamon color, the wings brown, with sprinklings of black, and the lesser wing-coverts rusty iron-gray. This description should, however, be received with some caution, in consequence of its being taken from but a few specimens, which varied considerably among themselves. The head is more convex than that of the Bald Eagle, the bill more hooked, and the iris of the eye is hazel, inclining to chestnut. Underneath the foot is notched like a rasp, to enable the bird to hold its prey. The majestic appearance of this Eagle, his great strength and superior size, justly entitle him to a rank among the noblest birds of our continent.

REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.

The History of the United States of America, from the Discovery of the Continent to the Organization of the Government under the Federal Constitution. By Richard Hildreth. In three volumes. New York: Harper & Brothers, vol. 1.

The object of Mr. Hildreth’s ambition in this work is to present an impartial view of the persons and events of American history in their natural order and relations, and in his preface he plumes himself on having accomplished his purpose, at the same time not very modestly indicating his belief that no other American historian has approached it. As far as regards his claim to accuracy and impartiality we doubt not it will be readily admitted, at least in the sense in which he appears to understand the terms. The history is a useful compendium of facts undertaken by a man who does not seem to have sufficient sympathy with his subject to be capable even of partisanship. Everything indicates that the work was manufactured in a spirit of dogged, straight-forward, joyless labor. The author has in his other productions given evidence of passions sufficiently quick and hot, and a talent for hating almost unmatched for brilliancy and intensity, and our surprise was correspondingly great to find him in the present work altogether destitute of enthusiasm, and writing sentence after sentence with no inspiration even from his blood.

To those who require in a history nothing but a series of facts presented in a clear style, without any animation in the narrative, the work of Mr. Hildreth will be very acceptable, and we have little doubt that his labors of research and composition will be rewarded. It seems to us, however, that there is a great difference between facts as they are in themselves, and facts as they are treated by Mr. Hildreth. Whatever view may be taken of our fathers, there can be no doubt that they were alive, and we have a right to demand that the narrative of their actions, however close it may adhere to the literal truth, shall represent living men and living events. The representation of a fact, therefore, implies a sympathy with it either personal or imaginative, and a capacity to convey it to another mind not only in its form and dimensions, but in its coloring and spirit. The difficulty with Mr. Hildreth’s facts consists in their lifelessness. He is “down among the dead men,” not up and striving with the living, and his style being deliberately and elaborately destitute of glow and spirit, rejecting all ornament, and varying not with the variations of his subject, is as uninteresting as a newspaper account of a railroad accident. In his narrative of our history, as far as we have read it, there are strictly speaking no events. The landing of the Pilgrims he recounts in a style which would hardly suit an account of a New Yorker’s visit to Hoboken, for the purpose of enjoying a cooler air than he found in the city. The most adventurous and heroic actions, the grandest displays of disinterested piety and affection, sink into dull commonplace as treated by Mr. Hildreth. If this be history, then history is hardly worth the attention of a live man. We should rather call it historical geology, having for its subject the fossil remains of men and institutions.

We know there is a large class of readers who consider this mode of writing history as the best, and who are ready to stigmatize all realization as romance. To such a class we can commend Mr. Hildreth’s production. He certainlydeserves praise for his diligence, and the strength of understanding he has evinced in educing a connected narrative from his multitude of scattered authorities. But he has not succeeded even in this department of his labors to such a degree as to justify his sneering allusion to other histories of the country as “Continental Sermons and Fourth of July Orations in the guise of history.” This hardly does justice to such a man as Bancroft, whose History of the United States, whatever may be its faults, has merits of investigation, narration and reflection, which Mr. Hildreth’s more prosaic work does not approach.

Dante’s Divine Comedy: The Inferno. A Literal Prose Translation, with the Text of the Original Collated from the Best Editions, and Explanatory Notes. By John A. Carlyle, M. D., New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo.

This is a most valuable addition to the English translations of the Italian Classics, and is well calculated to convey a vivid impression of the intense beauty and sublimity of Dante’s immortal poem to readers ignorant of the original. The translation is faithful even to literal exactness without being clumsy and inelegant, and the Italian text has been collated with commendable care and industry. Indeed the whole book appears to have been a labor of love, and must have occupied the leisure of many years. To those who are learning Italian the volume must be invaluable, as it enables them to read the original side by side with a translation at once correct and elegant.

Dr. Carlyle, the translator, is the brother of Thomas Carlyle. One would suppose that being so nearly related to the latter, he would sedulously avoid all imitation of his manner, yet the preface to the present volume is filled with the most amusingCarlylisms. The tone and rhetorical contortions of his brother, Dr. Carlyle mimics rather than imitates, and makes the whole matter more ludicrous by his evident straining after that which on all principles of propriety he should rather attempt strenuously to avoid.

Scraps, No. 1. Sketched, Etched, and Published by D. C. Johnston. Boston.

This thin quarto contains some fifty “hits,” humorous and satirical, done on steel. The sketcher is D. C. Johnston, one of the first caricaturists in the country, and an original observer of life and manners. Several of the illustrations are pictorial essays on popular follies and vices, and contain matter enough to supply thought for a volume. We like the idea of publishing occasionally a work like the present, recording as it does, with almost historical accuracy, the various forms assumed by the Protean genius of humbug to diddle our free and enlightened citizens.

The Philosophy of the Beautiful. From the French of Victor Cousin. Translated with Notes and an Introduction, by Jesse Cato Daniel. New York: D. Bixby. 1 vol. 18mo.

Mr. Bixby, the publisher of this elegant little volume, has done a great deal in his selection of books for republication for the elevation of public taste. To him we owe the only editions we have of Goethe’s Faust, and Correspondence of Southey’s Translation of the Chronicle of the Cid, and of a number of other valuable works. Having removed from Lowell to New York, we trust that he will continue his speculations on public taste; and as an earnest of what he intends to do, we hail with much pleasure this handsome edition of Cousin’s celebrated dissertation on Beauty, a work written with all that accomplished philosopher’s force and brilliancy of style, evincing his usual keenness of analysis and range of generalization, and as readable as it is valuable. We commend it especially to those English readers who are followers of Alison and Jeffrey. The subject discussed is one of the most important in the metaphysics of criticism, and though we cannot say that Cousin has exhausted it, he has presented his own views in a rhetoric so lucid that he cannot fail to charm even the readers whom he may not convince.

Southey’s Commonplace Book. Edited by his Son-in-Law, John Wood Warter, B. D. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 8vo.

This volume is calculated to convey even a new idea of the variety of Southey’s studies, and the exhaustlessness of his capacity of labor. The number of his works is sufficiently surprising, convicting as it does most literary men either of indolence or barrenness, but we find that in addition to writing his original productions, he was in the custom of transcribing largely from books as he read them, and the present volume, representing but a portion of these labors, would appear to most readers a work for a life. It consists of striking extracts from a large variety of authors, most of them antiquated to the reader of the present day, and illustrating the manners, custom, opinions, and sentiments of Englishmen for the last three centuries. The editor, who reports himself as Southey’s son-in-law, is an excellent specimen of a snob, who cannot write a sentence without writing himself down an ass. The Harpers have issued the volume in clear type, on white paper, at about one-fifth the price of the English edition.

A Compendium of Ecclesiastical History. By Dr. John C. L. Gieseler. Translated from the German by Samuel Davidson, LL. D. New York: Harper & Brothers. 2 vols. 8vo.

The publishers of these volumes have rarely issued a book more intrinsically valuable than the present. It is a work of immense research and labor, undertaken by a German Professor of Theology, and indicating vast erudition. The translation by Dr. Davidson is a faithful reflection of the original, even to the extent of preserving Gieseler’s rather inelegant though condensed style of writing. The advantage of the work to students consists in its stating results only in the text, and reserving the notes for authorities and processes. It is a text book, not an elaborate history like Neander’s, and as such it has obtained great reputation for impartiality and ability. The American translator has availed himself of the latest German edition, and his version is accordingly the most valuable which has been made on either side of the Atlantic.

The Classic French Reader. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo.

This is another of Appleton & Co.’s admirable series of educational books. It consists of selections from the French classical writers for the last two centuries, with a vocabulary of all the words and idioms contained in the work. It is edited by Professor Jewett, the American editor of Ollendorff, and cannot fail to render important assistance to all engaged in the study of French.

LE FOLLET

Anaïs Toudouze

LE FOLLETPARIS, Boulevart St.Martin, 61.Robes de Mme.Domiciler. de Seine St.Germain, 49—Chapeaux deMaurice Beauvaisr. RichelieuOmbrelleCazalbt.des Italiens, 23—Mouchoirs deChapron et Duboisr. de la Paix, 7—Essences deGuerlainr. de la Paix, 11Chaussures deH. Hoffmannr. de la Paix, 8—Fermoir de Gants pass. Delorme, 20.Graham’s Magazine

LE FOLLET

PARIS, Boulevart St.Martin, 61.

Robes de Mme.Domiciler. de Seine St.Germain, 49—Chapeaux deMaurice Beauvaisr. Richelieu

OmbrelleCazalbt.des Italiens, 23—Mouchoirs deChapron et Duboisr. de la Paix, 7—Essences deGuerlainr. de la Paix, 11

Chaussures deH. Hoffmannr. de la Paix, 8—Fermoir de Gants pass. Delorme, 20.

Graham’s Magazine

OH, LET THY LOCKS UNBRAIDED FALL.

WRITTEN BYJOHN W. WATSON. ESQ.MUSIC COMPOSED FOR “GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE,” BYJOHN A. JANKE, JR.,Professor of Music.

WRITTEN BY

JOHN W. WATSON. ESQ.

MUSIC COMPOSED FOR “GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE,” BY

JOHN A. JANKE, JR.,

Professor of Music.

Oh! let thy locks unbraided fall,To-night no gems must check their flow,And I will pledge thee for the ball.What hearts will bend in homage low,Yes,

Oh! let thy locks unbraided fall,

To-night no gems must check their flow,

And I will pledge thee for the ball.

What hearts will bend in homage low,

Yes,

lower far than though they heldThe fabled wealth of Indies’ mainOr were Golconda’s mines compelledTo yield their brilliant train——Thus did they fall when first I sawWhat since has made me dream by day,And thus when I in triumph boreThat one loved, straggling tress away.Then do not bind with gems or gold,Its dark, voluptuous, rolling swell,But let those folds lie uncontrolledI’ve learned to love so well.

lower far than though they held

The fabled wealth of Indies’ main

Or were Golconda’s mines compelled

To yield their brilliant train——

Thus did they fall when first I saw

What since has made me dream by day,

And thus when I in triumph bore

That one loved, straggling tress away.

Then do not bind with gems or gold,

Its dark, voluptuous, rolling swell,

But let those folds lie uncontrolled

I’ve learned to love so well.

Transcriber’s Notes:

Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Punctuation has been corrected without note. Other errors have been corrected as noted below. For illustrations, some caption text may be missing or incomplete due to condition of the originals used for preparation of the eBook.

page 134, whist the broad ==>whilstthe broadpage 135, loadstone of all eyes, ==>lodestoneof all eyes,page 135, of the rael grit ==> of therealgritpage 135, several pedlars had ==> severalpedlershadpage 138, the inspecter, having ==> theinspector, havingpage 139, with a blithsome ==> with ablithesomepage 142, the cheeerful hearth ==> thecheerfulhearthpage 150, her trelliced window ==> hertrellisedwindowpage 151, bourne were we must ==> bournewherewe mustpage 153, chords that bound ==>cordsthat boundpage 154, all thoughless did begin ==> allthoughtlessdid beginpage 156, Carroling like free-born ==>Carolinglike free-bornpage 160, room where their is a ==> room wherethereis apage 162, the unenlighted classes at ==> theunenlightenedclasses atpage 164, pardon my degression, ==> pardon mydigression,page 165, of N. aristrocracy who ==> of N.aristocracywhopage 167, and was the only ==> andit wasthe onlypage 168, Do you hear my my boast ==> Do you hearmyboastpage 169, ribbonds and roses; ==>ribbonsand roses;page 171, impertinent listner,” she ==> impertinentlistener,” shepage 173, creaturs while I am ==>creatureswhile I ampage 179, trosach, dell and valley, ==>trossach, dell and valley,page 180, a clump of hazles ==> a clump ofhazelspage 182, in thecortégé, I ==> in thecortège, Ipage 183, solace to our lonelienss; ==> solace to ourloneliness;page 184, of the swoln heart rise ==> of theswollenheart risepage 185, be one of unparalelled ==> be one ofunparalleledpage 189, corn and beach-nuts, ==> corn andbeech-nuts,

page 134, whist the broad ==>whilstthe broad

page 135, loadstone of all eyes, ==>lodestoneof all eyes,

page 135, of the rael grit ==> of therealgrit

page 135, several pedlars had ==> severalpedlershad

page 138, the inspecter, having ==> theinspector, having

page 139, with a blithsome ==> with ablithesome

page 142, the cheeerful hearth ==> thecheerfulhearth

page 150, her trelliced window ==> hertrellisedwindow

page 151, bourne were we must ==> bournewherewe must

page 153, chords that bound ==>cordsthat bound

page 154, all thoughless did begin ==> allthoughtlessdid begin

page 156, Carroling like free-born ==>Carolinglike free-born

page 160, room where their is a ==> room wherethereis a

page 162, the unenlighted classes at ==> theunenlightenedclasses at

page 164, pardon my degression, ==> pardon mydigression,

page 165, of N. aristrocracy who ==> of N.aristocracywho

page 167, and was the only ==> andit wasthe only

page 168, Do you hear my my boast ==> Do you hearmyboast

page 169, ribbonds and roses; ==>ribbonsand roses;

page 171, impertinent listner,” she ==> impertinentlistener,” she

page 173, creaturs while I am ==>creatureswhile I am

page 179, trosach, dell and valley, ==>trossach, dell and valley,

page 180, a clump of hazles ==> a clump ofhazels

page 182, in thecortégé, I ==> in thecortège, I

page 183, solace to our lonelienss; ==> solace to ourloneliness;

page 184, of the swoln heart rise ==> of theswollenheart rise

page 185, be one of unparalelled ==> be one ofunparalleled

page 189, corn and beach-nuts, ==> corn andbeech-nuts,

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