VIII.-INSTINCT OF LOCALITY IN ANIMALS AND BIRDS.

THE instinct of animals, in many cases, is acknowledged to equal reason, if not to surpass it. Numerous anecdotes of this faculty are recorded, from White's "Selborne" down.

This instinct of locality is one more or less familiar to every observer of nature. Whoever has bird-houses about the house must have suspected that the same wrens and martins come, year after year, to build in the same place.

We know of a lady, who, desirous of testing this, selected a blind wren from several who built about her dwelling, and was careful to notice, the spring following, if he returned, which he did.

In the city of Reading is a barber, who erected several large bird-boxes, which, in time, came to be inhabited by hundreds of martins, who, with their children, resorted thither annually. One year he moved across the street, taking with him his bird-boxes. When spring returned, the flocks of martins came back, but not to their new locality. They flew, as usual, to the old one, where they remained for a whole day, restless, and lost, though the boxes were only across the street.

At last, however, they were induced to enter their old homes, shifted to the new locality; and now, year after year, the martins return, blacking the air at morning and evening as they leave and return to their nests.

An even more curious anecdote of the instinct of locality has come to us from a highly veracious quarter. In the town of Franklin, Pennsylvania, once lived a gentleman who was fond of bees. One morning he observed four toads sitting just below his hive. The next day the same toads were there, grave and solemn as sphinxes before an Egyptian temple. One was black; another bright colored; a third blind; a fourth marked in some other distinguished way.

Thinking they annoyed the bees, and seeing that they pertinaciously preserved their position day after day, he put them into a basket, carried them across the Alleghany River, and left them at the top of a hill. What was his surprise, three weeks after, to find them at their old post, as grave and solemn as ever.

Again he removed them, taking them this time in a different direction, and leaving them at a point much farther off. In about six weeks, however, they were back for the third time.

A neighbor, to whom the incident was told, and was incredulous, next tried to lose them, but in a few weeks the toads were seen, one morning, entering the garden, under the leadership of one of their number, who gave a "cheep, cheep," looked back for his suite, and then hopped on, followed by the rest, till he reached his old station under the bee-hive, where he gravely took up his quarters.

Every one familiar with the woods knows how easily a wild bee can be tracked to its hive in the forest. If you take four bees from a city hive, carry them to as many points of the compass within any distance that can be managed in an afternoon's drive, and then let them free, each bee will soar up into the air, and afterward shoot, as straight as an arrow, in the direction of its home, where, in due time, you will find it again.

The instinct of dogs and horses, in finding their way back to their kennels and stables, when their owners, though endowed with reason, are hopelessly lost, has been proved by too many well-authenticated instances to be doubted.

The observation of instinct would be a pleasing and instructive recreation, and it is surprising that more persons do not devote their attention to it. To those living in the country, the opportunities are so frequent that the neglect of them seems little short of a crime.

A man is always better for being brought into sympathy

with the brute creation. The study of the habits of animals and birds enlarges the heart, and gives breadth to the intellect, as well as stores the memory with a vast variety of curious and instructive facts. Audubon was as singlehearted and reverent as he was wise and entertaining.

IX.-A SERMON IN VERSE.

TIRED? Well, what of that?

Didst fancy life was spent on beds of ease,
Fluttering the rose-leaves scattered by the breeze?
Come, rouse thee! work while it is called to-day;
Coward, arise! go forth thy way!

Lonely? And what of that?

Some must be lonely; 'tis not given to all
To feel a heart responsive rise and fall—
To blend another life into its own;

Work may be done in loneliness: work on!

Dark? Well, what of that?

Didst fondly dream the sun would never set?
Dost fear to lose thy way? Take courage yet;
Learn thou to walk by faith and not by sight:
Thy steps will guided be, and guided right.

Hard? Well, and what of that?

Didst fancy life one summer holiday,

With lessons none to learn, and naught but play?
Go, get thee to thy task. Conquer or die!
It must be learned; learn it, then, patiently.

No help? Nay, 'tis not so;

Though human help be far, thy God is nigh,
Who feeds the ravens, hears his children cry;
He's near thee wheresoe'er thy footsteps roam;
And he will guide thee, light thee, help thee home.

H

SOMEHOW OR OTHER.

LIFE has a burden for every man's shoulder,
None may escape from its trouble and care;
Miss it in youth and 't will come when we're older,
And fit us as close as the garments we wear.

Sorrow comes into our lives uninvited,

Robbing our hearts of their treasures of song;
Lovers grow cold, and friendships are slighted,
Yet somehow or other we worry along.

Every-day toil is an every-day blessing,

Though poverty's cottage and crust we may share;
Weak is the back on which burdens are pressing,
But stout is the heart that is strengthened by prayer.

Somehow or other the pathway grows brighter
Just when we mourn there were none to befriend;
Hope in the heart makes the burdens seem lighter,
And somehow or other we get to the end.

X.-DANIEL WEBSTER'S FIRST PLEA.

EBENEZER WEBSTER, father of Daniel, was a farmer. The vegetables in his garden suffered considerably from the depredations of a woodchuck, whose hold and habitation was near the premises. Daniel, some ten years old, and his brother Ezekiel had set a trap, and at last succeeded in catching the trespasser. Ezekiel proposed to kill the animal, and end at once all further trouble with him; but Daniel looked with compassion upon his meek, dumb captive, and offered to let him go. The boys could not agree, and each appealed to their father to decide the case.

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'Well, my boys," said the old gentleman, "I will be judge, and you shall be the counsel to plead the case for and against his life and liberty."

Ezekiel opened the case with a strong argument, urging the mischievous nature of the criminal, the great harm he had already done; said that much time and labor had been spent in his capture, and now, if suffered to go at large, he would renew his depredations, and be cunning enough not to be put to death; that his skin was of some value, and, that, make the most of him they could, it would not repay half the damage he had already done. His argument was ready, practical, and to the point, and of much greater length than our limit will allow us to occupy in relating the story.

The father looked with pride upon his son, who became a distinguished jurist in his manhood.

"Now, Daniel, it's your turn; I'll hear what you've got to say."

It was his first case. Daniel saw that the plea of his brother had sensibly affected his father, the judge; and his large, brilliant, black eyes rested upon the soft, timid expression of the animal, and he saw it trembled with fear in its narrow prison-house. His heart swelled with pity, and he appealed with eloquent words that the captive might go free. God, he said, had made the woodchuck; He made him to live to enjoy the bright sunshine, the pure air, the fields and woods. God had not made him or any thing in vain. The woodchuck had as much right to live as any other living thing; he was not a destructive animal, like the wolf; he simply ate a few common vegetables, of which they had plenty, and could well spare a part; he destroyed nothing except the little food he ate to sustain his humble. life; and that little food was as sweet to him, and as necessary to his existence, as was to them the food on their mother's table. God furnished their own food. He gave them all they possessed, and would they not spare a little for a dumb creature, who really had as much right to his small share of God's bounty as they themselves had to their portion? Yea, more; the animal had never violated the