in and take possession, scolding and fluttering and darting at the imprisoned pigeons and pheasants if they dare to approach.

The smaller parks of New York city contain each about two hundred houses for the sparrows. Some of them are of very simple construction, being made of a piece of tin leader pipe about ten inches long, with a piece of wood fitted in each end. A little round doorway is cut for the birds to enter, and they seem perfectly happy in these primitive quarters. Feed and water troughs are provided, and it is the duty of the park keeper to fill them every morning. The birds know the feeding hour, and come flying eagerly, pushing and scolding, and tumbling together in their hurry for the first mouthful. The greedy little things eat all day. School-children come trooping in, and share their luncheon with them, and even idle and ragged loungers on the park benches draw crusts of bread from their pockets, and throw the sparrows a portion of their own scanty dinner.

It is very easy to study the habits of the sparrow, for it is so bold and sociable that if a little house is nailed up in a balcony, or by a window where people are constantly sitting, a pair of birds will at once take possession, bring twigs and bits of scattered threads and wool for a nest, and proceed to rear their noisy little family. Chirp, chirp, very loud and impatient, three or four little red open mouths appear at the door of the house, the parent birds come flying with worms and flies, and then for a little while the young ones take a nap and keep quiet, when, they wake up again and renew their clamor for food.

If houses are not provided, the sparrow will build in any odd corner—a chink in the wall or in the nooks and eaves of buildings. A pair of London sparrows once made their nest in the mouth of the bronze lion over Northumberland House, at Charing Cross. They are very much attached to their nest, and after the little speckled eggs are laid will cling to it even under difficulties. The sailors of a coasting vessel once lying in a Scotch port frequently observed two sparrows flying about the topmast. One morning the vessel put to sea, when, to the astonishment of the sailors, the sparrows followed, evidently bent upon making the voyage. Crumbs being thrown on the deck, they soon became familiar, and came boldly to eat, hopping about as freely as if on shore. A nest was soon discovered built among the rigging. Fearing it might be demolished by a high wind, at the first landing the sailors took it carefully down, and finding that it contained four little ones, they carried it on shore and left it in the crevice of a ruined house. The parent birds followed, evidently well pleased with the change, and when the vessel sailed away they remained with their young family.

Much has been written about the mischievous doings of the sparrow, and war has been waged against it to a certain extent both here and in England. But the sparrow holds its ground well, and proves in many ways that even if it may drive away robins, and injure grain fields now and then, it more than balances these misdeeds by the thousands of caterpillars, mosquitoes, and other insects which it destroys, thus saving the life of countless trees and plants. The whole year round it is the same active, bustling, jolly creature, and our cities would be lonely and desolate without this little denizen of the street.

A BRAVE PATRIOT.

In 1780, after the fall of Charleston, the British commander had issued a proclamation to the people of South Carolina, calling upon them to return to their allegiance, and offering protection to all who did so. The men inhabiting the tract of country stretching from the Santee to the Pedee selected one of their number to repair to Georgetown, the nearest British post, to ascertain the exact meaning of the offer, and what was expected of them.

In accordance with his instructions, Major John James sought an interview with Captain Ardesoif, the commandant of Georgetown, and demanded what was the meaning of the British protection, and upon what terms the submission of the citizens was to be made.

He was informed roughly that the only way to escape the hanging which they so justly deserved was to take up arms in his Majesty's cause.

James, not relishing the tone and manner of the British officer, coolly replied that "the people whom he came to represent would scarcely submit on such conditions."

Ardesoif, unaccustomed to contradiction, and enraged at the worthy major's use of the term "represent," which smote harshly on his ears, sprang to his feet, and, with his hand on his sword, exclaimed, "Represent! If you dare speak in such language, I will have you hung at the yard-arm."

Major James was weaponless, but in his anger was equal to the occasion. Seizing the chair upon which he had been sitting, he floored his insulter at a blow, and giving his enemy no time to recover, mounted his horse and escaped to the woods before pursuit could be attempted.

His people soon assembled to hear his story, and their wrath was kindled at hearing how their envoy had been received.

Required to take the field, it needed not a moment to decide under which banner, and the result was the formation of Marion's Brigade, which won such fame in the swampy regions of the South.

A LATIN WORD SQUARE.

Behold my first! In her palmy days
(In the time of my second, you understand)
She had many poets who sang her praise,
Had soldiers and statesmen and wealth to amaze,
Her fame was unrivalled in many ways—
She had no equal in all the land.

Again to the time of my second refer,
And spell that backward, my third behold—
A hero of monstrous strength. They aver
He held up a temple its fall to defer,
And ate forty pounds (but I hope 'tis a slur)
Every day for his food, both hot and cold.

Now spell my first backward, my fourth appears,
The greatest power of any time.
All poets have sung of its hopes and fears,
All men have known it with smiles and tears,
It has ruled and will rule for years and years
In every nation and every clime.

Now take my word square and look all about,
Sideways, across, and down the middle,
Not a word can be found there by spy or scout
Which can not be spelled upside down, inside out,
All in Latin, you know; but now I've no doubt
You've guessed every word of this easy riddle.

A TERRIBLE FISH.

Among the inhabitants of the sea which, from their size or strength, have been termed "monarchs of the ocean," are the saw-fish and the sword-fish, which are formidable enemies to the whale; but it is not merely on their fellow-inhabitants of the deep that these powerful fishes exercise their terrible strength. Some singular instances are related of their attacking even the ships that intrude upon their watery domain. An old sea-captain tells the following story:

"Being in the Gulf of Paria, in the ship's cutter, I fell in with a Spanish canoe, manned by two men, who were in great distress, and who requested me to save their lines and canoe, with which request I immediately complied, and going alongside for that