gourds and calabashes, Mother?" said Harry.

"A gourd, my dear, is a vegetable, something like a squash, only much thicker and harder; when hollowed out, it is as hard as if it were made of wood, and not so easy to break. It is shaped something like a short, straight-necked winter squash; a calabash is a large kind of gourd.

On the banks of the Mississippi, the negroes stick up long poles, with calabashes on the ends, to accommodate the martins.

Martins have been known, when no house was provided for them, to take possession of part of a pigeon house; and no pigeon ever dares to set its foot in the martin's side of the house. The martin is a very courageous and spirited bird, and will attack hawks, crows, and even great bald eagles; he whirls around and around them, and torments them, till, at last, he succeeds in driving them off. This makes the martin a very valuable friend to the farmer, whose chickens he defends from their enemies.

The martins are very faithful and affectionate to each other; when the mother bird is hatching her eggs, her mate often sits by her side; and sometimes he will take her place, and send her out to take exercise and get food. He passes a great deal of his time at the door of her apartment, chattering to her, as if he were telling her amusing stories; and then he will sing very softly and tenderly to her, and he does every thing he can to please her.

The martin has very strong and large wings, and short legs, that they may not interfere with his flight, which is very rapid. It is calculated by Mr. Wilson that this bird flies as fast as a mile in a minute. Sometimes you may see a martin flying in the midst of a crowded street, so near people that it seems as if they might catch him; and then, quick as thought, he darts out of their reach, and, in less than a minute, you may see him far up among the clouds, looking like a little black speck upon their silver edges."

"How happy, Mother," said Frank, "the martins must be, to be able to fly about among the clouds, and travel so far, and go just where they please so easily!"

"God has made every living thing to be happy," said his mother; "and in this we see His goodness. Are not you happy, too?"

"Almost always, Mother. Sometimes I am not happy."

"What is the reason why you are not always happy?"

"Why, things trouble me, and I feel cross and impatient."

"But if you try to bear with disagreeable things, and conquer your ill-humor, and make yourself patient, are you unhappy then?"

"No, Mother; but then I have to try very hard."

"But you are happy when you succeed. Now, what is it in you that tries to be good, and is happy when it succeeds?"

"It is my mind, Mother."

"Would you, Frank, give up your mind for a pair of martin's wings?"

"O, no, Mother; but I want my mind, and a pair of wings too."

"If you think your mind is better than the martin's wings, my dear, be thankful for the possession of it; and be thankful too that God has allowed you the privilege of making yourself happy by your own efforts, and by the exercise of your thoughts, for they are the wings of your mind. You do not now see a martin in the air; you are only thinking of him; and yet you feel how pleasant it might be to be like him, up among the clouds.

The martin cannot have the pleasure we have now had, but God has given him wings, and taught him the way through the air, and put love into his heart for his mate; and let us rejoice in his happiness, and, more than all, let us rejoice in the goodness of Him who has put joy into so many hearts. And when, my dear children, you see the martin cutting his way so swiftly through the air, and when you think of him travelling away thousands of miles, guided by the goodness of God to the right place, and you wish that you had wings like him, and think that he is happier than you are, you can then remember a far greater gift that God has bestowed upon you.

Although the martin's flight is very swift and very high, yet he can go but so far, and he knows not what directs him. When his wings are wearied, and he is nothing but a speck of dust, and when your body also is nothing but dust, these thoughts of yours, that have pursued him, will be still travelling on; and, if you stretch the wings of your mind, and soar upward, as the martin does with his bodily wings, and like him, use all your powers as God directs you, you will be rising higher and higher. And you will also know to whom you go, and who gives you all your powers. The martin knows nothing of this. He must go and come at such a time, and do just as all other martins have done; but you are free to choose for yourself, and to take the right and happy way, because you know it is the right way, and the path to heaven.

But I must tell you what made me think particularly now of these travellers through the pathless air. Last week, you remember, I was ill, and shut up in my room. As I was sitting at my chamber window, enjoying the perfume of the apple blossoms, and listening to the song of the birds, and the soft sighing of the south wind, the world looked as beautiful to me as if it had been that moment created.

You remember that there is an olive jar in the cherry tree close to my window, which I had last autumn desired to have placed there, in the hope that the birds would build in it this spring.

While I was looking I saw a bluebird alight on the tree. Presently she came nearer and nearer to the jar, and looked earnestly at the small round opening in it, as much as to say, 'That looks like a nice place for a nest.' Then she came still nearer, and looked round to see if any one noticed her. I kept very still. At last she grew bolder, and flew upon the jar. Now she looked around again, as if she was afraid of something. Then she turned her head sideways, and looked up and down, this way, and that way, and every way, till she satisfied herself that no enemy was near. At last, she flew upon the edge of the hole, and courageously looked in; then she quickly drew her head out, and looked all around again. I thought she looked directly into my face, and came to the conclusion that I was a friend, for she went part way in. Then she suddenly drew her beautiful head and shoulders out again, and looked about once more. At last, she seemed satisfied, made one more effort, and flew in. She staid in long enough to make up her mind that it was a good place for her nest, and then she flew off, quick as thought. In less than two minutes she came back with her mate. They alighted upon a bough near the jar, and it was plain that they were confabulating together, and that she was urging him to go in and look at the place she had chosen for her nursery. Her mate looked very wise and grave, as much as to say, 'My dear, we must not be too hasty. We must choose this home of ours with great care. Too much of our happiness depends upon this step to allow of any mistake'; he then flew upon the outside of the jar, and went through just the same ceremonies that his better half had performed before, only he was still more deliberate and cautious about entering. At last, he flew in, and, in a short time, appeared again, and alighted on a branch near the jar by the side of his dear mate. There they conversed together in their bird language for some time, as plainly to me as if they had spoken good English. 'This,' said he, 'is a nice large comfortable place, my dear. That great house is rather too near, to be sure, but I am well informed that its inhabitants, and those of all this neighborhood, will never molest us. Last year, the cherry birds ate up all the cherries in all the gardens around here, and not one of the thieves received the slightest harm. We will, I think, begin our work immediately, and make a nice soft bed for our young to rest in when we shall be so happy as to have any.' This, I am sure, was the result of their confab, for directly they began to pick up hay, and furze, and feathers, and every soft thing they could find, and carry them into the jar.

The male