It seems incredible that the matter of the usefulness or noxiousness of this little bird cannot be settled finally by those vested with authority to act. It is either beneficial or a pest. We think it is both, according to circumstances. THE VOICE OF NATURE. Who could not sleep in this embowered room Perched high above the suffocating ground; Where clinging vines, and tree-tops in their bloom Cast grateful shade and fragrance all around; When, added to the magic spell of flowers, The night bird's song fills up the witching hours! Who could not rise refreshed at early dawn In this same sweet, enchanted nook; When, to the half-unconscious ear is borne, From Lark and Robin, Sparrow, Thrush and Rook, The gentle warning of the opening day-- God's earliest sermon to humanity! What soul could feel the burdening weight of sin When, from these tiny, upraised throats, The songs of Nature's praise begin And Heavenward pour, in liquid dulcet notes! We gladly join our grateful voice to theirs And turn our thoughts to God in earnest prayers. E. D. BARRON. IN THE ANIMAL WORLD. The organs of smell in a Vulture and a Carrion Crow are so keen that they can scent their food for a distance of forty miles, so they say. The wings of birds are not only to aid locomotion in the air, but also on the ground and water. One bird even has claws in the "elbows" of its wings to aid in climbing. The Elephant does not smell with his trunk. His olfactory nerves are contained in a single nostril, which is in the roof of the mouth, near the front. Humming Birds are domesticated by placing in their cages a number of paper flowers of tubular form, containing a small quantity of sugar and water, which must be frequently renewed. Of this liquid the birds partake and quickly become apparently contented with their captivity. Rightly considered, a Spider's web is a most curious as well as a most beautiful thing. When we were children, the majority of us supposed that the Spider's web was pulled out of its mouth, and that the little insect had a large reel of the stuff in his stomach, and that he could almost instantly add feet, yards, or rods to the roll. The facts are that Spiders have a regular spinning machine--a set of tiny tubes at the far end of the body--and that the threads are nothing more nor less than a white, sticky fluid, which hardens as soon as it comes in contact with the air. The Spider does not really and truly "spin," but begins a thread by pressing his "spinneret" against some object, to which the liquid sticks. He then moves away and by constantly ejecting the fluid and allowing it to harden, forms his ropes or wonderful geometrical nets.