Before concluding this article, we would say a few words in behalf of the Gallinule, called, from its resemblance to the domestic fowl, the Water Hen. In respect to manners, it is, according to Latham, a very docile bird, being easily tamed and feeding with the common poultry, scratching the ground with the foot like the latter. It will feed on many things, such as roots of plants, fruits, and grain, but will eat fish with avidity, dipping them in the water before it swallows them; will frequently stand on one leg and lift the food to its mouth with the other, like a parrot. Its flesh is exquisite in taste. This bird was famous among the ancients under the name Porphyrion, indicating the red or purple tint of its bill and feet--a far more appropriate appellation than that now vulgarly applied to it. It is known to breed in Georgia, whose thick swamps favor the concealment to which it is partial. It is extremely vigilant and shy, and cannot be shot without great difficulty. They move with grace upon the water, and run with equal facility on the ground or on the leaves of water plants. MY LOVE. BY J. IVES PEASE. I love! and ah, 'tis bliss to feel My breast no longer lone and cold; To know, though Time all else should steal, The _heart_ can never all grow old! I love! and now I _live_ again! The world looks brighter to my eyes; There is a gladness on the plain-- A newer glory in the skies. I love! Her smile is o'er my path Like sunlight in sweet April hours: Her voice steals o'er me like the breath Of morning to half-withered flowers. I love! Ah _she_ may never know How wild my love! I have no sigh-- I have no word--nor look to show How much I'm blessed when she is nigh. And it is well!--my hapless love May never dare to ask return-- Enough that her glad smiles may move _My heart--I ask not hers to burn!_ Ah no. 'Tis better thus to meet With equal pulse and tranquil brow-- Drink, through her eyes, delirium sweet. Can madness from such fountains flow? I know not! Dearest, still, oh still, "Look love upon me," sweet and kind!-- Let thy glad thought, in music, thrill Bright witchcraft through my longing mind. I clasp thee to my breast--in dreams! Thy lips rain kisses warm and fast-- And I half hate the morning beams That scare thee to thy home at last. Thy "home!"--ah, would it ne'er had been-- Thy home and mine are wide apart-- The world's grim shadow glooms between-- And my life lives but where thou art. Ah, dearest, we're not happy! Life Yields not the bliss 'twas meant to do: Discord _might_ come of wrong and strife-- Should sorrow spring from duty, too?