[6] I do not recommend the employment of bird organs for instructing birds, because they are rarely accurate, and their notes are harsh and discordant; for bullfinches repeat the sounds exactly as they hear them, whether harsh or false, according to the instrument used. The good and pure whistling of a man of taste is far preferable; the bird repeats it in a soft, flute-like tone. When one cannot whistle well it is better to use a flageolet.—_Translator._ * * * * * TIME AND CHANGE. BY ISAAC GRAY BLANCHARD. Time’s flood sweeps on with ceaseless flow, And o’er all things that are below Change hath his empire: every day Some object testifies his sway, The falling leaf, the fading flower Show Change and Death are Nature’s dower; And every day that passes o’er us Takes something time shall not restore us; Some dear delight, some hope in blossom, Some cherished memory from our bosom, Some holy impulse which Heaven lent us When first on life’s fair voyage it sent us, Some sunny hue of childhood bright, That blest us with its lingering light, Some pleasant friend, some earthly stay, We fondly hoped to keep for aye, These hearts of ours, though once so bright, Have less and less of love’s young light; The world has lost the charm it had, Even Nature seems less green and glad, And from our bosoms, shut and lone, Faith, like a beauteous bird, has flown. O, Time and Change! how strong ye be! How unlike what we were are we! * * * * * WOMAN’S HEART:—A SONNET. FOR JULIA. BY REV. RUFUS HENRY BACON. Like to a calm and placid inland bay, Hemmed in by leafy solitudes and hills That ward the ruder winds, and kindly stay The tempest—where the forest song-bird fills Its peaceful shores with music through the day, And moonlit silence claims the evening hours— On whose sweet borders bloom the choicest flowers— A woman’s heart should be. In which alway The cloudless heavens may smile, and gentlest ray Of stars glide down, to emblem forth the sway Of purity and truth, and happiness Made up of innocence and loveliness Of soul—so rarely found in this sad world of ours, Where evil mars the good, and wastes divinest powers. * * * * * A TRAVELER’S STORY. BY MRS. LYDIA JANE PEIRSON.