THE LITTLE AUK. (_Mergulus Melano Leukos._) The Little Auk, or Sea Dove, is an example of the genus Mergulus. It braves the inclemency of very high latitudes, and is found in immense flocks on the inhospitable coasts of Greenland, Spitsbergen, and Melville Island. Here they watch the motion of the ice, and when it is broken up by storms, “they come down in legions, crowding into every fissure, to banquet on the crustaceous and other marine animals which lie there at their mercy. “The Little Auk is between nine and ten inches in length; the bill is black and the legs inclining to brown; the plumage is black and white; and in winter the front of the neck, which is black in summer, becomes whitish. It lays but one egg, of a pale, bluish green, on the most inaccessible ledges of the precipices which overhang the ocean.” Such are the accounts of the naturalists and voyagers who have visited the arctic regions. With its name of Sea Dove, its apparently delicate structure, and its daring and heroic habits of life, it affords a most inviting theme to the poet. * * * * * PLEASANT WORDS. BY CAROLINE MAY. Pleasant words are as an honey-comb, sweet to the soul, and health to the bones. PROV. xvi. 24. Many truths the Wise man gives To his sons and daughters, As pure and useful, strong and bright, As streams of living waters; But one I choose from all the rest, And call it now the very best. Pleasant words, he says, are like A comb of fragrant honey; The savings-bank of thriving bees, Whose cells contain their money, Where they, in little space, lay up The gains of many a flowery cup. “Sweet to the soul,” they gently soothe In days of bitter anguish; “Health to the bones,” they cheer the sick And lift the heads that languish; And with their care-dispelling chime, They touch the heart at any time. O! let us then ask God to plant In us His flowers of beauty, And teach us to watch over them With humble, patient duty; Sweet flowers that grace both age and youth, Love, meekness, gentleness and truth. For, as honey is not found Where no flowers are blowing, So, unless within our hearts Love and truth are growing, No one upon our lips will find “Pleasant words,” sincere and kind. But, unlike the fragile flowers, Who die—as soon as ever They have given their honey up— The more that we endeavor To lavish kindness everywhere, The more we still shall have to spare. “Pleasant words!” O let us strive To use them very often; Other hearts they will delight, And our own they’ll soften; While God himself will hear above, “Pleasant words” of truth and love.