Her son, the good and prudent boy, Who wisely thus began, Was long the aged widow's joy; And lived an honored man. He had a ship, for which he chose "The LILY" as a name, To keep in memory whence he rose, And how his fortune came. He had a lily carved and set, Her emblem, on her stem; And she was called, by all she met, A beauteous ocean gem. She bore sweet spices, treasures bright; And, on the waters wide, Her sails, as lily-leaves, were white: Her name was well applied. Her feeling owner never spurned The faces of the poor; And found that all he gave returned In blessing rich and sure. The God, who, by the lily-pond, Had drawn his heart above, In after life preserved the bond Of grateful, holy love. THE SILVER BIRDSNEST. We were shown a beautiful specimen of the ingenuity of birds, a few days since, by Dr. Cook, of this borough. It was a birdsnest made entirely of silver wires, beautifully woven together. The nest was found on a sycamore tree, on the Condorus, by Dr. Francis Beard, of York county. It was the nest of a hanging-bird; and the material was probably obtained from a soldier's epaulet, which it had found. WESTCHESTER VILLAGE RECORD. _Spring of 1838._ A stranded soldier's epaulet, The waters cast ashore, A little winged rover met, And eyed it o'er and o'er. The silver bright so pleased her sight, On that lone, idle vest, She knew not why she should deny Herself a silver nest. The shining wire she pecked and twirled; Then bore it to her bough, Where, on a flowery twig 't was curled-- The bird can show you how:-- But, when enough of that bright stuff The cunning builder bore Her house to make, she would not take, Nor did she covet more. And when the little artisan, While neither pride nor guilt Had entered in her pretty plan, Her resting-place had built; With here and there a plume to spare, About her own light form, Of these, inlaid with skill, she made A lining soft and warm. But, do you think the tender brood She fondled there, and fed, Were prouder, when they understood The sheen about their bed? Do you suppose they ever rose Of higher powers possessed, Because they knew they peeped and grew Within a silver nest? THE QUAKER FLOWER. A TRIFOLIUM FROM THE GRAVE OF PENN. I have a little Quaker flower, That hath a kind of spirit power To hold me captive, hour by hour, In pleasant musing lost; 'T was plucked for me in distant land, And by another's friendly hand, From turf where I may never stand; Then yon wild ocean crossed.