We know not how far this may. in fact, have 

 been accomplished, by the powerfol aid of 

 Doctor Dekat. in the Natural History of the 

 State of New-York, prepared by authority : but 

 we could wish that the librar>- of the American 

 naturalist could be enriched by some such 

 scholar, with a separate work on the natural i 

 history of a region so remarkable and so rich, in | 

 a style that should be in suitable keeping with 

 the progress of aU the arts that might contribute 

 to illustrate it. 



We should be ashamed to be ignorant of the i 

 GREAT WORKS OF AuDUBOS ; but how far is that , 

 bevond the reach of Farmers, who object even I 

 to the cost of the Farmers' Library, with its j 

 two annual volumes of 600 pages each, and all j 

 its expensive engravings? j 



For the sake of placing Audubon's works in | 

 every public Librarj- in the country, to be open ; 

 to the public use, how much more wisely might I 

 the general Government spend a small portion i 

 of the hundreds of thousands of dollars, which ^ 

 are now expended of the peoples money for ; 

 military memoirs, surveys, reconnoissances, j 

 books, reports, and schemes for blowing up j 

 ships and scattering death and destruction ? 



Being so far m for it, let us pay to his genius 

 the tribute of a single extract, in point, from tliat | 

 inimitable American ornithologist, Wilson", j 

 whose delineation of the manners of the differ- 1 

 ent species of birds that feU under his personal j 

 notice might be studied as models by everj- de- 1 

 scribing naturalist, and read with pleasure by i 

 every man of taste. His exquisite touches may 

 welllead one to think that the naturalist, as it 

 has been said of the poet, " Nascitur non fit.'' 



See what he says of one of oar early spring 

 visitors, the Whip-poor-will! 



And here let us ask the gentle and kmd- 

 hearted lover of Nature, if he can ever, or would 

 even wish to become insen-sible to that sort of 

 melancholy yet not unpleasing emotion, excited 

 by the shrill note of this mysterious bird, when 

 his first returning salutation " strikes the key of 

 remembrance and moans on the ear ? " Imagine 

 yourself riding slowly homeward through some 

 lonely wood, the trees casting in the bright 

 moon-light their fanciful shadows across your 

 way ; the mind faUs naturaUy to musing on the 

 vicissitudes of life, and retrospect lifts once 

 agam the curtain that oblivion would hang over 

 the past ; the earliest scenes in the play of life | 

 are the first to be reacted : schoolboy compaii- j 

 ions, king since departed and ahnost forgotten, 

 reappear in aU the joyous freshness of youth, 

 and as you approach your own dear home, 

 where affection waits your coming with impa- 

 tience, you almost audibly to yourself repeat 

 from that best of English poems— 



• The breezv call of incen.'^-breathing mom. 



The swallow twittering from the en^w-buUt shed, 



m-2\ 



The cock's shrill clarion, or 'be e.-hoina horn. 

 No more shall rouse them from tlieir lowly bed , 

 ■' For thtn no more the blazing hearth shall bum, 

 Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 

 No children run to lisp their sire's rerum. 

 Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share." 

 In the midst of such meditation-i, the ear is sud- 

 denly struck by the sharp, clear-toned " WHiip- 

 poor-zTiZ/." " \Yhip--poox-iciU;' as if he meant 

 to arrest and quicken your attention to some 

 message of ominous portent. A feeling of 

 deeper sadness, not immingled with curiosity, 

 comes charmingly over you. and you are wil- 

 lin? to listen, even though in dread of some pain 

 ful tidings of domestic calamity, or you fancy 

 this bird of night may be placed near your 

 homestead to telegraph the death of dear and 

 distant relatives. The reader that has never 

 felt will smile at such vain imaginings ; so we 

 give him the fine description of this singular 

 bird, by ^Vilson. whose prose is conceived in 

 the spirit of poetr>-— who always dipped his 

 pencil in the colors of truth, and painted Natore 

 to the life 



" On or about the 25th of April, if the season 



be not uncommonlv cold, the Whip-poor-will is 



heard in Pennsvlvania, in the evenmg. as the 



i dusk of twilicht commences, or m the mornmg 



I as soon as dawn has broke. The notes of this 



solitary- bird, from the ideas which are naturaUy 



! associated with them, seem like the voice of an 



old friend, and arc listened to by almost aUwith 



ffreat interest- At first they issue from some 



I retired part of the woods, the glen, or mountoin ; 



i in a few evenings, perhaps, we hear liem from 



' the adjoining coppice, the garden fence, tbe 



road before the door, and even the roof of the 



dwelline-house. hours after the family have r^ 



tired to rest Some of the more i-norant and 



superstitious consider this near approach as 



forebodin- no pood to the family, nothing leas 



than the sickness, misfortune, or death ot some 



of its members. Everj- mording and evenmg, 



his shrill and rapid repetitions are heard trom 



the adioinine woods; and when mo or more 



are callins at the same time, as is often the case 



in the pairing season, and at no preat di.stance 



from each other, the noise, mmeiing with tM 



echoes from the mountains, is really f n*"?^ 



Strangers, in parts of the countrj- where tb^e 



birds are numerous, find it almost impossibte 



for some time to sleep ; while to those long ac^ 



qnainted with them, the sound often ^rve«"» 



Idlaby to assist their repose. The notes seem 



prettj- plainly to articulate the words which 



have bJen generally applied to them, ' W *«?" 



p^.^m: the first -and last sjllaWes beio^ nt^ 



tered with preat emphasis, and t»'e -"hole w 



about a second to each repetition : but wften 



^woor more males meet their whip-poor^^J 



altercations become much more '^P"^^^ Ji 



ces-sant as if each were .training to overpower 



or s^^lence the other. When near, yoa of^n 



hear an introductorj- cluck b-.tween the n^ 



At these times, as weU as almo^ }lf^^ 



thcv fly low-not more than a few ^et fro« » 



I surface, skimn.ing about the ^^^^et^S^ 



the door, alightiig on the wood pile or setuiB 



I on the roof Toward night t^^**? ^^fAen 



come silent unles-s in clear moonlight ^^ 



SheTare heard with litUe intermission till mora 



ing-" 



