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THE COW-PEN BIRD. 



Icterus pecoris, 



PLATE XCIX. Male and Female. 



The works of Nature are evidently perfect in all their parts. From 

 the manifestations of consummate skill everywhere displayed, we must 

 infer that the intellect which planned the grand scheme, is infinite in 

 power ; and even when we observe parts or objects which to us seem un- 

 necessary, superfluous, or useless, it would be more consistent with the 

 ideas which we ought to have of our own feeble apprehension, to consider 

 them as stiU perfect, to have been formed for a purpose, and to execute 

 their intended function, than to view them as abortive and futile attempts. 



The seed is dropped on the ground. It imbibes moisture, swells, and 

 its latent principle of life receiving an impulse, slowly unfolds. Its ra- 

 dicle shoots down into the earth, its plumule rises toward the sky. The 

 first leaflets appear, and as we watch its progress, we see it assuming size 

 and strength. Years pass on, and it still enlarges. It produces flowers 

 and fruits, and gives shelter to multitudes of animated beings. At length 

 it stands the glory of the forest, spreading abroad its huge arms, covering 

 with its dense fohage the wild animals that retreat to it for protection 

 from the sun and the rain. Centuries after its birth, the stately tree 

 rears its green head to the sky. At length symptoms of decay begin to 

 manifest themselves. The branches wither, the core dies and putrefies. 

 Grey and shaggy lichens cover its trunk and limbs. The Woodpecker 

 resorts to it for the purpose of procuring the insects which find shelter 

 beneath its decayed bark. Blackness spreads over the heavens, the mut- 

 tering of the thunder is heard. Suddenly there comes on the ear the 

 bickering noise of the whirlwind, which scatters the tM'igs and the foliage 

 around, and meeting in its path the patriarch of the forest, lays him pros- 

 trate on the ground. For years the massy trunk lies extended on the 

 earth ; but it is seen gradually giving way. The summer's sun and the 

 winter's frost crumble it into dust, which goes to augment the soil. And 

 thus has it finished its course. 



Look again at the egg of the bii'd, dropped on its curious bed, the 

 construction of which has cost the parent bird many labours and anxieties. 



