into an almost circular cup, the interior 

 possessing a lining of the softest and 

 downiest feathers, while the exterior is 

 elaborately covered with lichens, which 

 are securely bound on by a network of 

 the finest silk from spiders' webs. It 

 was saddled on the horizontal limb of 

 an alder, about twenty feet above the bed 

 of a running mountain stream, in a glen 

 which was overarched ana shadowed by 

 several huge spruces, making it one of 

 the most shady and retired nooks that 

 could be imagined." 



The note of this bird gem of the pine- 



clad mountains is a "twittering sound, 

 louder, not so shrill and uttered more 

 slowly than those of the small hum- 

 mers." 



As the Rivoli hovers over the mescal 

 and gathers from its flowers the numer- 

 ous insects that infest them ; or, as it 

 takes the sweets from the flowers of the 

 boreal honeysuckle, one is reminded of 

 the words of the poet : 



"Art thou a bird, a bee, or butterfly?" 

 "Each and all three — a bird in shape am I, 

 A bee collecting sweets from bloom to bloom, 

 A butterfly in brilliancy of plume.' " 



THE SEA-GULL. 



From the frozen Pole to the Tropic sea 



Thou wingest thy course with the drifting clouds; 



O'er ghostly bergs and vessels' shrouds 

 The beat of thy wings is strong and free. 

 Alone, or with thy tribe a host 



Thou spreadest the bars of the low-ebbed tide. 



On the wave-washed drift of wrecks canst ride 

 Or crowd the cliffs of a rock bound coast. 



No home is thine save the ocean's waste; 



Unrestrained o'er thousands of miles dost roam; 



And follow the trail of the liners' foam 

 On wings that show no signs of haste. 

 Thou canst rest on the height of vessels' yards, 



Or the gleaming ice of the northern floe. 



As the changing tides thou dost come and go 

 And the shifting wind thy strange course guards. 



The seaman well knows the signs thou canst show 



Of weather, and luck of the fishing grounds; 



And the whaler smiles when the sea abounds 

 With thy thousands that come as the falling snow. 

 Yet stranger those thoughts that arise in me, 



As I watch thee wheel of thy shining wings, 



Of thy life o'er the depths where the ocean flings 

 From the frozen Pole to the Tropie sea. 



— Julian Hinckley 



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