56 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY, 
mittent fevers, and regularly sent to Cariaco and other 
parts of the lower districts where such diseases prevail. 
The travellers followed the banks of the small river 
which issues from the cavern as far as the mounds of cal- 
careous incrustations permitted them, and afterward de- 
scended into its bed. The cave preserved the same direc- 
tion, breadth, and height as at its entrance, to the dis- 
tance of 1554 feet. The natives having a belief that 
the souls of their ancestors inhabit its deep recesses, the 
Indians who accompanied our travellers could hardly be 
persuaded to venture into it. Shooting at random in the 
dark, they obtained two specimens of the Guacharo. Hay- 
ing proceeded to a certain distance, they came to a mass 
of stalactite, beyond which the cave became narrower, 
although it retained its original direction. Here the rivu- 
let had deposited a blackish mould resembling that ob- 
served at Muggendorf in Franconia. The seeds which the 
birds carry to their young spring up wherever they are 
dropped into it; and M. Humboldt and his friend were 
astonished to find blanched stalks that had attained a 
height of two feet. 
As the missionaries were unable to persuade the Indians 
to advance farther, the party returned. The river, spark- 
ling amid the foliage of the trees, seemed like a distant 
picture, to which the mouth of the cave formed a frame. 
Having sat down at the entrance to enjoy a little needful 
repose, they partook of a repast which the missionaries 
had prepared, and in due time returned to the convent. 
[ Humboldt. 
NOTES OF A NATURALIST. 
BY JACOB GREEN, M. D. 
PROFESSOR OF CHEMISTRY IN JEFFERSON COLLEGE, 
Our Village—The Blue-bird. 
Every one who rambles through our fields and woods 
during the spring, summer, or autumn, must be familiar 
with the plaintive song, the gentle manners, and the peace- 
ful disposition of our own little Blue-bird, called by mo- 
dern ornithologists the Syfia Sialis. Some how or 
other I have, from early youth, entertained an attachment 
for this little songster, which all the gayer and more ex- 
pert musicians of the grove, cannot rival. Though his 
plumage is simple, and his warblings brief, and perhaps to 
some ears monotonous, he hasalways maintained with me 
the pre-eminence. I always anxiously wait for his arri- 
val, and listen with delight to his first mild and oft repeated 
chirpings, towards the end of February, knowing that 
spring’s ‘‘ ethereal mildness” is at hand. During the sum- 
mer he animates the woods and hedges with his most 
cheerful song, though it is frequently lost in the general cho- 
rus; but, in the autumn, the meadow and the grove would 
be unharmonious but for his plaintive notes. Often in the 
bright sunny mornings of this variable season of our year, 
when all his companions in the feathered choir have depart- 
ed to milder climates, he may be noticed perched ona fence 
rail, or on the branches of the leafless hedge,—then spring- 
ing into the air at your approach, he pipes his final autum- 
nal farewell. Nothing can be more graphic than Wilson’s 
account of this interesting bird. He observes that ‘‘in 
his motions and general character, he has great resem- 
blance to the Robin Red-breast of Britain; like him he is 
known to almost every child, and shows as much confi- 
dence in man by associating with him in summer, as the 
other by his familiarity in winter.’? I have heard and 
have been pleased with the notes of the English Robin in 
his native haunts, and perhaps many would prefer them to 
those of our Blue-bird; but if what is told of his insidious 
and pilfering disposition be true, I cannot consent to make 
him a companion of my little favourite. The author of 
‘©The Journal of a Naturalist,”’ associates the Robin, 
(Motacilla rubecola,) with the Bull-finch and other plun- 
derers of the English garden, in company, where, he re- 
marks, it would not generally be sought; ‘‘ but sad truths 
must be told of it. It might be called pugnacious, jea- 
lous, selfish, quarrelsome, did I not respect ancient feelings 
and long-establishedsentiments. A favourite by commisse- 
ration, itseeks an asylum with us; by supplication and 
importunity it becomes a partaker of our bounty in a sea- 
son of severity and want,—and its seeming humbleness 
and necessities obtain our pity; but it slights and forgets 
our kindness the moment it can provide for itself, and is 
away to its woods and its shades.’”? Now, our bird is pro- 
verbially peaceful in his manners, useful in his habits, 
confident and familiar in his disposition, and when with 
open quivering wings, he pours forth his sweetest melody, 
I think, is unrivalled in his song. The Robin Red-breast of 
England has furnished a theme for some of her most gifted 
poets, and for many of her nursery songs. I shall never 
lose the impressions made upon my youthful mind when 
hearing the words and the music of the little ballad called 
‘©The Wood Robin.”? But no pastoral muse has yet 
arisen in this western woody world to do justice to the 
name of the Blue-bird, and to endear him still more, as 
Wilson continues to remark, by the tenderness of verse. 
A few lines are then offered as a tribute to our little songs- 
ter, by the gifted biographer of American birds; and, as a 
