16 



THE COW-PEN-BIRD. 



"MoLOTHRUS PECORIS, G?7iel. 



PLATE CCXII.— Male, Female, and Young. 



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 unnecessary, 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 still 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 radicle 

 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 foliage 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 them- 

 selves. 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 muttering of the thunder is heard. 

 Suddenly there comes on the ear the rushing noise of the whirlwind, which 

 scatters the twigs and the foliage around, and meeting in its path the patriarch 

 of the forest, lays him prostrate on the ground. For years the massy trunk 

 lies extended on the earth; but it is seen gradually giving way. The sum- 

 mer'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, dropped on its curious bed, the construction of 

 which has cost the parent bird many labours and anxieties. It also is a seed, 

 but it gives rise to a very different object. Fostered by the warmth imparted 

 by the anxious parent, the germ which it contains swells into life, and at 



