rest the eye as his song does the ear.

The mocking-bird loses little of the power and energy of his music by
confinement. When he commences his career of song, it is impossible to
stand by uninterested. He whistles for the dog; Caesar starts up, wags
his tail, and runs to meet his master. He squeaks out like a hurt
chicken, and the hen hurries about with hanging wings and bristling
feathers, clucking to protect her injured brood. The barking of the
dog, the mewing of the cat, the creaking of the passing wheelbarrow,
follow with great truth and rapidity. He repeats the tune taught him by
his master, though of considerable length, fully and faithfully. He
runs over the quiverings of the canary, and the clear whistlings of the
red-bird, with such superior execution and effect, that the mortified
songsters feel their own inferiority, while he seems to triumph in
their defeat by redoubling his exertions.

THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE.

A correspondent of Wilson furnishes the following account of an oriole:
"This bird I took from the nest when very young. I taught it to feed
from my mouth; and it would often alight on my finger, and strike the
end with its bill, until I raised it to my mouth, when it would insert
its bill, to see what I had for it to eat. In winter, spring, and
autumn, it slept in a cage lined with cotton batting. After I had put
it in, if I did not close up the apertures with cotton, it would do so
itself, by pulling the cotton from the sides of the cage till it had
shut up all the apertures; I fed it with sponge cake; and when this
became dry and hard, it would take a piece and drop it into the saucer,
and move it about till it was soft enough to be eaten.

"In very cold weather, the oriole would fly to me, and get under my
cape, and nestle down upon my neck. It often perched upon my finger,
and drew my needle and thread from me when I was sewing. At such times,
if any child approached me and pulled my dress, it would chase after
the offender, with its wings and tail spread, and high resentment in
its eye. In sickness, when I have been confined to the bed, the little
pet would visit my pillow many times during the day, often creeping
under the bed-clothes. At such times, it was always low-spirited. When
it wanted to bathe, it would approach me with a very expressive look,
and shake its wings. On my return home from a call or visit, it would
invariably show its pleasure by a peculiar sound."

THE WREN.