THE TWO PARROTS.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

WE are told by Comte de Buffon, that his sister had a parrot which would frequently speak to himself, and seemed to fancy that some one addressed him. He often asked for his paw, and answered by holding it up. Though he liked to hear the voice of children, he seemed to have an antipathy to them, and bit them till he drew blood. He had also his objects of attachment, and though his choice was not very nice, it was constant. He was excessively fond of the cook-maid; followed her everywhere, sought for her when absent, and seldom missed finding her. If she had been some time out of his sight, the bird climbed with his bill and claws to her shoulders, and lavished on her his caresses. His fondness had all the marks of close and warm friendship. The girl happened to have a sore finger, which was tedious in healing, and so painful as to make her scream. While she uttered her moans, the parrot never left her chamber. The first thing he did every day was to pay her a visit; and this tender condolence lasted the whole time of her confinement, when he returned to his former calm and settled attachment.

Yet all this strong predilection for the girl, would seem to have been more directed to her office in the kitchen, than to her person; for when another cookmaid succeeded her, the parrot showed the same degree of fondness to the new comer the very first day.

Willoughby mentions a parrot which, when a person said to it "Laugh, Poll, laugh," it laughed accordingly, and immediately after screamed out-"What a fool; to make me laugh.”

A parrot which had grown old with his master, shared with him the infirmities of age. Being accustomed to hear scarcely anything but the words, "I am sick," when a person asked it "How do you do?" “ Į

am sick," it replied with a doleful tone, stretching itself along; "I am sick."

A gentleman who resided at Gosport in Hampshire, and had frequent business across the water to Portsmouth, was astonished one day on going to the beach to look for a boat, and finding none, to hear the words distinctly repeated" Over, master? Going over?" (which is the manner that watermen are in the habit of accosting people when they are waiting for passengers). The cry still assailing his ears, he looked earnestly around him to discover from whence the voice came, when to his great surprise, he beheld the parrot in a cage, suspended from a public-house window on the beach, vociferating the boatman's expressions.

The following curious instance of limited loquacity occurred with a brace of parrots in London. A tradesman who had a shop in the Old Bailey, opposite the prison, kept two parrots for the inconvenience of his neighbours, a green disturber and a grey. The green parrot was taught to speak when there was a knock at the street door; the grey put in his word whenever the bell was rung; but they only knew two short phrases of English a-piece, though they pronounced these very distinctly. The house in which these "Thebans" lived had a projecting old-fashioned front, so that the firstfloor could not be seen from the pavement on the same side of the way; and one day when they were left at home by themselves, hanging out of a window, some one knocked at the street-door. "Who's there?" said the green parrot, in the exercise of his office. "The man with the leather!" was the reply; to which the bird answered with his further store of language, which was "Oh, ho!" The door not being opened immediately, as he expected, the stranger knocked a second time. "Who's there?" said the green parrot again. "Away with your who's there," said the man with the leather, "why don't you come down?" to which the parrot again made the same answer, "Oh, ho!" This response so enraged the visitor, that he dropped the knocker and rang furi

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ously at the house-bell; but this proceeding brought the grey parrot, who called out in a new voice, "Go to the gate." To the gate?" muttered the appellant, who saw no such convenience, and moreover imagined that the servants were bantering him. "What gate?" cried he, getting out into the kennel that he might have the advantage of seeing his interlocutor. "New-gate,” responded the grey parrot, just at the moment when his species was discovered.

CHRISTMAS.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

HEAP on more wood! the wind is chill;
But let it whistle as it will,

We'll keep our Christmas merry still!
Each age has deem'd the new-born year
The fittest time for festal cheer;
E'en heathen yet, the savage Dane
At Iol more deep the mead did drain,
High on the beach his galleys drew,
And feasted all his pirate crew;
Then in his low and pine-built hall,
Where shields and axes deck'd the wall,
They gorged upon the half-dress'd steer,
Caroused in seas of sable beer,

While round, in brutal jest, were thrown
The half-gnaw'd rib, and marrow-bone;
Or listen'd all, in grim delight,

While Scalds yell'd out the joys of fight.
Then forth in frenzy would they hie,
While wildly loose their red locks fly,
And dancing round the blazing pile
They make such barbarous mirth the while
As best might to the mind recal
The boisterous joys of Odin's hall.

And well our Christian sires of old Loved when the year its course had roll'd, And brought blithe Christmas back again With all his hospitable train.

Domestic and religious rite

Gave honour to the holy night:

On Christmas-eve the bells were rung;
On Christmas-eve the mass was sung:
That only night in all the year,
Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.
The damsel donn'd her kirtle sheen;
The hall was dress'd with holly green;
Forth to the wood did merry-men go
To gather in the mistletoe.

Then open'd wide the Baron's hall
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all;
Power laid his rod of rule aside,
And Ceremony doff'd her pride.
The heir, with roses in his shoes,
That night might village partner choose;
The lord underogating share

The vulgar game of "post and pair."
All hail'd with uncontroll'd delight
And general voice the happy night,
That to the cottage, as the crown,
Brought tidings of salvation down.

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied,
Went roaring up the chimney wide;
The huge hall-table's oaken face,
Scrubb'd till it shone, the day to grace,
Bore then upon its massive board
No mark to part the squire and lord.
Then was brought in the lusty brawn
By old blue-coated serving-man;

Then the grim boar's-head frown'd on high,
Crested with bays and rosemary.
Well can the green-garb'd ranger tell,

How, when, and where the monster fell.
What dogs before his death he tore,
And all the baiting of the boar.

The wassel round, in good brown bowls,
Garnish'd with ribands, blithely trowls.
There the huge sirloin reek'd; hard by
Plum porridge stood, and Christmas pie;
Nor fail'd old Scotland to produce,
At such high tide, her savoury goose.
Then came the merry masquers in,
And carols roar'd with blithesome din;
If unmelodious was the song,

It was a hearty note and strong.
Who lists may in their mumming see
Traces of ancient mystery;

White shirts supplied the masquerade,
And smutted cheeks the visors made;
But oh! what masquers, richly dight,
Can boast of bosoms half so light!
England was merry England, when
Old Christmas brought his sports agen!
"Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale;
'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer
The poor man's heart through half the year!

THE SPARTAN LAD.

REV. DR. GEORGE ASPINALL.

THE Grecian mother took the shield,
Her features stern and sad,
And plac'd it firmly on the arm
Of her young Spartan Lad!

"With it or on it, son, return,”
With calm voice then she said;
"With it, the laurel round thy brow,
Or on it, stark and dead!"