THIS branch of natural science treats of the feathered tribe. The symmetry of form, the beauty of colors, the adaptation of structure which fit birds to their peculiar modes of living, constitute sources of admiration to the student of nature.

In order to render them buoyant, and assist respiration during the rapidity of flight, their lungs are placed against the ribs and enveloped by a membrane pierced with holes, which conduct the air into cavities of the body, and even into the bones. Their sight is very acute, and is equally adapted to distinguish near and distant objects. It is only nocturnal birds who have an external ear. The internal ear is, however, large, and the sense of hearing exceedingly quick. The musical powers which are so remarkable, belong only to the male. The seasons of migration, when most birds remove from one place of residence to another, are observed with wonderful accuracy. Hence the prophet says:- The stork in the heaven knoweth her appointed times; the turtle, the crane and the swallow observe the time of their coming; but my people know not the judgment of the Lord.

Christ would have us learn from them a lesson of trust in the divine providence. Behold, says he, the fowls of the air; they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns, and yet your Heavenly Father feedeth them.

THE FATHER'S VETO.

EDITORIAL.

THE family is often compared to a kingdom, and the father of the family to a king. Both Nature and Revelation suggest this comparison; and they alike sustain the absolute authority, in many important particulars, of the father. His will is often law, and from his word there can be, at times, no appeal. Neither wife nor friend can reverse his firm decision, and the child must abide his judgment. Whilst such authority results from the paternal relation, the father needs no ordinary measure of wisdom to exercise it with safety, and especially in those instances when the judgment of the wife and mother may conflict with his own. There may be seasons in the administration of the affairs of the household, when the mother's course in regard to the child is unwise, and when her indulgence is untimely and portentous of evil to the being who is the cherished object of love of each of the parents. At these seasons, the father may feel invoked by all the sacredness of his paternal responsibility to interpose, and divert the child from the course directed by maternal feeling. When placed in such circumstances, the father is bound to pause long before he acts, and most diligently to inquire, if in reality the course of the mother be wrong, and if the child would be slightly or essentially injured should such maternal course be unresisted and undisturbed. The mother, it must be remembered, has an equal interest in the child with the father, and that she is as much inclined as he to bring to her aid, in the course she adopts in regard to this being of their common affection, considerate judgment and mature deliberation. The father must remember that the mother would not, on any consideration, direct or indulge the child to his hurt, and that her liability thus to do, is not, in any wise, greater than his own. When, therefore, he is moved to the exercise of his special interposition in arresting the child from the path marked out for him by the mother, he should ever exercise the veto power with which he is

intrusted with the greatest self-distrust; for he must know, that the necessity of such veto but very seldom occurs. Very generally, the mother, in her judgment of things proper for the child, and of the course which it would be safe for the child to pursue, is as correct as the father. When the father is, however, compelled to dissent from the mother, with a slow and most self-distrusting feeling should he proceed. Never should he thus do in the exercise of passion or caprice, and never should the child know that the father had interposed, and that such interposition was the reason why the the mother's course had been changed. To preserve him in ignorance of this, let the father's voice be hushed before the child, and let the mother herself be allowed to speak, and alter the course which she has prescribed. If this be done, the mother's dignity is saved, and nothing appears by which her authority is weakened, or in the least impaired.

If the child be aware that the authority of the mother is disturbed by the father, and that she is dependent for this authority on his will, the feeling of insubordination to the mother is at once excited, her government is paralyzed, and she is reduced to a level with one whom God and nature and the best interests of the family demand should be under her control. The father, too, eventually suffers from this course, for the child soon learns the instructions of the great Creator of all in relation to parental authority, that both father and mother are to be obeyed; and if the mother's authority be set aside by the father, the father's power is ere long demolished by the child, and there is recklessness around the domestic fireside, which will increase and strengthen to despoil the family of its beauty, and make it the scene of frequent turmoil, and, at length, of perfect wretchedness.

To save the family from such ruin, let the authority of both parents be unimpaired. Never let the child know that the mother's power can be annihilated by the father's will. Never let it be apparent to the child that there is disunion in parental control, and never let the knowledge of the father's veto on any of the mother's precepts come to the ears of the child.

TO MY MOTHER IN HEAVEN.

BY MRS. P. P. SOMPAYRAC.

THOU art in the grave, my mother,

And the pale stars shine above thee;
And there are tears, sad tears, my mother,
In the eyes of those that love thee.
It seems but yesterday we stood
Beside thy coffin lid,

And looked upon thy loving eyes,
Beneath their curtains hid.

It seems but yesterday we heard
Thine accents soft and mild;
Thy low-toned voice, breathing for us
Those gentle words, " My child."
We felt the atmosphere of love,

A mother's presence brings,

And safe, as if an angel form
Had wrapped us with his wings.

It seems but yesterday, and yet the turf
Is green with springtide rain;
And o'er thy last low place of rest,

The autumn winds have swept again.
We miss thee at all times, my mother;
In our hours of pain and woe,
There is no heart as true as thine,
On which our tears may flow.
We miss thy kind and sunny smile,
In hours of joyous mirth,

And our souls grow sorrowful, to think

That thou art in the earth.

Ah no; 'tis there the shrine reposes,
Where beamed affection's light;

Such love as thine, dear mother,

Could ne'er know death or night.

And still we must believe thou livest,

And lookest on us in love,

And hope to see thee yet, dear mother,

In thy blessed home above.

And oft, when purer thoughts recall us

To the spirit's life within,

We will believe 'tis thee who lurest us
From the wiles of death and sin.

CONSTANTINOPLE.

EDITORIAL.

THIS city, so elegantly represented in our engraving, is the metropolis of the Turkish Empire. It is situated on a neck of land between the Black Sea and the Archipelago, and is built upon several hills, which rise in height as they recede from the shore, a beautiful green elevation forming the back ground. The circuit of the city is twelve miles: is surrounded with a wall of free-stone, fifteen feet high, flanked by 478 towers, and has twenty gates. The external appearance of the city is exceedingly fine. Palaces, mosques, seraglios, colleges, hospitals, baths, domes, minarets and spires, interspersed with cypress trees, tower one above another. A multitude of light boats glide through the waters of the harbor. The magic of the prospect, however, disappears on entering the city, the streets of which are narrow, crooked and dirty, while the houses are built of brick, wood, or mud, and covered with cement.

Constantinople contains a population of six hundred thousand, principally Mohamedans, who worship in three hundred mosques, some of which are built of costly materials and in superb style. The prodigious extent of their colonnades, the grandeur and height of their cupolas, astonish the unaccustomed beholder. In mosques, there are neither altars, images nor paintings, but a great number of suspended lamps, between which hang ostrich eggs, crystal rings and other curiosities, making a brilliant display amid the glitter of reflected lights. The grand mosque of St. Sophia, which occupies a central position in the engraving, is a most renowned edifice, the dimensions of which are such as to accommodate a hundred thousand worshippers.

There are two other mosques, which Mohamedans regard with still higher veneration than this. The one located in Mecca, the birth-place of Mohamed, has but a single door of entrance, which is covered with silver plate, and embellished with golden ornaments.