on of it.

The calmness and dignity of this Hawk, when attacked by Crows or the
King-Bird, are well worthy of him. He seldom deigns to notice his noisy
and furious antagonists, but deliberately wheels about in that aerial
spiral, and mounts and mounts till his pursuers grow dizzy and return to
earth again. It is quite original, this mode of getting rid of an
unworthy opponent, rising to heights where the braggart is dazed and
bewildered and loses his reckoning! I am not sure but it is worthy of
imitation.

But summer wanes, and autumn approaches. The songsters of the seed-time
are silent at the reaping of the harvest. Other minstrels take up the
strain. It is the heyday of insect life. The day is canopied with
musical sound. All the songs of the spring and summer appear to be
floating, softened and refined, in the upper air. The birds, in a new,
but less holiday suit, turn their faces southward. The Swallows flock
and go; the Bobolinks flock and go; silently and unobserved, the
Thrushes go. Autumn arrives, bringing Finches, Warblers, Sparrows, and
Kinglets from the North. Silently the procession passes. Yonder Hawk,
sailing peacefully away till he is lost in the horizon, is a symbol of
the closing season and the departing birds.

GOLD EGG.--A DREAM-FANTASY.

HOW A STUDENT IN SEARCH OF THE BEAUTIFUL FELL ASLEEP OVER HERR PROFESSOR
DOCTOR VISCHER'S "WISSENSCHAFT DES SCHOeNEN," AND WHAT CAME THEREOF.

1.

I swam with undulation soft,
Adrift on Vischer's ocean,
And, from my cockboat up aloft,
Sent down my mental plummet oft,
In hope to reach a notion.

2.

But from the metaphysic sea
No bottom was forthcoming,
And all the while (so drowsily!)
In one eternal note of B
My German stove kept humming.

3.

What's Beauty? mused I. Is it told
By synthesis? analysis?
Have you not made us lead of gold?
To feed your crucible, not sold
Our temple's sacred chalices?

4.

Then o'er my senses came a change:
My book seemed all traditions,
Old legends of profoundest range,
Diablerie, and stories strange
Of goblins, elves, magicians.

5.

Truth was, my outward eyes were closed,
Although I did not know it;
Deep into Dreamland I had dozed,
And found me suddenly transposed
From proser into poet.

6.

So what I read took flesh and blood
And t