RAZOR-BILL. (Alca Torda.)
In the second species of Alca, the Black-billed Auk, Razor-bill, or Murre, the development of the wings is carried to the usual extent necessary for flight, though the bird uses them with great effect as oars, when swimming under water. They are diffused over the northern hemisphere on both continents; but they are particularly abundant in the higher latitudes. In England their eggs are esteemed a great delicacy, for salads especially, and on the coast of that country the “dreadful trade” of taking their eggs is actively carried on. In Ray’s Willoughby, the habits of the Razor-bill are thus described:
“It lays, sits and breeds up its young on the ledges of the craggy cliffs and steep rocks by the seashore, that are broken and divided into many, as it were, stairs or shelves, together with the Coulternebs and Guillemots. The Manks-men are wont to compare these rocks, with the birds sitting upon them in breeding time, to an apothecary’s shop—the ledges of the rocks resembling the shelves, and the birds the pots. About the Isle of Man are very high cliffs, broken in this manner into many ledges one above another, from top to bottom. They are wont to let down men by ropes from the tops of the cliffs, to take away the eggs and the young ones. They take also the birds themselves, when they are sitting upon their eggs, with snares fastened at the top of long poles, and so put about their necks. They build no nests, but lay their eggs upon the bare rocks.
“On the coasts of Labrador they abound, and thousands of birds are there killed for the sake of the breast feathers, which are very warm and elastic, and the quantities of eggs there collected amount to almost incredible numbers.
“The summer and winter dresses of the Razor-bill, though different, do not vary so remarkably as the plumage of many other birds. In the summer dress, the white streak which goes to the bill from the eyes becomes very pure; and the cheeks, throat and upper part of the front of the neck are of a deep black, shaded with reddish. In winter the throat and fore part of the neck are white.”
The Razor-bill is fifteen inches long. The egg is disproportionately large, being about the size of that of the turkey, but longer, white or yellowish and streaked with dark brown.
SPIRITUAL PRESENCE.
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BY MRS. MARY G. HORSFORD.
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When the still and solemn night
Broodeth o’er with wing of love,
And the stars with eyes of light
Look like spirits from above;
When the flowers their petals close
Softly in the slumbering air,
Bending meekly in repose
As a contrite soul at prayer;
And the waters sweep the shore
With a low and sullen chime,
Like Life’s current falling o’er
Into the abyss of Time;
Sometimes feel ye not a breath
As of pinions rushing by,
Viewless as the touch of Death?
’Tis an angel passing nigh.
Evermore ’neath rock or tree,
In the forest or the street,
’Mid the desert, on the sea,
We a seraph form may meet.
Human hearts! with vision clear
Look ye to each deed and thought;
Arm the spirit, torn in fear
From the act in evil wrought;
We do walk forever nigh
Waking ghost of envied dead,
And unmarked by mortal eye
With angelic hosts do tread.
While in chorus winds rejoice,
Though we see no guiding form,
Speaks there not a “still small voice”?
God is riding on the storm.
Tireless roll the worlds of light,
God is marking out their way;
Joyous beams the morning light,
God is smiling in the ray.
Soul! though gaunt and weary care
Haunt thine upward soaring free,
Let each pulse count out a prayer,
The Eternal walks with thee.
FLOWER FANCIES.
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BY MRS. H. MARION STEPHENS.
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Angel tokens—flower fancies—
Wrought with bright imaginings—
Evermore the vision glances
On your rainbow-tinted wings!
Underneath the wild-wood dreaming,
Type of all that’s pure in heart,
Or upon the hill-top gleaming,
Gems of beauty still thou art!
Angel tokens—ever filling
Nature’s book with flowing rhyme,
Bearing in your silent trilling
Records quaint of olden time;
Or in strange devices wreathing
Wisdom in your swift decay,
While your last faint sigh is breathing
“Man’s the creature of a day.”
Angel tokens—flower fancies—
Sea and sky have gone to sleep!
Why, when slumber all entrances,
Do ye wake and sadly weep?
Are ye spirits watching o’er us,
And the tears upon your leaves,
Do they fall for cures before us—
Is’t for this your bosom grieves?
Angel tokens—flower fancies—
Winter’s breath is on ye now
And your perfumed leaves are falling
Crisped and shriveled from the bough—
Yet when spring, with winter striving,
O’er the earth asserts her reign,
With her smile your buds reviving,
Ye will blossom bright again!
Angel tokens—springing lightly
Through the glorious summer day,
Oh! could we but bloom as brightly,
And as brightly pass away—
Could our winter, death, victorious
O’er the cold and cheerless sod
Bear us on in bloom, thus glorious,
To the garden of our God!