Braham’s Parrot.—Parrots, like cuckoos, form their notes deep in the throat, and show great aptitude in imitating the human voice. A lady who admired the musical talents of Braham, the celebrated singer, gave him a parrot, which she had taught with much care. A person who saw it at Braham’s house, thus describes it:—“After dinner, during a pause in the conversation, I was startled by a voice from one corner of the room, calling out in a strong, hearty manner, ‘Come, Braham, give us a song!’ Nothing could exceed the surprise and admiration of the company. The request being repeated and not ananswered, the parrot struck up the first verse of God save the King, in a clear, warbling tone, aiming at the style of Braham, and sung it through. The ease with which the bird was taught was equally surprising with his performance. The same lady prepared him to accost Catalani, when dining with Mr. Braham, which so alarmed Madame that she nearly fell from her chair. Upon his commencing Rule Brittania, in a loud and intrepid tone, the chantress fell upon her knees before the bird, expressing, in terms of delight, her admiration of its talents.”
This parrot has only been exceeded by Lord Kelly’s, who, upon being asked to sing, replied, “I never sing on a Sunday.” “Never mind that, Poll; come, give us a song.” “No, excuse me. I’ve got a cold—don’t you hear how hoarse I am?” This extraordinary creature performed the three verses entire of God save the King, words and music, without hesitation, from beginning to end.
Mungo Park and the Frogs.
The tales of travellers often appear to us incredible, merely because they relate things different from our own observation and experience. You know that there are some countries so hot that they never have ice or snow there. Now it chanced that a man from some northern portion of the world, happening to be in one of those hot places, told the people, that, where he lived, the water sometimes became solid, in consequence of the cold, and almost as hard as a stone.
Now this was so different from the experience of the people, that they would not credit the traveller’s story. This shows us that a thing may be a reality, which is, at the same time, very different from our own observation and experience.
Mungo Park was a famous traveller in Africa. He went into countries where no white man had been before, and he saw places which no white man had seen. He tells us many curious things, but perhaps nothing is more amusing than what he says about the frogs. At a certain place that he visited, he went to a brook to let his horse drink; but what was his surprise to find it almost covered with frogs, who kept bobbing up and down, so that his horse was afraid to put his nose into the water. At last Mr. Park was obliged to take a bush and give the frogs a flogging, before he could make them get out of the way so as to let his poor beast quench his thirst.
A Child lost in the Woods.
The Bangor Whig of the 11th of June contains an affecting account of a search made at Linnæus, in the Aroostook country, for a little girl of nine years, the daughter of Mr. David W. Barbar, who, on the 4th, was sent through the woods to a neighbor’s, half a mile distant, to borrow a little flour for breakfast. Not returning that day, the next morning about forty of the neighbors set out to hunt for her, but spent the day without success. The next day sixty searched the woods, with no better fortune. The following morning between two and three hundred of the settlers assembled early, anxious and fearful for the safety of the lost child.
“The company set out,” says the Whig, “for a thorough and a last search. The child had been in the woods three days and nights, and many hearts were sunk in despondency at the utter hopelessness of finding it alive. But to learn its fate or restore it was the determined purpose of each. Half the day had been expended in advancing into the forest. It was time for returning; but who could think of doing so while an innocent child might be wandering but a few rods in advance? On the company pushed, still deeper into the dense wilds. The sun had reached the meridian, and was dipping down toward the west. It seemed vain to look farther, and slowly and heavily those stout-hearted men brushed a tear from their cheeks, gave up all as lost, and, as their hearts seemed to die within them, commenced their return. The line was stretched to include a survey of the greatest possible ground; not a bush or tree, where it was possible for a child to be concealed, within the limits of the line, was passed without diligent search. Those at the extremities of the lines tasked themselves to the utmost in examining the woods beyond the lines. They had travelled for some time, when, at the farthest point of vision, the man on one flank thought he saw a bush bend. He ran with swelling heart. He hesitated. Was it his imagination? He gazed a moment. The bush bent again, and the head of the little wanderer was seen! He rushed forward, and found the little girl seated upon a log, and breaking the twigs she had plucked from the bush which so providentially led to her discovery. She did not appear to be frightened; said she had lain in the woods three nights, and had not seen or heard any wild beasts, and that she thought she should get to Mr. Howard’s for the flour before night! At first she did not appear hungry or weak, but after eating a piece of bread her cries for more were very piteous. She was found about three miles from where she entered the woods. Her clothing was very thin, and the large shawl she had on when she left home she had carefully folded and placed in the pillowcase, not even putting it over her during the night, as she innocently said, ‘to keep from dirtying it, or her mother would whip her.’ Our informant states that she is now as well and happy as the other children.”