The kildeer feeds on grasshoppers and insects which it finds in fields and in pools of water, wading in search of them. It is very erect, runs with great swiftness, and flies very high in the air. Toward autumn, large flocks descend to the seashore, where they are more silent and circumspect.
Force of Truth.—Some years ago, a motion was made in the house of commons, in England, for raising and embodying the militia, and for the purpose of saving time, to exercise them on the Sabbath. When the resolution was about to pass, an old gentleman stood up and said, “Mr. Speaker, I have one objection to make to this, which you will find in an old book called the Bible.” The members looked at one another, and the motion was dropped.
Early Impressions.
A STORY FOR PARENTS.
FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.
A gentleman and lady, the parents of an only daughter about three years old, residing in one of our southern cities, proposed, a few months since, a visit to the lady’s friends at the north. She was particularly anxious once more to see an aged mother, who, during her absence, had experienced a long and distressing sickness, and whom, considering the distance which separated their residences, she could not hope to see many times more. One day, she told Augusta, her little daughter, of the journey, and inquired how she should like it. Of course, the child was delighted with the project, and from that time it occupied many of her thoughts and much of her conversation. She should see her friends, of whom her mother had made frequent mention, and especially her grandmother, who, of all the rest, was of course an object of the greatest interest. Augusta’s inquiries, about her in particular, were often repeated, and almost daily the question was renewed when her father would be ready to start.
After her usual round of inquiries about the journey and her mother’s friends, Augusta, one day, concluded by saying, “My grandmother will be glad to see me—don’t you think she will, mother?” “Certainly,” replied the mother. “Don’t you think she will be very glad to see me?” “Yes,” said the mother, “she will almost eat you up.”
The reply was inconsiderate, but who has not heard it a hundred times? Nothing more common—but it sunk deep into the heart of the child, and from that time, though she continued daily to talk of the contemplated journey, it was with diminished joy, and sometimes with positive reluctance. The idea of being devoured, and by one with whom she had associated so many ideas of tenderness and love, preyed, as it was afterwards discovered, upon her imagination, and nearly annihilated her hitherto happy anticipations. She frequently spoke of her grandmother’s devouring her, and on one occasion gave her father a pretty serious practical idea of the manner in which she expected her aged relative would proceed. She began by telling him what her mother had said—that her grandmother loved her so well that she would eat her up. “When she sees me, she will do so,” said Augusta—applying her sharp little teeth to his cheek, which brought the blood to the surface, and at the same time sent a pang to the extremities of his frame—“she will do so!”
The time set for their departure at length arrived, and Augusta and her parents, in a few weeks, reached the place of their destination. From motives of convenience, the grandmother had, some months before, left her own residence, and was at lodgings in the village of W——. Consequently, the parents of Augusta sought quarters at a friend’s in the immediate neighborhood.