make (as was formerly remarked) not merely one, but

two assertions.

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Now if I am understood to mean not only that it is true that "a triangle is a three-sided figure" but also that this is the definition of a "triangle," then, I am understood as making two assertions; that not only every triangle is a three-sided figure," but also that "every three-sided figure is a triangle." But this is understood not from the Proposition itself, looking to the form of expression alone, but from what we know, or think, respecting the sense of the Terms themselves, or from what we suppose the speaker to have intended by those Terms. For, all that is implied in the mere form of an affirmative-proposition,-as "X is Y"-is simply hat some part at least of the term "Y" (whatever that Symbol may stand for,) is pronounced to agree with the

term "X."

§ 5. And a like explanation will apply in the other case also. If I understand from the sense of the terms in some affirmative-proposition, that the Subject and the Predicate are each a Singular-term, (denoting, of course, one and the same individual) as "Ishmael was the first-born of Abraham," then I understand, as implied by the meaning of the words (tho' not, by the form of the Proposition) another proposition also; namely, that "the first-born of Abraham was Ishmael." "In short, it is from my knowledge of the sense of the terms themselves that I understand them to be convertible" [or equivalent] terms. For you may observe that a Singular-term must, from its own nature, correspond to a Common term taken universally, [or" distributed"] inasmuch as it cannot but stand for the whole (not merely some part) of that which it denotes.

In such cases as the above then, that which is expressed as one proposition, is so understood from the meaning of the words as in reality to imply two. And there is therefore no real exception to the rule, that an Affirmative-proposition does not, by the form of the expression, distribute its Predicate.

§ 6. That which pronounces the agreement or disagreement of the two Terms of a Proposition [or which makes it affirmative or negative] is called, as has been above said, the "Copula." And this is always, in sense, either "is" or "is not." For every Verb, except what is called the "Substantive-verb" to "be," contains something more than a bare assertion of the agreement or disagreement of two terms. It always contains in it the Predicate (or part of the Predicate) also.

Subj. Cop. Pred.

Thus, the proposition it rains" (which in Latin would be expressed by the single word "pluit") is resolved into " Rain-is-falling;" or in some such way, Subj. "John owes William a pound," is resolved into " JohnCop.

Pred.

is-owing [or indebted to] William, a pound," And so in all such cases.

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Sometimes, indeed even the substantive-verb itself is both Copula and Predicate; namely where existence alone is affirmed or denied; as "God is;" "one of Jacob's sons is not*:" in which cases existing" is the Predicate. You are to observe that the Copula has in itself no relation to time. If therefore any other tense besides the Present, of the Substantive-verb, is used, it is to be understood as the same in sense with the Present, as far as the assertion is concerned; the difference of tense being regarded (as well as the person and number) merely as a matter of grammatical propriety: unless it be where the circumstance of time really does affect the sense of the proposition. And then, this circumstance is to be "this man regarded as part of one of the Terms; as, was honest; that is, "he is one formerly-honest." In such a case, an emphasis, with a peculiar tone, is laid on the word " was.

An Infinitive, you are to observe, is not a Verb, (since it can contain no affirmation or denial) but a verbalnoun-substantive. And a Participle again, is a verbaladjective.

A Participle, or any other Adjective, may be made a Predicate, but not (by itself) a Subject of a proposition; as "this grass is "that green," grass is mown.

Sub.

Pred.

An Infinitive, tho' generally placed (in English) at the end of a sentence, is almost always (when it is by itself a Term) the Subject; as "I like to ride;" that is, "To ride" [or "riding"] is-a thing I like." And observe that there is, in English, an Infinitive in "ing." the same in sound with the Participle, but different in sense. When I say "Riding" [or "to ride"] is pleasant," and again is pleasant," and again "that man is riding," in the former sentence the word "riding" is a Substantive, and is the Subject; in the latter it is an Adjective [Participle] and is the Predicate.

One Infinitive however is sometimes predicated of another Infinitive; as, "seeing is believing;" "not to advance is to fall back;" "to be born is not to be perfected."

§ 7. A Term may consist (as was formerly explained) of one word, or of several. And care must be taken, when you are examining a proposition, not to mistake for one of its Terms a word which tho' it might have been used as a Term, is, in that proposition, only a part of a Term. Thus, in one of the above examples, the word pound" is not one of the Terms, but only a part of the Term owing a pound to William." A descrip tion of some object will sometimes occupy a page or two, yet be only the Predicate of a single Proposition. You are to observe also that one single sentence will often imply what may be regarded as several distinct Propositions; each indeed implying the truth of the others, but having their Terms different, according as we understand the drift, (as it is called) or design of what is uttered: that is according to what we understand the person to be speaking of, (which is the Subject) and what it is that he says [predicates] of it.

and

Thus "He did not-design-your-death;" may be regarded as any one of at least four different propositions. If (No 1) the word "He" be marked by emphasis in speaking, or by Italics, it will be understood as the Predicate; and the drift of the sentence will be that whoever else may have designed your death, it will be "designing," [or "by design"] and the drift of was not he: if the emphasis fall on No 2, the Predicate the sentence will be that," tho' he may have endangered your life, it was not by design." and so with the rest.

You should endeavour therefore so to express yourself as to make it clearly understood not only what is the meaning of each word you employ, but also what is the general drift of the whole sentence; in short, what is the Subject of your Proposition, and what it is that you say of it. And as far as you can, you should make this clear by the structure of each sentence, without resorting to the expedient of italics or under-scoring oftener than is unavoidable.

There is frequently a great advantage, towards such clearness, gained, by the English word "IT" in that sense in which it stands (not as the neuter pronoun, answering to "He" and "She," but) as the representative of the Subject of a Proposition, of whatever Gender or Number; so as to allow the Subject itself to be placed last: as

* Gen. 42. xiii.

ORGANS OF VOICE IN BIRDS.

THE striking difference existing between the organs of voice of birds and other animals, may, perhaps, be best explained by comparing them with the organs of sound in the human species. We utter sounds, and speak through a certain tube, communicating from the mouth to the lungs, called the trachea, or windpipe, which is furnished with very beautiful contrivances for the purposes of sound. In like manner birds are provided with windpipes; but, unlike men and animals, they have a double set of instruments, if they may be so called, one at the upper, and the other at the lower end of the windpipe; and as it is in the lower part of the windpipe chiefly that the peculiar contrivance for uttering sounds is to be found, which may be compared to a clarionet, or similar musical instrument, it so happens, strange to say, that a bird might utter notes after his head was cut off. It is astonishing what powers and varieties of note this simple pipe is capable of producing. A good deal depends on the construction of the windpipe itself; and several, as in the duck tribe, are very curiously formed. It usually consists of a straight tube, of a stiff horny character, sometimes of uniform diameter throughout, at other times gradually swelling towards the middle, or with roundish enlarged cavities, as in the tufted and golden-eyed ducks, though these enlargements are more frequently at the end of the tube.

It would be needless to dwell upon the infinite variety of notes of birds; but a few of the most striking deserve notice. In this country we find indeed few peculiarities, but nevertheless there are some. Thus, everybody knows that jackdaws, starlings, and magpies, may be taught to speak words like parrots; but near a clergyman's house, in Northamptonshire, a blackbird was in the habit of crowing constantly, as accurately as a common cock, and nearly as loud. Perched upon the top of an ash-tree, it might be seen crowing away; occasionally in its natural song, but this only for a second or two; for it soon began again to crow; and when the cocks from a neighbouring poultryyard answered it, the little bird seemed delighted, and as if it was trying to rival them in the shrillness of its note. It was supposed that it must have been bred near the spot, and learned the cry from hearing the cocks.

The goatsucker, nightjar, hawkmoth, or, as it is better known in many places, the wheel-bird, owing to its making a sound much resembling a spinning-wheel, is another bird not uncommon in this country during the summer months, frequenting heaths and commons. The best time to hear it is about dusk, when it may be cautiously approached, and discovered sitting with its head downwards, repeating, for a considerable time, its rough jarring cry. In foreign countries, however, there are birds possessing a far greater power of imitation. We need scarcely mention the mocking-bird of North America at the head of the list; so widely spread over the world is its character, not only having the power of imitating the note of every bird it hears, but also that of animals and other sounds. It can bark like a dog, mew like a cat; then all of a sudden make the exact noise of a trundling wheelbarrow; sometimes it will call the hens together by screaming like a wounded chicken; or entice the house-dog from the fireside by whistling for it in its master's well-known summons.

There is a species of crow in India (Corvus leucotphus) which assembles in flocks of about twenty or thirty, in the recesses of forests, and whose note so exactly resembles the human voice in loud laughing, that a person, ignorant of the real cause, would fancy that a very merry party were close at hand.

There is also a species of skylark in India, whose powers of imitation are described as astonishing. One of these birds had so completely learned the wailing cry of a kite soaring in the air, that although the lark's cage was in room, and within a few feet of the listener, he could scarcely persuade himself that the cry he heard did not, in reality, proceed from a distant kite. They are taught by being carried daily to the fields and groves, in close-covered cages, and are so prized, that a fine, well instructed bird, has been known to sell for four pounds.

We have spoken of our English goatsucker; but there are many of this family never seen in our island, and far more interesting. In South America there are several sorts, whose notes are so singular, that the natives look upon them with a degree of awe and reverence, and will never kill them. They have received names from the different words they are supposed to speak, and absolutely

bewilder strangers on first arriving in those parts. Thus, one of the most common will alight close by the door, and, on a person's going out, will flit, and settle a few yards before him, crying out, "Who are you? who, who are you?" Another calls out, "Work away, work away, work away!" A third, in a mournful tone, says, "Willy come go; Willy, Willy, Willy come go!" While another, which is also a very common one, is known by the name of Whip-poor-Will, from constantly repeating these words. But the most extraordinary note yet remains to be mentioned, that of the campanero, or bell-bird, found in South America, and also in Africa (Cotinga casunculata.) A traveller in the first-mentioned country, speaks of it as never failing to attract the attention of a passenger, at a distance of even three miles, when it may be heard tolling, like a distant church-bell. When every other bird, during the heat of the day, has ceased to sing, and all nature is hushed in midnight silence, the campanero alone is heard. Its toll sounds, then a pause for a minute, then another toll, then another pause, and then a toll, and again a pause. In Africa, two travelling missionaries have given nearly the same account, but at somewhat greater length. They were journeying onwards, in the solitude of the wilderness, when the note of the campanero fell upon their ear. "Listen,' said my companion, 'did not you hear a church bell? We paused, and it tolled again; and so strong was the resemblance, that we could scarcely persuade ourselves that we did not hear the low and solemn sound of a distant passing bell. When all was silent, it came at intervals upon the ear, heavy and slow, like a death-toll; all again was then silent, and then again the bell-bird's note was borne upon the wind. We never seemed to approach it, but that deep, melancholy, distant, dreamlike sound, still continued, at times, to haunt us like an omen of evil.”

For

How the bell-bird utters this deep loud note is not known, though it is supposed that a fleshy protuberance on its head, which, when inflated with air, stands up like a horn, is, in some way, the cause; but the goat-suckers, in all probability, are indebted to their peculiar width of mouth and throat for this power of voice; for many other birds, in uttering loud notes, are observed to puff and swell out their throats in a very extraordinary manner. instance, our little summer visitant and sweet songster, the blackcap, when warbling forth his finest notes, distends its throat in a wonderful degree, and those who have chanced to see a brown owl in the act of hooting, will have noticed that they swell up their throats to the size of a pigeon's egg. And persons, who have fine ears for music, have ascertained, by comparing their notes with a pitch-pipe, that their variations are according to certain rules; most of them hooting in в flat, though some of them went almost half a note below it. This strain upon the throat is sometimes carried to a pitch which endangers the bird's life. The bird-fanciers in London, who are in the habit of increasing the singing powers of birds to the utmost, by training them by high feeding, hot temperature of the rooms in which they are kept, and forced moulting, will often match one favourite goldfinch against another. They are put in small cages, with wooden backs, and placed near to, but so that they cannot see each other. They will then raise their shrill voices, and continue their vocal contest till one frequently drops off its perch, perfectly exhausted, and dies on the spot. This will even happen sometimes to birds in a wild state. In the garden of a gentleman in Sussex, a thrush had, for some time, perched itself on a particular spray, and made itself a great favourite from its powerful and constant singing; when one day it was observed, by the gardener, to drop suddenly from the bough in the midst of its song. He immediately ran to pick it up, but found it quite dead; and, upon examination, discovered that it had actually broken a blood-vessel by its exertions, and thus perished.

That the notes and cries of birds serve them instead of language, there can be little doubt; one person indeed is on record, who, having passed much of his time in boyhood alone, in lonely situations, had by close attention acquired such a knowledge of this language, that, from the song of the parents, he knew where the nests were situated, whether they contained eggs, or whether the brood was hatched, knowing even the number of young birds, and their age, before he saw them. In fact, a common observer may, in many instances, understand their different notes, and all their different wants and emotions, as well as the birds themselves do.

Thus, while walking in a wood, if we happen to get sight of a flock of jays before they chance to notice our approach, they will be seen enjoying themselves, and chattering in seeming confusion. Suddenly one will be heard to utter a peculiar short deeper-toned note, when in an instant all is silent, and they may be seen skulking off one by one, only to be heard again, when they have sheltered themselves at a considerable distance. Crows and fieldfares, with many others of what are called congregating birds, or those that live together, act in the same manner. Every sportsman knows how difficult it is to get within gun-shot of a large flock of these birds, though they appear to be so busily employed in picking up their food in a meadow, that it might be supposed they saw nothing else. The fact is, they very often do see nothing, and think of nothing, beyond the food they are in search of, because, on the bough of some neighbouring tree, a good look-out is kept by one of the party; and the moment this sentinel crow or rook gives out his well-known caw of alarm, or the fieldfare its peculiar jarring cry, away go the main body, beyond the reach of the fowler, who thought he could escape observation by lurking behind a tree, or stealing under a hedge bank. person familiar with the notes of birds has no difficulty whatever in distinguishing between the sounds of pleasure and alarm. If he hears the swallows screaming in a certain note, he is as well aware that cats or hawks are about as if they could tell him so in common language. We once happened to hear a loud outcry amongst a parcel of sparrows, tomtits, and chaffinches, the noise was evidently not their usual note of pleasure, neither was it the clamorous scream they utter when fighting. The bustle occurred within a yard of our window, too near for a hawk to venture; neither was there a cat within sight,—nothing of the sort; but still the din increased, and the bush shook again with flutterings of wings, and clacking of tongues; when, at last, we espied a pair of inquisitive eyes, and a little sharp snout looked out from the twigs, at the bottom of the bush. It was a weasel, which, on seeing that it was discovered, took to its heels; and in an instant the cries of the sparrows ceased, and the whole party dispersed.

A

It is scarcely necessary to remind the reader of the language so well known in the poultry-yard. The cluck of the hen, when she calls her chickens together; her shriek, if a hawk is seen flying over the brood, and the rapid rush of chickens under her wings: and her cackle of pride or pleasure, when she announces to the whole farm-yard the important fact of her having laid an egg. Even a young chicken has a power of language easily understood. Take, for instance, one of four or five days old, and hold it up to a window where there are flies, and it will immediately seize them, with a little twittering note of pleasure; but if a wasp or a bee is placed before it, at once its note becomes harsh, expressing its dislike as well as fears.

Nobody can doubt, who sees a bird singing, clapping its little wings, turning from side to side, and glancing its bright eyes in all directions, as if courting attention and admiration, that it feels delight and satisfaction.

Did

we require further proof, we have but to recollect that the songbird is most on the alert with the music of his voice, when its affection and interests are awakened by attention to its mate, during the time of rearing its young. The male may then be generally seen in some twig or bough, at no great distance from the nest, in most cases becoming silent, if aware of a stranger's approach, or exchanging the note of pleasure for another of anger or complaint, which too often produces the very evil it dreads. Thus, the nightingale, one of our shyest and most timid birds, will frequently discover its nest, by making a jarring noise, and also a snapping or cracking, at the same time pursuing people along the hedges, as they walk, where its young are in a helpless state. The male blackcap is still more incautious, for it will commence and continue its song, even when sitting on its nest, and thus too frequently become the innocent cause of the capture of its brood.

The loud cries of other birds, however, particularly of many of the migratory water-birds, which fly by night, are evidently intended for the purpose of keeping them together. Few have been without opportunities of listening, in the silence of the night, to the incessant cackling of a flight of wild geese, on their way to some distant spot, high in the air. In the northern seas, sounds of this sort are more frequently heard from birds which never come so far to the southward. Of these is the red-breasted diver, which seldom quits the water by day, but during the night may be known to be on the wing, at a vast height, by a

|

peculiarly melancholy and distressing scream, exactly resembling that of a young child suffering from agonizing pain. We have listened, by the hour together, to the repeated and successive wailings of these wild melancholy birds; first, the scream is faint, and so distant as scarcely to reach the ear; then increases as the bird passes nearer, till, as it continues its flight, the sound gradually dies away. Soon, another scream from another quarter is faintly heard; and so on, till the dawn appears, when they betake themselves to the element in which they pass the day.

[STANLEY'S Familiar History of Birds.]

ON INATTENTION TO PROVIDENCE.

The

RESIDING, as I constantly do, in the country, and having been long observant of rural things, and the operations of Infinite Wisdom, through the very feeble organs with which I have been endowed, I have often thought, that we, who are daily made sensible of so many manifestations of creative power and mercy, should be more seriously disposed, more grateful for the beneficences of Providence, than those who live in societies removed from these evidences; but yet I neither know nor believe, that we in any respect give greater proof of this disposition, or are more sensible of the manufacturer, by the combination of artful contrivances, benevolence of an overruling Power, than others. effects his purposes, and by aid of man's wisdom brings his work to perfection; the artisan may eat his bread with all thankfulness and humility of heart, solace his labours, and mitigate his fatigue by the grateful flavour and juices of fruits purchased at the stall; but he sees nothing of the machinery, the gradual elaborations of nature, nor can he be which are requisite to bring them to his hand. He who conversant with the multiplicity of influences and events, lives in the country knows, that an omnipotent impulse must be constantly in action; he may till his land and scatter his corn, but the early and latter rain must soften hoar frost like ashes lighten his glebe; the sunshine animate his furrows; the snow as wool must cover the soil; the the sprouting shoot; and winds evaporate noxious moisture; insects and blights, that hover around, or circulate through the air, must be guided away, or our labours become abortive, or are consumed; we see the bud, the blossom, leaf and germ, all progressively advance, to afford plenty or yield us enjoyment; we see these things accomplished by the influencing interpositions of a beneficent Providence, and in no way effected by the machinery or artifices of our own hands; and it should operate more powerfully, in disposing those who witness them to particular resignation and grati tude, than others who cannot behold them, but view the ingenuity of man as the agent and means of his prosperity; yet how it happens that this principle is not in more_active operation within us, I cannot perceive. From the Journal of a Naturalist.

THE FLYING DRAGON. (Draco volens.) FEW of our readers, perhaps, can look at the representation of the harmless little creature we are about to describe, without being reminded of mysterious and extraordinary tales told to them in their early years, of the power and terrible exploits of a race of monsters called Dragons. That no such monsters ever existed is now clearly proved; but that there have been found in every age persons credulous enough to receive such marvels as true, and others superstitious or designing enough to impose their fancies on the weak and timid, is equally certain.

Throughout the early history of Greece and Rome, we find the people in the ignorance of heathenism, making the dragon the object of their mythology; thus rendered celebrated, this fabulous creature became the principal ornament of the legends of more recent times.

Proclaimed by the severe voice of history, (says Lacépède,) everywhere celebrated, everywhere described, every where dreaded; exhibited under all forms, always clothed with tremendous power, and immolating his victims at a single glance; transporting himself through the midst of the clouds with the rapidity of lightning; dissipating the darkness of night by the terrific splendour of his glaring eyes; uniting the agility of the eagle, the strength of the lion, the mag

II. THE LOG-HOUSES

IN our present Canadian sketch, we propose to describe the dwellings which emigrants from the mother country are accustomed to build, upon their first entrance upon woodland life. Such dwellings, humble as they may at first appear, are in reality a type of those which preceded the present abodes in the towns of Canada; for all the inhabitants, except those officially employed, may be deemed to be either emigrants or the descendants of emigrants.

The reader must bear in mind, that the land in Upper Canada, which is given, sold, or let to emigrants, is generally covered with magnificent forest-trees. These have to be cut down, and a log-house built of a portion of their trunks. Supposing an emigrant family to have arrived at the destined plot of ground the first operation is to fell the trees. This is done by cutting a notch into each side of the tree, about two feet above the ground; and rather more than half through on the side it is intended the tree should fall. The lower sides of the notches are horizontal, while the upper make angles of about 60°; and a trunk so notched can very readily be felled to the ground.

The writer of a little work under the title of Six Years in the Bush, thus records the events of his first "clearing"-day:

Having laid in a good store of axes and other necessaries for the use of the men, I returned to the settlement (the plot of ground purchased). The sun was shining brightly on the lake as I crossed, and a number of Indian canoes gave it a VOL. XXII.

very pretty and animated appearance. One of the squaws offered me some maple sugar for sale, which I purchased at about four-pence per pound; and had the satisfaction of hearing it pronounced by my men to be of an excellent quality. As I approached the settlement, the heavy fall of the axe gave notice that the work of demolition was going forward; several hemlock and other soft-wooded trees lay stretched along the shore; and I must confess it was with somewhat an English feeling of sorrow for their fate that I stepped the clear blue lake beyond, through the opening, reassured out amongst them. A glance at the Falls, however, and me; and I soon entered into the exultant feelings of the choppers, as one after another the noblest of these ancient lords of the soil groaned under the stroke of the axe, trembled for a few seconds, and fell.

When the trees have been felled, they are stripped of the principal branches, and cut into pieces of twelve or fifteen feet in length. The whole is left in this state until the proper season for burning arrives, which is generally in May. At this time, all the branches and small wood are set on fire, and consumed. The large lops are then either piled in heaps and burned, or rolled away to make fences. The surface of the ground, after burning the wood on it, is quite black and charred: and if it be intended for grain, it is now sown without farther preparation or tillage, other than covering the seed with a hoe. The stumps of the trees, that is, those portions which rise about two feet high, still left standing, are not removed, (principally on account of the value of handlabour among new settlers;) but are left to decay. The roots of the spruce, beech, birch, and maple, will decay sufficiently to take out the stumps in four or five years;

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