It is impossible that we should be other than an admirer of Nature. In all our solitary rambles, whether upon the wild and lonely hill-side, or in the heart of the pastoral valley; at the edge of the mirror-like lake, the bank of the babbling brook, or along the border of the mountain rivulet - our eye is always filled with beautiful and picturesque objects. Our ear soon becomes familiar with the light carol of every bird which inhabits the thicket or the forest; and our eye is soon made acquainted with the whole lovely family of flowers, which enamel the earth, and enrich the air with their perfume. There is not a wild flower that nods to us from the top of the verdant bank, or the vine-covered precipice, or a bird that salutes us with its voluble overture from its leafy dome, that we cannot recognize and call by name.

We have ever been lovers of birds, the denizens of the air. They have ever appeared to us almost too fair and pure for this grovelling, sensual world. In our boyhood we were taught that it was wrong to harm some kinds of birds; but there was a large class that were proscribed as doing injury to the farmer, (while they were innocently employed in seeking their daily food,) and he that killed the most was the best fellow. For many years past we have supposed that the birds were rapidly decreasing, for their numbers in the fields and groves were few. A few years ago we moved on to Springside, our present habitation, where the cottage is surrounded with beautiful trees, and we soon found the birds made it their home, as they arrived from their southern journey. They were not allowed to be disturbed, and they built their nests and reared their young in the immediate vicinity of the cottage. In the month of June more than twenty varieties of birds made their homes on the premises, to whose songs we could listen in the lawn and surrounding fields.

No birds are allowed to be killed on the place, not even the saucy and impudent Cherry-bird that steals our fruit, or the Sparrow that robs us of our strawberries; the consequence is, their numbers have greatly increased.

Treat the birds kindly, and they will become almost domesticated - follow the plow and pick up every straggling worm or grub that is turned up from his dark dwelling. For doing so they deserve well of the farmer, and no honest man will cheat them out of their part of the crop, much less kill them for trying to get it.

There is reason to believe, that although most birds live on a variety of food, yet each particular species of birds have a greater partiality or fondness for some particular kinds of insects or reptiles. This evinces a plan. Many species of birds follow civilization. The same may be said of several kinds of insects; or, at least, they multiply under its influence. Hence the birds follow, in order to reduce the number of insects. This also evinces a plan. Let us then study and observe. No man can study " Nature's works and ways,"without becoming wiser and better.

"Birds," says an elegant writer, "are the best of entomologists. No ornithologist ever hunted specimen birds with more industry and perseverance than is exhibited by birds themselves in their researches. They disport in the air, penetrate every nook and corner of thicket, hedge and shrubbery; they search the bark, pierce the dead wood, glean the surface of the soil, watch for the spade, trench, and follow the plowman after worms and larvee. A single bird in one season destroys millions of insects for its own food and for that of its own nest. No computation can be made of the insects which birds devour.

" Birds are the best of scavengers, the nimblest hunters and adroit butchers. They have no Grahamite scruples to agitate this worm and bug-loving tribe. They do not show their teeth to prove that they were ever designed for meat. They eat what they like, wipe their mouth on a limb, return thanks in a song, and wing their way to a quiet nook to dose or meditate, snug from the hawk that sails about in the air above. To be sure, birds, like men, have a relish for variety. They are the best of pomologists. We charge every man and boy with positive cruelty and dishonesty who drives the birds from the garden in fruit time. On investigation it has been discovered that they never disturb sound cherries, and none but those that have worms in them." We say, therefore, spare the birds, and they will destroy millions of your worst enemies - -the worms.

We are not writing the history of birds; we are not writing methodically; we aim at no order. Ours is the humble task of recording a few observations called forth by the phases of the months; we may therefore be pardoned for introducing the little birds, our favorites, whose visits to our section appear to be irregular.

Look up into that branch whose beauteous spray sweeps to and fro, responsive to every breathing of the wind. See you that merry, lively little Chick-a-dee, hopping about from branch to branch in the ecstasy of joyous' freedom - now pecking pertly at the dun-colored cuticle of the tree; now seizing coyly in its beak some grub or aphide? Most varied are the attitudes which they now assume; not an instant of repose do they know; restless, creeping, calling, pendent, but ever in progress, advancing with the cautious watcher. Beautiful birds are the Chick-a-dees, whose actions we now stop for a moment to contemplate, and who are now displaying their characteristic restlessness and vivacity in rose-bush and fruit-tree, to obtain a supply of hibernating insects. Most graceful and easy are their actions. Hovering on the wing, ever and anon lightly darting away and as lightly returning.

Oh ! it is not the deed of a noble heart which can ruthlessly slaughter the little feathered songsters of our lawns and groves - those brilliant Psalmists of Nature, who are ever reiterating their jubilant songs of praise, and thanksgiving, and love - whose sweet, melodious voices come wafted like incense to us upon the summer zephyrs, and, floating onward and upward through the grand old woods, are caught and reechoed with new power and new beauty, and varying tones, by myriad tuneful chorists, until tho air seems filled with the very essence of harmony, and the embowered branches of the overspreading trees are converted into a grand orchestral temple.

We love little birds. We delight, when suffering, and care, and sorrow have left their impress upon our mind, or some dark shadow of Evil or Spirit of Gloom has crossed the brightest path of life, dimming our faculties, destroying our perception of enjoyment, and filling our very soul with the impress of Melancholy, to stroll into the woods, leaving the artificial world behind us, turning our backs upon our fellow-men, and shutting ourselves up in a close communion with the mysteries, and wonders, and beauties of Nature.