I have dissected a second ibis since the specimen I am now describing, and found the same kind of stones; and these particulars may, I think, be fairly adduced to prove that, if we will only listen, we may hear "sermons from stones." We talk of the antiquity of the ibis, and the ancient Egyptians; the stones from this bird's gizzard laugh at us. How far back in the physical history of our planet must we go to know the history of these little fragments of some ancient quartz mountain range, which in all probability witnessed the first rays of the sun as they dispelled the dark and murky clouds of chaos, when this earth was yet young in creation. 6 But have we nothing else in the body of our ibis to comment upon? Yes, surely, here are some dozen little beetles, which have fallen out of its body. What will they tell us? They buzz out, "We are well-known insects to dissectors of mummies; our name is Dermestes Pollinetus,' and pollinetus means, prepared for the grave or funeral. We are carrion-eaters, and have near relations in England, called 'ham-hoppers,' which much plague the ham merchants and the leather dealers. We have capital noses for stinking animal substances; and when the ibis in which we were found was being made into a mummy, it was very hot weather, and we smelt him out; the embalmers went away to dinner; we then crawled up into the body of the bird (for they had 'trussed' him, as the modern poulterers call this operation, taking out the intestines and leaving the gizzard only), and while we were eating away, and thinking about laying our eggs, the embalmers returned. They did not know we were inside. They stopped up the hole where we came in with a bit of mummy cloth; we could not get out, and when the bird was dipped into hot pitch, we folded our wings and died. And now here we are, hard and dry, but still perfect, all but our legs, which have got broken off. Ah! it was a sad day for us when we entered the open and bowel-less bird to get our dinners, and we have been there quite long enough, and are right glad to see the sun again, though the light seems different from the light we have been accustomed to. And you, Mr. Inquisitive, are not like that old, long-bearded, spice-smelling Egyptian embalmer who shut us up in our prison." But why was our ibis made into a mummy at all? Why did not his captor wring his neck and cook him? Know, then, that the ibis was sacred to the god Thoth, and that Thoth was Mercury of the Romans. It has been remarked (as you may remark tomorrow in the Zoological Gardens), that when this bird, like the robin of nursery fame, "Tucks his head under his wing, poor thing," he has some resemblance to the heart. The Egyptians believed that the heart was the seat of intellect; (so do the valentine writers of the present day ;) both seem to have ignored, and still do ignore, the brain and its mysterious nerve batteries, the head-quarters of the intellect, whether we write about mummies, or whether we think about our lady loves. However, as the bird resembled the heart, he was, in the mythology of the time, promoted to a high office, viz. to "preside over and inspire all the sacred and mystical learning of the Egyptian hierarchy;" and if they built mechanics' institutes in those days, they most likely put the figure of an ibis over the door, and not the bust of Minerva, as we do in the present day. Others think that ibis was considered sacred because he destroyed snakes and reptiles. I doubt it. He was much like a common curlew in shape and habits, and though he might snap at a good fat frog, he would not probably notice a snake. Anyhow, the Egyptian ibis family of the present day will not even look at a snake, for I have tried the living birds at the Zoological Gardens with a snake, and instead of making a meal of the unfortunate reptile forthwith, the ibis hopped and shuffled away from it in a most un-ibis-like manner; a nice active lob-worm is much more in his way. The Egyptian "game laws," as regards ibis, were severe, for if anybody killed an ibis on purpose he was put to death; if he killed the bird accidentally, provided that he "displayed a proper amount of grief," he was only fined! Think of that, ye county magistrates, and learn from "the wisdom of the Egyptians." BIRD OF THE MARSH. ONE of the wading birds is three times mentioned in our authorized version of the page of prophecy, in connection with sites to which it certainly must have been an entire stranger at the period when the records were penned. Thus, while Babylon was the capital of a mighty empire, a city of palaces, temples, and marts, thronged with nobles, priests, and traffickers, at least a century and a half before any blow had been struck at its prosperity, it was affirmed, "I will also make it a possession for the bittern, Of Bozrah, one of the Idumean cities, when its streets resounded with the voices and the tramp of them that pass to and fro, it was declared, "But the cormorant and the bittern shall possess it."-Isa. xxxiv. 11. Of Nineveh, while a great centre of attraction to the oriental nations, the statement was made, "And flocks shall lie down in the midst of her, And all the beasts of the nations: Both the cormorant and the bittern.”—Zeph. ii. 14. The bird in question has no love for the society of man, or the neighbourhood of cultivated lands, but haunts the marshy districts, with their pools of water fringed with rank aquatic vegetation. Subsisting upon fish, such sites furnish it with a feeding ground and a nestling place. Its connection, therefore, with the places mentioned is equivalent to announcing their reduction to a state of stern desolation. The bittern, once common in our islands, is now scarce, owing to the increase and spread of population, and the conversion of swamps into fertilized and habitable ground. Even in those places which retain the conditions acceptable to the bird, and where it still breeds, it is rarely to be seen, because of its nocturnal habits, constantly feeding at night, and retiring by day to thick beds of reeds, sedge, and rushes, which afford it a solitary and secure retreat. From such situations it is with difficulty made to take flight. While corresponding in general appearance to another wader, the heron, much better known, the bittern is smaller, and wears a differently coloured plumage, a rich brownish buff, covered with mottlings of black, grey, and chesnut. It is most remarkable for uttering a loud booming cry several times in succession, commencing at eventide when on the wing, and then making a considerable pause before the call is repeated. This is alluded to by many of our poets: "But the lark's shrill fife shall come At the daybreak from the fallow; "At evening o'er the swampy plain, The bittern's boom came far." The cry is heard at a great distance, and seems from its dismally hollow sound as if it issued from some troubled spirit at the bottom of the waters. Thus uttering a strangely solemn note, and living remote from the haunts of men, on the morass, the bog, and the quagmire, the bittern continues to this day as apt an emblem of desolation and solitude as when introduced into the tremendous denunciations of prophecy. If ever such a bird should find a congenial habitation near the site of St. Paul's, we may be sure that the great city will have become a heap of mouldering ruins, with grasses growing in the thoroughfares, and all commerce departed from the river, while the unbridled stream will have returned to its primitive aspect, and be spreading out in pools on either side of the present channel, interspersed and bordered with osier-beds and reedy forests. Changes equally great, and at one time quite as unlikely, mark the story of the past, as the consequence of notorious public delinquency; and we do well to take heed to them as remembrances, that pure and undefiled religion is the finest patriotism, for only in connection with it have we the assurance that around all our glory there shall be a defence. "What follows next, let cities of great name, And regions long since desolate proclaim ; Speak to the present times and times to come. OWLS. PEOPLE who have never been in the habit of observing birds, are often astonished at the certainty with which they are distinguished at considerable distances by those who have watched them carefully. There is a peculiar air and manner about birds, which does in many cases mark them most strongly. For instance, rapacious birds are, |