ANIMAL KINGDOM: (continued 5)

Brown tells us the following story: "As Captain Smith, of the Bengal Native Infantry, was out in the country with a shooting party, very early in the morning, they observed a tiger steal out of a jungle in pursuit of a herd of deer. Having selected one as his object, it was quickly deserted by the herd. The tiger advanced with such amazing swiftness that the stag in vain attempted to escape, and, at the moment the gentleman expected to see the fatal spring, the deer gallantly faced his enemy, and for some minutes kept him at bay; and it was not till after three attacks that the tiger succeeded in securing his prey. He was supposed to have been considerably injured by the horns of the stag, as, on the advance of Captain Smith, he abandoned the carcass, having only sucked the blood from the throat."

The following circumstances are mentioned by Delacroix: "When I was at Compiegne," says he, "my friends took me to a German who exhibited a wonderful stag. As soon as we had taken our seats in a large room, the stag was introduced. He was of an elegant form and majestic stature, his aspect at once animated and gentle. The first trick he performed was, to make a profound obeisance to the company, as he entered, by bowing his head; after which he paid his respects to each individual of us in the same manner. He next carried about a small stick in his mouth, to each end of which a small wax taper was attached. He was then blindfolded, and, at the beat of a drum, fell upon his knees, and laid his head upon the ground. As soon as the word pardon was pronounced, he instantly sprang upon his feet. Dice were thrown upon the head of a drum, and he told the numbers that were cast up, by bowing his head so many times. He discharged a pistol, by drawing with his teeth a string that was tied to the trigger. He fired a small cannon by means of a match that was fastened to his right foot, without showing any signs of fear. He leaped several times, with the greatest agility, through a hoop, which his master held at a man's height from the ground. At length the exhibition was closed with his eating a handful of oats from the head of a drum, which a person was beating the whole time with the utmost violence. Almost every trick was performed with as much steadiness as it could have been accomplished by the best-trained dog."

At Wonersh, near Guildford, the seat of Lord Grantley, a fawn was drinking in the lake, when one of the swans suddenly flew upon it, and pulled the poor animal into the water, where it held it under till it was drowned. This act of atrocity was noticed by the other deer in the park, and they took care to revenge it the first opportunity. A few days after, this swan, happening to be on land, was surrounded and attacked by the whole herd, and presently killed. Before this time, they were never known to molest the swans.

The Virginia Deer.—A young gentleman, in Bath, Virginia, killed two large bucks, the horns of which were so interlocked that they could not disengage themselves. There is no doubt that they had had a combat; and, from observations made by the sportsman, he supposed them to have been in that condition several days. The horns were so securely fastened that, he could not separate them without breaking off one of the prongs. The bucks were killed at two shots, and the one which escaped the first ball carried the other a hundred yards before he met his death.

A farmer in the state of Kentucky domesticated a female deer, but lost her during the whole spring and summer. After an absence of several months, she returned with a fawn at her side, and, on her arrival, seemed to take great pleasure in showing her young one.

The Virginia deer is said by the hunters to evince a strong degree of animosity towards serpents, and especially to the rattlesnake. In order to destroy one of these creatures, the deer makes a bound into the air, and alights upon the serpent with all four feet brought together in a square, and these violent blows are repeated till the hated reptile is destroyed.

The Reindeer.—This animal, as is well known, is the great resource of the Laplanders, to whom it furnishes most of the necessaries of life. Two or three varieties are found in the polar regions of the American continent. "They visit the Arctic shores," says Captain Lyon, "at the latter end of May or the early part of June, and remain until late in September. On his first arrival, the animal is thin, and his flesh is tasteless; but the short summer is sufficient to fatten him. When feeding on the level ground, an Esquimaux makes no attempt to approach him; but should a few rocks be near, the wary hunter feels secure of his prey. Behind one of these he cautiously creeps, and, having laid himself very close, with his bow and arrow before him, imitates the bellow of the deer when calling to its mate. Sometimes, for more complete deception, the hunter wears his deer-skin coat and hood so drawn over his head, as to resemble, in a great measure, the unsuspecting animals he is enticing. Though the bellow proves a considerable attraction, yet if a man has great patience, he may do without it, and may be equally certain that his prey will ultimately come to examine him; the reindeer being an inquisitive animal, and at the same time so silly, that, if he sees any suspicious object which is not actually chasing him, he will gradually, and after many caperings, and forming repeated circles, approach nearer and nearer to it.

"The Esquimaux rarely shoot until the creature is within twelve paces, and I have frequently been told of their being killed at a much shorter distance. It is to be observed that the hunters never appear openly, but employ stratagem for their purpose—thus by patience and ingenuity rendering their rudely-formed bows, and still worse arrows, as effective as the rifles of Europeans. When two men hunt in company, they sometimes purposely show themselves to the deer, and when his attention is fully engaged, walk slowly away from him, one before the other. The deer follows, and when the hunters arrive near a stone, the foremost drops behind it, and prepares his bow, while his companion continues walking steadily forward. This latter the deer still follows unsuspectingly, and thus passes near the concealed man, who takes a deliberate aim, and kills him."

THE GIRAFFE.

This animal, the tallest of quadrupeds, is found in the interior of Africa. Its height is about seventeen feet. It is of a fawn color, marked with dark spots. Its neck is slender, its head gracefully formed, and its eyes soft, yet animated. It associates in small troops, and feeds upon the twigs and leaves of trees.

Miscellaneous Anecdotes.—Some years ago, a giraffe was sent from Egypt to Constantinople. Its keeper used to exercise it in an open square, where the Turks used to flock daily, in great crowds, to see the extraordinary animal. Seeing how inoffensive it was, and how domesticated it became, the keeper used to take it with him through the city, and, whenever he appeared, a number of friendly hands were held out of the latticed windows to offer it something to eat. The women were particularly attentive to it. When it came to a house where it had been well treated, if no one was at the window, it would tap gently against the wooden lattice, as if to announce its visit. It was extremely docile and affectionate; and, if left to itself it always frequented the streets where it had the most and best friends.

The giraffe has become familiar to us, in the menageries, of late years; but half a century ago, its very existence was doubted. Le Vaillant was the first to dissipate the mystery which enveloped it. His account of his success in killing one, is given in the following glowing terms: "The 18th of November was the happiest day of my life. By sunrise I was in pursuit of game, in the hope to obtain some provision for my men. After several hours' fatigue, we descried, at the turn of a hill, seven giraffes, which my pack instantly pursued. Six of them went off together; but the seventh, cut off by my dogs, took another way. Bernfry was walking by the side of his horse; but in the twinkling of an eye, he was in the saddle, and pursued the six. For myself, I followed the single one at full speed; but, in spite of the efforts of my horse, she got so much ahead of me, that, in turning a little hill, I lost sight of her altogether; and I gave up the pursuit. My dogs, however, were not so easily exhausted. They were soon so close upon her, that she was obliged to stop, to defend herself. From the place where I was, I heard them give tongue with all their might; and, as their voices appeared all to come from the same spot, I conjectured that they had got the animal in a corner; and I again pushed forward. I had scarcely got round the hill, when I perceived her surrounded by the dogs, and endeavoring to drive them away by heavy kicks. In a moment I was on my feet, and a shot from my carbine brought her to the earth. Enchanted with my victory, I returned to call my people about me, that they might assist in skinning and cutting up the animal. Whilst I was looking for them, I saw one of my men, who kept making signals which I could not comprehend. At length, I went the way he pointed; and, to my surprise, saw a giraffe standing under a large ebony-tree, assailed by my dogs. It was the animal I had shot, who had staggered to this place; and it fell dead at the moment I was about to take a second shot. Who could have believed that a conquest like this would have excited me to a transport almost approaching to madness! Pains, fatigues, cruel privation, uncertainty as to the future, disgust sometimes as to the past,—all these recollections and feelings fled at the sight of this new prey. I could not satisfy my desire to contemplate it. I measured its enormous height. I looked from the animal to the instrument which had destroyed it. I called and recalled my people about me. Although we had combated together the largest and most dangerous animals, it was I alone who had killed the giraffe. I was now able to add to the riches of natural history. I was now able to destroy the romance which attached to this animal, and to establish a truth. My people congratulated me on my triumph. Bernfry alone was absent; but he came at last, walking at a slow pace, and holding his horse by the bridle. He had fallen from his seat, and injured his shoulder. I heard not what he said to me. I saw not that he wanted assistance; I spoke to him only of my victory. He showed me his shoulder; I showed him my giraffe. I was intoxicated, and I should not have thought even of my own wounds."

THE GOAT.

Of this animal there are many species, some wild and some domestic. They seem to be a link between the sheep and antelope, and to partake of the qualities of both. In some European countries, goat's milk is used, by the poor, as a substitute for that of the cow.

Anecdotes.—A person in Scotland having missed one of his goats when his flock came home at night, being afraid the wanderer would get among the young trees in his nursery, two boys, wrapped in their plaids, were ordered to watch all night. The morning had but faintly dawned, when they sprang up the brow of a hill in search of her. They could but just discern her on a pointed rock far off, and, hastening to the spot, perceived her standing with a newly-dropped kid, which she was defending from a fox. The enemy turned round and round to lay hold of his prey, but the goat presented her horns in every direction. The youngest boy was despatched to get assistance to attack the fox, and the eldest, hallooing and throwing up stones, sought to intimidate him as he climbed to rescue his charge. The fox seemed well aware that the child could not execute his threats; he looked at him one instant, and then renewed the assault, till, quite impatient, he made a resolute effort to seize the kid. Suddenly the whole three disappeared, and were soon found at the bottom of the precipice. The goat's horns were fast into the back of the fox; the kid lay stretched beside her. It is supposed the fox had fixed his teeth in the kid, for its neck was lacerated; but when the faithful mother inflicted a death-wound upon her mortal enemy, he probably staggered, and brought his victims with him over the rock.

Dr. Clarke, in his "Travels in Palestine," relates the following: "Upon our road we met an Arab with a goat, which he led about the country for exhibition, in order to gain a livelihood. He had taught this animal, while he accompanied its movements with a song, to mount upon little cylindrical blocks of wood, placed successively one above the other, and in shape resembling the dice-boxes belonging to a backgammon-table. In this manner, the goat stood first on the top of one cylinder, and then upon the top of two, and afterwards of three, four, five, and six, until it remained balanced upon the top of them all, elevated several feet from the ground, and with its feet collected upon a single point, without throwing down the disjointed fabric upon which it stood. The diameter of the upper cylinder, on which its feet ultimately remained until the Arab had ended his ditty, was only two inches, and the length of each was six inches."

We are told by a late traveller that the Spaniards do not milk, and then distribute to their customers, in the same manner as with us, but drive their flock of goats to the residence of each customer, and then milk and furnish according to contract. "I was looking out of the window of the dining-room of my hotel one morning; there were at least forty goats, young and old, and the old man who managed the affair seemed hard pushed to get our regular supply. He had to go over the whole flock once, and some twice, before he could completely fulfil his contract. After carrying in his milk, he came to the door and uttered a few Spanish words, and in an instant the whole moved off, the herdsman bringing up the rear. They moved at the word of command much quicker, and marched off in better order, than do our militia."

THE SHEEP.

Of this useful creature there are many varieties, all of which are supposed to have sprung from the argali, which is found in Asia, Europe, and America.

Anecdotes.—The house of the celebrated Dr. Cotton, of Massachusetts, stood on an eminence, with a garden sloping down in front, filled with fruit-trees. At the foot of the garden was a fence, and in a straight line with the fence was an old well-curb. Mr. Cotton kept a great many sheep, and one day these uneasy creatures took it into their heads to get a taste of their master's fruit. But the minister had another mind about the matter, and sallied out to chastise the marauders. These were very much alarmed; and, according to their usual habit, all followed their leader to escape. The well-curb being the lowest part of the barrier which presented itself to the retreating animal, over he leaped, and down he went to the very bottom of the well, and after him came several of his followers, till it was in danger of being choked up by the silly sheep. Dr. Cotton leaped over the barrier himself, and prevented the rest from destruction. As for those in the well, they humbly stretched out their forefeet to their master, and bleated piteously, as if petitioning him to release them. "Don't be in haste," quietly replied the good pastor: "wait patiently till I go to the house for a rope—then I will try to save you." He was as good as his word; he fastened the rope around their bodies, and drew them one by one out of the water.

"There are few things," says Hogg, "more amusing than a sheep-shearing. We send out all the lambs to the hill, and then, as fast as the ewes are shorn, we send them to find their young ones. The moment that a lamb hears its dam's voice, it rushes from the crowd to meet her; but instead of finding the rough, well-clad, comfortable mamma, which it left a few hours ago, it meets a poor, naked, shivering, most deplorable-looking creature. It wheels about, and, uttering a loud, tremulous bleat of despair, flies from the frightful vision. The mother's voice arrests its flight—it returns—flies and returns again—generally for a dozen times, before the reconciliation is fairly made up."

The following pleasing anecdote of the power of music is given by the celebrated Haydn: "In my early youth," says he, "I went with some other young people equally devoid of care, one morning during the extreme heat of summer, to seek for coolness and fresh air on one of the lofty mountains which surround the Lago Maggiore, in Lombardy. Having reached the middle of the ascent by daybreak, we stopped to contemplate the Borromean Isles, which were displayed under our feet, in the middle of the lake, when we were surrounded by a large flock of sheep, which were leaving their fold to go to the pasture.

"One of our party, who was no bad performer on the flute, and who always carried the instrument with him, took it out of his pocket. 'I am going,' said he, 'to turn Corydon; let us see whether Virgil's sheep will recognize their pastor.' He began to play. The sheep and goats, which were following one another towards the mountain, with their heads hanging down, raised them at the first sound of the flute, and all, with a general and hasty movement, turned to the side from whence the agreeable noise proceeded. They gradually flocked round the musician, and listened with motionless attention. He ceased playing, and the sheep did not stir.

"The shepherd with his staff now obliged them to move on; but no sooner did the fluter begin again to play, than his innocent auditors again returned to him. The shepherd, out of patience, pelted them with clods of earth, but not one of them would move. The fluter played with additional skill; the shepherd fell into a passion, whistled, scolded, and pelted the poor creatures with stones. Such as were hit by them began to march, but the others still refused to stir. At last, the shepherd was forced to entreat our Orpheus to stop his magic sounds; the sheep then moved off, but continued to stop at a distance as often as our friend resumed the agreeable instrument.

"The tune he played was nothing more than a favorite air, at that time performing at the Opera in Milan. As music was our continual employment, we were delighted with our adventure; we reasoned upon it the whole day, and concluded that physical pleasure is the basis of all interest in music."

A gentleman, while passing through a lonely district of the Highlands, observed a sheep hurrying towards the road before him, and bleating most piteously. On approaching nearer, it redoubled its cries, looked in his face, and seemed to implore his assistance. He alighted, left his gig, and followed the sheep to a field in the direction whence it came. There, in a solitary cairn, at a considerable distance from the road, the sheep halted, and the traveller found a lamb completely wedged in betwixt two large stones of the cairn, and struggling feebly with its legs uppermost. He instantly extricated the sufferer, and placed it on the greensward, while the mother poured forth her thanks and joy in a long-continued and significant strain.

THE OX.

There are many varieties of the domestic ox or cow, all of which are supposed to have sprung from a species still found wild in Europe and Asia. The herds of wild cattle in North and South America are the progeny of animals brought hither by the Spanish settlers.

Miscellaneous Anecdotes.—The following account is from the journal of a Sante Fe trader: "Our encampment was in a beautiful plain. Our cattle were shut up in the pen with the wagons; and our men were, with the exception of the guard, all wrapped in a peaceful slumber,—when all of a sudden, about midnight, a tremendous uproar was heard, which caused every man to start in terror from his couch, with arms in hand. Some animal, it appeared, had taken fright at a dog, and, by a sudden start, set all around him in violent motion. The panic spread simultaneously through the pen; and a scene of rattle, clash, and 'lumbering' succeeded, which far surpassed every thing we had yet witnessed. A general stampede was the result. Notwithstanding the wagons were tightly bound together, wheel to wheel, with ropes or chains, the oxen soon burst their way out; and, though mostly yoked in pairs, they went scampering over the plains. All attempts to stop them were in vain; but early the next morning we set out in search of them, and recovered all the oxen, except half a dozen." Similar cases of panic are frequently described by travellers upon the western prairies.

The cattle of South America, especially in the neighborhood of Buenos Ayres, are said to give indications of approaching rain, before the signs of it are visible in the atmosphere. A traveller relates that, in passing from this place, the weather had been long dry, almost every spring had failed, and the negroes were sent in all directions to discover fountains. Soon after, the cattle began to stretch their necks to the west, and to snuff in a singular manner through their noses, which they held very high in the air. Not a cloud was then seen, nor the slightest breath of wind felt. But the cattle proceeded, as if seized with a sudden madness, to scamper about, then to gather together, squeezing closer and closer, and snuffing as before. While he was wondering what was to be the result of such extravagant motions, a black cloud rose above the mountains, thunder and lightning followed, the rain fell in torrents, and the cattle were soon enabled to quench their thirst on the spot where they stood.

There are many anecdotes which show that the ox, or cow, has a musical ear. The carts in Corunna, in Spain, make so loud and disagreeable a creaking with their wheels, for the want of oil, that the governor once issued an order to have them greased; but the carters petitioned that this might not be done, as the oxen liked the sound, and would not draw so well without their accustomed music.

Professor Bell assures us that he has often, when a boy, tried the effect of the flute on cows, and has always observed that it produced great apparent enjoyment. Instances have been known of the fiercest bulls being calmed into gentleness by music.

It is probable that the old rhyme had its origin in reality:—

A correspondent of the Penny Magazine says that, while on a visit to the country-house of a lady, it one day happened that they were passing the cow-house just at the time when the dairymaid was driving home the cows, to be milked. They all passed in quietly enough, with the exception of one, which stood lowing at the door, and resisted every effort of the dairymaid to induce her to enter. When the maid was interrogated as to the cause of this obstinacy, she attributed it to pride; and when surprise was expressed at this, she explained that, whenever any of the other cows happened to get before her, this particular cow would seem quite affronted, and would not enter at all, unless the others were turned out again. This statement having excited curiosity, the maid was desired to redouble her exertions to induce the cow to enter; on which she chased the animal through every corner of the yard, but without success, until she at last desisted, from want of breath, declaring that there was no other remedy than to turn out the other cows. She was then permitted to make the experiment; and no sooner were the others driven out, than in walked the gratified cow, with a stately air—her more humble-minded companions following in her rear.

THE BISON.

This animal is peculiar to North America, and wanders in vast herds over the western plains. They are much attracted by the soft, tender grass, which springs up after a fire has spread over the prairie. In winter, they scrape away the snow with their feet, to reach the grass. The bulls and cows live in separate herds for the greater part of the year; but at all seasons, one or two bulls generally accompany a large herd of cows. The bison is in general a shy animal, and takes to flight instantly on winding an enemy, which the acuteness of its sense of smell enables it to do from a great distance. They are less wary when they are assembled together in numbers, and will then often blindly follow their leaders, regardless of, or trampling down, the hunters posted in their way. It is dangerous for the sportsman to show himself after having wounded one, for it will pursue him, and, although its gait may be heavy and awkward, it will have no difficulty in overtaking the fleetest runner.

Anecdotes.—Many instances might be mentioned of the pertinacity with which this animal pursues his revenge. We are told of a hunter having been detained for many hours in a tree by an old bull, which had taken its post below, to watch him. When it contends with a dog, it strikes violently with its fore feet, and in that way proves more than a match for an English bull-dog. The favorite Indian method of killing the bison, is by riding up to the fattest of the herd on horseback, and shooting it with an arrow. When a large party of hunters are engaged in this way, the spectacle is very imposing, and the young men have many opportunities of displaying their skill and agility. The horses appear to enjoy the sport as much as their riders, and are very active in eluding the shock of the animal, should it turn on its pursuer. The most common method, however, of shooting the bison, is by crawling towards them from to leeward; and in favorable places, great numbers are taken in pounds. When the bison runs, it leans very much first to one side, for a short space of time, and then to the other, and so on alternately.

When the Indians determine to destroy bisons, as they frequently do, by driving them over a precipice, one of their swiftest-footed and most active young men is selected, who is disguised in a bison skin, having the head, ears, and horns adjusted on his own head, so as to make the deception very complete; and, thus accoutred, he stations himself between the bison herd and some of the precipices that often extend for several miles along the rivers. The Indians surround the herd as nearly as possible, when, at a given signal, they show themselves, and rush forward with loud yells. The animals being alarmed, and seeing no way open but in the direction of the disguised Indian, run towards him, and he, taking to flight, dashes on to the precipice, where he suddenly secures himself in some previously ascertained crevice. The foremost of the herd arrives at the brink—there is no possibility of retreat, no chance of escape; the foremost may for an instant shrink with terror, but the crowd behind, who are terrified by the approaching hunters, rush forward with increasing impetuosity, and the aggregated force hurls them successively into the gulf, where certain death awaits them.

ORDER X.

CETACEA,

THE WHALE KIND.

This order contains a class of animals which live in the water, propel themselves by fins, and have the general form of fishes; yet they are viviparous, and suckle their young; in these respects forming a striking contrast to all the other finny inhabitants of the wave. The principal species are the dolphin, grampus, porpoise, and whale. The latter is remarkable as being by far the largest creature known to the animal kingdom.

THE DOLPHIN.

This animal usually swims in troops, and its motions in the water are performed with such wonderful rapidity, that the French sailors call it la flèche de la mer, or the sea-arrow. St. Pierre, in his "Voyage to the Isle of France," assures us that he saw a dolphin swim with apparent ease round the vessel in which he was sailing, though it was going at the rate of about six miles an hour. A shoal of dolphins followed the ships of Sir Richard Hawkins upwards of a thousand leagues. They were known to be the same, from the wounds they occasionally received from the sailors. They are greedy of almost any kind of scraps that are thrown overboard, and consequently are often caught by means of large iron hooks, baited with pieces of fish and garbage.

The bounding and gambolling of dolphins has attracted the attention of writers and poets in all ages, and is described as being extremely beautiful.

The ancients believed that dolphins attended all cases of shipwreck, and transported the mariners in safety to the shore. Pirœtes, having made captive Arion, the poet, at length determined on throwing him overboard; and it is said that he escaped in safety to the shore on the back of a dolphin.

The poet says,—

THE GRAMPUS.

This inhabitant of the deep is from twenty to twenty-five feet in length, and seems to cherish a mortal spite against the whale. It possesses the strong affection for its young common to this order. One of the poems of Waller is founded upon the following incident: A grampus in England, with her cub, once got into an arm of the sea, where, by the desertion of the tide, they were enclosed on every side. The men on shore saw their situation, and ran down upon them with such weapons as they could at the moment collect. The poor animals were soon wounded in several places, so that all the immediately surrounding water was stained with their blood. They made many efforts to escape; and the old one, by superior strength, forced itself over the shallow, into a deep of the ocean. But though in safety herself, she would not leave her young one in the hands of assassins. She therefore again rushed in, and seemed resolved, since she could not prevent, at least to share, the fate of her offspring: the tide coming in, however, conveyed them both off in triumph.

THE PORPOISE.

This creature is familiar to every one who has been at sea, or who has frequented the bays and harbors along our coast. It may often be seen in troops gambolling in the water, and seeming like a drove of black hogs, with their backs above the waves. It is imagined by the sailors that they are the most sportive just before a storm. The following method is adopted for taking them on the banks of the St. Lawrence: When the fishing season arrives, the people collect together a great number of sallow twigs, or slender branches of other trees, and stick them pretty firmly into the sand-banks of the river, which at low water are left dry; this is done on the side towards the river, forming a long line of twigs at moderate distances, which at the upper end is connected with the shore, an opening being left at the lower end, that they may enter. As the tide rises, it covers the twigs, so as to keep them out of sight: the porpoise, in quest of his prey, gets within the line; when those who placed the snare rush out in numbers, properly armed, and, while in this defenceless state, they overpower him with ease.

THE WHALE.

Of this monster of the deep there are several species—as the Great Whale, which is seventy or eighty feet in length; the Spermaceti Whale, which is somewhat smaller, &c. They frequent various seas, and are most common in cold latitudes.

To the Greenlanders, as well as the natives of more southern climates, the whale is an animal of essential importance; and these people spend much time in fishing for it. When they set out on their whale-catching expeditions, they dress themselves in their best apparel, fancying that, if they are not cleanly and neatly clad, the whale, who detests a slovenly and dirty garb, would immediately avoid them. In this manner about fifty persons, men and women, set out together in one of their large boats. The women carry along with them their needles, and other implements, to mend their husbands' clothes, in case they should be torn, and to repair the boat, if it happen to receive any damage. When the men discover a whale, they strike it with their harpoons, to which are fastened lines or straps two or three fathoms long, made of seal-skin, having at the end a bag of a whole seal-skin, blown up. The huge animal, by means of the inflated bag, is in some degree compelled to keep near the surface of the water. When he is fatigued, and rises, the men attack him with their spears till he is killed.

The affection and fidelity of the male and female are very great. Anderson informs us that some fishermen having harpooned one of two whales that were in company together, the wounded animal made a long and terrible resistance; it upset a boat containing three men with a single blow of its tail, by which all went to the bottom. The other still attended its companion, and lent it every assistance, till at last the one that was struck sank under its wounds; while its faithful associate, disdaining to survive the loss, with great bellowing, stretched itself upon the dead animal, and shared its fate.

The whale is remarkable also for its attachment to its young, and may be frequently seen urging and assisting them to escape from danger, with the most unceasing care and fondness. They are not less remarkable for strong feeling of sociality and attachment to one another. This is carried to so great an extent, that, where one female of a herd is attacked or wounded, her faithful companions will remain around her to the last moment, until they are wounded themselves. This act of remaining by a wounded companion is called "heaving to," and whole "schools," or herds, have been destroyed by dexterous management, when several ships have been in company, wholly from their possessing this remarkable disposition.

In the year 1814, an English harpooner struck a cub, in hopes of attracting the attention of the mother. When the young one was wounded, the whale rose to the surface, seized the cub, and dragged a hundred fathoms of line from the boat with great velocity. She again rose to the surface, and dashed furiously about, seemingly deeply concerned for the fate of her young one. Although closely pursued, she did not again descend; and, regardless of the surrounding danger, continued in this state, till she received three harpoons, and was at length killed.

There are few incidents in which the enterprise and power of man are more strikingly displayed than in the chase and capture of the whale. It would be easy to fill a volume with thrilling tales of adventure in this hazardous vocation. One of the most curious occurrences upon record, in relation to the whale fishery, happened to a Nantucket ship some years since in the Pacific Ocean. An attack having been made upon a young whale, the dam went to a distance, and, turning toward the ship, came against the bow with a terrific force, which beat it in, and the vessel sank, only allowing time for the hands to get into the boat. In this they roamed upon the ocean for several weeks, and, when emaciated to the last degree by fatigue and privation, they were finally picked up and saved.

CLASS II. AVES.... BIRDS.

It is evident that this class of animals are generally destined to live a portion of their time in the air, and to perch upon trees. The scientific naturalist is struck with admiring wonder when he comes to examine the adaptation of these creatures to their modes of life. The ingenuity of contrivance, in giving strength, yet lightness, to the frame of the bird, is perhaps unequalled in the whole compass of animated nature. Nor are the feathered races less interesting to common observers. They are associated in the mind with all that is romantic and beautiful in scenery. Their mysterious emigrations, at stated seasons, from land to land; their foresight of calm and storm; their melody and beauty; and that wonderful construction by which some of them are fitted for land and air, and others for swimming,—these contribute to render them an unfailing source of interest to mankind at large.

The birds are divided into six orders, under each of which we shall notice a few of the more prominent species.

ORDER I.

ACCIPITRES,

BIRDS OF PREY.

VULTURES.

The Condor.—This is not only the largest of vultures, but the largest known bird of flight. It is common in the regions of the Andes, in South America, and is occasionally found as far north as the Rocky Mountains of the United States. Nuttall gives us the following characteristic sketch of this fierce and formidable bird:—

"A pair of condors will attack a cougar, a deer, or a llama: pursuing it for a long time, they will occasionally wound it with their bills and claws, until the unfortunate animal, stifled, and overcome with fatigue, extends its tongue and groans; on which occasion the condor seizes this member, being a very tender and favorite morsel, and tears out the eyes of its prey, which at length falls to the earth and expires. The greedy bird then gorges himself, and rests, in stupidity and almost gluttonous inebriation, upon the highest neighboring rocks. He can then be easily taken, as he is so gorged that he cannot fly."

Vultures in Africa.—Mr. Pringle describes these birds as follows: "They divide with the hyænas the office of carrion scavengers; and the promptitude with which they discover and devour every dead carcass is truly surprising. They also instinctively follow any band of hunters, or party of men travelling, especially in solitary places, wheeling in circles high in the air, ready to pounce down upon any game that may be shot and not instantly secured, or the carcass of any ox, or other animal, that may perish on the road. In a field of battle, no one ever buries the dead; the vultures and beasts of prey relieve the living of that trouble."

Turkey Buzzard and Carrion Crow.—These are two small species of vulture, common in our Southern States, and may be often seen in the cities, prowling for such offals as may fall in their way. Wilson furnishes us with the following sketch: "Went out to Hampstead this forenoon. A horse had dropped down in the street, in convulsions; and dying, it was dragged out to Hampstead, and skinned. The ground, for a hundred yards beyond it, was black with carrion crows; many sat on the tops of sheds, fences, and houses within sight; sixty or eighty in the opposite side of a small run. I counted, at one time, two hundred and thirty-seven; but I believe there were more, besides several in the air over my head, and at a distance. I ventured cautiously within thirty yards of the carcass, which three or four dogs, and twenty or thirty vultures, were busily tearing and devouring. Seeing them take no notice, I ventured nearer, till I was within ten yards, and sat down on the bank. On observing that they did not heed me, I stole so close that my feet were within one yard of the horse's legs, and I again sat down. They all slid aloof a few feet; but seeing me quiet, they soon returned as before. As they were often disturbed by the dogs, I ordered the latter home: my voice gave no alarm to the vultures. As soon as the dogs departed, the vultures crowded in such numbers, that I counted, at one time, thirty-seven on and around the carcass, with several within; so that scarcely an inch of it was visible."

HAWKS.

The Peregrine Falcon.—Of this species, so celebrated, in former times, for being used in the noble sport of falconry, Mr. Selby gives us an interesting anecdote. "In exercising my dogs upon the moors, previous to the shooting season," says he, "I observed a large bird, of the hawk genus, hovering at a distance, which, upon approaching it, I knew to be a peregrine falcon. Its attention was now drawn towards the dogs, and it accompanied them whilst they beat the surrounding ground. Upon their having found and sprung a brood of grouse, the falcon immediately gave chase, and struck a young bird before they had proceeded far upon the wing. My shouts and rapid advance prevented it from securing its prey. The issue of this attempt, however, did not deter the falcon from watching our subsequent movements, and, another opportunity soon offering, it again gave chase, and struck down two birds, by two rapidly repeated blows, one of which it secured, and bore off in triumph."

Fatal Conflict.—Le Vaillant gives an account of an engagement between a falcon and a snake. "When this bird attacks a serpent, it always carries the point of one of its wings forward, in order to parry the venomous bites. Sometimes it seizes its prey and throws it high in the air, thus wearying it out. In the present instance, the battle was obstinate, and conducted with equal address on both sides. The serpent at length endeavored to regain his hole; while the bird, guessing his design, threw herself before him. On whatever side the reptile endeavored to escape, the enemy still appeared before him. Rendered desperate, he resolved on a last effort. He erected himself boldly, to intimidate the bird, and, hissing dreadfully, displayed his menacing throat, inflamed eyes, and head swollen with rage and venom. The falcon, for one moment, seemed intimidated, but soon returned to the charge, and, covering her body with one of her wings as a buckler, she struck her enemy with the bony protuberance of the other. The serpent at last staggered and fell. The conqueror then fell upon him to despatch him, and with one stroke of her beak laid open his skull."

The Kestrel.—Selby gives us the following curious account of this small European species of falcon. "I had," says he, "the pleasure, this summer, of seeing the kestrel engaged in an occupation entirely new to me—hawking after cockchaffers late in the evening. I watched him through a glass, and saw him dart through a swarm of the insects, seize one in each claw, and eat them whilst flying. He returned to the charge again and again."

An extraordinary spectacle was exhibited, in 1828, in the garden of Mr. May, of Uxbridge, in the instance of a tame male hawk sitting on three hen's eggs. The same bird hatched three chickens the year before; but being irritated by some person, it destroyed them. It also hatched one chicken, in the year above mentioned, which was placed with another brood.

The Sparrow Hawk.—A remarkable instance of the boldness of this bird was witnessed at Market Deeping, England, one Sunday. Just as the congregation were returning from divine service in the afternoon, a hawk of this species made a stoop at a swallow which had alighted in the centre of the church; and, notwithstanding the surrounding spectators, and the incessant twitterings of numbers of the victim's friends, the feathered tyrant succeeded in bearing his prey triumphantly into the air.

The Buzzard.—Of this common species of hawk, Buffon tells us the following story: "A buzzard that had been domesticated in France exhibited much attachment to his master, attending him at the dinner-table, and caressing him with his head and bill. He managed to conquer all the cats and dogs in the house, seizing their food from them even when there were several together; if attacked, he would take wing, with a tone of exultation. He had a singular antipathy to red caps, which he dexterously snatched off the heads of the working men without being perceived. He likewise purloined wigs in the same manner; and, after carrying this strange booty off to the tallest tree, he left them there without injury. Although he sometimes attacked the neighboring poultry, he lived on amicable terms with those of his master, bathing even among the chickens and ducklings without doing them any injury."

THE EAGLE.

Of this bird, which seems to stand at the head of the feathered race, as does the lion at the head of quadrupeds, there are many species—among which, the sea eagle, the bald eagle, the Washington, and the golden eagle, hold prominent places.

Miscellaneous Anecdotes.—Several instances have been recorded of children being seized and carried off, by eagles, to their young. In the year 1737, in the parish of Norderhouss, in Norway, a boy, somewhat more than two years old, was running from the house to his parents, who were at work in the fields at no great distance, when an eagle pounced upon and flew off with him in their sight. It was with inexpressible grief and anguish that they beheld their child dragged away, but their screams and efforts were in vain.

We are told that, in the year 1827, as two boys, the one seven and the other five years old, were amusing themselves in a field, in the state of New York, in trying to reap during the time that their parents were at dinner, a large eagle came sailing over them, and with a swoop attempted to seize the eldest, but luckily missed him. The bird, not at all dismayed, sat on the ground at a short distance, and in a few moments repeated the attempt. The bold little fellow defended himself with the sickle in his hand, and, when the bird rushed upon him, he struck it. The sickle entered under the left wing, went through the ribs, and, penetrating the liver, instantly proved fatal.

A gentleman, visiting a friend's house in Scotland, went to see a nest which had been occupied by eagles for several summers. There was a stone near it, upon which, when there were young ones, there were always to be found grouse, partridges, ducks, and other game, beside kids, fawns, and lambs. As these birds kept such an excellent storehouse, the owner said that he was in the habit, when he had unexpected company, of sending his servants to see what his neighbors, the eagles, had to spare, and they scarcely ever returned without some dainty dishes for the table; game of all kinds being better for having been kept. When the servants took away any quantity of provisions from the stone larder, the eagles lost no time in bringing in new supplies.

As some gentlemen were once hunting in Ireland, a large eagle hastily descended and seized their terrier. This being observed by some of the party, they encouraged the dog, who, turning on the eagle as it continued to soar within a few feet of the ground, brought it down by seizing its wing, and held it fast till the gentlemen secured it.

Sir H. Davy gives us the following: "I once saw a very interesting sight, above one of the crags of Ben-Nevis, as I was going in the pursuit of game. Two parent eagles were teaching their offspring—two young birds—the manœuvres of flight. They began by rising to the top of a mountain in the eye of the sun; it was about midday, and bright for this climate. They at first made small circles, and the young birds imitated them; they then paused on their wings, waiting till they had made their first flight. They then took a second and larger gyration, always rising towards the sun, and enlarging their circle of flight, so as to make a gradually ascending spiral. The young ones slowly followed, apparently flying better as they mounted; and they continued this sublime kind of exercise, always rising, till they were mere points in the air, and the young ones were lost, and afterwards their parents, to our aching sight."

Not long since, a man in Connecticut shot an eagle of the largest kind. The bird fell to the ground, and being only wounded, the man carried him home alive. He took good care of him, and he soon got quite well. He became quite attached to the place where he was taken care of, and though he was permitted to go at large, and often flew away to a considerable distance, he would always come back again.

He used to take his station in the door-yard in the front of the house, and, if any well-dressed person came through the yard to the house, the eagle would sit still and make no objections; but if a ragged person came into the yard, he would fly at him, seize his clothes with one claw, hold on to the grass with the other, and thus make him prisoner.

Often was the proprietor of the house called upon to release persons that had been thus seized by the eagle. It is a curious fact that he never attacked ragged people going to the house the back way. It was only when they attempted to enter through the front door that he assailed them. He had some other curious habits; he did not go out every day to get breakfast, dinner, and supper; his custom was about once a week to make a hearty meal, and that was sufficient for six days. His most common food was the king-bird, of which he would catch sometimes ten in the course of a few hours, and these would suffice for his weekly repast.

THE OWL.

Of this numerous family, there are a great variety of species; but nearly all steal forth at night, preying upon such birds and quadrupeds as they can master. They are spread over the northern portions of both continents, and appear in all minds to be associated with ideas of melancholy and gloom. The owl was anciently an emblem of wisdom; but we have no evidence that it possesses sagacity in any degree superior to that of any other member of the feathered family.

Mr. Nuttall gives us the following description of a red owl: "I took him out of a hollow apple-tree, and kept him several months. A dark closet was his favorite retreat during the day; in the evening he became very lively, gliding across the room with a side-long, restless flight, blowing with a hissing noise, stretching out his neck in a threatening manner, and snapping with his bill. He was a very expert mouse-catcher, swallowed his prey whole, and afterwards ejected the bones, skin, and hair, in round balls. He also devoured large flies. He never showed any inclination to drink."

The little owl has a cry, when flying, like poopoo. Another note, which it utters sitting, appears so much like the human voice calling out, Aimé aimé edmé, that it deceived one of Buffon's servants, who lodged in one of the old turrets of a castle; and waking him up at three o'clock in the morning with this singular cry, the man opened the window, and called out, "Who's there below? My name is not Edmé, but Peter!"

A carpenter, passing through a field near Gloucester, England, was attacked by a barn owl that had a nest of young ones in a tree near the path. The bird flew at his head; and the man, striking at it with a tool he had in his hand, missed his blow, upon which the owl repeated the attack, and, with her talons fastened on his face, tore out one of his eyes, and scratched him in the most shocking manner.

A gentleman in Yorkshire, having observed the scales of fishes in the nest of a couple of barn owls that lived in the neighborhood of a lake, was induced, one moonlight night, to watch their motions, when he was surprised to see one of the old birds plunge into the water and seize a perch, which it bore to its young ones.

A party of Scottish Highlanders, in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, happened, in a winter journey, to encamp, after nightfall, in a dense clump of trees, whose dark tops and lofty stems, the growth of centuries, gave a solemnity to the scene that strongly tended to excite the superstitious feelings of the Highlanders. The effect was heightened by the discovery of a tomb, which, with a natural taste often exhibited by the Indians, had been placed in this secluded spot. Our travellers, having finished their supper, were trimming their fire preparatory to retiring to rest, when the slow and dismal notes of the horned owl fell on the ear with a startling nearness. None of them being acquainted with the sound, they at once concluded that so unearthly a voice must be the moaning of the spirit of the departed, whose repose they supposed they had disturbed by inadvertently making a fire of some of the wood of which his tomb had been constructed. They passed a tedious night of fear, and with the first dawn of day, hastily quitted the ill-omened spot.

Genghis Khan, who was founder of the empire of the Mogul Tartars, being defeated, and having taken shelter from his enemies, owed his preservation to a snowy owl, which was perched over the bush in which he was hid, in a small coppice. His pursuers, on seeing this bird, never thought it possible he could be near it. Genghis in consequence escaped, and ever afterwards this bird was held sacred by his countrymen, and every one wore a plume of its feathers on his head.

ORDER II.

PASSERINÆ.

This order derives its name from passer, a sparrow; but the title is not very appropriate, for it includes not sparrows only, but a variety of birds greatly differing from them. They have not the violence of birds of prey, nor are they restricted to a particular kind of food. They feed mainly on insects, fruit, and grain.

THE SHRIKE, OR BUTCHER-BIRD.

One of these birds had once the boldness to attack two canaries belonging to a gentleman in Cambridge, Mass., which were suspended, one fine winter's day, at the window. The poor songsters, in their fear, fluttered to the side of the cage, and one of them thrust its head through the bars of its prison; at this moment the wily butcher tore off its head, and left the body dead in the cage. The cause of the accident seemed wholly mysterious, till, on the following day, the bold hunter was found to have entered the room with a view to despatch the remaining bird; and but for a timely interference, it would instantly have shared the fate of its companion.

This bird has been observed to adopt an odd stratagem. It sticks grasshoppers upon the sharp, thorny branches of trees, for the purpose of decoying the smaller birds, that feed on insects, into a situation whence it could dart on them.

THE KING-BIRD.

Mr. Nuttall, who domesticated one of these birds, gives us the following account: "His taciturnity, and disinclination to familiarities, were striking traits. His restless, quick, and side-glancing eye enabled him to follow the motions of his insect prey, and to know the precise moment of attack. The snapping of his bill, as he darted after them, was like the shutting of a watch-case. He readily caught morsels of food in his bill. Berries he swallowed whole. Large grasshoppers and beetles he pounded and broke on the floor. Some very cold nights, he had the sagacity to retire under the shelter of a depending bed-quilt. He was pleased with the light of lamps, and would eat freely at any hour of the night."

THE CEDAR-BIRD.

This beautiful member of the feathered family flies in flocks, and makes himself familiar with the cherry trees when their fruit is ripe. Though his habits are timid and somewhat shy, he appears to possess an affectionate disposition. Mr. Nuttall tells us that one among a row of these birds, seated one day upon a branch, was observed to catch an insect, and offer it to his associate, who very disinterestedly passed it to the next, and, each delicately declining the offer, the morsel proceeded backwards and forwards many times before it was appropriated.

THE SCARLET TANAGER.

Wilson gives us the following interesting anecdote of one of these birds: "Passing through an orchard one morning, I caught a young tanager that had apparently just left the nest. I carried it with me to the Botanic Garden, put it in a cage, and hung it on a large pine-tree near the nest of two orioles, hoping that their tenderness might induce them to feed the young bird. But the poor orphan was neglected, till at last a tanager, probably its own parent, was seen fluttering round the cage, and endeavoring to get in. Finding this impracticable, it flew off, and soon returned with food in its bill, feeding the young one till sunset: it then took up its lodgings on the higher branches of the same tree. In the morning, as soon as day broke, he was again seen most actively engaged; and so he continued for three or four days. He then appeared extremely solicitous for the liberation of his charge, using every expression of anxiety, and every call and invitation that nature had put in his power, for him to come out. Unable to resist this powerful pleader, I opened the cage, took out the prisoner, and restored it to its parent, who, with notes of great exultation, accompanied its flight to the woods."

THE MOCKING-BIRD.

The mocking-bird selects the place for his nest according to the region in which he resides. A solitary thorn bush, an almost impenetrable thicket, an orange or cedar-tree, or a holly bush, are favorite spots; and sometimes he will select a low apple or pear-tree. The nest is composed of dry twigs, straw, wool, and tow, and lined with fine fibrous roots. During the time when the female is sitting, neither cat, dog, animal, or man, can approach the nest without being attacked.

But the chief vengeance of the bird is directed against his mortal enemy, the black snake. Whenever this reptile is discovered, the male darts upon it with the rapidity of an arrow, dexterously eluding its bite, and striking it violently and incessantly upon the head. The snake soon seeks to escape; but the intrepid bird redoubles his exertions; and as the serpent's strength begins to flag, he seizes it, and lifts it up from the ground, beating it with his wings; and when the business is completed, he returns to his nest, mounts the summit of the bush, and pours out a torrent of song, in token of victory.

His strong, musical voice is capable of every modulation. His matin notes are bold and full, consisting of short expressions of two, three, or five and six syllables, generally interspersed with imitations, all of them uttered with great emphasis and rapidity. His expanded wings, and tail glistening with white, and the buoyant gayety of his action, arrest the eye as his song does the ear.

The mocking-bird loses little of the power and energy of his music by confinement. When he commences his career of song, it is impossible to stand by uninterested. He whistles for the dog; Cæsar starts up, wags his tail, and runs to meet his master. He squeaks out like a hurt chicken, and the hen hurries about with hanging wings and bristling feathers, clucking to protect her injured brood. The barking of the dog, the mewing of the cat, the creaking of the passing wheelbarrow, follow with great truth and rapidity. He repeats the tune taught him by his master, though of considerable length, fully and faithfully. He runs over the quiverings of the canary, and the clear whistlings of the red-bird, with such superior execution and effect, that the mortified songsters feel their own inferiority, while he seems to triumph in their defeat by redoubling his exertions.

THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE.

A correspondent of Wilson furnishes the following account of an oriole: "This bird I took from the nest when very young. I taught it to feed from my mouth; and it would often alight on my finger, and strike the end with its bill, until I raised it to my mouth, when it would insert its bill, to see what I had for it to eat. In winter, spring, and autumn, it slept in a cage lined with cotton batting. After I had put it in, if I did not close up the apertures with cotton, it would do so itself, by pulling the cotton from the sides of the cage till it had shut up all the apertures; I fed it with sponge cake; and when this became dry and hard, it would take a piece and drop it into the saucer, and move it about till it was soft enough to be eaten.

"In very cold weather, the oriole would fly to me, and get under my cape, and nestle down upon my neck. It often perched upon my finger, and drew my needle and thread from me when I was sewing. At such times, if any child approached me and pulled my dress, it would chase after the offender, with its wings and tail spread, and high resentment in its eye. In sickness, when I have been confined to the bed, the little pet would visit my pillow many times during the day, often creeping under the bed-clothes. At such times, it was always low-spirited. When it wanted to bathe, it would approach me with a very expressive look, and shake its wings. On my return home from a call or visit, it would invariably show its pleasure by a peculiar sound."

THE WREN.

Wilson furnishes us with the following anecdotes of this little favorite:—

"In the month of June, a mower once hung up his coat under a shed in the barn: two or three days elapsed before he had occasion to put it on again. When he did so, on thrusting his arm into the sleeve, he found it completely filled with rubbish, as he expressed it, and, on extracting the whole mass, found it to be the nest of a wren, completely finished, and lined with a large quantity of feathers. In his retreat he was followed by the forlorn little proprietors, who scolded him with great vehemence for thus ruining the whole economy of their household affairs."

"A box fitted up in the window of a room where I slept, was taken possession of by a pair of wrens. Already the nest was built, and two eggs laid; when one day, the window being open as well as the room door, the female wren, venturing too far into the room, was sprung upon by grimalkin, and instantly destroyed. Curious to know how the survivor would demean himself, I watched him carefully for several days. At first he sang with great vivacity for an hour or so; but, becoming uneasy, went off for half an hour. On his return, he chanted again as before, went to the top of the house, stable, and weeping willow, that his mate might hear him; but seeing no appearance of her, he returned once more, visited the nest, ventured cautiously into the window, gazed about with suspicious looks, his voice sinking into a low, melancholy note, as he stretched his neck in every direction.

"Returning to the box, he seemed for some minutes at a loss what to do, and soon went off, as I thought altogether, for I saw no more of him that day. Towards the afternoon of the second day, he again made his appearance, accompanied with a new female, who seemed exceedingly timorous and shy, and after great hesitation entered the box. At this moment, the little widower and bridegroom seemed as if he would warble out his very life with ecstasy of joy. After remaining about half a minute inside, they began to carry out the eggs, feathers, and some of the sticks, supplying the place of the two latter with materials of the same sort, and ultimately succeeded in raising a brood of seven young ones, all of whom escaped in safety."

THE PURPLE MARTIN.

This well-known bird is a general inhabitant of the United States, and a particular favorite wherever he takes up his abode. "I never met with more than one man," says Wilson, "who disliked the martins, and would not permit them to settle about his house. This was a penurious, close-fisted German, who hated them because, as he said, 'they ate his peas.' I told him he must certainly be mistaken, as I never knew an instance of martins eating peas; but he replied, with great coolness, that he had often seen them 'blaying round the hive, and going schnip, schnap,' by which I understood that it was his bees that had been the sufferers; and the charge could not be denied."

THE SWALLOW.

In England, in one corner of the piazza of a house, a swallow had erected her nest, while a wren occupied a box which was purposely hung in the centre. They were both much domesticated. The wren became unsettled in its habits, and formed a design of dislodging the swallow; and having made an attack, actually succeeded in driving her away. Impudence gets the better of modesty; and this exploit was no sooner performed, than the wren removed every part of the materials to her own box, with the most admirable dexterity. The signs of triumph appeared very visible; it fluttered with its wings with uncommon velocity, and a universal joy was perceivable in all its movements. The peaceable swallow, like the passive Quaker, meekly sat at a small distance, and never offered the least opposition. But no sooner was the plunder carried away, than the injured bird went to work with unabated ardor, and in a few days the depredations were repaired.

A swallow's nest, built in the west corner of a window in England facing the north, was so much softened by the rain beating against it, that it was rendered unfit to support the superincumbent load of five pretty, full-grown swallows. During a storm, the nest fell into the lower corner of the window, leaving the young brood exposed to all the fury of the blast. To save the little creatures from an untimely death, the owner of the house benevolently caused a covering to be thrown over them, till the severity of the storm was past. No sooner had it subsided, than the sages of the colony assembled, fluttering round the window, and hovering over the temporary covering of the fallen nest. As soon as this careful anxiety was observed, the covering was removed, and the utmost joy evinced by the group, on finding the young ones alive and unhurt. After feeding them, the members of this assembled community arranged themselves into working order. Each division, taking its appropriate station, commenced instantly to work; and before nightfall, they had jointly completed an arched canopy over the young brood in the corner where they lay, and securely covered them against a succeeding blast. Calculating the time occupied by them in performing this piece of architecture, it appeared evident that the young must have perished from cold and hunger before any single pair could have executed half the job.

THE SKYLARK.

A gentleman was travelling on horseback, a short time since, in Norfolk, England, when a lark dropped on the pommel of his saddle, and, spreading its wings in a submissive manner, cowered to him. He stopped his horse, and sat for some time in astonishment, looking at the bird, which he supposed to be wounded; but on endeavoring to take it, the lark crept round him, and placed itself behind: turning himself on the saddle, to observe it, the poor animal dropped between the legs of the horse, and remained immovable. It then struck him that the poor thing was pursued, and, as the last resource, hazarded its safety with him. The gentleman looked up, and discovered a hawk hovering directly over them; the poor bird again mounted the saddle, under the eye of its protector; and the disappointed hawk shifting his station, the little fugitive, watching his opportunity, darted over the hedge, and was hid in an instant.

THE TITMOUSE.

During the time of incubation, the natural timidity of birds is greatly lessened. The following instance, given by W. H. Hill, of Gloucester, England, illustrates this: "Some time since, a pair of blue titmice built their nest in the upper part of an old pump, fixing on the pin, on which the handle worked. It happened that, during the time of building the nest and laying the eggs, the pump had not been used: when again set going, the female was sitting, and it was naturally expected that the motion of the pump-handle would drive her away. The young brood were hatched safely, however, without any other misfortune than the loss of part of the tail of the sitting bird, which was rubbed off by the friction of the pump-handle; nor did they appear disturbed by the visitors who were frequently looking at them."

THE CANARY-BIRD.

Miscellaneous Anecdotes.—At a public exhibition of birds, some years ago, in London, a canary had been taught to act the part of a deserter, and flew away pursued by two others, who appeared to apprehend him. A lighted candle being presented to one of them, he fired a small cannon, and the little deserter fell on one side, as if killed by the shot. Another bird then appeared with a small wheelbarrow, for the purpose of carrying off the dead; but as soon as the barrow came near, the little deserter started to his feet.

"On observing," says Dr. Darwin, "a canary-bird at the house of a gentleman in Derbyshire, I was told it always fainted away when its cage was cleaned; and I desired to see the experiment. The cage being taken from the ceiling, and the bottom drawn out, the bird began to tremble, and turned quite white about the root of the bill; he then opened his mouth as if for breath, and respired quick; stood up straighter on his perch, hung his wing, spread his tail, closed his eyes, and appeared quite stiff for half an hour, till at length, with trembling and deep respirations, he came gradually to himself."

A few years since, a lady at Washington had a pair of canaries in a cage, one of which, the female, at last died. The survivor manifested the utmost grief; but upon a looking-glass being placed by his side, so that he could see his image, he took it for his departed friend, and seemed at once restored to happiness. The details of the story are given in the following lines:—

THE BULFINCH.

A farmer in Scotland had a bulfinch which he taught to whistle some plaintive old Scottish airs. He reluctantly parted with the bird for a sum of money, which his narrow circumstances at the time compelled him to accept of; but inwardly resolved, if fortune should favor him, to buy it back, cost what it would. At the end of a year or so, a relation died, leaving him a considerable legacy. Away he went, the very day after he got intelligence of this pleasant event, and asked the person who had purchased the bulfinch, if he would sell it again, telling him to name his own price. The man would not hear of parting with the bird. The farmer begged just to have a sight of it, and he would be satisfied. This was readily agreed to; so, as soon as he entered the room where the bulfinch was kept, he began to whistle one of the fine old tunes which he had formerly taught it. The bulfinch remained in a listening attitude for a minute or two, then it grew restless, as if struggling with some dim recollection,—then it moved joyously to the side of the cage, and all at once it seemed to identify its old master, who had no sooner ceased, than it took up the tune, and warbled it with the tremulous pathos which marked the manner of its teacher. The effect was irresistible; the poor farmer burst into tears, and the matter ended by his receiving the bulfinch in a present: but report says, to his credit, that he insisted on making a present of money, in return.

THE SPARROW.

A few years since, a pair of sparrows, which had built in the thatch roof of a house at Poole, were observed to continue their visits to the nest long after the time when the young birds take flight. This unusual circumstance continued throughout the year; and in the winter, a gentleman who had all along observed them, determined on investigating the cause. He therefore mounted a ladder, and found one of the young ones detained a prisoner, by means of a piece of string, or worsted, which formed part of the nest, having become accidentally twisted round its leg. Being thus incapacitated from procuring its own sustenance, it had been fed by the continued exertions of its parents.

An old man belonging to the neighborhood of Glasgow, who was a soldier in his youth, mentions, that he became first reconciled to a foreign country, by observing a sparrow hopping about just as he had seen them do at home. "Are you here too, freen?" said he to the sparrow. He does not add that it returned a verbal answer to his exclamatory question; but he could not help fancying that it looked assent, as if it understood he was an exile, and wished him to take a lesson of resignation to circumstances.

THE CROW.

Miscellaneous Anecdotes.—In the year 1816, a Scotch newspaper states that a common crow, perceiving a brood of young chickens, fourteen in number, under the care of a parent hen, picked up one of them; but a young lady, seeing what had happened, suddenly pulled up the window, and calling out loudly, the plunderer dropped his prey. In the course of the day, however, the audacious and calculating robber, accompanied by thirteen others, came to the place where the chickens were, and each seizing one, got clearly off with the whole brood at once.

An instance of sagacity in the crow is told by Dr. Darwin. He had a friend, on the northern coast of Ireland, who noticed above a hundred crows at once, feeding on mussels. The plan they took to break them was, each to lift one in its bill, and ascend about thirty or forty yards in the air, and from thence let the mussels drop upon stones; thus they secured the flesh of the animal inhabitants.

During the war between Augustus Cæsar and Mark Antony, when the world looked with anxiety which way Fortune would turn herself, an indigent man in Rome, in order to be prepared to take advantage of whichever way she might incline, determined on making a bold hit for his own advancement; he had recourse, therefore, to the following ingenious expedient: He applied himself to the training of two crows with such diligence, that he taught them at length to pronounce distinctly, the one a salutation to Cæsar, and the other to Antony. When Augustus returned conqueror, the man went out to meet him, with one of the crows perched on his hand, which every little while exclaimed, Salve, Cæsar, Victor, Imperator! Augustus, greatly struck, and delighted with so novel a circumstance, purchased the bird of the man for a sum which immediately raised him to opulence.

There is a kind of crow, which is seen in England in flocks, called the hooded crow. It is said that one or two hundred of them will sometimes meet together as if upon some fixed plan; and at these times, a few of them sit with drooping heads, and others look very grave, as if they were judges, while others still are very bustling and noisy. In about an hour, the meeting breaks up, when one or two are generally found dead; and it has been supposed that this meeting is a sort of trial of some crows who have behaved ill, and who are punished in this severe way for their bad behavior.

THE RAVEN.

Miscellaneous Anecdotes.—This bird is very hardy, crafty, and wary. He is easily domesticated, and is very mischievous, readily catching up any thing glittering, and hiding it. There is a well-authenticated fact of a gentleman's butler having missed a great many silver spoons, and other articles, without being able to detect the thief for some time; at last he observed a tame raven with one in his mouth, and watched him to his hiding-place, where he found more than a dozen.

A young raven, fifteen months old, was taken from the nest when very young, and brought up by a keeper with his dogs. It was so completely domesticated that it would go out with the keeper, and when it took its flight farther than usual, at the sound of the whistle it would return and perch upon a tree or a wall, and watch all his movements. It was no uncommon thing for it to go to the moors with him, and to return—a distance of ten or twelve miles. It would even enter a village with the keeper, partake of the same refreshment, and never leave him until he returned home.

A gentleman who resided near the New Forest, Hampshire, England, had a tame raven, which used frequently to hop about the verge of the forest, and chatter to every one it met. One day, a person travelling through the forest to Winchester, was much surprised at hearing the following exclamation: "Fair play, gentlemen! fair play! for God's sake, gentlemen, fair play!" The traveller, looking round to discover from whence the voice came, to his great astonishment, beheld no human being near. But hearing the cry of "fair play" again repeated, he thought it must proceed from some fellow-creature in distress. He immediately rushed into that part of the forest from whence the cries came, where, to his unspeakable astonishment, the first objects he beheld were two ravens combating a third with great fury, while the sufferer, which proved to be the tame one aforesaid, kept loudly vociferating, "fair play;" which so diverted the traveller, that he instantly rescued the oppressed bird, by driving away his adversaries; and returned highly pleased with his morning adventure.

THE MAGPIE.

This bird, which is found in Europe, and also in the plains east of the Rocky Mountains, is remarkable alike for its loquacity and its disposition to theft—a trait of character which belongs to several birds of the same genus. Lady Morgan furnishes us with the following anecdote:—

"A noble lady of Florence resided in a house which still stands opposite the lofty Doric column which was raised to commemorate the defeat of Pietro Strozzi, and the taking of Sienna, by the tyrannic conqueror of both, Cosmo the First. She lost a valuable pearl necklace, and one of her waiting-women, a very young girl, was accused of the theft. Having solemnly denied the fact, she was put to the torture, which was then practised at Florence. Unable to support its terrible infliction, she acknowledged that 'she was guilty,' and, without further trial, was hung. Shortly after, Florence was visited by a tremendous storm; a thunderbolt fell on the figure of Justice, and split the scales, one of which fell to the earth, and with it fell the ruins of a magpie's nest, containing the pearl necklace. Those scales are still the haunts of birds, and I never saw them hovering round them, without thinking of those 'good old times,' when innocent women could be first tortured, and then hung, on suspicion."

We are informed by Plutarch of a magpie, belonging to a barber at Rome, which could imitate every word it heard uttered. It happened one day that some trumpets were sounded before the shop door, and for some days afterwards the magpie was quite mute, and appeared pensive and melancholy. This change in its manners greatly surprised all who knew it, and it was supposed that the sound of the trumpets had so completely stunned the poor bird, that it was deprived of both voice and hearing. It soon appeared, however, that this was not the case; for Plutarch says, the bird had been all the while occupied in profound meditation, studying how to imitate the sound of the trumpets, which had made a deep impression on him; and at last, to the astonishment of all its friends, it broke its long silence by a very perfect imitation of the flourish of the trumpets it had heard; observing with great accuracy all the repetitions, stops, and changes. But this turned out an unfavorable lesson, for the magpie forgot every thing else, and never afterwards attempted another imitation but that of the trumpets.

THE HUMMING-BIRD.

The following is from the pen of Wilson: "A nest of young humming-birds was once brought to me that were nearly fit to fly; one of them flew out of the nest and was killed. The other was fed with sugar and water, into which it thrust its bill, sucking it with great avidity. I kept it upwards of three months, feeding it on sugar and water; gave it fresh flowers every morning, sprinkled with the liquid, and surrounded the space in which I kept it with gauze, that it might not injure itself. It appeared gay, active, and full of spirit, humming from flower to flower, as if in its native wilds, and always expressed, by its motions and chirping, great pleasure at seeing fresh flowers introduced into its cage. Numbers of people visited it from motives of curiosity, and I took every precaution to preserve it, if possible, through the winter. Unfortunately, however, it got at large in the room, and, flying about, so injured itself, that it soon after died."

THE BLUE JAY.

"This elegant bird," says Wilson, "is distinguished as a kind of beau among the feathered tenants of our woods, by the brilliancy of his dress. He possesses the mischievous disposition of the jay family, and he seems particularly fond of exercising his malignant ingenuity against the owl. No sooner has he discovered the retreat of one of these, than he summons the whole feathered fraternity to his assistance, who surround the glimmering solitaire, and attack him from all sides, raising such a shout as might be heard, on a still day, more than half a mile off. When, in my hunting excursions, I have passed near this scene of tumult, I have imagined to myself that I heard the insulting party, venting their respective charges with all the virulence of a Billingsgate mob; the owl, meanwhile, returning every compliment with a broad, goggling stare. The war becomes louder and louder, and the owl, at length, forced to betake himself to flight, is followed by his whole train of persecutors, until driven beyond the boundaries of their jurisdiction."

Anecdotes.—A gentleman in South Carolina gives an account of a blue jay, which was brought up in his family, that had all the tricks and loquacity of a parrot; pilfered every thing he could carry off, and hid them in holes and crevices; answered to his name with great sociability when called on; could articulate a number of words pretty distinctly; and when he heard an uncommon noise, or loud talking, seemed impatient to contribute his share to the general festivity, by a display of all the oratorical powers he was possessed of.

"Having caught a jay in the winter season," says Mr. Bartram, "I turned him loose in the greenhouse, and fed him with corn, the heart of which he was very fond of. The grain being ripe and hard, the bird at first found a difficulty in breaking it, as it would start from his bill when he struck it. After looking about, as if considering a moment, he picked up his grain, carried and placed it close up in a corner on the shelf, between the wall and a plant-box, where being confined on three sides, he soon effected his purpose, and continued afterwards to make use of the same practical expedient."

ORDER III.

SCANSORIÆ,

CLIMBING BIRDS.

THE CUCKOO.

Dr. Jenner gives us the following anecdote: "I found one day the nest of a hedge-sparrow, which contained a cuckoo's and three hedge-sparrow's eggs. The next day, I found the bird had hatched, but the nest now contained only one sparrow, and the cuckoo. What was my astonishment to observe the young cuckoo, though so newly hatched, in the act of turning out the young hedge-sparrow! The mode of accomplishing this was very curious. The little animal, with the assistance of its rump and wings, contrived to get the bird on its back, and, making a lodgment for the burden, by elevating its elbows, clambered with it to the side of the nest till it reached the top, where resting for a moment, it threw off its load with a jerk, and quite disengaged it from the nest. It remained in this situation a short time, feeling about with the extremities of its wings, as if to be convinced that the business was properly done, and then dropped into the nest again."

THE WOODPECKER.

The Red-headed Woodpecker.—Of the woodpecker there are several species; but this is one of the best known. It is, properly speaking, a bird of passage; though even in the Eastern States individuals are found during moderate winters, as well as in the states of New York and Pennsylvania. Notwithstanding the care which this bird takes to place its young beyond the reach of enemies, within the hollows of trees, yet there is one deadly foe, against whose depredations neither the height of the tree nor the depth of the cavity, is the least security. This is the black snake, who frequently glides up the trunk of the tree, and, like a skulking savage, enters the woodpecker's peaceful apartment, devours the eggs, or helpless young, in spite of the cries and flutterings of the parents, and, if the place is large enough, coils himself up in the spot they occupied, where he will sometimes remain several days.

The Ivory-billed Woodpecker.—Wilson says, "I found one of these birds while travelling in North Carolina. It was slightly wounded in the wing, and, on being caught, uttered a loudly-reiterated and most piteous note, exactly like the violent crying of a child, which terrified my horse very much. It was distressing to hear it. I carried it with me under cover to Wilmington. In passing through the streets, its affecting cries surprised every one within hearing, especially the females, who hurried to the doors and windows with looks of anxiety and alarm. I rode on, and on arriving at the piazza of the hotel where I intended to put up, the landlord came forward, and a number of persons who happened to be there, all equally alarmed at what they heard; this was greatly increased by my asking whether he could furnish me with accommodations for myself and baby. The man looked foolish, and the others stared with astonishment. After diverting myself a few minutes at their expense, I drew out my woodpecker, and a general laugh took place. I took him up stairs, and locked him up in my room, and tied him with a string to the table. I then went out to procure him some food. On my return, I had the mortification to find that he had entirely ruined the mahogany table, on which he had wreaked his whole vengeance. I kept him three days, but, refusing all sustenance, he died, to my great regret."

THE PARROT.

This is a large genus of birds, consisting of two hundred species, distinguished by the peculiar structure of the bill, which assists them in climbing. They are gregarious, have generally very brilliant plumage, and inhabit warm regions.

Anecdotes.—The gray parrot often lives to a great age. We are told by Le Vaillant of one which lived in the family of Mr. Huyser, in Amsterdam, for thirty-two years; had previously lived forty-one with that gentleman's uncle; and there can be little doubt that it was two or three years old at the time of its arrival in Europe. In the day of its vigor, it used to speak with great distinctness, repeat many sentences, fetch its master's slippers, call the servants, &c. At the age of sixty, its memory began to fail. It moulted regularly twice a year, till the age of sixty-five, when the red feathers of the tail gave place to yellow ones, after which, no other change of plumage took place. When Le Vaillant saw it, it was in a state of complete decrepitude, and, having lost its sight and memory, had lapsed into a sort of lethargic condition, and was fed at intervals with biscuit dipped in Madeira.

Leo, son of the Emperor Basilius Macedo, was accused, by a monk, of having a design upon the life of his father, and was thereupon cast into prison, from which he was freed through the instrumentality of a parrot. The emperor, upon a certain occasion, entertained some of the greatest nobles of his court. They were all seated, when a parrot, which was hung up in the hall, in a mournful tone cried out, "Alas! alas! poor Prince Leo!" It is very probable that he had frequently heard courtiers passing, bewailing the prince's hard fortune in those terms. He frequently repeated these words, which at last so affected the courtiers that they could not eat. The emperor observed it, and entreated them to make a hearty repast; when one of them, with tears in his eyes, said, "How should we eat, sire, when we are thus reproached by this bird of our want of duty to your family? The brute animal is mindful of its lord; and we, that have reason, have neglected to supplicate your majesty in behalf of the prince, whom we all believe to be innocent, and to suffer under calumny." The emperor, moved by these words, commanded them to fetch Leo out of prison, admitted him to his presence, and restored him, first to his favor, and then to his former dignities.

Buffon says, "I have seen a parrot very ridiculously employed, belonging to a distiller who had suffered pretty severely in his circumstances from an informer that lived opposite him. This bird was taught to pronounce the ninth commandment,—'Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor,' with a very clear, loud, articulate voice. The bird was generally placed in a cage over against the informer's house, and delighted the whole neighborhood with its persevering exhortations."

Some years since, a parrot in Boston, that had been taught to whistle in the manner of calling a dog, was sitting in his cage at the door of a shop. As he was exercising himself in this kind of whistle, a large dog happened to be passing the spot; the animal, imagining that he heard the call of his master, turned suddenly about, and ran towards the cage of the parrot. At this critical moment, the bird exclaimed vehemently, "Get out, you brute!" The astonished dog hastily retreated, leaving the parrot to enjoy the joke.