THE BLU JAY AND OTHERS.

THE BLUJAY.

The blujay iz the dandy amung birds, a feathered fop, a jackanapes by natur, and ov no use only tew steal korn and eat it on a rail.

THE BLUJAY.

They are a misterious bird, for I hav seen them solitary and alone in the wooded wilderness, one hundred miles from enny sighns ov civilizashun.

Az a means ov diet, they are just about az luxurious az a biled indigo bag would be, such az the washwimmin use tew blue their clothes with.

The blujay haz no song—they kant sing even “From Greenland’s Icy Mountains;” but i must sa that a flok ov them, flying amung the evergreens on a kold winter’s morning, are hi colored and eazy tew look at.

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It iz hard work for me to say a harsh word aginst the birds, but when i write their history it iz a duty i owe tew posterity not to lie.

THE QUAIL.

The quail iz a game bird, about one size bigger than the robin, and so sudden that they hum when they fly.

They hav no song, but whissell for musik; the tune iz solitary and sad.

They are shot on the wing, and a man may be good in arithmetick, fust rate at parseing, and even be able tew preach acceptably, but if he hain’t studdied quail on the wing, he might az well shoot at a streak ov lightning in the sky az at a quail on the go.

Briled quail, properly supported with jellys, toast, and a champane Charlie, iz just the most diffikult thing, in mi humble opinyun, to beat in the whole history ov vittles and sumthing tew drink.

I am no gourmand, for i kan eat bred and milk five days out ov seven, and smak mi lips after i git thru, but if i am asked to eat briled quail by a friend, with judishious accompanyments, i blush at fust, then bow mi hed, and then smile sweet acquiescence—in other words, I always quail before such a request.

THE PATRIDGE.

The patridge iz also a game bird. Their game iz tew drum on a log in the spring ov the year, and keep both eyes open, watching the sportsmen.

Patridges are shot on the wing, and are az easy to miss az a ghost iz.

It iz phun enuff to see the old bird hide her yung brood when danger iz near. This must be seen, it kant be described and make enny boddy beleave it.

The patridge, grouse, and pheasant are cousins, and either one ov them straddle a gridiron natural enuff tew hav bin born thare.

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Take a couple of yung patridges and pot them down, and serve up with the right kind ov a chorus, and they beat the ham sandwich yu buy in the Camden and Amboy Railroad 87 1-2 per cent.

I have eat theze lamentabel Nu Jersey ham sandwich, and must sa that i prefer a couple ov bass wood chips, soaked in mustard water, and stuk together with Spalding’s glue.

THE WOODKOK.

The woodkok iz one ov them kind ov birds who kan git up from the ground with about az much whizz, and about az bizzy az a fire-kracker, and fly away az krooked az a kork-skrew.

They feed on low, wet lands, and only eat the most delikate things.

They run their tungs down into the soft earth, and gather tender juices and tiny phood.

They hav a long, slender bill, and a rich brown plumage, and when they lite on the ground yu lose sight ov them az quick az yu do ov a drop ov water when it falls into a mill pond.

The fust thing yu generally see ov a woodkok iz a whizz, and the last thing a whurr.

How so many ov them are killed on the wing iz a mistery to me, for it iz a quicker job than snatching pennys oph a red-hot stove.

I hav shot at them often, but i never heard ov my killing one ov them yet.

They are one ov the game birds, and menny good judges think they are the most elegant vittles that wear feathers.

THE GUINA HEN.

The guina hen iz a spekled kritter, smaller than the goose, and bigger than the wild pigeon.

They hav a keen eye, and a red kokade on their heds, and alwas walk on the run.

They lay eggs in great profushun, but they lay them so 201 much on the sly, that they often kan’t find them themselfs.

They are az freckled az a coach dog, and just about az tuff tew eat az a half-biled krow.

They hav a voic like a piccallo flute, and for racket two ov them kan make a saw that iz being filed ashamed ov itself.

They are a very shy bird, and the nearer yu git tew them the further they git oph.

They are more ornamental than uceful, but are chiefly good tew frighten away hawks.

They will see a hawk up in the sky three miles and a-half off, and will begin at once tew holler and make a fuss about it.

THE GOSLIN.

The goslin iz the old goose’s yung child. They are yeller all over, and az soft az a ball ov worsted. Their foot iz wove whole, and they kan swim az eazy az a drop of kaster oil on the water.

They are born annually about the 15th ov May, and never waz known tew die natually.

If a man should tell me he had saw a goose die a natral and square deth, I wouldn’t believe him under oath after that, not even if he swore he had lied about seeing a goose die.

The goose are different in one respekt from the human family, who are sed tew grow weaker but wizer; whereaz a goslin alwus grows tuffer and more phoolish.

I hav seen a goose that they sed waz 93 years old last June, and he didn’t look an hour older than one that waz 17.

The goslin waddles when he walks, and paddles when he swims, but never dives, like a duk, out ov sight in the water, but only changes ends.

The food ov the goslin iz rye, corn, oats, and barley, sweet apples, hasty pudding, and biled kabbage, cooked potatoze, raw meat, and turnips, stale bred, kold hash, and the buckwheat kakes that are left over.

They ain’t so partiklar az sum pholks what they eat, and won’t git mad and quit if they kan’t hav wet toast and lam chops every morning for breakfast.

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If i waz a going tew keep boarders, i wouldn’t want enny better feeders than an old she goose and 12 goslins. If i kouldn’t suit them i should konklude i had mistaken mi kalling.

Roast goslin iz good nourishment, if you kan git enuff ov it, but thare aint much waste meat on a goslin, after yu hav got rid ov their feathers, and dug them out inside.

I hav alwus notissd, when yu pass yure plate up for sum more baked goslin, at a hotel, the colored brother cums bak empty with plate, and tells yu, “Mister, the roast goslin iz no more.”