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 émigrations, 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 hyaenas 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 manoeuvres 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 aime edme, 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 Edme, 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 - PASSERINAE.

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 martíns, 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 martíns 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:

Poor Phil was once a blithe canary
But then his mate was at his side;
His spirits never seemed to vary,
Till she, one autumn evening, died;
And now upon his perch he clung,
With ruffled plumes and spirits low,
His carol hushed; or, if he sung,
’Twas some sad warble of his wo.

His little mistress came with seed:
Alas! he would not, could not, feed.
She filled his cup with crystal dew;
She called she whistled: ’twould not do;
The little mourner bowed his head,
And gently peeped “My mate is dead!”

Alas, poor Phil! how changed art thou!
The gayest then, the saddest now.
The dribbled seed, the limpid wave,
Would purchase, then, thy sweetest stave;
Or, if thou hadst some softer spell,
Thine ear had stolen from the shell
That sings amid the silver sand
That circles round thy native land,
’Twas only when, with wily art,
Thou sought’st to charm thy partner’s heart.
And she is gone thy joys are dead
Thy music with thy mate is fled!

Poor bird! upon the roost he sate,
With drooping wing, disconsolate;
And as his little mistress gazed,
Her brimming eyes with tears were glazed.
In vain she tried each wonted art
To heal the mourner’s broken heart.
At last she went, with childish thought,
And to the cage a mirror brought.
She placed it by the songster’s side
And, lo! the image seemed his bride!
Forth from his perch he wondering flew,
Approached, and gazed, and gazed anew;
And then his wings he trembling shook,
And then a circling flight he took;
And then his notes began to rise,
A song of triumph, to the skies!
And since for many a day and year,
That blissful bird the mirror near
With what he deems his little wife,
His partner still has spent his life:
Content, if but the image stay,
Sit by his side, and list his lay!

Thus fancy oft will bring relief,
And with a shadow comfort grief.

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 - SCANSORIAE,

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.

ORDER IV - GALLINACEA,

RESEMBLING THE DOMESTIC HEN.

THE COCK.

The domestic cock is the origin of all the varieties of the domestic fowl, and is supposed to have come originally from Asia. It was brought to America by the first settlers.

Miscellaneous Anecdotes. A short time since, a farmer in Ohio heard loud talking and angry words among his fowls, and, being a man of pacific disposition, bent his course towards the scene of cackling and confusion. Arrived in the vicinity, he observed his favorite cock engaged in mortal combat with a striped snake, dealing his blows with bill and spurs in quick succession, and with true pugilistic skill. But the wily serpent, well aware that, in order to beat his powerful antagonist, he must use cunning, seized him by the thigh in the rear. Thus situated, the cock rose on his wings, and lighted on an apple-tree, the snake keeping fast hold, and dangling down like a taglock. It then coiled its tail round a branch of the tree. The cock tried again to escape, but, not being able to disengage himself, hung with his head down. In this melancholy situation he was found by the farmer, who instantly killed the snake, and set chanticleer at liberty.

The following is a remarkable instance of the degree to which the natural apprehension for her brood may be overcome, in the hen, by the habit of nursing ducks. A hen, who had reared three broods of ducks in three successive years, became habituated to their taking the water, and would fly to a large stone in the middle of the pond, and patiently and quietly watch her brood as they swam about it. The fourth year she hatched her own eggs, and finding that her chickens did not take to the water as the ducklings had done, she flew to the stone in the pond, and called them to her with the utmost eagerness. This recollection of the habits of her former charge, though it had taken place a year before, is strongly illustrative of memory in a hen.

“I have just witnessed,” says Count de Buffon, “a curious scene. A sparrow-hawk alighted in a populous court-yard; a young cock, of this year’s hatching, instantly darted at him, and threw him on his back. In this situation, the hawk, defending himself with his talons and his bill, intimidated the hens and turkeys, which screamed tumultuously around him. After having a little recovered himself, he rose and was taking wing; when the cock rushed upon him a second time, upset him, and held him down so long, that he was easily caught by a person who witnessed the conflict.”

THE PHEASANT.

This splendid bird was brought originally from Asia, but it is now common in Europe, especially in the parks and preserves of England, where it lives in a wild state.

Anecdotes. “It is not uncommon,” says Warwick, “to see an old pheasant feign itself wounded, and run along the ground, fluttering and crying, before either dog or man, to draw them away from its helpless, unfledged young ones. As I was hunting with a young pointer, the dog ran on a brood of very small pheasants; the old bird cried, fluttered, and ran tumbling along just before the dog’s nose, till she had drawn him to a considerable distance, when she took wing, and flew still farther off. On this the dog returned to me, near the place where the young ones were still concealed in the grass. This the old bird no sooner perceived, than she flew back again to us, settled just before the dog’s nose, and, by rolling and tumbling about, drew off his attention from her young, thus preserving them a second time.”

A turkey cock, a common cock, and a pheasant, were kept in the same farm-yard. After some time, the turkey was sent away to another farm. After his departure, the cock and pheasant had a quarrel; the cock beat, and the pheasant disappeared. In a few days he returned, accompanied by the turkey; the two allies together fell upon the unfortunate cock, and killed him.

THE RUFFED GROUSE.

This bird is called pheasant at the south, and partridge in the Eastern States.

The following incident in relation to it is extracted from the “Cabinet of Natural History:” “I once started a hen pheasant with a single young one, seemingly only a few days old; there might have been more, but I perceived only this one. The mother fluttered before me for a moment; but, suddenly darting towards the young one, she seized it in her bill, and flew off along the surface through the woods, with great steadiness and rapidity, till she was beyond my sight. I made a very active and close search for others, but did not find any.”

THE PIGEON.

This genus includes a great variety of doves and pigeons, all of which are remarkable for their tenderness and constancy.

The PASSENGER PIGEON. Audubon gives us the following description of a forest in Ohio, which was the resort of the passenger pigeon: “Every thing proved to me that the number of birds resorting to this place must be immense beyond conception. As the period of their arrival approached, a great number of persons collected, and prepared to receive them. Some were furnished with iron pots, containing brimstone; others with torches of pine-knots; many with poles, and the rest with guns. Two farmers had driven upwards of two hundred hogs more than a hundred miles, to be fattened upon the devoted pigeons! The sun was lost to our view, yet not a pigeon had arrived. Every thing was ready, and all eyes were gazing on the clear sky, when suddenly there burst forth a general cry of ‘Here they come!’ The noise that they made, though far distant, reminded me of a hard gale at sea through the rigging of a close-reefed vessel. As the birds arrived, and passed over me, I felt a current of air that surprised me. Thousands were soon knocked down by the pole-men. The birds continued to pour in. The fires were lighted, and a magnificent as well as terrifying sight presented itself. Pigeons, arriving in thousands, alighted every where, one over another, until solid masses as large as hogsheads were formed on the branches all around. It was a scene of uproar and confusion. I found it quite useless to speak, or even to shout, to those persons nearest to me. This uproar continued all night. Towards day the pigeons began to move off, and at sunrise, all that could fly had disappeared: the dead and the dying were then picked up and piled in heaps, while the hogs were let loose to feed on the remainder.”

MUSICAL PIGEON. Bertoni, a famous instructor in music, while residing in Venice, took a pigeon for his companion, and, being very fond of birds, made a great pet of it. The pigeon, by being constantly in his master’s company, obtained so perfect an ear for music, that no one who saw his behavior could doubt for a moment the pleasure it took in hearing his master play and sing.

CARRIER PIGEON. Some years ago, two persons arrived in London, from Antwerp, with 110 pigeons, to be thrown off there for the purpose of ascertaining whether they would find their way back, and if so, in what time they would perform the journey. The pigeons were contained in eight enclosures, constructed of wire and canvass, and capable of admitting a sufficiency of air to the birds, and at the top of each was a trap door of tin. The baskets were all placed side by side, and at a given signal, on Monday morning at eight o’clock, the doors were all lifted up, and out rushed all the pigeons at the same instant. They rose in a flock, and bent their way immediately in the direction of home. The men set off on foot shortly after, with certificates of the hour of departure. Most of the pigeons reached Antwerp the same day, the swiftest bird having arrived there in five hours and a half: the distance he flew was 186 miles!

ORDER V - STILTED OR LONG-LEGGED BIRDS.

This order includes a number of remarkable birds, some of great size. Most of them live on fish; while others eat grain and insects.

THE ADJUTANT, OR MARABOO CRANE.

Of this enormous bird we have the following account: A young one, about five feet high, was taken and tamed at Sierra Leone. It was fed in the large dining-hall, and at dinner-time always took its place behind its master’s chair frequently before the guests entered. The servants were obliged to watch their provisions narrowly, and defend them from the crane by means of switches; but notwithstanding all their precaution, it would frequently snatch something or other, and once purloined a whole boiled fowl, which it swallowed in an instant. When threatened with punishment, it would open its enormous bill, and roar like a bear or tiger. It swallowed every thing whole, and on one occasion took, at one mouthful, a leg of mutton weighing five or six pounds.

THE STORK.

A traveller in Russia tells us the following curious story: He was one evening riding near a village, when he saw a number of people in a field assembled round some object. He went to the spot, and saw two storks lying dead upon the ground. One of the bystanders said that the storks had a nest in the field, and that, not long before, the hen bird, who was sitting, left the nest in search of food. During her absence, a species of hawk very common in the country, seeing the eggs unprotected, pounced upon them and sucked them. A short time after this, the male bird, who had been away for food, returned, and finding the eggs destroyed, he threw himself down upon the shells, and gave way to every demonstration of grief.

In the mean time, the female returned, and as soon as he observed her, as if to reproach her for leaving the nest, he ran up and attacked her with his beak, and, seizing her between his claws, soared up with her to a great height. He then compressed his own wings, and both falling to the ground together, were instantly killed!

The Penny Magazine gives us the following story: “On the day of the memorable battle of Friedland, a farm in the neighborhood of the city was set on fire by the falling of a bomb. The conflagration spread to an old tree in which a couple of storks had built their nest. The mother would not leave this until it was completely devoured by flames. She then flew up perpendicularly, and dashed down into the midst of the fire, as if endeavoring to rescue her precious charge from destruction. At last, enveloped in fire and smoke, she fell into the midst of the blazing embers, and perished.”

THE HERON.

In Westmoreland, England, there were, some years ago, two groves adjoining a park, one of which, for many years, had been the resort of a number of herons; the other was occupied by rooks. At length, the trees tenanted by the herons, consisting of some fine old oaks, were cut down in the spring of 1775, and the young ones had perished by the fall of the timber. The parent birds immediately set about preparing new habitations to breed again; but not finding any other in the neighborhood high enough for them, they determined to effect a settlement in the rookery. The rooks made an obstinate resistance; but after a very violent contest, in which the herons finally triumphed, they built their nests and reared their young. The next season, the same contest took place; but victory declared, as before, for the herons. After this, peace was agreed upon, and they lived together in harmony in different parts of the same grove.

THE FLAMINGO.

During the French revolutionary war, when the English were expected to make a descent upon St. Domingo, a negro, having perceived, at the distance of some miles, in the direction of the sea, a long file of flamingoes, ranked up and priming their wings, forthwith magnified them into an army of English soldiers; their long necks were mistaken for shouldered muskets, and their scarlet plumage suggested the idea of a military costume. The poor fellow accordingly started off to Gonalves, running through the streets, and vociferating that the English were come! Upon this alarm, the commandant of the garrison instantly sounded the tocsin, doubled the guards, and sent out a body of men to reconnoitre the invaders; but he soon found, by means of his glass, that it was only a troop of red flamingoes, and the corps of observation marched back to the garrison, rejoicing at their bloodless expedition.

ORDER VI - Palmipèdes,

WEB-FOOTED BIRDS.

THE GULL.

Mr. Scott, of Benholm, near Montrose, many years ago caught a sea-gull, whose wings he cut, and put it into a walled garden, for the purpose of destroying slugs, of which these birds are very fond. It throve remarkably well in this situation, and remained about the place for several years. The servants were much attached to this animal, and it became so familiar that it came, at their call, to the kitchen door to be fed, and answered to the name of Willie. At length it became so domesticated, that no pains were taken to keep its wings cut; and having at last acquired their full plume, it flew away, and joined the other gulls on the beach, occasionally paying a visit to its old quarters. At the time the gulls annually leave that part of the coast, Willie also took his departure along with them, to the no small regret of the family, who were much attached to him. Next season, however, Willie again made his appearance, and visited the delighted family of Mr. Scott with his wonted familiarity. They took care to feed him well, to induce him, if possible, to become a permanent resident. But all would not do, for he annually left Benholm. This practice he regularly continued, for the extraordinary length of forty years, without intermission, and seemed to have much pleasure in this friendly intercourse. While he remained on that part of the coast, he usually paid daily visits to his friends at Benholm, answered to his name, and even fed out of their hands.

One year the gulls appeared on the coast, at their ordinary time; but Willie did not, as was usual, pay his respects immediately on reaching that neighborhood from which they concluded that their favorite visitant was numbered with the dead, which caused them much sorrow. About ten days after, during breakfast, a servant entered the room exclaiming that Willie had returned. The overjoyed family, one and all of them, ran out to welcome Willie; an abundant supply of food was set before him, and he partook of it with his former frankness, and was as tame as a domestic fowl. In about two years afterwards, this bird disappeared forever. The above facts are confirmatory of the great age which the gull has been said to attain.

THE CORMORANT.

It is well known that this bird is taught by the Chinese to fish for them. A gentleman of Scotland some years ago obtained two young ones, which he succeeded in domesticating. They soon learned to fish on their own account, and when satisfied, would amuse themselves by quitting and retaking their prey. They sometimes remained for a whole day on board of ships when they were kindly treated, and when these sailed, they would accompany their friends to sea for a few miles. They were very familiar, but would not submit to be teased. When shot at, they always flew to the first person they saw belonging to their master’s family, for protection. Their owner had their heads painted white, in order to distinguish them from the wild ones with whom they frequently associated.

THE SWAN.

At Abbotsbury, in Dorsetshire, there was formerly a noble swannery, the property of the Earl of Ilchester, where six or seven hundred were kept; but from the mansion being almost deserted by the family, this collection has of late years been much diminished.

A female swan, while in the act of sitting, observed a fox swimming towards her from the opposite shore. She instantly darted into the water, and having kept him at bay for a considerable time with her wings, at last succeeded in drowning him; after which, in the sight of several persons, she returned in triumph. This circumstance took place at Pensy, in Buckinghamshire.

THE GOOSE.

Miscellaneous Anecdotes. “An old goose,” says an English writer, “that had been for a fortnight sitting in a farmer’s kitchen, was perceived on a sudden to be taken violently ill. She soon after left her nest, and repaired to an outhouse, where there was a young goose, which she brought into the kitchen. The young one immediately scrabbled into the old one’s nest, sat, hatched, and afterwards brought up, the young goslings as her own. The old goose, as soon as the young one had taken her place, sat down by the side of the nest, and shortly afterwards died. As the young goose had never been in the habit of entering the kitchen before, it is supposed that she had in some way received information of the wants of the sick goose, which she accordingly administered to in the best way she could.”

An English gentleman had some years ago a Canadian goose, which attached itself to a house dog. Whenever he barked, she cackled, ran at the person the dog barked at, and bit his heels. She would not go to roost at night with the other geese, but remained near the kennel, which, however, she never entered, except in rainy weather. When the dog went to the village, the goose always accompanied him, contriving to keep pace with him by the assistance of her wings; and in this way she followed him all over the parish. This extraordinary affection is supposed to have originated in the dog having rescued her from a foe in the very moment of distress.

Captain L., of New Jersey, while lying at anchor with his schooner off Poole’s Island, in the Chesapeake Bay, observed a wild goose, which had been wounded, attempt to fly from the top of a hill to the water; but being unable to reach its place of destination, it alighted about midway down the hill, where some cattle were grazing; one of which, seeing the stranger, walked up, as is commonly the case, to smell it. The goose, not fancying this kind of introduction, seized the ox by the nose with so much firmness as to set the creature bellowing; and he actually ran off a considerable distance before he could disengage the goose from its hold.