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CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

AND

AMBRICAN BURAL SPORTS,

THE HORSE.
EQUUS CABALLUS.
[Plate I. Vol. 2.]

From the very exalted station which the noble animal,
the Horse, holds with man, a concise history of the vari-
ous breeds of horses, may be interesting and worthy of
attentive perusal; we have accordingly made selections on
this head, from a variety of authors, eminent as naturalists
and travellers, and embracing, we believe, almost every
species known.

Of all brute animals in a state of association with the
human race, the Horss occupies the first and most impor-
tant rank. He forms an indispensable link in the chain of
Creation: without him, nature’s system and human en-
joyments had been incomplete. He contributes equally
to the services, luxuries, and pleasures of man. Whether
it be laboriously to till the soil, as an associate with the
patient ox, to carry the heaviest burdens, or to perform
the longest and most painful journies, the Horse is the
ready and obedient slave of his master. Nature has en-
dowed this her favourite animal with a degree of intelli-
gence and a generous inclination to obedience, which
render him highly susceptible of education. His form
and qualities are admirably adapted by the Eternal and
Unerring Artist, to the particular rank he is intended to
fill in the scale of being. Heis either fashioned to sustain
heavy burdens, and to endure the coarsest drudgery, or
endued with that just and beautiful symmetry of form and
delicacy of skin, which convey to the critical and scien-
tifie view, ideas of perfection, and which are harbingers
of the highest degree of quadrupedal activity and speed.
His full eye beams with mildness and generosity, or spar-
kles with the fire of courage, energy, and action. In war,
he offers a dauntless front to the greatest dangers, engag-
ing in the mortal strife and clangor of battle, unappalled,
and as actuated by an undivided and equal interest with

A

his rider. In the field and on the course, he exhibits a
speed, and power of continuance, a firmness of nerve, a
strength of muscle and elasticity of sinew, of which no
other animal of the creation is capable; bearing his rider
along, over plains, hills, and vallies, as if impelled by su-
pernatural energy: but all descriptions of the Horse must
give place to that inspired one of Job, which has elevated
and delighted the minds of men of all ages and all na-
tions:—

<¢ Hast thou given the Horse strength? Hast thou clothed
his neck with thunder? Canst thou make him afraid as a
grasshopper? The glory of his nostrils is terrible. He
paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength. He
goeth on to meet the armed men. He mocketh at fear,
and is not affrighted: neither turneth he his back from the
sword. The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering
spear and the shield. He swalloweth the ground with
fierceness and rage: neither believeth he that it is the
sound of the trumpet. He sayeth among the trumpets,
ha! ha! and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of
the captains, and the shouting.”’

Job was a native of those desarts, to which is indigenous
that fine and delicate model of the horse genus, from his
superior speed, styled the Coursrr. These beautiful ani-
mals are supposed to have originated in the desarts of
Arabia, of Barbary, and of some other parts of Africa, and
from those to have migrated to the circumjacent countries.
Granting this to be supposition, it is confirmed by an
unbroken evidence of facts during thousands of years,
recourse being invariably had to those desarts for supplies
of this matchless race: but there exists no record of suffi-
cient antiquity to reach the first example of taming the
horse, since the most ancient histories represent him as
already inured to the service of man.

The noblest conquest which was ever made by man is
that of this spirited and haughty animal, which shares with
him the fatigues of war and the glory of the combat.
Equally intrepid as his master, the Horse sees the danger,
and braves it; inspired at the clash of arms, he loves it,

2 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

he seeks it, and is animated with the same ardour. He
feels pleasure also in the chase, in tournaments, in the
course; he is all fire, but, equally tractable as courageous,
does not give way to his impetuosity, and knows how to
check his inclinations; he not only submits to the arm
which guides him, but even seems to consult the desires
of his rider; and, always obedient to the impressions which
he receives from him, presses on, moves gently, or stops,
and only acts as his rider pleases. The Horse is a crea-
ture which renounces his being, to exist only by the will
of another, which he knows how to anticipate, and even
express, and execute by the promptitude and exactness of
his movements: he feels as much as we desire, does only
what we wish, giving himself up without reserve, and
refuses nothing, makes use of all his strength, exerts him-
self beyond it, and even dies the better to obey. us.

Such is the Horse, whose natural qualities art has im-
proved. His education commences with the loss of his
liberty, and by constraint it is finished. The slavery or
servitude of these creatures is universal, and so ancient
that we rarely see them in their natural state: they are
never wholly free from all their bands, not even at the
time of rest; and if they are sometimes suffered to range
at liberty in the fields, they always bear about them tokens
of servitude, and frequently the cruel marks of servitude
and of pain: the mouth is deformed by the wrinkles occa-
sioned by the bit, the flanks scarred with wounds inflicted
by the spur, the hoofs are pierced by nails, the attitude of
the body constrained, from the subsisting impression of
habitual shackles, from which they would be delivered in
vain, as they would not be the more at liberty for it.
Even those whose slavery is the most gentle, who are
only fed and broken for luxury and magnificence, and
whose golden chains serve less to decorate them, than to
satisfy the vanity of their master, are still more disho-
noured by the elegance of their trappings, by the tresses
of their manes, by the gold and silk with which they are
covered, than by the iron shoes on their feet.

Nature is more delightful than art; and, in an animated
being, the freedom of its movements makes nature beau-
tiful: observe the Horses in Spanish America, which live
wild; their gait, their running, or their leaping, seem
neither constrained norregular. Proud of their independ-
ence, they fly the presence of man, and disdain his care;
they seek and find for themselves proper nourishment;
they wander about in liberty in immense meads, where
they feed on the fresh productions of an eternal spring:
destitute of any fixed habitation, without any other shelter
than a mild sky, they breathe a purer air than those which
are confined in vaulted palaces. These wild Horses are
also much stronger, much swifter, and more nervous than

the greater part of domestic Horses; they have, what na-
ture has bestowed upon them, strength and nobleness; the
others only what art can give, beauty and cunning.

The Wild Horse.

Troops of wild Horses are found in the plains of Great
Tartary, and also in several parts cf South America. In
neither, however, can we recognise an original race. The
horses of the Ukraine, and those of South America, are
equally the descendants of those who had escaped from
the slavery of man. The Tartar Horses are fleet and
strong, but comparatively of an ordinary breed. Those
of South America retain, almost unimpaired, the size and
form of their European ancestors.

In no part of America, or of the more newly-dis-
covered islands of the Pacific, was the Horse known,
until he was introduced by Europeans; and the origin of
the Horses of Tartary, has been clearly traced to those
who were employed in the siege of Azoph, in 1657, but
which were turned loose for want of forage.

All travellers, who have crossed the plains extending
from the shores of La Plata to Patagonia, have spoken of
numerous droves of wild Horses. Some affirm that they
have seen ten thousand in one troop. They appear to be
under the command of a leader, the strongest and boldest
of the herd, and whom they implicitly obey. A secret
instinct teaches them that their safety consists in their
union, and in a principle of subordination. The lion, the
tiger, and the leopard,* are their principal enemies. At
some signal, intelligible to them all, they either close into
a dense mass, and trample their enemy to death; or, placing
the mares and foals in the centre, they form themselves
into a circle and welcome him with their heels. In the
attack, their leader is the first to face the danger, and,
when prudence demands a retreat, they follow his rapid
flight.

In the thinly inhabited parts of South America, it is
dangerous to fall in with any of these troops. The wild
Horses approach as near as they dare: they call to the
loaded Horse with the greatest eagerness, and, if the rider
be not on the alert, and have not considerable strength of
arm, and sharpness of spur, his beast will divest himself
of his burden, take to his heels, and be gone for ever.

Captain Head gives the following account of a meeting
with a troop of wild Horses, where the country is more
thickly inhabited. Some poor captured animals are sup-
posed to be forced along by their riders at their very
utmost speed:—<* As they are thus galloping along, urged

* These animals are of a different race from those which go under
the same names in the Old World, and are yery inferior in strength.

isa DSI

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 3

by the spur, it is interesting to see the groups of wild
Horses one passes. The mares, which are never ridden in
South America, seem not to understand what makes the
poor Horse carry his head so low, and look so weary.*
The little innocent colts come running to meet him, and
then start away frightened: while the old Horses, whose
white marks on the flanks and backs betray their acquaint-
ance with the spur and saddle, walk slowly away for some
distance, then, breaking into a trot as they seek their
safety, snort and look behind them, first with one eye
and then with the other, turning their nose from right to
left, and carrying their long tail high in the air.”

The same pleasing writer describes the system of horse-
management among the rude inhabitants of the plains of
South America. They have no stables, no fenced pastures.
One Horse is usually kept tied at the door of the hut, fed
scantily at night on maize; or at other times several may
be enclosed in the corral, which is a circular space sur-
rounded by rough posts, driven firmly into the ground.
The mares are never ridden, or attempted to be tamed, but
wander with their foals wherever they please.

When the Gaucho, the native inhabitants of the plains,
wants horses for himself or for the supply of the traveller,
he either goes with his dasso to the corral, and selects
those, possibly, who on the preceding day had for the first
time been backed, or he scampers across the plain, and
presently returns with an unwilling, struggling, or sub-
dued captive. When the services of the animals have
been exacted, he either takes them to the corral, and feeds
them with a small quantity of maize, if he thinks he shall
presently need them again, or he once more turns them
loose on the plains.

Travellers give some amusing accounts of the manner in
which all this is effected—Miers thus describes the lasso,
simple in its construction, but all-powerful in the hands of
the Gaucho.

‘The Lasso is a missile weapon used by every native
of the United Provinces and Chile. It is a very strong
plaited thong of equal thickness, half an inch in diameter,
and forty feet long; made of many strips of green hide,
plaited like a whipthong, and rendered supple by grease.
It has, at one end, an iron ring above an inch and a half
in diameter, through which the thong is passed, and this
forms a running noose. The Gaucho, or native Peon, is
generally mounted on horseback when he uses the lasso.
One end of the thong is affixed to his saddle girth: the

* An Englishman once attempted to ride a mare, but he was hooted
and pelted by the natives, and thought himself fortunate to escape
without serious injury.

Sir John Carr, in his Northern Summer, p. 44, states that it is only
a short time since mares began to be ridden in Russia.

remainder he coils carefully in his left hand, leaving about
twelve feet belonging to the noose-end, in a coil, and a half
of which he holds in his right hand. He then swings
this long noose horizontally round his head, the weight of
the iron ring at the end of the noose assisting in giving to
it, by a continued circular motion, a sufficient force to pro-
ject it the whole length of the line.”

When the Gauchos wish to have a grand breaking-in,
they drive a whole herd of wild horses into the corral.
“The corral was quite full of Horses,”’ says Captain Head,
‘most of which were young ones about two or three years
old. Thecapitaz (chief Gaucho,) mounted onastrong steady
Horse, rode into the corral and threw his lasso over the neck
of a young Horse, and dragged him to the gate. For some
time he wasvery unwilling to leave hiscomrades; but the mo-
ment he wasforced out of the corral, his firstidea wasto gallop
away: however a timely jerk of the lasso checked him in
the most effectual way. The peons now ran after him on
foot, and threw a lasso over his fore-legs just above the
fetlock, and twitching it, they pulled his legs from under
him so suddenly, that I really thought the fall he got had
killed him. In an instant a Gaucho was seated on his
head, and with his long knife, and in a few seconds, cut
off the whole of the Horse’s mane, while another cut the
hair from the end of his tail. This they told me was a
mark that the Horse had been once mounted. They then
put a piece of hide into his mouth to serve for a bit, and a
strong hide halter on his head. The Gaucho who was to
mount, arranged his spurs, which were unusually long and
sharp,* and while two men held the Horse by his ears, he
put on the saddle, which he girthed extremely tight. He
then caught hold of the Horse’s ear, and in an instant
vaulted into the saddle; upon which the man who held the
Horse by the halter threw the end to the rider, and from that
moment no one seemed to take any further notice of him.

‘The Horse instantly began to jump in a manner which
made it very difficult for the rider to keep his seat, and
quite different from the kick or plunge of an English
Horse: however, the Gaucho’s spurs soon set him going,
and off he galloped doing everything in his power to throw
his rider.

® The manufacture of the Gaucho’s boots is somewhat singular.
“The boots of the Gauchos are formed of the ham and part of the leg-
skin of a colt taken reeking from the mother, which is said to be sacri-
ficed for the sole purpose, just at the time of bearing when the hair
has not begun to grow. At this stage, the skin strips off easily, and
is very white and beautiful in texture and appearance. The ham
forms the calf of the boot; the hock easily adopts itself to the heel,
and the leg above the fetlock constitutes the foot; the whole making
aneat and elegant half-boot, with an aperture sufficient for the great
toe, to project through.’—Andrew’s Journey in South America, vol. i.

p. 26.

4 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

‘¢ Another Horse was immediately brought from the cor-
ral, and so quick was the operation, that twelve Gauchos
were mounted in a space which I think hardly exceeded
an hour. It was wonderful to see the different manner in
which different Horses behaved. Some would actually
scream while the Gauchos were girding the saddle upon
their backs; some would instantly lie down and roll upon
it; while some would stand without being held—their legs
stiff, and in unnatural positions, their necks half bent
towards their tails, and looking vicious and obstinate; and
I could not help thinking that I would not have mounted
one of those for any reward that could be offered me, for
they were invariably the most difficult to subdue.

“Tt was now curious to lock around and see the Gauchos
on the horizon in different directions, trying to bring their
Horses back to the corral, which is the most difficult part
of their work; for the poor creatures had been so scared
there that they were unwilling to return to the place. It
was amusing to see the antics of the Horses—they were
jumping and dancing in different ways, while the right
arm of the Gauchos wasseen flogging them. At last they
brought the Horses back, apparently subdued, and broken
in. The saddles and bridles were taken off, and the young
Horses trotted off towards the corral, neighing to one
another.

‘* The Horses of the Pampasare like the common descrip-
tion of Spanish Horse, but rather stronger. They are of
all colours, and a great number are pie-bald. When
caught, they will always kick at any person who goes
behind them; and it is often with great difficulty that they
can be bridled and saddled: however, they are not vicious,
and when properly broken in, will allow the children to
mount by climbing up their tails. In mounting, it is ne-
cessary to be very quick, and previous to dismounting, it
is proper to throw the bridle over one side of the head, as the
Horses almost alwaysrun backwards, if one attempts to hold
them by the bridle when it is over the head, as in England.

‘‘ Although Irode many thousand milesin South America,
I was quite unable to learn how to select either a good
Horse or an easy-going one, for by their appearance I found
it impossible to form a judgment; indeed, I generally se-
lected for myself the worst-looking Horses, as I sometimes
fancied that they went the best.

‘¢When first mounted, they often begin to kick and plunge,
but by giving them a loose rein, and by spurring them,
they will generally start, and when once at their pace,
they go quiet. However, the kicking at starting is a most

painful operation to undergo, for from hard riding the
back and shoulders get so dreadfully stiff, that such sudden
and violent motion seems to dislocate the limbs.’?

When the Gaucho wishes to take a wild Horse, he

mounts one that has been used to the sport, and gallops
over the plain. As soon as he comes sufficiently near his
prey, ‘‘the lasso is thrown round the two hind legs, and
as the Gaucho rides a little on one side, the jerk pulls the
entangled horse’s feet laterally, so as to throw him on his
side, without endangering his knees or his face. Before
the Horse can recover the shock, the rider dismounts, and
snatching his poncho or cloak from his shoulders, wraps it
round the prostrate animal’s head. He then forces into
his mouth one of the powerful bridles of the country, straps
a saddle on his back, and bestriding him, removes the
poncho; upon which the astonished horse springs on his
legs, and endeavours by a thousand vain efforts to disen-
cumber himself of his new master, who sits quite compo-
sedly on his back, and, by a discipline which never fails,
reduces the Horse to such complete obedience, that he is
soon trained to lend his whole speed and strength to the
capture of his companions.

‘These animals possess much of the form of the Spanish
Horse, from which they sprung; they are tamed, as has
been seen, with far less difficulty than could be thought
possible; and, although theirs is the obedience of fear, and
enforced at first by the whip and spur, there are no Horses
who so soon and so perfectly exert their sagacity and their
power in the service of man. They are possessed of no
extraordinary speed, but they are capable of enduring im-
mense fatigue. They are frequently ridden sixty or seventy
miles without drawing bit, and have been urged on by the
cruel spur of the Gaucho, more than a hundred miles, and
at the rate of twelve miles in the hour.

‘« Like the Arab Horses, they know no intermediate pace
between the walk and the gallop. Although at the end of
a day so hard, their sides are horribly mangled, and they
completely exhausted, there is this consolation for them,
they are immediately turned loose on the plains, and it
will be their own fault if they are speedily caught again.
The mare is occasionally killed for food, and especially on
occasions of unusual festivity. General San Martin,
during the war for independence, gave a feast to the Indian
allies attached to his army; and mares’ flesh, and the blood
mixed with gin, formed the whole of the entertainment.

«¢On such dry and sultry plains the supply of water is
often scanty, and then a species of madness seizes on the
Horses, and their generous and docile qualities are no
longer recognized. They rush violently into every pond
and lake, savagely mangling and trampling upon one ano-
other; and the careases of many thousands of them de-
stoyed by their fellows, have occasionally been seen in
and around a considerable pool. Thisis one of the means
by which the too rapid increase of this quadruped is, by
the ordinance of Nature, there prevented.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 5

¢¢ The wild Horses of Tarrary, although easily domesti-
eated, materially differ in character from those on the
plains of South America. They will not suffer a stranger
to join them. Ifa domesticated Horse comes in their way,
unprotected by his master, they attack him with their teeth
and their heels, and speedily destroy him. They readily
submit, however, to the dominion of man, and become
perfectly docile and faithful.

<¢ Among the Tartars, the flesh of the Horse isa frequent
article of food; and although they do not, like the Indians
of the Pampas, eat it raw, their mode of cookery would
not be very inviting to the European epicure. They cut
the muscular parts into slices, and place them under their
saddles, and after they have galloped thirty or forty miles,
the meat becomes tender and sodden, and fit for their table;
and, at all their feasts, the first and last and most favourite
dish, is a Horse’s head.

«sWhen water was not at hand, the Scythians used to
draw blood from their Horses and drink it; and the dukes of
Muscovy, for nearly two hundred and sixty years, pre-
sented Tartar ambassadors with the milk of mares. If any
of this milk fell upon the mane of the Horse, the duke, by
custom, was bound to lick it off.’’

In North America, innumerable wild Horses were seen
by Lieut. Z. M. Pike, while on his exploring expedition
to the sources of the Arkansas River, &c.; they were met
with continually on the shores of most of the rivers in the
Arkansas Territories, the first herd being seen in Lat.
37° Long. 38°.

“ The natural disposition of these animals is not ferocious,
they are only high-spirited and wild; and though supe-
rior in strength to the greatest part of animals, they yet
never attack them; and if they are attacked by others,
either disdain them or trample them under their feet.
They go also in bodies, and unite themselves into troops,
merely for the pleasure of being together, for they are not
fearful of, but have an attachment to each other. As
herbs and vegetables are sufficient for their nourishment,
they have quite enough to satisfy their appetite; and as
they have no relish for the flesh of animals, they never make
war with them, nor with each other; they never quarrel
about their food, they have no occasion to ravish the prey
of another, the ordinary source of contentions and quar-
rels among carniverous animals. They live in peace be-
cause their appetite is simple and moderate; and as they
have enough, there is no room for envy.

‘¢ As all parts of Europe are at present peopled, and al-
most equally inhabited, wild Horses are no longer found
there; and those which we see in America were origi-
nally European tame Horses, which have multiplied in the
vast desarts of that country. The astonishment and fear

B

which the inhabitants of Mexico and Peru expressed at
the sight of Horses, and their riders, convinced the Spa-
niards that this animal was entirely unknown in these
countries; they therefore carried thither a great number,
as well for service and their particular utility as to propa-
gate the breed. M. de la Salle, in 1685, saw in the north-
ern parts of America, near the bay of St. Louis, whole
troops of these wild Horses feeding in the pastures, which
were so fierce that no one dared to approach them. The
author of the History of the Adventures of the Bucca-
neers, says that, in the island of St. Domingo, Horses
may sometimes be seen in troops of upwards of five hun-
dred, all running together, and that as soon as they see a
man, they will allstop; that one of them will approach to
a certain distance, snort, take flight, and then all the rest
will follow him. To catch them, they make use of nooses
made of ropes, which they spread and hang in places
which they know they frequent: but if they are caught
by the neck they strangle themselves, unless the hunter
comes time enough to their assistance, who instantly se-
cures them by the body and legs, and fastens them to
trees, where they are left for two days without either food
or drink. This experiment is sufficient to begin to make
them tractable, and in time they become as much so as if
they had never been wild; and even if by chance they
ever regain their liberty, they never become so again,
but know their masters, and suffer them to catch them
again without trouble.

«¢ The manners of these animals almost wholly depend on
their education. From time immemorial it has been
the custom to separate the colts from their mothers:
mares are suffered to suckle them five, six, or seven
months; for experience has taught us, that those colts
which are suckled ten or eleven months, are not of equal
value with those which are weaned sooner, though they
are generally fuller of flesh. After six or seven months
sucking, they are weaned, that they may take more solid
nourishment than milk; bran is then given them twice a
day, and a little hay, of which the quantity is increased in
proportion as they advance in age, and they are kept in
the stable as long as they seem to retain any desire to re-
turn to the mare; but when this desire ceases, they are
suffered to go out in fine weather, and led to pasture;
but care must be taken not to suffer them to go out to pas-
ture fasting; they must have bran, and be made to drink,
an hour before they are suffered to graze, and are never to
be exposed to great cold or rain: in this manner they
spend the first winter; in the May following, they are
not only permitted to graze every day, but are suffered to
lie in the fields all the summer, and even to the end of Oc-
tober, only observing not to let them eat the after-grass; for

6 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

if they accustom themselves much to it, they will grow dis-
gusted with hay, which ought, however, to be their principal
food during the second winter, together with bran mixed
with barley, or oats wetted. They are managed in this man-
ner, letting them graze in the day time during winter, and in
the night time during the summer, till they are four years
old, when they are taken from the pastures, and fed on
hay. This change in his food requires some precaution;
for the first eight days, the colt should have nothing but
straw, and it is proper to administer some vermifuge
drinks, as worms may have been generated from indiges-
tion and green food.

<¢ Great attention must be paid in weaning young colts,
to put them into a proper stable, not too hot, for fear of
making them too delicate and sensible to the impressions
of the air. They should frequently have fresh litter, and
be kept very clean, by rubbing them down with a wisp
of straw. But they should not be tied up and curried till
they are two years and a half or three years old; this cur-
rying gives them great pain, their skin being as yet too
delicate to bear it, and they would fall away instead of
growing fat from it; care must also be taken that the rack
and manger are not too high, the necessity of raising their
heads too high in order to reach their food may possibly
produce a habit of carrying it in this fashion, which would
give them an awkward appearance.

<¢ At the age of three years, or three years and a half, the
rider should begin to break them and make them tracta-
ble; they should at first have a light, easy saddle, and
ought to wear it two or three hours every day; and they
should be accustomed to have a snaffle bit in their mouths,
and to lift up their feet, on which they should sometimes
receive rather smart strokes, and if designed for coach or
draught Horses, should wear harness and a bridle. At
first a curb should not be used, they should be held by a
eaveson, or leather strap, and be made to trot, on even
ground, without a rider, and with only the saddle or har-
ness on the body; and when the saddle Horse turns
easily, and willingly follows the person who holds the lea-
ther strap, the rough rider should mount him and dis-
mount again in the same place, without making him move,
till he is four years old, because before that age, the weight
of a man overloads him, but at four years he should be
made to walk or trot, a little way at a time, with the rider
on his back. When a coach Horse is accustomed to the
harness, he should be paired with a Horse that is tho-
roughly broken, putting on him a bridle, with a strap
passed through it, till he begins to be used to the draught;
after this the coachman must teach him to back, having
the assistance of a man before, who must push him gently
back, and even give him some blows to make him do

it: all this should be done before young Horses have
changed their food, for when once they are what is
called corn-fed, that is, when they feed on grain and hay,
as they are more vigorous, it is remarked also that they
are less tractable, and more difficult to break.

‘‘The bit and the spur are two means made use of to
bring them into order. The mouth does not appear form-
ed by nature to receive any other impressions than that of
taste and appetite; there is, however, so great a sensi+
bility in the mouth of a Horse, that, in preference to the
eyes and ears, we address ourselves to it, to make him un-
derstand our pleasure; the smallest motion or pressure of
the bit is sufficient to inform and determine the animal;
and this organ of sense has no other fault than its perfec-
tion. Its too great sensibility must be managed, for if it
is abused, the mouth of the Horse is spoiled, and render-
ed insensible to the impression of the bit; the senses of
sight and hearing are not subject to such a change, and
could not be dulled in this manner; but it has been found
convenient to govern Horses by these organs, and it is
generally true, that signs given by the sense of feeling
have more effect on animals in general than those con-
veyed to the eyes or ears; besides, the situation of Horses
with relation to those who mount or conduct them, makes
their eyes almost useless for this purpose, because they
see only straight forwards, so that they could only per-
ceive the signs made to them when they turned their
heads round; and although they are frequently conducted
and animated by the ear, yet in fact, if they are well bro-
ken, the smallest pressure of the thighs, or most trifling
motion of the bit, is sufficient to direct them; the spur is
even useless, or at least it is only made use of to force
them to violent motions; and as, through the folly of the
rider, it often happens that in giving the spur he checks
the bridle, the Horse, finding himself excited on one side,
and kept in on the other, only prances and capers, with-
out stirring out of his place.

<< By means of the bridle we teach Horses to hold up their
heads, and place them in a proper manner, and the small-
est sign or movement of the rider is sufficient to make
the Horse show all his different paces; the most natural
is perhaps the trot, but ambling and galloping are more
pleasant for the rider, and these are the two paces we par-
ticularly endeavour to improve.”

[ To be continued. |

TO THE EDITORS OF THE CABINET OF NATURAL BISTORY.

GrenTLEMEN:—At your request I send you for publi-
cation, the calendar of nature which accompanies this. It
was kept at a time when I had but little acquaintance with

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 7

Natural History, and when I had but little intercourse
with the scientific world. It was made for my own amuse-
ment, and wasnever intended for the public eye. As you
think it contains some curious facts, and that it is calculated
to elicit a spirit of observation in the youthful naturalist,
I have consented to its publication in the original form,
little or no alteration being made in the manuscript.
Yours truly,
J. G,

Philada. Dee. 1st, 1831.

NOTES OF A NATURALIST.
By Jacos Green, M. D.

A correct tabular view, in which is recorded the leaf-
ing and flowering of plants, the arrival and incubation of
birds, and several other common occurrences of nature,
as they successively arise, cannot fail to be a source of
rational entertainment. Several attempts of this sort have
been made by naturalists, both in ancient and modern
times. In the works of Aristotle and Theophrastus,
something of this kind may be found. Pliny, in his Na-
tural History, remarks, (liber 16. 25,) ‘‘ With the first
soft breeze the cornelian cherry puts forth its bud, next
the bay, a little before the equinox. The lime, the ma-
ple, the poplar, the elm, the sallow, the elder, the jfilbert,
and the hazel, are among the first that put out leaves; the
plum tree also is very early.”” Thus we see from this
attentive observer, of other times, that trees were governed
by certain fixed laws, with regard to their time of leafing,
and that when one species of tree was seen to be in foliage,
the next in succession could be easily predicted.

Calendars of a similar sort may be found in White’s
highly interesting History of Selborne, in England, and in
several periodical works published in the United States.
In recording the numerous facts as they arise, I shall in-
dulge in any zoological or other remarks, which may
occur. Since my notes were completed, I find that Dr.
Bigelow of Boston, has issued a circular, in which he re-
quests the naturalists of the United States to keep such a
record during the spring of 1817, in order that contempora-
neous observations of the same facts, in different places, may
afford materials for a general American Calendar of Flora.

Naturalist’s Calendar, kept at Princeton, N. J., in 1817,
by Jacop Green, M. D. Professor of Chemistry,
Experimental Philosophy, and Natural History, in
Nassau Hall.

January. The deep snow which has covered the ground
for some days, obliges the common Crow, (corvus corone,)

to leave their usual haunts. They flock around stacks of
grain, and visit our barn-yards in search of food.

Larks, (alauda magna?) are now easily shot. They
frequent fields where the weeds are so tall as not to be
covered with snow, and hover around their tops, for the
seed; they are exceedingly fat. A Golden-eyed Duck,
(anas clangula,) was noticed in the water, in company
with a flock of tame ducks; it was killed, and a pike,
(esox,) about four inches long, was found in its throat.

March 9th. Lamium amplexicaule, in bloom. The
bright red flowers of this little plant, are in beautiful con-
trast with the snow which is still in many places on the
ground.

10¢h. The trees exhibit but few marks of vegetation.
The Lombardy Poplar, (populus dilatata?) on being cut
down, exuded no sap.

15th. The Smelt, or snow-fish, (salmo eparlanus) taken
in the Raritan river, near New-Brunswick.

18th. This morning I heard for the first time the plain-
tive note of the Blue Bird, (silvia sialis. )

19¢h. A more violent snow-storm than any during the
last winter.

21st. The Yellow Bird, (fringilla tristis,) seen.
birds numerous.

24th. Robins in the orchards. Many of these birds
pass the whole winter in the bushy marshes of this neigh-
bourhood, where the water rarely freezes.

25th. Heard the Aédideer (charadrius vociferus. )

30th. Frogs begin to croak (rana zebra?) In the shal-
low streams salamanders are numerous (sal. rubriventris,
var. )

4pril 1. I noticed this morning the brownish butterfly,
called Papilio Antiopa, skimming along the wet places,
near the road-side. The snow was still visible in many
places in the woods, and on the hills. Pliny remarks,
that the appearance of the butterfly is supposed by many
the surest indication of returning spring, because the ani-
mal is too delicate to support severe changes in the wea-~
ther. The Papilio Antiopa, is thought by many to ex-
ceed most of the papilios in beauty, but as it appears ear-
lier in the season than any other butterfly, it is probably
owing to this circumstance that it is so much admired.
Its glossy brown wings, edged with white, and spotted
with blue, are certainly pretty. Our good and great orni-
thologist, Wixson, alludes to it in the following line,

“ When first the lone butterfly flits on the wing.”’

2d. Common flies, (museca domestica,) seen in great
numbers. Earth worms perforate the surface of the soil.

3d. Cabbage seed, and early peas sown.

4th. Potatoes, beets, and onions planted.

5th. Shepherd’s Pouch, (thlaspi,) in flowers, and the

Blue

8 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

catkins of the Mspen, (populus tremula,) made their ap-
pearance.

6th. The Gooseberry, (ribes,) and the Willow, (salix
babylonica, ) in leaf.

8th. Spiders shoot their webs. Is this ever done, when
the animal moves about in the warm days of winter?

9th. Anemone Hepatica blooms in the woods. In the
gardens, the Blue Violet, and the Daffodil, or Narsisus,
are in flower. The violet,—the vernal crocus,—the snow-
drop, and many other plants, which flower in the begin-
ning of spring, cannot by any pains or care, be made to
blossom in the autumn, or after the summer solstice. It
is remarkable, that these plants, which are so very patient
of the cold of spring, should in the autumn be so tender
as not to endure the first hard frost. There are, however,
many exceptions to this rule. The willow tree, or salix
babylonica, is one of the first trees clothed in verdure, and
is also one of the last that the frost of autumn strips of its
leaves. It is said that thistles, and some other plants, in
Sweden, which flower about the time of the summer sol-
stice, never blossom before or after, and that husbandmen
judge from this circumstance, as from a calendar which
cannot deceive them, whether the solstice be past. (See
Stillingfleet’s Miscellaneous Tracts, page 140.)

10th. The Skunk Cabbage, (dracontium fetidum,) in
flower, in moist situations.

11¢h. A beautiful species of dytiscus, called here the
Water Witch, plays on the surface of the small streams.
Most of these insects were in pairs.

12th. Ants open their holes. The Martin, (hirundo
purpurea,) appeared. The garden Hyacinth, (hyacinthus
orientalis,) in flower. In the woods, I saw the Blood
Root, or Sanguinaria Canadensis, in bloom.

14th. Bees begin to collect honey. They always come
from their hives in the warm days of winter. Pliny says
they do not leave them till the 11th of May, and seems to
blame Aristotle for saying they came out in March or the
beginning of spring.

Moles, (sorex cristatus,) throw up hillocks; this is, I
believe, performed much earlier, though I have not seen
any indications of it.

The Willow, (salix babylonica,) in blossom. I saw
for the first time a pair of Chipping Birds, (fringilla so-
cialis,) or American sparrows. I heard their notes, how-
ever, a considerable time ago. The name Chipping is
from the note they have when hopping on the ground, or
among the branches; their love song is very different.

15th. Reddish orange Butterfly, (papilio viola,)
whose wings are spotted with black, and expand about an

inch and a half, appeared flying about a cluster of full
blown daffodils.

The young Grasshopper, (gryllus,) without wings, is
jumping about on the grass. In this state, it secretes a
remarkable quantity of a brownish fluid from its mouth.

A small dipterous insect, resembling what is called the
May-/fly, and a small kind of scarabceus, appeared.

Crickets open their holes in the fields, and play around
them. The common Mud Wasp was seen. In one of
the warm days in February last, I saw one of these insects
crawling torpidly in the sun. I placed it under a tumbler,
near my fire-place, and fed it on honey. It became active
and vigorous; but died in about two weeks after its cap-
ture. A friend has related a curious instance respecting
this species of wasp. One summer afternoon a wasp flew
into the room where he was sitting, and upon watching its
motions he observed it fly to a number of small spider’s
nests, and shake them with his feet, as if he were entangled
by them. He was at a loss to understand this manceuvre,
till the wasp at last flew to a web, which he commenced
shaking as he did the others; a spider then darted from
his hiding place, no doubt expecting to seize some unfor-
tunate insect, which he supposed was fastened in his snare;
but the wasp grappled him as soon as he came within
reach, and bore him off in triumph.

I saw large numbers of the Humble Bee lying dead on
the ground, which appear to have been thrown out of
their holes, which are bored in the rails of the fences. I
thought them torpid, and endeavoured to revive them;
they were both male and female. I suppose,they must
have been killed by the severity of the last winter. I also
saw them flying.

16th. Ants deposit their eggs under stones.

Strawberries, (fragraria elatior et virginiana,) in flower.
(Ulmus Americana) Elm Tree, in flower. The Peach
Tree, (amigdalus?) in blossom. Asparagus, (medeola,)
proper for cutting for the table.

17th. Gooseberries in flower.

21st. Anemone Thalictroides in bloom.
(ribes) begin to form. Cherry tree, (prunus) in full
blossom. Cabbage plants set out.

24th. Ranunculus Abortivus flowers.

26th. The Dandelion, (leontodon taraxacum,) flowers.
Dr. Barton, in the third volume of the American Phi-
losophical Transactions, says, this plant is not indige-
nous; it is certainly found in places remote from any habi-
tation. Blue Violet in the woods, (viola cuculata, ) flowers.

28h. Saxifragia virginia, nivalis and vernalis, in flow-
ers, in the woods, and road-sides. I transplanted the
saxifragia vernalis to a little box in my chamber, where it
flourishes very well. The flowers, which are situated on the
top of a scapus, follow the course of the sun, like the He-
lanthus. This plant was in bloom a week since.

Currants,

AND AMERICAN

Gnaphalium Plantagenium flowers, and also a species of
Myosotis.

30th. Young chickens leave the egg.

The Swallow, (hirundo Americana,)in numbers, and also
the Goldfinch. Both of these birds, I suppose, appear
much earlier, but my situation prevented me from seeing
them before.

May 4th. The small Yellow Butterfly, (papilio he-
cube?) which expands its wings about an inch and a quar-
ter, and which is seen during the summer months playing
about wet, muddy spots along the road-side, was seen.
The small moscheto seen.

5th. Viola Pubescens Acton, or Pennsylvanica Mich.

in flower. ’

6th. Young Ducks hatched.

10th. Wrens build their nests, (silvia domestica.) Might
Hawk, (caprimulgus Americanus,) appears. Chimney
Swallows, (hirundo pelasgia,) build their nests.

11th. The white nocturnal Moths, called Millers, which
expand their wings about one quarter of an inch, appeared.

14th. The Blue Bird buildsits nest. The female only,
as far as I observed, was employed. The male bird
guarded the box, and sang to her during her work. They
did not sleep in their new habitation, the two first nights
it was in their possession, for on the third day, after much
labour, they apparently abandoned it.

15th. The Cat Bird, (T. Lividus,) appears. This bird
rarely uses the note from whence it has its name, on its
first coming, but two or three other notes of the softest
melody.

The Blue Flag, (iris,) the Snowball Tree, (vibernum, )
and the: Peony, (pzonia,) in flower.

16th. The Chewenk, or Towhe Bunting, (emberiza,
erythrophthalma, ) is on the trees; it has a charming song.

I observed a large number of .@nts resorted to, and
covered the buds of the Peony, probably for food; but
when the flower is fully blown, they forsake it.

Vaccinium Corymbosum, Geranium Maculatum, and
Podophyllum Peltatum, or May pple, in flowers.

Ring Dove, coos. Grey Owls, hoot. Goldfinches
pair. Quere, how long does this take place, before the
business of nidification is commenced?

17th. The orange-brown Moth, or Butterfly, which ex-
pands its wings about an inch, which are covered with
black spots, appeared.

Caltha Palustus, in blossom.

Azalea Viscosa, a variety of this plant blossoms.

Rhaphanus Rhaphanistrus, or wild radish, flowers.

Early Peas flower, being forty-six days after they were
planted.

18th. The May Rose blooms.

C

RURAL SPORTS. 9

The Blue Birds have returned to their box. I suspect
they never intended to leave it entirely; but that they
always absent themselves some hours after their nest is
completed; though I observed, that nothing but straw and
small sticks were used, which could not require dry-
ing. The male and female always come together, though
the male now frequently leaves the other in the box, fly-
ing off to some neighbouring tree. This he never did,
while the nest was constructing; then he always called to
her while she was at work, and she answered him with a
short, plaintive note, which now she seems to have forgot-
ten. To-day, I think, she has deposited her first egg. They
visit the box but rarely in the course of the day, but at least
once early in the morning, and again as the sun is setting;
though I suspect they are all the day on the surrounding
trees.

20th. The Mocking Bird, (T. Polyglottus,) sings.
This evening, just as the sun had gone down, this charm-
ing warbler made the woods to echo with his various notes.
I listened to him about a quarter of an hour, and then left

_ him singing.

May 21st. The seventeen year Locust, (cicada septem-
decima,) appears. It rises from the ground a kind of ap-
terous beetle. After leaving the shell of its chrysalis
state, it is about twenty-four hours before it has sufficient
strength to fly, and then about five days before it sings.

23d. Strawberries ripe.

24th. Saw the Toad, (bufo musicus,) for the first time.

The large Butterfly, (bombyx luna,) the handsomest
species of this insect in this part of the country, breaks its
winter case. A branch which supported this insect and
its cocoon, was broken from an apple tree last fall, and sus-
pended in the kitchen.

Oyster Plant, (tragopodon,) flowers; the calyx of the
plant closes over the petals just before sundown; it never
fully expands but in the sunshine.

27th. Mock Orange, (Philadelphus odorus,) flowers.

Blue Birds hatch their first broods.

Slst. May Weed, (anthemis cotula,) flowers. The
full white blossom of this weed may be seen in uncul-
tivated fields, and along the road sides, till the end of
autumn.

June 3d. The Locusts, which have been kept in the
ground, by reason of the cold and rainy weather. (Ther-
mometer, between 40° and 50°, the whole time) now ap-
pear in vast numbers.

5th. The Rodin, (turdus migratorius,) sits. Black-
berry, (rubus occidentalis,) blossoms. The Madlow,
(malva,) flowers.

The pea-green Caterpillar, which appears about this
time, presented me with a curious fact. I fastened one of

10 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

them to a board, with a pin, which passed through the
middle of the body, and in that situation the animal as-
sumed the chrysaline state,—the chrysalis was alive
three or four days afterwards. The caterpillar was about
an inch and a half long, and was marked with black bands
and spots.

17th. The Rose Bug, (melolontha multivora,) appears.
Large numbers of these insects fill the air. A white sub-
stance seems to be a favourite article to rest upon, such as
bleached linen. They emit from them a juice similar to
that of the grasshopper, but somewhat darker. Apterous
animalcule, appear in rain water. When viewed through
the solar miscroscope, the fore-part appeared truncated, and
a little bristly; near the tail, there projected two or more
plume-like hairs; in swimming it seemed to move only at
the extremities, the middle part remaining still. This
animal darted so swiftly through the water, whenever it
was brought to the focus of the miscroscope, (owing, no
doubt, to the heat of the concentrated rays,) that I could
not accurately distinguish its component parts. To the
naked eye, the animal has somewhat the shape of a tad-
pole, the tail of which seemed forked.

[ To be continued. |

PASSAGE ACROSS THE GREAT CORDILLERA.

I was steadily riding my mule at the rate of five
miles an hour, in order to measure, by my watch, the
breadth of the plains of Uspallata, when we met an old
Gaucho huntsman, with two lads, and a number of dogs,
which at once put a stop to my calculation. He had seve-
ral loose horses, over one of which was hanging the car-
cass of a guanaco.

He had been hunting for lions, and had been among the
mountains for two days, but had had little sport. The
Gaucho was a fine picture of an old sportsman. Round
his body were the ‘‘bolas’’ (balls,) which were covered
with clotted blood. His knees were admirably protected
from the bushes, by a hide, which was under his saddle,
and which in front had the appearance of gambadoes.

He was mounted on a good horse; his lasso, in coils,
hung at his saddle. As soon as we stopped, he was sur-
rounded by his dogs, which were a very odd pack. Some
of them were very large, and some quite small, and they
seemed to be all of different breeds; many had been lamed
by the lions and tigers, and several bore honourable scars.
I regretted very much indeed that I had not time to fol-
low the sport, which must have been highly interesting.

As soon as the dogs unkennel a lion or a tiger, they

pursue him until he stops to defend himself. If the dogs
fly upon him, the Gaucho jumps off his horse, and while
the animal is contending with his enemies, he strikes
him on the head with the balls, to which an extraordinary
momentum can be given. If the dogs are at bay, and
afraid to attack their foe, the Gaucho then hurls the lasso
over him, and galloping away, he drags him along the
ground, while the hounds rush upon him, and tear him.

The mountains now seemed to be really over our heads,
and we expected that we should have immediately to
climb them, but for many hours we went over a plain as
dry and barren as the country already described on the
other side of Uspallata, and which wound its course among
the mountains. At last we crossed a rapid torrent of
water, and then immediately afterwards came to another,
which takes its rise at the summit of the Andes, and whose
course, and comparatively gradual descent, directs the pas-
sage; and it is on this spot the traveller may proudly feel
that he is at last buried among the mountains of the Andes.
The surface of the rocks which surrounded us, afforded no
pasture, and the gnarled wood and the stunted growth of
the trees, announced the severity of the climate in winter;
yet the forms of the mountains, and the wild groups in
which they stood towering one above another, can only be
viewed with astonishment and admiration.

Although the sun was retiring, and the mules very tired,
we wished to have gone on half an hour longer, but the
peon assured us we should not find so good a place, and,
pointing to some withered herbage, and some large loose
stones, he earnestly advised me to stop, saying, ‘¢ Hai
aqui pasto bueno para las mulas, y para su merced buen
alojamiento, hai agua, aqui hai todo,”’ (here is pasture for
the mules, and for your excellency good lodging, water,
and everything.) We therefore dismounted near a spring,
and having collected wood, and the miners having cooked
our supper, we lay down on the ground to sleep. Theair
was cool and refreshing, and the scene really magnifi-
cent.

As I lay on the ground upon my back, the objects
around me gradually became obscure, while the sun, which
had long ago set to us, still gilded the summits of the high-
est mountains, and gave a sparkling brightness to the
snow, which faded with the light of day. The scene un-
derwent a thousand beautiful changes; but when it was all
lost in utter darkness, save the bold outline which rested
against the sky, it appeared more beautiful than ever.

The peon, who was always very active, was up long
before day-break, and we were awakened by the bell-
mule, and the others which were now collected. We got
up in the dark, and as our party were preparing to start,
the group, though indistinctly seen by the blaze of the

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 11

fire, was a very odd one. The three miners were eating
their breakfasts seated on loose stones round a large frag-
ment of rock, which served as a table. Their elbows were
squared, and they were eagerly bending over the food
before them. The peons, with their dark brown faces,
and different coloured caps, handkerchiefs, and ponchos,
were loading the ‘‘ carga”? mules. Some of the party were
putting on their spurs; others were arranging their toilette.
The light was now faintly dawning on the tops of the high-
est mountains, and the snow was just discovered lying in
large patches and ridges. The bottoms of the ravines
were in dark shade, and white windy clouds were flying
across the deep blue sky—for some moments all was
silent: however, as soon as the mules were ready we
mounted, and we were off before we could distinctly see;
but the mules picked their way, and continually ascending
by a path covered with great stones, and impracticable
to any animal except a mule, we continued to follow the
course of the great stream, which was a torrent, roaring and
raging, and altogether impassable.

The sufferings of the poor mules now attracted our at-
tention; they had travelled from Mendoza with but little
rest, and little food; still they required no driving, but
were evidently making every possible exertion to keep up
with the mule which carried the bell. Occasionally the
¢carga’’? would require adjusting, and the peon, throwing
his poncho over the creature’s eyes, would alter it, while
the rest continued their course, but the poncho was no
sooner removed, than the mule, trotting and braying,
joined the troop, never stopping till he came to the bell.

On the road, the number of dead mules, which indeed
strew the path from Mendoza to Santiago, seemed to in-
crease, and it was painful to see the living ones winding
their path among the bones and carcasses of those who had
died of fatigue. By the peculiar effect of the climate,
most of these poor creatures were completely dry, and as
they lay on the road with their hind legs extended, and
their heads stretched towards their goal, it was evident,
from their attitudes, that they had all died of the same
complaint—the hill had killed them all.

After passing one or two very rapid torrents, we came
to a mountain, which was one precipitous slope from the
top to the torrent beneath. About half way up, we saw
a troop of forty guanacos, who were all gazing at us with
great attention. They were on a path, or track, parallel
to the water, and as the side of the mountain was covered
with loose stones, we were afraid they would roll some of
them down upon us.

On the opposite side of the water, was one of the most
singular geological formations which we had witnessed.
At the head of a ravine was an enormous perpendicular

mountain of porphyry, broken into battlements and tur-
rets, which gave it exactly the appearance of an old castle,
on a scale, however, altogether the subject of a romance.
The broken front represented, in a most curious manner,
old fashioned windows and gates, and one of the Cornish
miners declared ‘he could see an old woman coming
across a drawbridge.”’

As I was looking up at the region of snow, and as my
mule was scrambling along the steep side of the rock, the
capitaz overtook me, and asked me if I chose to come on,
as he was going to look at the ‘ Ladera de las Vaccas,”’
to see if it was passable, before the mules came to it.* He
accordingly trotted on, and in half an hour we arrived at
the spot. It is the worst pass in the Cordillera. The
mountain above appears almost perpendicular, and in one
continued slope down to the rapid torrent which is raging
underneath. The surface is covered with loose earth and
stones which have been brought down by the water. The
path goes across this slope, and is very bad for about se-
venty yards, being only a few inches broad; but the point
of danger is a spot where the water which comes down
from the top of the mountain, either washes the path away,
or covers it over with loose stones. We rode over it, and
it certainly was very narrow and bad. In some places
the rock almost touches one shoulder, while the precipice
is immediately under the opposite foot, and high above the
head are a number of large loose stones, which appear as
if the slightest touch would send them rolling into the tor-~
rent beneath, which is foaming and rushing with great
violence. However, the danger to the rider is only ima-
ginary, for the mules are so careful, and seem so well
aware of their situation, that there is no chance of their
making a false step. As soon as we had crossed the pass,
which is only seventy yards long, the capataz told me
that it was a very bad place for baggage-mules, that four
hundred had been lost there, and that we should also very
probably lose one; he said, that he would get down to the
water at a place about a hundred yards off, and wait there
with his lasso to catch any mule that might fall into the
torrent, and he requested me to lead on his mule. How-
ever, I was resolved to see the tumble, if there was to be
one, so the capataz took away my mule and his own, and
while I stood on a projecting rock at the end of the pass,
he scrambled down on foot, till he at last got to the level
of the water.

The drove of mules now came in sight, one following
another; a few were carrying no burdens, but the rest

* When first, from the melting of the snow, the Cordillera is
‘‘ open,” this passage is always impassable; but it becomes broader
towards the end of summer,

i2 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

were either mounted or heavily laden, and as they wound
along the crooked path, the difference of colour in the
animals, the different colours and shapes of the baggage
they were carrying, with the picturesque dress of the
peons, who were vociferating the wild song by which they
drive on the mules, and the sight of the dangerous path
they had to cross,—formed altogether a very interesting
scene.

As soon as the leading mule came to the commence-
ment of the pass, he stopped, evidently unwilling to pro-
ceed, and of course all the rest stopped also.

He was the finest mule we had, and on that account
had twice as much to carry as any of the others; his load
had never been relieved, and it consisted of four portman-
teaus, two of which belonged to me, and which contained
not only a very heavy bag of dollars, but also papers which
were of such consequence that I could hardly have conti-
nued my journey without them. The peons now redou-
bled their cries, and leaning over the sides of their mules,
and picking up stones, threw them at the leading mule,
who now commenced his journey over the path. With
his nose to the ground, literally smelling his way, he
walked gently on, often changing the position of his feet,
if he found the ground would not bear, until he came to
the bad part of the pass, where he again stopped, and I
then certainly began to look with great anxiety at my
portmanteaus;-but the peons again threw stones at him,
and he continued his path, and reached me in safety;
several others followed. At last a young mule, carrying
a portmanteau, with two large sacks of provisions, and
many other things, in passing the bad point, struck his load
against the rock, which knocked his two hind legs over
the precipice, and the loose stones immediately began to
roll away from under them: however his fore-legs were
still upon the narrow path; he had no room to put his
head there, but he placed his nose on the path on his left,
and appeared to hold on by his mouth: his perilous fate
was soon decided by a loose mule who came, and in walk-
ing along after him, knocked his comrade’s nose off the
path, destroyed his balance, and head over heels the poor
creature instantly commenced a fall which was really
quite terrific. With all his baggage firmly lashed to him,
he rolled down the steep slope, until he came to the part
which was perpendicular, and then he seemed to bound
off, and turning round in the air, fell into the deep torrent
on his back, and upon his baggage, and instantly disap-
peared. I thought, of course, that he was killed; but up

he rose, looking wild and seared, and immediately endea-
voured to stem the torrent which was foaming about him.
It was a noble effort; and for a moment he seemed to suc-
ceed, but the eddy suddenly caught the great load which

was upon his back, and turned him completely over; down
went his head with all the baggage, and as he was carried
down the stream, all I saw were his hind quarters, and his
long, thin, wet tail, lashing the water. As suddenly,
however, up his head came again; but he was now weak,
and went down the stream, turned round and round by
the eddy, until, passing the corner of the rock, I lost
sight of him. I saw, however, the peons, with their lassos
in their hands, run down the side of the torrent for some
little distance; but they soon stopped, and after looking
towards the poor mule for some seconds, their earnest
attitude gradually relaxed, and when they walked towards
me, I concluded that all was over. I walked up to the
peons, and was just going to speak to them, whenI saw at
a distance a solitary mule walking towards us!

We instantly perceived that he was the Phaeton whose
fall we had just witnessed, and in a few moments he came
up to us to join his comrades. He was of course dripping
wet; his eye looked dull, and his whole countenance was
dejected: however, none of his bones were broken, he was
very little cut, and the bulletin of his health was altogether
incredible.

With that surprising anxiety which the mules all have to
join the troop, or rather the leading mule which carries
the bell, he continued his course, and actually walked over
the pass without compulsion, although certainly with great
caution.

We then continued our course for two hours, until we
came to the ‘ Rio de las Vaccas,”’ which is the most dan-
gerous torrent of any of those which are to be crossed.
We got through it with safety, but it was very deep, and
so excessively rapid, that large stones were rolled down it
with the force of the water. The mules are accustomed to
these torrents, but they are, notwithstanding, much fright-
ened at them, and it is only long spurs that can force them
into them.

While we were crossing, the peons stood down the
stream, with their lassos hurling round their heads, in order
to catch anything which might have been carried away;
but as the boxes which I had seen washed from the mules
were dashed to pieces before they had got twenty yards,
the peon’s lasso came a little too late; and besides this, as
the mule is their own property, I used sometimes to think
that, in the hurry and indecision of the moment, they wells
probably catch him instead of the rider.

When a large party cross this river, and when it is
deep, it is really amusing, after one has got across it, to
observe the sudden change of countenance of one’s friends
as they ride through it; sometimes perched up on the top
of a fragment of rock barely covered, and expecting the
next step to be their last; and sometimes scrambling out of

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 13

a hole, with uplifted eye-brows, open mouth, and an ear-
nest expression of uneasiness and apprehension—and these
are really situations into which the traveller in the Andes
is often thrown, though they disconcert the gravity and
solemnity of his ‘‘ Personal Narrative.’””—Head’s Jour-
neys across the Pampas.

GREAT HORNED-OWL.
STRIX VIRGINIANA.
[Plate II. Vol. 2.]

ret. Zool. p. 228, No. 114.—Epw. 60.—Larn. 1, 119.
Turr. Syst. p. 166.—Hibou des Terres Magellaniques,
Burr.—Pl. Enl. 385.—Bubo Virginianus, Briss. 1,
p- 484.—Strix Virginiana, Ind. Orn. p. 52.—Guxt.
Syst. 1, p. 287.—Virginian Eared Owl, Latu. Gen.
Syn. Supl. vi, p. 40.—J. Doveuty’s Collection.

“‘This noted and formidable Owl,” says Wutson, ‘‘is
found in almost every quarter of the United States. His
favourite residence, however, is in the dark solitudes of
deep swamps, covered with a growth of gigantic timber;
and here, as soon as evening draws on, and mankind re-
tire to rest, he sends forth such sounds, as seem scarcely
to belong to this world, startling the solitary pilgrim as he
slumbers by his forest fire,

‘ Making night hideous.’

Along the mountainous shores of the Ohio, and amidst
the deep forests of Indiana, alone, and reposing in the
woods, this ghostly watchman frequently warned me of
the approach of morning, and amused me with his singular
exclamations; sometimes sweeping down and around my
fire, uttering a loud and sudden Waugh O! Waugh O!
sufficient to have alarmed a whole garrison. He has
other nocturnal solos, no less melodious, one of which
very strikingly resembles the half-suppressed screams of
a person suffocating, or throttled, and cannot fail of being
exceedingly entertaining to a lonely benighted traveller,
in the midst of an Indian wilderness.
“This species inhabits the country round Hudson’s
Bay; and, according to Pennant, who considers it a mere
variety of the Eagle Owl, (Strix bubo) of Europe, is
found in Kamtschatka; extends even to the arctic regions,
where it is often found white; and occurs as low as Astra-
kan. It has also been seen white in the United States;
but this has doubtless been owing to disease or natural
defect, and not to climate. It preys on young rabbits,
squirrels, rats, mice, partridges, and small birds of various

D

kinds. It has been often known to prowl about the farm-
house, and carry off chickens from the roost. A very
large one, wing-broken while on a foraging excursion of
this kind, was kept about a house for several days, and at
length disappeared, no one knew how. Almost every
day after this, hens and chickensalso disappeared, one by
one, in an unaccountable manner, till in eight or ten days
very few were left remaining. The fox, the minx and
weasel, were alternately the reputed authors of this mis-
chief, until one morning, an old lady, rising before day
to bake, in passing towards the oven, surprised her late
prisoner the Owl, regaling himself on the body of a
newly killed hen. The thief instantly made for his hole
under the house, whence the enraged matron soon dis-
lodged him with the brush-handle, and without merey
despatched him. In this snug retreat were found the
greater part of the feathers, and many large fragments, of
her whole family of chickens.

“There is something in the character of the Owl so
recluse, solitary and mysterious, something so discordant
in the tones of its voice, heard only amid the silence and
gloom of night, and in the most lonely and sequestered
situations, as to have strongly impressed the minds of
mankind in general with sensations of awe, and abhor-
rence of the whole tribe. The poets have indulged freely
in this general prejudice; and in their descriptions and
delineations of midnight storms, and gloomy scenes of
nature, the Owl is generally introduced to heighten the
horror of the picture. Ignorance and superstition, in all
ages, and in all countries, listen to the voice of the Owl, and
even contemplate its physiognomy with feelings of dis-
gust, and a kind of fearful awe. The priests, or conjurers,
among some of our Indian nations, have taken advantage of
the reverential horror for this bird, and have adopted the
Great Horned-Owl, the subject of the present account,
as the symbol or emblem of their office. ‘Among the
Creeks,’ says Mr. Bartram, ‘the junior priests, or students,
constantly wear a white mantle, and have a Great Owl
skin cased and stuffed very ingeniously, so well executed
as almost to appear like the living bird, having large
sparkling glass beads, or buttons, fixed in the head for
eyes. This insignia of wisdom and divination they wear
sometimes as a crest on the top of the head; at other
times the image sits on the arm, or is borne on the hand.
These bachelors are also distinguished from the other
people by their taciturnity, grave and solemn countenance,
dignified step, and singing to themselves songs or hymns
in a low, sweet voice, as they stroll about the town.’

“Nothing is a more effectual cure for superstition than
a knowledge of the general laws and productions of nature;
nor more forcibly leads our reflections to the first, great

14 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

self-existent cause of all, to whom our reverential awe
is then humbly devoted, and not to any of his dependent
creatures. With all the gloomy habits, and ungracious
tones, of the Owl, there is nothing in this bird supernatu-
ral or mysterious, or more than that of a simple bird of
prey, formed for feeding by night, like many other ani-
mals, and of reposing by day. The harshness of its voice,
occasioned by the width and capacity of its throat, may be
intended by heaven as an alarm and warning to the birds
and animals on which it preys, to secure themselves from
danger. The voices of all carnivorous birds and animals
are also observed to be harsh and hideous, probably for
this very purpose.

‘The Great Horned-Owl is not migratory, but remains

with us the whole year. During the day he slumbers in
the thick evergreens of deep swamps, or seeks shelter in
large hollow trees. He is very rarely seen abroad by
day, and never but when disturbed.* In the month of
May they usually begin to build. The nest is generally
placed in the fork of a tall tree, and is constructed of
sticks, piled in considerable quantities, lined with dry
leaves, and a few feathers. Sometimes they choose a
hollow tree, and in that case carry in but few materials.
The female lays four eggs, nearly as large as those of a
hen, almost globular, and of a pure white. In one of
these nests, after the young had flown, were found the
heads and bones of two chickens, the legs and head of
the Golden-winged Woodpecker, and part of the wings
and feathers of several other birds. It is generally con-
jectured that they hatch but once in the season.

“The length of the male of this species is twenty
inches; the bill is large, black and strong, covered at the
base with a cere; the eyes golden yellow; the horns are
three inches in length, and very broad, consisting of
twelve or fourteen feathers, their webs black, broadly
edged with bright tawny; face rusty, bounded on each
side by a band of black; space between the eyes and bill
whitish; whole lower parts elegantly marked with numer-
ous transverse bars of dusky, on a bright tawny ground,
thinly interspersed with white; vent pale yellow ochre,
barred with narrow lines of brown; legs and feet large and
eovered with feathers, or hairy down, of a pale brown
colour; claws very large, blue black; tail rounded, extend-
ing about an inch beyond the tips of the wings, crossed
with six or seven narrow bars of brown, and variegated
or marbled with brown and tawny; whole upper parts
finely pencilled with dusky, on a tawny and whitish

* One day last summer, about noon, I discovered one of these Owls
feeding on a rabbit, which it had just caught, in a very retired wood
in the lower part of New-Jersey; from which circumstance I sup-
posed they frequently seize their prey in the day time.—Ep.

ground; chin pure white, under that a band of brown,
succeeded by another narrow one of white; eyes very
large.

‘‘The female is full two feet in length, and has not the
white on the throat so pure. She has also less of the bright
ferruginous or tawny tint below; but is principally dis-
tinguished by her superior magnitude.”

‘¢Tt is during the placid serenity of a beautiful summer
night,’ says Mr. Aupuson, ‘‘when the current of the
waters moves silently along, reflecting from its smooth
surface the silver radiance of the moon, and when all else
of animated nature seems sunk in repose, that the Great
Horned-Owl, one of the Nimrods of the feathered tribes of
our forests, may be seen sailing along silently, yet rapidly,
intent on the destruction of the objects destined to form his
food. The lone steersman of the descending boat observes
the nocturnal hunter, gliding on extended pinions across
the river, sailing over one hill and then another, or sud-
denly sweeping downwards, and again rising in the air
like a moving shadow, now distinctly seen, and again
mingling with the sombre shades of the surrounding
woods, fading into obscurity. The bark has now floated
to some distance, and is opposite the newly cleared
patch of ground the result of a squatter’s first attempt at
cultivation, in a place lately shaded by the trees of the
forest. The moon shines brightly on his hut, his slight
fence, the newly planted orchard, and a tree, which, spared
by the axe, serves as a roosting-place for the scanty stock
of poultry which the new comer has procured from some
liberal neighbour. Amongst them rests a Turkey-hen,
covering her offspring with extended wings. The Great
Owl, with eyes keen as those of any falcon, is now seen
hovering above the place. He has already espied the
quarry, and is sailing in wide circles, meditating his plan
of attack. The Turkey-hen, which at another time might
be sound asleep, is now, however, so intent on the care of
her young brood, that she rises on her legs, and purs so
loudly, as she opens her wings and spreads her tail, that
she rouses her neighbours, the hens, together with their
protector. The cacklings which they at first emit, soon
become a general clamour. The squatter hears the uproar,
and is on his feet in an instant, rifle in hand; the priming
examined, he gently pushes open his half closed door, and
peeps out cautiously, to ascertain the cause by which his
repose has been disturbed. He observes the murderous
Owl just alighting on the dead branch of a tall tree, when,
raising his never-failing rifle, he takes aim, touches the
trigger, and the next instant sees the foe falling dead to
the ground. The bird is unworthy of farther attention,
and is left a prey to some prowling opossum, or other car-
niyorous quadruped. ”’

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 15

THE VARIETY OF GAME IN NEW-JERSEY.

THERE is perhaps no spot in the United States, of the
same,area as the State of New-Jersey, which so abounds
in the variety of game common to this country; certainly
there is not, in any civilized or cultivated neighbourhood
in any part of our widely extended continent, a place
where the sportsman and naturalist may resort, the one
for recreation, and the other for science, and so fully enjoy
the objects of their pursuit as in the small, but interesting
state of New-Jersey.

In the successive seasons for shooting, a great plentitude
of game may be found in all parts of this state, and no
sooner does the genial influence of the opening spring
spread its beneficial effects, than this region is among the
first to be hailed by the carois of the many warblers,
which commence their northern migration; and for Orni-
thological research, it always has been esteemed one of
the best districts on the continent. Of the variety which
enters the catalogue of game in this country, the follow-
ing may be found in the state of New-Jersey.

Snipe. In March, and until their final migration to the
north in May, all the low lands abound with these birds,
but especially the meadows along the water courses.
They are occasionally found through the summer, but
return again in numbers from the north in September and
October, and remain a short period previous to their flight
for winter quarters in the south.

Woodcock. It is well known to most of the sportsmen
in the cities of New-York and Philadelphia, that Wood-
eock abound throughout every part of this state. The
soil appears peculiarly adapted to the habits of these birds;
being soft, and free from stones and other hard substances,
is every way suited for their long and flexible bills to
penetrate in search of food free from obstruction. It is
the favourite place of resort for sportsmen when in search
of Woodcock, in preference to any other ground, as their
success is generally twofold more here than in other places.
On the low lands west of New-York, and those meadows
in the interior of the state, known generally by the name
of ‘‘ Atsion Meadows,”’ as well as those extensive low
lands which bound the Delaware, commencing a few miles
below Philadelphia, and running south for twenty or
thirty miles, are places in which multitudes of these birds
are destroyed, during the regular seasons for sporting. I
have heard of a party of two or three gentlemen, on some
spot in the former place, having killed, in one day, up-
wards of eighty Woodcock; and but recently, I was in-
formed by a gentleman, who formed one of a party ona
fourth of July excursion, that on a very small spot of a few
acres, in Salem county, as many as one hundred and fifty

had been killed during that day, and numbers moreon the
same spot the day succeeding. Certain it is, that an ex-
cursion to any good spot of ground in this state, is seldom
unsuccessful.

The Quail, or Partridge. This state appears to be the
settled home for this most interesting of all birds. Of the
great variety of birds which every where abounds through-
out New-Jersey, none appears so much attached to its soil,
as this innocent bird. Other birds, as the seasons change,
depart for distant climes; but the Partridge is ever to be
found in this region; and when not persecuted by sports-
men, it becomes so accustomed to the sight of men, as to
make it half domesticated. Whatever scarcity prevails
generally in other districts, this well-known bird may
always be found here. Perched on a stump, or on the
fence, beneath the shade of an apple tree, at the close of a
sultry summer’s day, the male bird sends forth those-clear,
expressive, and familiar words, ‘Bob White,’’ which
awaken so many pleasing recollections of the past, and
enlivening anticipations of the future, that it is ever a wel-
come visitor. These notes, too, proclaim that ‘Seed
time and harvest have come’’—for they occur only during
those months. The many uncultivated parts; the exten-
sive tracts of bush land, and the numerous swamps, all
afford so much protection to the Partridge from the many
enemies which beset them on every side. Indeed it ap-
pears constituted by nature as a place of repose where
their kind may most freely propagate.

The Ruffed Grouse, or Pheasant. Among the pines
and laurel hills, may be found sometimes in numbers, the
Pheasant. How often in his solitary rambles through the
wood, when the mind is intensely fixed on other objects,
is the passenger startled with a loud, whirring noise, like
distant thunder, which makes his flesh fairly eraw]!—it
is this shy and most difficult of all birds to shoot, flee-
ing the face of man as its great adversary. I have, in
September and October, seen these birds in flocks of from
six to sixteen. I well recollect, in the fall of 1824, start-
ing, one after another, fourteen Pheasants from a large grape
vine, which grew immediately opposite Philadelphia, on
the edge of a thicket, well known to the sportsmen of the
neighbourhood by the name of ‘‘ Kaign’s Swamp;”’ but I
have seen them in greater abundance on the lofty hills of
Kast Jersey, in my rambles after game. They are dif_i-
cult birds to kill, not only from the exceeding velocity of
their flight, but by their seeking the most dense and diffi-
cult thickets, and their well-known stratagem of running
some distance first, and then flying off in an opposite di-
rection from the sportsman.

Pinnated Grouse. The barrens of Gloucester, and other
counties of this state, have been the most celebrated

16 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

grounds, east of the Alleghany, for this chief of our fea-
thered game. In former years they were in great abun-
dance on these barren grounds, which were then visited by
old and scientific sportsmen, who regarded the laws of
shooting, as well for example as from principle,—and mul-
titudes fell beneath the unerring aim of many gentlemen,
who themselves are now numbered with the dead. But
lately, through great persecution, by those who have no
claims to the principles which constitute sportsmen, and
who visit these grounds months before the season for shoot-
ing commences by law, and while the birds are in an un-
fledged state, the Grouse are driven from this favourite
abode, to seek shelter in other and more retired spots
among the mountains.

Year after year has this unhallowed persecution of the
Grouse been carried on, until the species has been almost
exterminated from the state. Of what satisfaction can it
be toa man who claims the character of asportsman, to de-
stroy in numbers birds so young as to be useless for the
table, and possessing so little energy and power to fly, that
an ordinary missile would answer the purpose to kill them
as well as the gun; and that, too, so early in the season,
that the heat creates putrefaction, and renders them unfit
to bring home, and our soz disant sportsmen have no other
evidence of their success, than the boasting which usually
is so strong a feature in the characters of such persons?
Is it not more praiseworthy to bring down, in sportsman-
like manner, one full grown bird, powerful on the wing,
in October, than a score of young, squeaking birds, unable
even to top the scrub oaks, for want of feathers and
strength to support them?

Rabbits. Of the abundance of these animals, every one
seems aware; and although they do not rank in our cata-
logue as game, yet numbers find their way to the different
‘markets, and by many are eagerly sought as a luxury.
But to a certain description of gunners they afford much
amusement; and in the absence of other species of game,
the sportsman may divert his leisure hours, and find recrea-
tion frequently in hunting Rabbits. It often occurs, that a
party of but few persons, will, without much fatigue, kill
from thirty to fifty of these animalsin a single day.

Foxes. Of the variety of hunting in New-Jersey, less
appears to be done after Foxes than other animals, although
in great abundance in every part of the state. In East
Jersey, they are yet hunted in the laudable, old-fashioned
style, on horseback; but in the western part of the state,
this appears, of late years, to be relinquished altogether;
more, perhaps, from the difficult land to ride over, being
generally covered with thickets and brushwood. And it
is only towards the holydays, that here and there a few
neighbours congregate for a Fox hunt, with horses, dogs,

guns, &c. and altogether in a most unsportsmanlike way of
hunting. The gunners, however, at Cape May, appear to
have a mode adapted peculiarly to their neighbourhood,
of hunting ‘‘Sly Reynard,’ which is chiefly on small
islands, situated on the sea-side, and separated considera-
bly from the main land. On some of these islands, the
Foxes are in great abundance, for hither they resort for the
variety of food which may at all times be found along the
margin of the sea, such as crabs, muscles, clams, gull’s
eggs, young birds, &c., and, as the covering consists of
high grass, weeds, and a species of bush common to these
islands, and being altogether uninhabited, the Foxes pro-
pagate in numbers here, and at particular seasons afford
fine sport to the inhabitants along the sea shore. The
thickest cover grows on a ridge in the centre of these
islands, from which, to the water’s edge, and where the
tide ebbs and flows, forms a clear space. Consequently,
when a party is made up, to hunt the Foxes, one or two
drives the centre, with dogs, while others of the party are
stationed with guns, at distances from each other to the
end of the island, and shoot successively as the Foxes pass
them. And here the manners and cunning of the animal
are often fully displayed; for frequently, when pursued by
the hounds, which go by scent altogether, the Foxes, to
avoid them, will run into the surf, and by keeping near
the edge of the water, as the breakers roll over the sand,
all the scent is effaced by the water, and the hounds are
disconcerted. But few, however, with all their artfulness,
escape, as the stationed gunners are ready at every point
to receive them, and in this way many are killed.

Deer. Nothing is more common in the western part
of New-Jersey, than deer hunting in the months of Octo-
ber, November and December, and it is scarcely credible,
that in a country so thickly populated as is this state, and
so adjacent to the city of Philadelphia, that such herds of
these animals may be found; multitudes are killed every
fall in the counties of Monmouth, Burlington, Cumberland
and Cape May. I have been on hunting excursions,
wherein ten or twelve Deer have been started in a single
drive. ,

The manner of hunting these animals is by still shoot-
ing, or at stands. All the persons who compose the party,
(except one or two, who act as drivers,) depart for dis-
tant places, designated as the stands for each hunter,
and here they remain until what is termed, ‘‘the drive is
out.’’? These stands, generally, are on knolls of land in the
wood, or in roads, and Deer-paths, which continually
intersect the region where these hunts take place, and are
generally selected by experienced hunters, as places where
the Deer have repeatedly crossed during the night season.
After sufficient time is allowed for the individuals of the

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 17

party to reach their respective stands, the drivers, with
their jhounds, commence a few miles distant, and drive
directly towards some of the stands, and in this way it
occurs, that as many as five or six Deer are put in motion,
whieh being pursued by the hounds, take different direc-
tions, and in running off very frequently pass the hunters
at their stands, and often fall victims to these artifices of
their enemies. The gun employed generally is the double
gun, charged with from twelve to twenty buckshot.

Bears. It not unfrequently happens, that Bears are
killed in the lower part of this state; indeed, every season
furnishes some sport of this kind to the inhabitants of the
lower counties. Latterly, they have increased in such
numbers in particular neighbourhoods, as to become pests
to the farmers, and as beach and chesnuts are rare in that
part of New-Jersey, other articles of food must necessarily
supply the deficiency of this mast for the Bears; conse-
quently, they make frequent inroads on the corn-fields,
hogstyes, and sheep-folds, and during the present fall,
numbers are suspected to be residents of Cape May county,
where many hogs and sheep have already been killed by
them. And but a few days since, I was informed by a
gentleman, who was returning from Cape May to Phila-
delphia, that while crossing a large swamp afew miles from
Tuckahoe, he saw two full grown Bears in the public high-
way.

This part of New-Jersey affords fine shelter for Bears:
the interminable pines, extensive cedar swamps, and other
immense thickets, are well adapted to shelter them from
suecessful pursuit, and protect them in their torpid state,
during the inclemencies of winter. Now and then, how-

ever, some of these animals, possessing more temerity

than their fellows, wander too far from their seclusion, and
approach so near the settlements, that they are shot. A
few years since a coloured man, who resided in Cape May
county, shouldered his musket, and, accompanied by his
hounds, entered a large pine swamp in search of deer.
He had not proceeded far, before his dogs gave tongue, as
he supposed, on the track of a deer, and after following
the sounds for some distance he came up to his dogs, which
appeared to have something at bay. Approaching more
near, he discovered, sitting very unconcernedly, midway
up a fallen pine tree, (which had lodged against another
tree,) a large Black Bear. After eyeing Bruin for some
time, and hesitating whether to shoot it or not, or per-
haps afraid to make an attack single-handed, our adyen-
turer concluded it the safer part to return home for more
assistance, which he accordingly did; but on coming back
with reinforcement, he met the dogs, and found that the
Bear had made off, and thereby lost a chance of success-
fully signalizing himself, as his musket was heavily loaded
E

with buck-shot. Not so with old Mr. Finch and his son
John. These celebrated hunters, so well known to the
inhabitants of West Jersey, had been scouring some large
swamps for deer, when the son entered a dense thicket,
with the hope of arousing and shootinga deer; but the first
animal he encountered was a Bear, which he immediately
shot, and, to his surprise, up sprung a second; this he at-
tacked with his musket; but before he could despatch it,
a third came to its assistance, which proved to be the
mother of both of the former. Here our hunter was in a
“¢straight betwixt two’’—but, nothing daunted, he bela-
boured both so manfully with his musket, and calling at
the same time to his father, that he succeeded in repelling
their attacks, until the old man came up, who shot the
mother, and they jointly despatched the third.

Water Fowl. For the multitudes of Water Fowl, it is
only necessary at this season of the year, and until spring, to
visit the sea-side of New-Jersey, from Cape May to the
highlands of Neversink. Here the shores teem with mil-
lions, forming almost every variety of Water Birds, of
which our continent can boast, such as Snipes, Ployers,
Ducks, Brant, Geese, Swans, and sometimes Pelicans, and
nearly allthe Heron kind. Hither resort numbers of gun-
ners, during the season of shooting, who press to the noted
points, across which, thousands of these Water Fowl pass,
in their migratory movements, and the success attending
such excursions, is almost incredible. The inland fresh
water ponds, too, of Cape May, are visited by numbers,
chiefly of the Black Duck, at which places, gunners lay
in ambush, and on the approach of the Sea Fowl to feed in
the ponds, open a most destructive fire among the flocks,
whereby hundreds are killed. The most noted points for
shooting Ducks appear to be Squan, Manahawkin, Somers’
Point, and the neighbourhood of Cape May Court-House,
as well as points adjacent to these.

Thus, when we survey a district so replete with animals,
which invite from neighbouring cities and states multitudes
of sportsmen, we cannot help admiring the wisdom of the
Legislature of New-Jersey, in enacting such laws, as will
not only protect their own rights from aggression, but the
innocent objects of their charge from undue destruction.
Game has always been the special care of many govern-
ments of the earth; and it is unnecessary to recur to the
severity of the laws of Great Britain on this head, to
prove the estimation in which game is there held; suffice it
to say, that the punishment for their violation, is among
the most severe of the penal code of England. I be-
lieve, however, that New-Jersey is the only state in
the Union, wherein the law affects the whole state.
Other states have enacted laws, only to suit particular
counties within their borders, upon the request of the

18 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

inhabitants, petitioning for the protection of the game of
their neighbourhood. These laws are only noxious to un-
principled gunners, for, the man who hunts for recreation,
and is satisfied with a moderate quantity of game, is ever
pleased with wholesome laws; and such can mostly find a
welcome among the farmers of the hospitable state of
New-Jersey at all times, when the objects of his sport are
not wantonly destroyed, and his privileges abused by un-
gentlemanly conduct. I.

New-Jersey, January 4, 1832.

From the New-England Galaxy.

SOME PASSAGES FROM THE DIARY OF A
SPORTSMAN.

Ir has been wisely said by men of olden time, that a
poet must be a poet by birth, and that no education can
communicate to him that inspiration which nature herself
has neglected to infuse into his mind. It is not our pro-
vince at this time to support or deny the truth of this posi-
tion, but simply to advance another, viz. that a sportsman
also is such only by birth. The propensity to indulge in
field-sports, must develope itself in his very childhood; it
must be to him as a sort of second nature; it must bea free,
spontaneous impulse, which cannot be resisted or con-
trolled; which shall lead the mind imperceptibly to fasten
itself upon the enjoyments to be received in the fields, or
on the flood; and render the body impatient and comfort-
less when restrained from its favourite pursuit.

Weare firmly satisfied of the correctness of this belief,
from observing how very decided is the aversion to field-
sports in one part of the community, while the other is
equally sincere in its love for them. And this dislike, or
this partiality, does not appear to vary, in any one indivi-
dual, in their degrees of strength; but in nearly every in-
stance, continue the same at all times,—undergoing no
material alteration. If they do suffer change, the par-
tiality is only confirmed, and the dislike augmented.

Our own fondness for Sporting, first manifested itself
in an ardent love for Angling. And here we would re-
mark, that we shall employ the term Sporting, as equally
applicable to the use of the rod as the gun. Our first
acquaintance with the rod, (we mean the angling rod,)
commenced during our school-boy days, and bears even
date with our earliest and happiest recollections. It was
then our chief, and only unalloyed amusement, and served
to sweeten many a tedious task, and many a heavy hour of
scholastic slavery. If at any time we were degraded to
the foot of the class, and our head disgraced with that vile

badge, the ‘‘fool’s cap,” we would console ourself with

the delightful reminiscences of the rod and line, and com-
fort ourself accordingly. If at any time the master’s rod
visited upon our poor back the iniquities and deficiencies
of the head which surmounted it, that same head would be
busily at work, with delicious thoughts of a much longer
and less painful rod, and compensate thereby the poor
body for the anguish it had caused it. If a neglected
lesson occasioned a temporary imprisonment in a dark
room, our fancy would beguile the dreary hours, and
chase away the gloom, with the anticipated Saturday af-
ternoon, and the overflowing basket of shining fish.

But our reminiscences of those holidays, are overcast by
one gloomy cloud, which will for ever remain above the
horizon of our existence, and will cast its shadow upon
many bright hours to come, as it has done on many a
blessed hour that has past and gone. The thought of the
painful accident which we are about to record, will often
obtrude itself upon our mind when its reception is least
welcome and least anticipated. In the very midst of our
pleasure and hilarity, it will mingle itself with our
thoughts, like the abrupt visitation of death into a happy
and rejoicing family circle.

Charley our earliest friend and school-mate, was
a noble, high-spirited little fellow, with a thousand good
qualities, and no evil ones, that ever we could discover.
He seemed to acquire the most difficult task as if by intui-
tion, and while we were slowly bungling over its first pa-
ragraph, he would nimbly run it through to the end, and
then lend a helping hand to extricate his friend from the
quagmire of learning. He was in short a kind of admira-
ble Critchon, and sustained the lead in every thing. He
was not only the best scholar, but also the staunchest
champion, the fleetest runner, and, (what I considered to
be the most praiseworthy, ) the most adroit angler in school.
Some how or other he seemed to exercise a charmed influ-
ence over the fish, for they would at times, leap at his
hook with avidity, while they would turn up their honoura-
ble noses at our own, as if they scorned to perish by any
other hand than his.

One bright Saturday afternoon in Summer, we were
together as usual, at our old fishing-station, under the an-
cient rope-walks (now removed) at the foot of the Com-
mon, regardless of every thing in the universe, excepting
the glorious nibbles which were constantly twitching the
buoys of our lines under water. The prey was uncom-
monly plenty, and we protracted our diversion hour after
hour, till at length the evening shadows that began to
creep densely over the waves, admonished us to be gone.
We were in the very act of departing, when to my unut-
terable agony, I heard one heart-rending scream, a plunge

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 19

into the water,—and poor Charley was lost for ever. The
tide was then coming in, and every instant increasing;
there was no help at hand, and we were both unable to
swim. The agony of horror condensed into that one little
moment, cannot be conceived or expressed in volumes.
It seemed, that if the sum of a whole life of misery, were
united in one wretched instant, it could not have inflicted
more intense torture than I then felt. I looked on the dark-
ening and turbulent waters, as they hurried along, and saw
the supplicating agony of his upeast look, and the convul-
sive motion of his limbs, as he struggled with the elements,
and without pausing to consider the consequences of the
act, plunged in, in the vain attempt to seize the arm that
was slowly sinking away from my sight; but it eluded my
eager hand, and his cry for help was choked by the angry
waters, for ever. I had fortunately retained my grasp on
the low timbers on which we had been standing at the time
of the accident, and to this circumstance I owed my own
preservation. I immediately raised an alarm, and search
was speedily made with the aid of lanterns, but the body of
poor Charley continued to slumber that night in the bosom
of the billows. On the morrow it was discovered, and
followed to its narrow habitation by his sorrowing school-
mates, but none followed the little coffin with such a burst-
ing and heavy heart, as did the one who has endeavoured
to record the event.

The natives of old Massachusetts seem to possess a natu-
ral fondness for field sports; and as the old musket which
hangs over the ingle in the farmer’s kitchen, is transmitted
from sire to son, and in this manner successively passes
into the hands of many generations, so also the ardent in-
clination to use it, is transmitted with it. As the venera-
ble old man sits in the centre of his children, at the win-
ter fire-side, and suffering his memory to return to the
days of his youth, recounts to them the glories and the
hardships of his Revolutionary adventures, his finger natu-
rally points to the time-worn weapon which occupies the
peg over the mantel, and which was his companion in
many a bloody field. Then does his eye kindle again with
the martial spark, which the lapse of half a century has
been unable to extinguish, as he remembers the day when
he left his plough in the furrow of his father’s field, and
shouldered his musket, and hurried away to have a shot at
the red-coats at Lexington. Then does his aged bosom
throb with excitement, as he calls to mind that bright
morning when with hands trembling with ardour, he
buckled his little knapsack to his shoulder, and hastened
away with his father and brethren to fight under the eye
of old Putnam, at Bunker Hill. He relates, with almost
childish exultation, how that, hour after hour he continued
to blaze away at the regulars, till at length not a cartridge

remained in his box, and the point of his bayonet, and the
butt of his musket, were his only means of defence. With
that same well-tried weapon, and animated by the same
patriotic spirit, he followed his darling Washington
through the glorious wars of the Revolution, and shared
in the perils of Yorktown, Trenton, Monmouth, Benning-
ton, Ticonderoga, White-Plains, and Stony Point.

If you enter any remote farm-house, embosomed amidst
deep woods and lonely hills, you will find ancient mus-
kets, and fowling-pieces, deposited in every corner, and
the huge powder-horn, and rudely-fashioned shot-belts,
depending from the wall. You will see, also, as trophies
of rustic skill, huge antlers of the deer, displayed with an
ostentatious pride by the honest farmer, and the skin of
the fox, or the body of the crow and hawk, nailed, zn
terrorem, against the broad barn-door. ‘The former of
these is transmitted as afamily heir-loom, and is valued
accordingly, and is pointed out by the sire to the son,
with much pardonable pride, as the relic of a noble species
of game, often pursued and conquered in the days of his
youth; but now, like the Indian race, nearly exterminated,
and unknown in the land.

In the secluded villages of New-England, every farmer’s
son, (over two, and under seven feet in altitude,) is the
owner of a rod and gun, with the former of which he scam-
pers away to the neighbouring river, and with the latter
to the surrounding woods, whenever he can elude the old
man’s eye, or at such times as he can lawfully call his
own, after the labours of seed-time or harvest have been
completed. Their intimate familiarity with every retired
path in the forests, and every tangled glade on the hill-side,
usually rendersthem successful, if not adroitsportsmen. Not-
withstanding the wretched state of their equipments, they
will often contrive to dag game superior in quality to that
which falls to the share of a crack sportsman, over the same
grounds. It is nota little curious to observe the very differ-
ent results of their respective exertions, after a comparison
of the means and appointments of the two parties, differing
as they do, toto celo.

The one, for instance, is followed by a pointer, a setter,
or spaniel of approvedbreed; and the other by a nondescript
little cur, whose parentage would defy the most practised ge-
nealogist in canine pedigree to trace; the one carried a thirty-
two inch double-barrel, bearing the stamp of a foreign Man-
ton, or adomestic Bishop, while the other groans under an
unwieldy piece of artillery, as long as a steeple, and which
cannot be sustained without the aid of a 7es¢; the one is pro-
vided with the choicest Lady-Johnson, or Dupont, and
with shot of the right number,—while the other employs
a vile compound which is slow to ignite, and even after
that much-desired event takes place, burns with the tardy

20 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

alacrity of a ‘* wet fuze.”” He uses at the same time, by
way of shot, certain pellets of lead, consisting of goose
and mustard shot, mixed indiscriminately, with a small
sprinkling of slugs, pebbles, and broken nails. Yet, with
all these disadvantages, the rustic fowler accomplishes mi-
racles, and after disposing of a portion of his spoils to his
less fortunate rival, returns home at evening covered with
feathers and glory.

If, indeed, his war-worn weapon holds, in many cases,
its proprietor in suspense, by its habit of hanging fire, it
does explode at last, and rarely misses its aim. The wea-
pon, like poor human nature itself, has its faults as well as
its virtues, which serve to counterbalance each other.
Among the most prominent of the former is a vicious
propensity to recoil, to upset the youthful musketeer, and
in suffering the charge to escape in about equal propor-
tions at the breech and at the muzzle; one half of which in
fact singes the eyebrows of the shooter, and the remainder
the feathers of the shootee. So also the little beast which
accompanies him, has its good as well as its evil qualities,
and although it seampers through the bushes without the
direction of either training, reason, or instinct, it often
contrives to stumble upon the covey or the quarry, which
the nose of the more systematic pointer had not detected.

One reason, perhaps, which may be assigned for the dif-
ferent success of these two classes of sportsmen, is that the
less scrupulous one is anxious to destroy as much life as
possible, and believing that all is fair in sporting as in war
and polities, he fires into a full covey before they have
taken wing, and, in his desire to husband his scanty stock
of ammunition, generally contrives to creep so near, that
he kills a large portion of them at a single shot. He does
not seruple in taking advantage of any and all means, fair
or foul, that may aid him in the attainment of his ends. He
has no respect, moreover, to the factitious rules of sports-
men, for the preservation of game, and believing that one
bird in the bag is worth a score in the bush, he slays with-
out distinction both young,and old. But the more scienti-
fic sportsman observes certain legal rules, and obeys those
nice restrictions established by his craft, and shoots only
at proper times, and even then scorns to fire except at a
bird upon the wing, and carefully avoids striking any
that are not zm season. Many species of game which
would scarcely escape from our rustic friend, would be dis-
regarded by him as unworthy of his aim.

And here, we have a few remarks to make in relation to
Sporting Dogs, which may be properly introduced in this
connexion. ‘The breed of valuable animals of this de-
scription with us, has been much improved during the last
three or four years, owing to the importation of them from
England and Spain. Valuable animals are annually increas-

ing, while those of a spurious kind are in equal proportion
disappearing. The hue and cry raised against poor Tray
last summer, about the period of the dog-day panic, ope-
rated severely against the more ordinary species of ani-
mals. Poor Tray and his brethren being unapprised of
the proscriptive edict which had issued against them, and
their natural guardians taking no precautions for their pre-
servation, it naturally followed, that they were kidnapped
by the eart-load, and despatched by the axe or the bow-
string, without the merciful interposition of jury and ver-
dict. They were adjudged guilty, (by every brutal boy
in the street,) forasmuch as they were taken at large, with-
out the specified collar, and within the prohibited period,
and were executed without further ceremony. Dogs of a
better description, on the contrary, were carefully pre-
served from the snare laid for them, and by being deprived
of their liberty, escaped with their lives.

And now, when the ‘‘ dog-star’’ no longer rages, and the
mercury falls below cipher, one would naturally suppose
that this persecuted race might enjoy an interregnum of
quiet. But poor Tray is unfortunately considered a de-
sirable swdyject for medical investigation and surgical skill,
and is (we are led to think) ambushed, scalped, electrified,
anatomized, galvanized, and we know not what else, when-
ever his evil fortune throwshim into the power of the enemy.
We warn yeall, therefore, Dash, Rake, Duff, Tray, Towser,
Lion, Argus, Pluto, and the rest, to keep ‘‘a bright eye,”’
and beware of all persons having a medical look, or you
will be conveyed away by ruthless hands, and immolated
upon the board of some medical Moloch. These inquir-
ing physiologists are no respecters of persons, and will as
willingly submit to the edge of their scalpel or to their galva-
nic batteries, the muscles and nerves of the sagacious setter
and pointer, “the wiry terrier gauntand grim, and greyhound
with his length of limb,” as those of the veriest vagabond
of the kennel. If, therefore, ye do not desire to become
involuntary martyrs to the cause of medical science, be
wary and vigilant, for it will require all your vigilance of
eye and scent, to bafile the designs of your foe. If in the
course of your daily rambles you encounter any person
with a Bell or a Wistar, or any other volume rich in ana-
tomical lore, in his hand, avoid him as you would the Cho-
lera, or by his faseinations he will lead you on to your un-
doing.

Poor Tray! thou art indeed a noble and most affection-
ate animal, and wherever thy regards have been once be-
stowed, there they will remain, throughout all persecution
and all change. His attachment is often more stable and
true than woman’s love or brother’s friendship. Human
faith often changes to treachery; human promises and pro-
testations often prove to be but hollow words and deceitful

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 21

breath; and human affections, cemented by many a kind
and liberal act, and strengthened by many a worthy deed
in the intercourse of life, too often are estranged by a sin-
gle thoughtless word spoken in anger, or by some sudden
and calamitous reverse of fortune. But the attachment
of our dumb friend and follower is often far more enduring
and disinterested. He will sustain neglect, will submit to
hardship and starvation, and yet continue faithful and
affectionate to the last, following his lord through all his
adversities, from the very pinnacle of his affluence to the
depths of degradation and poverty.

Here, we will venture to insert a few rough lines in-
tended to commemorate the virtues of a departed favourite;
and if they offend the refined taste of any of your rea-
ders and contributors, we will only request them, just to sit
down and write better, to suit themselves.

Thy master, by the woodland tree
Has made thy simple grave, poor Tray!
It is the latest rite, which he,
Can to thy humble relics pay.
Thy bones have had a decent bier;
Thy memory, an honest tear.

The greenest spot in all the wood,
I’ve chosen for thy place of rest,
°Tis sheltered from the North-wind rude;
?Tis open to the sweet South-west;
And summer suns will love to shine
Upon that verdant mound of thine.

Full many an hour have we, my dog,
Beguiled in this obscure retreat,

I, loitering on yon weed-grown log,
Thou revelling in this clover-sweet,
—No more we come, for thou hast pass’d
That bourne which I must reach at last.

And shall that bright regardful eye
Ne’er watch thy master’s rest again,
And shall that blithe, rejoicing cry,
Ne’er startle these deep woods again;
Ne’er rouse the feeding partridge more,
Or wild-duck on the lonely shore!

No, it is hushed in silence deep,
—Corruption’s awful quietness!

And the bright eye is shut in sleep,
The slumber of forgetfulness!

Thy frolics, and thy sports no more

Will charm as they have charmed of yore.

But summer birds will visit thee

And sing their sweet songs at thy grave;
The robin’s tuneful melody

Will mingle with the passing wave
Which whispers by thy turfy cell,
—The winding brook thou loved’st so well.

EF

The wind-flower and the violet

Thou spared’st for their rich perfume,
Will in the spring-time not forget

To hang their blossoms o’er thy tomb;
And sometimes to thy lowly bed
Thy master’s footstep will be led.

There are numerous anecdotes which serve to illustrate
the sagacity and fidelity of this noble animal in our pos-
session, and which, if we continue to furnish further ex-
tracts from our diary, we shall gladly insert, for we do not
think that a proper measure of respect and regard has been
at any time accorded to him. However he may be
esteemed by the world at large, to the sportsman he is in- .
valuable, and whatever may be said relative to his nature,
qualities and habits, cannot be, on the whole, uninterest-
ing. M.

[ To be continued. |

A DAY’S HUNT ON THE BLUE MOUNTAIN,
OR, MY FIRST ESSAY AFTER DEER.

Dear

No doubt you are still plodding away at the dull pur-
suits of a city life, in your dusty old corner,—yawning,
and stretching your tired limbs, a very slave, cursing your
hard fate,—whilst here am I, amongst the wild scenes of
nature, another Leather-stocking, blessing the ‘‘ Great
giver of life’’ that there is air to breathe in freedom from the
constraints of civilization;—regions where the laws of the
white-skins have scarcely reached, and where the wild
creturs of the woods can sport unharmed ;—scenes so wild
and rough and rugged, that we cannot but cry shame on
the tame pencils, that pourtray nature as flat as a floor, and
withal smooth, neat, and pretty. Why here I stand, on
the point of a mountain-ridge, that the rain has centuries
ago, washed clear of every thing like earth, leaving no-
thing but loose rocks, tumbled one on another; and out
from among them grow, crooked, gnarled trees, bare of
leaves at this season,—their rough, broken bark covered
with moss, which hangs like fringe from every limb,—
the rocks also are spread over with the same pensive garb.
It is, indeed, a moss-covered spot; every thing is tinted
with its colouring, grey, hoary, and ancient. This univer-
sal sombre tone has this moment changed to one of golden
hue; for the sun has burst through the thick clouds, and
brightly pictures every thing at hand on the dark back
ground of the opposite mountain, and the deep black hol-
low where the Mahanoy flows, unseen, some hundred

22

feet, beneath. The innumerable crooked branches pre-
sent quite a fantastic appearance; for the long moss, in many
places, hangs in festoons from one limb to another, curi-
ously gilt with the fiery tints of the setting sun. But what
strikes my feelings more than all, is the solitariness of
nature. In these wild regions all is mute as death—the
numerous feathered tribes that abound in the regions of
civilization are here almost unseen—not a sound is heard
from any animated thing—the wind and the waterfall,
alone, seem to have being. To one bred up in the busy
scenes of a city, it seems, indeed, like death.

I said that the creatures of the woods could have sport
unharmed, but I believe there is no place where the wily
hunter does not pursue them; for I yesterday chanced to
fall in with one who had lived to hoary age amongst them,
numbering the deaths of some hundred Deer, Bears, and
other animals, that his unerring rifle had brought down.
We soon became acquainted, and agreed to take an excur-
sion next day—and at early dawn J was awoke with
“Come, Hunter, its time to be a moving.’’ The appellation
was to me quite flattering, for I had never been on a hunt
in my life. We were off before day-light, and reached our
ground just as the sun began to gild, with a pale yellow
light, the abrupt side of the mountain opposite our path.
We passed on to the bottom, and crossed the black, rolling
Mahanoy, hurrying on, torrent-like, over its rocky bed.
Gaining the opposite side, we had to make our passage
through a swampy piece of ground, tangled with brush,
and underwood, and fallen trees. We then separated, —
the old hunter taking the right, his comrade the left, and
myself the centre. Stepping silently and cautiously along,
we pursued our course—‘ Still Hunting,”’ as they call
it—the dogs being kept close in behind us, and not allowed
to go out. We had passed on an hour or more in this way,
through woods that had been annually burnt out by the
hunters to keep down the undergrowth,—when, on a sud-
den, a sound new to me, but instantly understood, of the
quick bounding of a Deer, struck my ear. I stopped, and
found from its increasing loudness, the animal was coming
directly towards me! All on the alert, I expected to
signalize myself, and win the appellation of Hunter, that
the old man had given me; but my hopes were dashed—
for the heavy sound of his hoofs, as at each bound he
struck the earth, changed in an instant, for he had caught
my scent, and altered his course. In another moment,
the crack of my companion’s rifle, on the left, told me he
had gone in that direction. On coming up to him, I found
he had taken a chance shot, whilst running, and missed.
Patience is the hunter’s motto,—so again we went, care-
fully and silently on, not rustling a leaf if it could be
avoided. We had now entered a thick hemlock groye,—

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

a rough, hilly piece of ground, with two or three rivulets
running through it, when, again, the smart crack of the
rifle was heard—/ook out, was the cry—the animal was
wounded, and coming in my direction; he however turned,
and took the course of one of the rivulets, making for the
creek, to elude the dogs. After an hour’s search, we could
discover no trace of him; still the old hunter would not
give up, persuaded that he was secreted in the tangled
swamp. Perseveringly we hunted the whole spot, some-
times up to the waist in water, at others clambering
amongst fallen trees and bushes. A quick sign from the
hunter stopped us; his practised ear caught a low, wailing
sound—again it was repeated, and turning towards the spot
from whence it came, I saw through the bushes, lying
crouched in a hollow, formed by the upturned roots of a
fallen tree, a sight that, for a moment, brought a painful
feeling to the heart. There lay the wounded dam, her
head turned over on her side, and beside her stood a
young fawn. Game, however, was our object. I kept
down the kindly feelings of nature, and cautiously raising
my piece, I sent the deadly bullet through her head. The
young thing bounded off, but in a moment came back,
bleating after its lost parent, and followed the party home.
The old hunter was touched with pity at its fate, and he
continues to nurse it with a kindness and fondness that
proves what the old man says—that from him it shall
never part.
Farewell,
BEB aes
Blue Mountains, Nov. 5th, 1831.

én

TO THE MEMORY OF ALEXANDER WILSON, THE ORNITHO-
LOGIST.

He asked to be laid where the birds might sing
Their matins around his tomb,

Where the earliest grass of the year might spring,
And the earliest flowers bloom.

For Nature had filled his noble breast,
With a love that could not die;

And he thought it were sweetest to sink to rest,
Where, in life, he was wont to lie.

’Mid the beautiful creatures that tenant the wild,
His brightest days were passed,

And the voices he loved, when a frolic child,
Were the voices he loved to the last.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 23

It was meet they should give him a verdant tomb,
Where the flowers, unplucked, might throng,

And the bright-winged birds, unmolested might come,
With their sweetest, softest song.

They made his grave by the old church towers,*
Away from the haunts of care;
There, breathes the odour of Summer flowers,

And the music of birds is there. C2 OW... De

GAME LAWS OF NEW-YORK.

OF THE PRESERVATION OF DEER AND CERTAIN GAME
AND ANIMALS.

1. No person shall kill any wild buck, doe, or fawn,
at any time during the months of January, February,
March, April, May, June, or July.

2. Every person who shall expose to sale any green
deer skin, or fresh venison, or who shall have the same
in his custody, at any time during the months aforesaid,
shall be deemed to have violated the first section of this
title, unless he prove that the buck, doe, or fawn, of which
such green skin or venison was a part, was killed by some
other person.

3. Whenever any complaint shall be made to a justice
of the peace, that a violation of the first section of this
title has been committed, and that any green deer skin, or
deer’s flesh, is concealed, he shall inquire into the matter,
and if satisfied by competent testimony, that there is rea-
sonable cause of suspicion to justify such complaint, he shall
issue his warrant to any constable of the town, authorizing
a search, in the day time, of any house, store, out-house,
or other place, where & skin or flesh is suspected to be
concealed, and search lbe made accordingly.

4. Whoever shall violate the first section of this title,
or shall conceal any green deer skin, or fresh venison,
shall forfeit $12 50.

5. No person shall at any time hunt, pursue, or destroy
any wild buck, doe, or fawn, with any bloodhound or
beagle; and whoever shall offend herein, shall forfeit
$12 50.

6. No person shall set any trap, or any spear made of
iron, or other metal, or any sharp stick, either in or out of
a pit, for the purpose of catching Deer, nor shall any per-
son watch in the night time for the purpose of shooting
Deer, within thirty rods of any highway. Whoever offends
against either of these provisions, shall forfeit twenty-five
dollars.

* Swedes’ Church, Philadelphia.

7. No person shall kill any Heath Hens, within the
county of Queens, between the first day of January, and the
first Wednesday in October; nor in the county of Suffolk,
between the first day of January and the second Wednes-
day in September; nor shall any person kill any Quail, or
Partridges, in the counties of Queens, Kings, Suffolk, and
New-York, between the fifth day of January and the
twenty-fifth day of September; nor in the county of Al-
bany, between the first day of March and first day of Octo-
ber; nor shall any person kill any Woodcock, in any of
the counties above named, between the first day of Fe-
bruary and the first day of July; nor shall any person kill
any Pheasants in the county of Albany, between the first
day of March and the first day of October.

8. Whoever shall offend against the provisions of the
last section, by killing any Heath Hen, shall forfeit twenty-
five dollars; by killing any Partridge, one dollar; and by
killing any Quail, Woodcock, or Pheasant, fifty cents.

9. Any person who shall expose to sale any Heath Hen,
Woodcock, Quail, Partridge, or Pheasant, in either of the
said counties respectively, or shall have any of the
said game in his possession in either of the said counties,
during the time when the killing of such game is forbidden
by law, shall be deemed guilty of killing the same game,
within the time prohibited.

10. No person shall kill any Muskrat at any other place
than along the line of some canal or artificial dam, or
embankment, between the first day of May and the
first day of November, in any year; whoever offends
against this provision, shall forfeit one dollar for every
Muskrat killed.

11. The penalties prescribed in this title, shall be sued
for, and recovered by and in the name of the overseers of
the poor of the town where the offence was committed,
in an action within three months after the commission of
the offence, and shall be applied for the use of the poor. —
Revised Statutes of New-York, Vol. I. page 701.

From the American Turf Register.
THE EAGLE AND THE WILD CAT.

Prairie des Chiens, October 4, 1831.

A reEw days since I received a letter from Dr. R. M.
Coleman, of the army, who is stationed at Fort Armstrong,
two hundred miles below this, from which the following is
an extract, viz.

<¢ A few days since I went out with my dog and gun,
with the intention of hunting pheasants. WhenI had got

24 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY.

near the ground I expected to find them, I heard at the
distance of fifty or sixty yards, a squirrel chattering very
loquaciously, as if in distress. I approached within some
twenty or thirty paces, and saw the squirrel running about
the top of a tree in apparent great fright. It occurred to
me, that a snake was after it; I stood still for a moment,
and traced the tree from the squirrel down to within some
ten or twenty feet of the ground, and behold there was a
Lynx, or what is here called a Wild Cat. My gun being
loaded with small shot, I commenced to put in a few
larger, but whilst in the act, the Cat leaped from the tree.
Knowing that my dog would get much injured if he caught
the animal, I would not suffer him to pursue it. In the
direction which the Lynx run, I saw a very large Black
Eagle, sitting on a tree, I mounted my horse and pursued
my hunt about three quarters of an hour, when, by acci-
dent, my rambles brought me to the tree I had seen the
Eagle perched on; at that moment, my dog made a dead
set very near a pile of brush; I halted and looked, there
was an Eagle, with its wings extended on the brush; not
wishing to shoot it, I approached, expecting it would fly,
but on looking closer, I sayy under the Eagle a Lynx. I
dismounted, and secured the Eagle, and took the Lynx up,
scratched and pierced in many places; one of its eyes was
completely gouged out, and it could not have been dead
more than twenty minutes; there were a great many fea-
thers scattered about the place, and other indications of
there having been a tremendous fight. I took the Eagle
to my quarters and kept it for twenty hours, when it ex-
pired. On examination, I found it wounded in several
places, fatally under the wings on both sides. I have no
doubt that this was the Eagle and Lynx I had first seen;
that the Eagle was the aggressor, and suffered for his teme-
rity.””
Respectfully your ob’t servant,
R.B.M. U.S. 7.

Extracted from Silliman’s Journal.
ON HABITS OF CLEANLINESS IN BIRDS.

Ir is a fact, not generally known, that the claws of
Birds are used as combs to rid the plumage of vermin;
whence Birds which have short legs are most infested by
insects. The expedients, which Birds, characterized by
short feet,—the waders which, from the inflexible nature
of their legs, and the geese tribe, from the opposition to
scratching, offered by the membrane between the toes, are
put to, in order to get rid of their vermin, are well desery-

ing of attention, as illustrating the ingenuity of animals,
and the curious provisions made by nature for their clean-
liness. When Birds, by accident or imprisonment, are
deprived of the natural means of ridding themselves of ver-
min, they often fall victims to their attacks. The author,
walking on the coast of Northumberland, disturbed a bird,
which flew heedlessly, as if injured. On shooting it, he
found it was covered with vermin, especially about the
head, and on further examination ascertained that it had lost
one leg, and was thus deprived of the means of ridding it-
self of these insects. A nest of young swallows had been
hatched, and they had attained considerable size, when a
change was made in the window, which frightened the
parents; from that time, they continued to feed their
offspring, but never entered the nest. The young ones
soon became sick, and perished, and on examination the
nest was found to be crowded with acari of large size.
Poultry which run about in stony or paved yards, wear
away the points of their claws, by friction and digging,
which renders them unfit to penetrate their coating of fea-
thers; they are, therefore, more covered with vermin, and
in consequence more sickly than fowls from the country.
[Jour. of Roy. Inst. Feb. 1831.

KILLING LARGE INSECTS.

As many of your young entomological readers may
have found equal difficulty with myself in ascertaining the
readiest method of killing the larger Moths when captured,
I trust you will excuse my troubling you with the follow-
ing remarks. Inthe Journal of a Naturalist, prussic acid
is suggested; but that is not only very expensive, but a most
dangerous thing to have any dealing with. I have tried hot
water, steam, hot needles, ether hur, aqua fortis, &c.
but found none so decidedly ~~ 2 oxalic acid, which
I thus apply:—First, shape a nice small quill into the form
of a very sharp pointed blind pen, (i. e. a pen without a
slit,) then seize your Moth, with the finger and thumb
between the wings on the under side, holding its head to-
wards you, firmly, but with as little pressure as possible.
Then dip your pen-shaped quill into the acid, and run it
into its thorax, just below the head, or between the first
pair of legs; and after two or three quick applications, the
Moth will be found perfectly dead. This is not only the
most humane and expeditious, but very economical, as two-
pence worth of acid would be sufficient to destroy subjects
to fill a whole cabinet. As I am writing for the informa-
tion of your young friends, I may be excused for adding,
that oxalic acid is in the form of crystals, which must be
reduced to a liquid by a little water—Lon. Mag. of
Nat. Hist.

R,

PANTHE

T

sAR

COUG

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 25

THE COUGAR.
FELIS CONCOLOR.

[Plate III. Vol. 2.]

Felis Concolor et discolor; L. Guru. Syst. Nat. 1. p. 79.
sp. 9—12.—Tremminck, Monog de Mam. livrais tv.
p- 134.—Felis Concolor, Linnzus—Gopman, p. 291,
vol. 1.—Le Cougar, Burr. Quad. vol. 1x. tab. 59; Cou-
gar de Pennsylvanie et Cougar Noir; Burr. Supp.
mt. p. 41, 42.—Pouma; Garcirasso, liv. vit. chap.
Xvill.— Gouzara, De Azzara, Quad. du Paraguay,
vol. 1. p. 133.— Puma; Pennant, “rt. Zool. vol. 1. p.
49.—Mewnacerige or Living Animats, exhibited in
Philadelphia, winter of 1831-2.

Tue interesting animal, from which our drawing is
made, (and which we consider a perfect representation of
the original,) is well known to the public as belonging to
the celebrated menagerie of wild animals, now exhibiting
in the city of Philadelphia. This Cougar was taken on Red
River, near Natchitoches, in the state of Louisiana, by a
hunting party, after a hard battle, in which he destroyed
several dogs, and was at last secured by means of long
poles, and taken to New-Orleans, where he was purchased,
and added to this menagerie. He is an uncommon fine
specimen of the species, and will measure eight and a half
feet from the nose to the tip of the tail, and was supposed
to be five years old when taken; but no treatment, either
kind or severe, has subdued his disposition sufficient to
permit him to be handled with safety.

The Cougar, (erroneously called Panther, or Painter,)
is a common inhabitant of the United States, and is found
on the continent of North America, from Canada to Pata-
gonia, and from the Atlantic to the Pacific Oceans. In South
America, it is called the ‘* American Lion;”’ but by many
foreign naturalists and travellers, the Puma. This animal
is the largest of the cat kind in North America, and with
the exception of the Grisly and Polar Bears, the most
ferocious and powerful. The severity of the northern cli-
mate, however, has much influence on their ferocity and
rage, and are considered, in these particulars, as inferior to
those found south of the equator.

The Cougars are particularly fond of mountainous dis-
tricts, and in the wild and unsettled parts of Pennsylvania,
and other states, are frequently met with, but are much more
rare than in former years; for, as population is increasing,
they are either killed by settlers, or driven to more distant
and secluded places,—and being an enemy alike to man and
beast, they become objects of persecution, wherever they
are found.

G

In South America, these animals, which are in numbers
on the Pampas and the Great Cordillera, afford fine sport
to the Indians and Gauchos, or natives of the plains, who
hunt them altogether for diversion, as we have no evi-
dence that their skins are valuable, or that the flesh is
eaten by the natives. The manner of hunting them is ge-
nerally on horseback, accompanied by dogs, and armed
with lassos, and destructive weapons called string-balls—
(these being hard wooden balls, secured to the end of ropes,
or pieces of hides)—thus, when a Cougar is aroused and
attacked by the dogs, and the issue of the battle doubtful,
the Gaucho generally puts an end to the strife, by striking
the animal over the head with one of these string-balls, the
momentum gained by whirling this instrument a few times,
being so powerful as to deprive the animal instantly of life;
or should the dogs ‘refuse to make an attack, and have a
Cougar at bay, the Gaucho rides sufficiently near as to
hurl the lasso over its head, and then by gallopping off,
drags the enemy on the ground, while the dogs follow, and
tear it to pieces.

In the United States, the destruction of this animal is
usually effected with the rifle. Our hunters, by reason of
great perfection in shooting this instrument of death, and
their familiarity with the Cougars, regard these animals in
no other light than certain victims to their unerring aim;
few indeed escape, when once the keen eye of the hunter
ranges the barrel of his rifle, or the new fallen snow betrays
the footsteps of these wily destroyers.

There is scarcely a brute animal on earth, but will flee
the face of man. Whether itis the dignity of his form, or
the fear implanted in all the brute creation by the Author
of their being, which causes them to acknowledge men “as
the lords of creation,’’—certain it is, that among even the
most ferocious animals, very few can be found which will
venture to attack aman; and when this is done, hunger or
desperation is the exciting cause. The Cougar, when hun-
gry, and no longer able to obtain the ordinary supplies of
food, or wounded by its adversary, will attack alike both
man and beast, fearless of all consequences. Its ferocity is
easily excited, and when a painful wound is inflicted, its
rage is terrible, and will evince the utmost determination
to revenge itself. Many anecdotes may be told, illustrative
of this disposition; one or two, however, will suffice. <A
party of hunters, residents of Delaware county, in the state
of New-York, made an excursion after a Cougar, which had
frequently been seen prowling about the neighbourhood.
Before starting, the preliminary agreed on was, that if the
Cougar should be started, and treed, it was not to be shot
until each individual composing the party should be pre-
sent—this agreement broken, a penalty of all the expenses
of the day, was to be imposed on the offender. Shortly

26 THE CABINET OF

after starting, the dogs aroused the animal, and after a
chase of a few miles, along the mountains, among rocks
and almost impenetrable laurels, it took to a beach tree,
and clambered to the top, about thirty feet from the ground,
where it crouched, and watched the dogs, which were in
numbers barking at the foot of the tree. Among the party
was a stranger, who had never experienced a hunt of the
kind, and regardless of the penalty to which he would sub-
ject himself, resolved at all hazards to shoot the Cougar,
if an opportunity offered, and enjoy the satisfaction of hay-
ing destroyed one of the most ferocious wild animals of our
forests. Accordingly he hastened to the scene of action,
when he saw the animal resting on the tree, and immedi-
ately fired at its heart,—but to his astonishment, instead of
killing, he only aroused its vengeance; for the moment he
discharged his rifle, the Cougar began to growl and spit, and
rip and tear every limb of the tree within its reach, and
when on the point of leaping at the hunter, a shot from an
unknown rifle, hurled the animal to the ground dead,
within ten or twelve feet of the person who first fired, and
who being so excessively frightened, and overcome with
tremour, that he sunk helpless on the ground; and_but for
the fortunate intervention of his friend, would have been
torn in pieces. Being on a rocky precipice, and the place
so overgrown with high laurels, he did not see two of the
hunters who had arrived a few moments before him; nei-
ther were they aware, that any of the party were present
but themselves, until they heard the report of the rifle
within a few yards of them, and being experienced hunters,
they knew by its actions, that the animal was aiming the
destruction of their friend, and the timely interference and
unerring aim of Captain W , only saved his life.

The following anecdote, which is copied from Godman’s
Natural History, was furnished by the late William Seud-
der, who had the Cougar, and which is still in the New-
York Museum.

‘“¢Two hunters, accompanied by two dogs, went out in
quest of game near the Kaatskill Mountains. At the foot
of a large hill, they agreed to go round it in opposite direc-
tions, and when either discharged his rifle, the other was
to hasten towards him, to aid in securing the game. Soon
after parting, the report of a rifle was heard by one of them,
who, hastening towards the spot, after some search, found
nothing but the dog, dreadfully lacerated, and dead. He
now became much alarmed for the fate of his companion,
and while anxiously looking around, was horror-struck by
the harsh growl of a Cougar, which he perceived on a
large limb of a tree, crouching on the body of his friend,
and apparently meditating an attack on himself. Instantly
he levelled his rifle at the beast, and was so fortunate as to
wound it mortally, when it fell to the ground along with

.

NATURAL HISTORY,

the body of his slaughtered companion. His dog then
rushed upon the wounded Cougar, which, with one blow of
its paw, laid the poor creature dead by its side. The sur-
viving hunter now left the spot, and quickly returned with
several other persons, when they found the lifeless Cou-
gar extended near the dead bodies of the hunter and the
faithful dogs.”’

The Cougar is exceedingly tenacious of its food, and
rather than relinquish it, will suffer death. Instances of
this kind sometimes occur, which the following anecdote
from the same author will show.

‘¢ About five miles from Phillipsburgh, Centre county,
Pennsylvania, Mr. Mitchell, on the 8th of December, 1825,
shot at a buck, (cervus Virginianus,) and wounded him in
the shoulder. He followed the animal for some time, and
at length perceived him at the distance of about forty yards,
lying with his heels upwards, and a Cougar holding him
by the throat. The hunter discharged his rifle at the Cou-
gar, and shot it through the heart; when this animal relin-
quished the buck, advanced four or five yards, and fell life-
less. Having again charged his rifle, and believing the
Panther to be dead, Mr. Mitchell, turning towards the
wounded buck, was surprised to see another Cougar in the
act of pulling down the head; and, as it now appeared, the
buck had been held down by both Cougars at the moment
the first was killed. The body of the buck was between
the hunter and the second Cougar, nothing but the head of
which was visible. At this Mr. Mitchell levelled his rifle,
and the ball entered it at the angle of the eye. The beast
remained still for a few minutes, and then, for the first time,
relinquished his hold of the buck, and walked over it to-
wards the hunter, who fired his rifle a second time, and
shot him through in the neighbourhood of the heart. At
this moment the buck recovered his legs, stumbled over
the body of the Cougar, finally extricated himself, and ran
off. A third discharge of the rifle, pierced the Cougar with
another ball, yet he still remained on his feet, and it was
not until the rifle was again discharged, and a fourth ball
driven through the back part of the under jaw, that the
animal felland expired. What is most singular is, that the
male should not have relinquished his hold of the buck
when the female was killed, but continued in the same po-
sition until the ball entered his own head, near the eye.
The buck ran near a mile before he was finally overtaken,
and killed.’’

The Cougar usually seizes its prey, by springing from
trees, while the unsuspecting animals which compose its
food, are passing by. The places of watchfulness are gene-
rally on old logs, fallen trees, and large limbs of trees pro-
jecting over or near deer-paths, and watering places. It
frequents salt licks, during the night season, where it often

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

makes havoc among the visitants of these places. At other
times, it approaches its prey by stealth, or stratagem, and
secures its victim generally by a sudden bound, and when
failing in this, seldom pursues, but sneaks off in search of
other objects, as its form, although remarkably strong, and
possessing astonishing agility, is unfitted for active pursuit.
It is remarkably fond of birds, especially wild turkeys and
pheasants; and when wild animals are no longer to be
caught, it prowls about farm-houses, and near villages, when
it becomes very destructive, by killing hogs, sheep, calves,
&e. In attacking animals larger than itself, the Cougar
springs on their backs, and never relaxes its hold until
the victim falls beneath its power. Its manner of destroy-
ing in this case, is by grasping firmly with its fore claws
the sides of the animal, and then by ripping the back and
loins with its hinder claws, and gnawing through the neck
until the vitals are reached, the suffering beast falls, writh-
ing in agonies, or the only possible chance of escape for the
poor animal is by taking to water, should any be near, as
the utter dislike of the feline species to this element, often
causes the Cougar to lose its prey. Smaller animals, such
as deer, sheep, hogs and calves, it usually strikes to the
earth, and then seizing them by the throat, will commence
sucking their blood, or throw them with ease over its
shoulder, and depart fora more convenient place to devour
its food at leisure.

In its destructive habits, the Cougar resembles the Tiger
more than any other animal. The lion, and most carnivo-
rous animals, destroy only sufficient for their present neces-
sities, but the Tiger and Cougar are not only ferocious, but
cruel, when necessity no longer requires it. After destroy-
ing their prey, they first suck the blood, and should more
victims be present, go on destroying so long as subjects for
destruction are within their reach. They have a thirst for
blood which can hardly be satiated, and delighting so ex-
cessively in carnage, they are excited with as much energy
in killing the last, as they possessed when destroying their
first victim; and this prodigality of life is more strikingly
manifested by the fact, that when the carcass of their prey be-
comes void of blood, or putrid, they forsake it entirely.
It is one of those few animals whose ferocity is almost
unconquerable; and when friendship and good treatment
have in a measure softened its disposition, its constancy
is very suspicious, and treachery is frequently manifest-
ed towards the hand which is extended in kindness to-
wards it.*

* Instances are recorded of these animals having been tamed, and
made as familiar to human society, as the domesticated cat. It is stated
that D’Azara, the naturalist, had one, and Mr. Kean, the tragedian, ano-
ther, which were much attached to them; and an acquaintance of the

27

It is when a Cougar has become old, and its claws,
teeth, and energies are failing, and can no longer success-
fully follow wild animals, that it will venture near dwell-
ings for food, or attack mankind. An instance of this kind
occurred a few years since in the northern part of this
state. A woman who was gathering beans from a small
patch of ground in front of a log house, which had just been
built in an uncultivated spot, was so teased by the barking
of a small dog, which usually remained about the house,
that she turned around to chide and drive it away, when to
her dismay, she saw, sitting on a large stump, a Cougar,
which had been kept in that position by the little guardian
dog, from springing at and destroying an infant, that was sit-
ting on the ground within twenty feet of the monster. The
unconscious mother had placed her child there, while she
completed her work; but on the discovery of the danger
it was in, ran and caught it up, and conveyed it to the
house, and closed the door; and the last she heard of
the beast, was the distant barking of the small dog, which
however soon ceased entirely. At dinner hour, the hus-
band returned from his work, and having with him his
rifle and large dog, (which were always his companions,
when absent from home,) without delay went in pursuit of
the monster, so soon as the above circumstances were made
known to him, and after following for more than two miles,
came up with and shot it,—and hearing nothing more of
the little dog, curiosity led him to open the Cougar, in
which he found the remains of the little animal which
saved the life of his child.

Another anecdote is related of a man that was cutting
timber several miles from his dwelling, who as the sun was
declining, left his work to return home. He had pro-
ceeded only a short distance, when he saw in the snow,
(which was a foot deep, ) the tracks of a Cougar, which had,
during that day, and while he was at work, crossed the path
which led to his house. Having his rifle, and the sun being
yet above the horizon, he concluded to follow the track in
hopes of surprising and killing the animal before dark; he
however was not a little surprised, to find that the enemy
had made a short, circuitous route, round him, while chop-
ping wood, and crouched itself on a fallen tree, within
thirty yards of him, where it had been watching until his
departure. But his surprise was still greater, when on
pursuing the track further, to find, that the animal had
proceeded up to the spot where he had been at work, and

writer had a pair, which were taken by a boy in Kentucky, after the mo-
ther had been killed, —these my friend kept and tamed, and were gene-
rally very sociable and playful, but their friendship could never be de-
pended on, for frequently, inthe most unsuspected moments, they would
show their treachery.

28 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

which he had left but a minute or two previous. This
daunted the hunter, and he made the best of his way home,
as he was convinced the Cougar was after him. Next
morning, however, being joined by several hunters and
dogs, he went in pursuit, and finally overtook and killed
his antagonist,—which proved to be an old, male Cougar,
whose teeth and claws were worn out, and which evidently
did not possess energy sufficient to make an attack on the
man.

When the Cougar is aroused to madness, or in the act of
springing on its prey, it usually crouches with its fore legs
nearly close to the ground, and the hinder parts somewhat
more elevated; the eyes are enlarged and wild, and the
muscles of the face so drawn up as to bespeak great ferocity,
while the light and shadows of the countenance are beauti-
fully variegated; the ears, which usually stand upright, are
now turned downward and backward, and in proportion to
its anger, lie closer to the skin. Our Drawing is made from
the animal while in this position, it having been excited
purposely, by the appearance of the Lama belonging to the
same menagerie, before its cage.

The Cougar inhabits mountains, and the most dense for-
ests, and makes its lair in caves, among rocks, and under
large logs, and which is generally composed of leaves. It
purs frequently, but the usual voice is a loud, terrifying
seream, which at times appears like that of a female in dis-
tress; but when angry, growls, snorts, and spits at its antago-
nist. It usually brings forth three kittens at a time, which
remain blind for eight or ten days, and differ in colour from
the mother, being of a grayish-brown, and marked with
still darker brown stripes.

The following description is taken from a very fine speci-
men, in the possession of the writer, which may be ac-
counted of a medium size:—Length, from the nose to the
tip of the tail, seven feet; body slim, legs long, and thick;
the fore legs more thick and muscular than the hinder;
tail long, and rather bushy; head small; eyes large, and of
a pale yellowish-ash; neck, sides, rump, external part of
the legs, and the under part of the tail and belly, a pale
brownish-red, and, in a particular light, approximate a rich,
silvery fawn colour; paws, to the first joint, of a brighter
colour than the upper parts; a dark ferruginous, inter-
mixed with a number of black hairs, extends from be-
tween the eyes, over the whole forehead, along the back
and upper part of the tail to the end, which is back; nose,
black; throat, and inside of the ears and legs, of a dirty
white; back of the ears black, except the edges, which are
whitish; the upper and under lips, of pure white—on each
side of the former is a black stripe, from which rise a num-
ber of long, thick, and white whiskers; under and over the
eyes are patches of a dirty yellowish colour; claws, of a

white corn colour, exceedingly curved and long, and co-
vered by a sheath, which is withdrawn by the animal at
pleasure—the inner claw larger than the rest.

THE HORSE.

{Continued from page 6.]

“‘TuE Horse, of all animals, is that which, with great
stature, has the most complete proportion and elegance in
every part of his body; and compared with every other
animal he appears superior in these respects. The great
length of the jaws is the principal cause of the difference
between the heads of quadrupeds and of the human spe-
cies: it is, also, the most ignoble mark of all; yet, though
the jaws of the Horse are very long, he has not, like the
ass, an air of imbecility, or of stupidity like the ox. The
regularity of the proportions of his head, on the contrary,
gives him an air of sprightliness, which is well supplied by
the beauty of his chest. The Horse seems desirous of
raising himself above his state of a quadruped, by holding
up his head, and in this noble attitude he looks man in the
face; his eyes are lively and large, his ears well made, and
of a just proportion, without being short like those of the
bull, or too long like those of the ass; his main suits well
his head, ornaments his neck, and gives him an air of
strength and haughtiness; his long, bushy tail, covers and
terminates advantageously the extremities of his body, far
different from the short tails of the stag, the elephant, &c.
and the naked tails of the ass, the camel, the rhinoce-
ros, &c. The tail of the Horse is formed of long, thick
hair, which seems to come from the rump, because the
stump from which it grows, is very short; he cannot raise
his tail like the lion, but it suits him better hanging down,
as he can moye it sideways; it is very useful to him to
drive away the flies which incommode him: for though his
skin is very hard, and is every where furnished with
a close, thick coat, it is, notwithstanding, extremely
sensible.

«¢ The head of a well proportioned Horse should be lean
and small, without being too long; the ears at a moderate
distance, small, straight, immoveable, narrow, thin, and
well placed on the top of the head: the forehead narrow,
and a little convex; the hollows filled up, the eyelids thin,
the eyes clear, lively, full of fire, rather large, and project-
ing from the head, the pupil large; the nether jaw thin;
the nose a little aquiline, the nostrils large and open, the
partition of the nose, and the lips thin; the mouth of a mo-
derate width; the withers raised and sloping; the shoul-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 29

ders thin, flat, and not confined; the back equal, even, and
insensibly arched lengthways, and raised on each side of
the spine, which should appear indented; the flanks full and
short, the rump round and fleshy; the haunches well co-
vered with hair; the stump of the tail thick and firm; the
fore legs and thighs thick and fleshy, the knee round before,
the houghs large and rounded, the sinew loose, the joint
next the foot small, the fetlock not thickly covered with
hair, the pastern large, and of a middling length, the coro-
net rather raised, the hoof black, smooth, shining, and
high, the quarters round, the heels wide, and moderately
raised, the frog small and thin, and the sole thick and
hollow.

‘¢ But there are few Horses in which this assemblage of
perfection is to be found. The eyes are subject to many
complaints, which are sometimes difficult to be known. In
a healthy eye we ought to see through the cornea two or
three spots of the colour of soot, above the pupil: to see
these spots the cornea must be clear, clean, and transpa-
rent; if it appears double, or of a bad colour, the eye is not
good: a small, long, and straight pupil, encompassed with
a white circle, is also a bad sign; and when it is of a
bluish green colour, the eye is certainly bad, and the sight
dull.

<<It is very easy to judge of the natural and actual state of
the animal by the motion of his ears; when he walks he
should project forwards the points of his ears; a jaded
Horse carries his ears low; those which are spirited and
mischievous, alternately carry one of their ears forward
and one backwards; they all carry their ears on that side
from which they hear any noise, and when any one strikes
them on the back, or on the rump, they turn their ears
back. Horses which have the eyes deep sunk in the head,
or one smaller than the other, have usually a bad sight;
those which have the mouth dry are not of so healthy a
temperament as those which have the mouth moist, and
make the bridle frothy. A saddle Horse ought to have
the shoulders flat, moveable, and not very fleshy; the
draught Horse, on the contrary, should have them flat,
round, and brawny: if, notwithstanding, the shoulders of
a saddle Horse are too thin, and the bones show themselves
through the skin, it is a defect, which shows the shoulders
are not free, and consequently the Horse cannot bear fa-
tigue. Another fault of a saddle Horse is, to have the chest
project too forward, and the fore legs drawn too much
back, because he is apt to rest on the hand in galloping,
and even to stumble and fall: the length of the legs should
be proportionable to the height of the Horse; when the fore
legs are too long, he is not sure footed,—if they are too
short, he is too heavy in the hand: it is a remark, that
Mares are more liable than Horses to be short legged; and

H

that Horses in general have the legs thicker than Mares or
Geldings.

«<One of the most important things to be known, is, the
age of the Horse: it is from the teeth that we obtain the most
certain knowledge of their age; the Horse has forty—
twenty-four grinders, four eye teeth, and twelve incisive
teeth: Mares have no eye teeth, or if they have them they
are very short: the grinders are not instrumental to the
knowledge of their age,—we form our judgment from the
front and eye teeth. The twelve front teeth begin to show
themselves fifteen days after the birth of the foal; these
first teeth are round, short, not strong, and drop out at
different times, in order to make room for others; at two
years and a half the four front middle teeth drop out the
first, two at top, and two at bottom; a year after four others
fall out, one on each side of those which are already re-
placed; at about four years and a half, four others drop out,
always on the side of those which have been replaced;
these four last milk teeth, are replaced by four others,
which do not grow near so fast as those which replaced
the first eight; and these four last teeth, which are called
the wedges, and which replace the four last milk teeth, are
those by which we know the age of a Horse: these are
easily known, since they are the third as well at top as at
bottom, beginning to count from the middle to the extre-
mity of the jaw; these teeth are hollow, and have a black
mark in their concavity; at four years and a half, or five
years old, they scarcely project beyond the gums, and the
hollow is plainly seen; at six years and a half it begins to
fill up, the mark also begins to diminish and grow nar-
rower, and so continues till seven years and a half or eight
years, when the hollow is entirely filled up, and the black
mark effaced: after the animal has attained eight years, as
these teeth do not give further information of the age, we
generally judge by the eye teeth or tusks; these four teeth
are placed at the side of those which I have just now been
speaking of; the eye teeth, as well as the grinders, are not
preceded by others which fall out; those of the inferior jaw
usually come out first at three years and a half, and the two
of the upper jaw at four years, and till they are six years
old, they are very sharp; at ten years old, the upper ones
appear already blunt, worn, and long, because they are
bare, the gum wearing away with age, and the more they
are worn away the more aged the Horse is: from ten till
thirteen or fourteen years, there is hardly any indication of
the age, but then some hairs on the eyebrows begin to
grow white; but this indication is equivocal, since it has
been remarked that Horses engendered from old stallions
and old mares have the hair white on the eyebrows at ten
years old. There are also Horses whose teeth are so hard
that they do not wear, and upon which the black mark

30 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

subsists, and is never effaced; and others which have the
mark in the mouth as long as they live. We may also
know, though with less precision, the age of a Horse, by the
ridges of the palate, which are effaced in proportion to his
age.

‘¢Tt has been remarked, that studs situated in dry and
light countries, produce good-tempered, swift, and vigorous
Horses, with nervous legs and hard hoofs; while on the
other hand, those which are bred in damp places, and in
fat pasturage, have generally the head large and heavy, the
legs thick, the hoofs soft, and the feet flat. This difference
arises from the climate and food, which may be easily un-
derstood; but, what is more difficult to be comprehended,
and what is still more essential than any thing that has
been said, is, the necessity of always crossing or mixing
the breed, if we would prevent their degenerating.

‘«¢ Mares usually go with foal eleven months and some
days; they will breed commonly to the age of fourteen or
fifteen years, and the more vigorous longer than eighteen
years.

«¢ The duration of the life of Horses is like that of every
other species of animals, in proportion to the time of their
growth. Man, who is above fourteen years in growing,
lives six or seven times as long, that is to say, ninety or a
hundred years. The Horse, who attains his full growth in
four years, lives six or seven times as long, that is to say,
twenty-five or thirty years. There are so few examples to
contradict this rule, that we should not even regard them
as exceptions from which we may draw any precedents;
and as robust Horses are at their entire growth in less time
than delicate ones, they also live less time, and at fifteen
years of age are old.

‘“¢The Arabian Horses are the handsomest known in
Europe; they are larger and plumper than those of Barbary,
and equally well shaped, but as they are not often brought
into this country, riding-masters are not able to give an
exact account of their perfections and defects.

“ The Horses of Barbary are more common, they are fre-
quently negligent in their paces, and must be often remind-
ed: they are very swift and strong, very light, and very fit
for hunting. These Horses seem the most proper to breed
from; it is only to be wished that they were of larger sta-
ture, as they seldom exceed four feet eight inches high.”

The Barb.

‘¢ The earliest records we have of the Horse, trace him to
Egypt, whence he gradually found his way to Arabia and
Persia, and the provinceswhich were colonized from Egypt;
and thence to the other parts of the Old World. But Egypt
is not now a breeding country, and it does not appear to

possess those requisites which could ever have constituted
it one. Without, however, entering into the question whe-
ther the Horse was primarily the inhabitant of some parti-
cular region, whence other parts were gradually supplied,
or whether it was common to many countries, but differing
in each; we have stated it to be probable that the Horses
of Egypt, the earliest on record, were derived from the
neighbouring and interior districts of Africa. Therefore,
in givinga very summary account of the most celebrated
and useful breeds of different countries, it is natural to be-
gin with those of Africa.

“¢ At the head of these is the Bars, from Barbary, and
particularly from Morocco and Fez, and the interior of
Tripoli, and remarkable for his fine and graceful action. It
is rather lower than the Arabian, seldom exceeding four-
teen hands and an inch. The shoulders are flat, the chest
round, the joints inclined to be long, and the head _parti-
cularly beautiful. The Barb is decidedly superior to the
Arab in form, but has not his spirit, or speed, or counte-
nance.

‘¢ The Barb has chiefly contributed to the excellence of
the Spanish Horse; and, when the improvement of the
breed of Horses began to be systematically pursued in
Great Britain, the Barb was very early introduced. The
Godolphin Arabian, as he is called, and who was the ori-
gin of some of our best racing blood, was a Barb; and
others of our most celebrated turf Horses trace their descent
from African mares.

“‘More in the centre of Africa, in the kingdom of
Bournou, is a breed which Mr. Tully, in his almost roman-
tie history of Tripoli, reckons superior even to those of
Arabia or Barbary; it possesses the best qualities of both
those breeds, being as serviceable as that of Arabia, and as
beautiful as that of Barbary.

‘¢In the more southern and western districts of Africa,
and particularly in the neighbourhood of the Guinea Coast,
the breed of Horses is very inferior. They are small,
weak, unsafe, and untractable. But neither Horses, nor
any other produce of value, can be looked for in those un-
happy countries, so long as they are desolated by the infer-
nal slave trade inflicted upon them by the most civilized,
but truly unchristian nations of Europe. ”’

The Dongola Horse.

‘‘The kingdom of Dongola, and the neighbouring dis-
tricts lying between Egypt and Abyssinia, contain a Horse
not at all like any other oriental.

‘They stand full sixteen hands high, but the length of
the body, from the shoulders to the quarter, is considera-
bly less. Their form, therefore, is opposite to that of the

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 31

Arabian, or English thorough-bred, which are longer by
some inches than they are high. The neck is long and
slender, the crest fine, and the withers sharp and high,
giving a beautiful forehand; but the breast is too narrow, the
quarters and flanks too flat, and the back carped.

<¢ Bosman, whose descriptions prove him to be no bad
horseman, thus speaks of them, but in somewhat too flatter-
ing’ amanner. ‘The Dongola Horses are the most per-
fect in the world, being beautiful, symmetrical in their
parts, nervous and elastic in their movements, and docile
and affectionate in their manners. One of these Horses
was sold in 1816, at Grand Cairo, for a sum equivalent to
10002.’ Going further eastward we arrive at Arabia,
whose Horses deservedly occupy the very highest rank.”’

The Arabian.

<¢ A few wild Horses are yet seen on some of the deserts of
Arabia. They are hunted by the Bedouins for their flesh,
which is considered a delicacy, if the animal be young; and
also to inerease their stock of inferior Horses, which they
often palm on the merchant as descended from the sacred
breed. They are said to be even swifter than the domes-
ticated Horse, and are usually taken by traps hidden in
the sand. Mr. Bruce, however, doubts whether any wild
Horses are now found in Arabia Deserta.

‘<Although in the seventh century, the Arabs had no
Horses of value, yet the Cappadocian and other Horses
which they had derived from their neighbours, were pre-
served with so much care, and propagated so uniformly
and strictly from the finest of the breed, that in the thir-
teenth century the Arabian Horse began to assume a just
and unrivalled celebrity.

‘¢ There are said to be three breeds or varieties of Ara-
bian Horses:—the -#¢fechi, or inferior breed, on which
they set little value, and which are found wild on some
parts of the deserts; the Kadischi, literally Horses of an
unknown race, answering to our half-bred Horses—a mixed
breed; and the Kochlani, Horses whose genealogy, accord-
ing to the Arab account, is known for two thousand years.
Many of them have written and attested pedigrees extend-
ing more than four hundred years, and with true Eastern
exaggeration, traced by oral tradition from the stud of So-
lomon. A more careful account is kept of these genealo-
gies than belongs to the most ancient family of the proud-
est Arab chief, and very singular precautions are taken to
prevent the possibility of fraud, so far as the written pedi-
gree extends.

“¢The Kochlani are principally reared by the Bedouin
Arabs, in the remoter deserts. A stallion may be pro-
cured without much difficulty, although at a great price.

A mare is rarely to be obtained, except by fraud, and ex-
cessive bribery. The Arabs have found out that which the
English breeder should never forget, that the female is
more concerned than the male in the excellence and value
of the produce; and the genealogies of their Horses are
always reckoned from the mothers.

“The Arabian Horse would not be acknowledged by
every judge to possess a perfect form; his head, however,
is inimitable. The broadness and squareness of the fore-
head, the shortness and fineness of the muzzle, the promi-
nence and brilliancy of the eye, the smallness of the ears,
and the beautiful course of the veins, will always charac-
terize the head of the Arabian Horse. His body may be
considered as too light, and his chest as too narrow; but
behind the arms the barrel generally swells out, and leaves
sufficient room for the play of the lungs. In the formation
of the shoulder, next to that of the head, the Arab is supe-
rior to any other breed. The withers are high, and the
shoulder-blade inclined backward, and so nicely adjusted,
that in descending a hill the point or edge of the ham
never rufiles the skin. He may not be thought sufficiently
high; he seldom stands more than fourteen hands two
inches. The fineness of his legs, and the oblique position
of his pasterns, may be supposed to lessen his apparent
strength; but the leg, although small, is flat and wiry; ana-
tomists know that the bone has no common density, and
the starting muscles of the fore-arm and the thigh, indi-
cate that he is fully capable of accomplishing many of the
feats which are recorded of him.

«¢ The Barb alone excels him in noble and spirited ac-
tion; and if there be defects about him, he is perfect for
that for which he was designed. He presents the true
combination of speed and bottom—strength enough to carry
more than a light weight, and courage that would cause him
to die rather than to give up. We may not, perhaps, believe
all that is told us of the Arabian. It has been remarked, that
there are on the deserts which this Horse traverses, no
mile-stones to mark the distance, or watches to calculate
the time; and the Bedouin is naturally given to exaggera-
tion, and most of all, when relating the prowess of the ani-
mal, which he loves as dearly as his children; yet it can-
not be denied that, at the introduction of the Arabian into
the European stables, there was no other Horse compara-
ble to him. :

«¢The Arab Horse is as celebrated for his docility and
good temper, as he is for speed and courage. In that de-
lightful book, ‘Bishop Heber’s Narrative of a Journey
through the Upper Provinces of India,’ the following inte-
resting characteris given of him. ‘My morning rides are
very pleasant. My horse is a nice, quiet, good-tempered
little Arab, who is so fearless that he goes, without starting,

32 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

close to an elephant, and so gentle and docile that he eats
bread out of my hand, and has almost as much attachment
and coaxing ways asadog. ‘This seems the general cha-
racter of the Arab Horses, to judge from what I have seen
in this country. It is not the fiery dashing animal I had
supposed, but with more rationality about him, and more
apparent confidence in the rider, than the majority of Eng-
lish Horses.’

‘©The kindness with which he is treated from a foal,
gives him an affection for his master, a wish to please, a
pride in exerting every energy in obedience to his com-
mands, and, consequently, an apparent sagacity which is
seldom seen in other breeds. The mare and her foal inha-
bit the same tent with the Bedouin and his children. The
neck of the mare is often the pillow of the rider, and, more
frequently, of the children, who are rolling about upon her
and the foal: yet no accident ever occurs, and the animal
acquires that friendship and love for man which occasional
ill-treatment will not cause him for a moment to forget.

‘¢ When the Arab falls from his mare, and is unable to
rise, she will immediately stand still and neigh until
assistance arrives. If he lies down to sleep, as fatigue
sometimes compels him, in the midst of the desert, she
stands watchful over him, and neighs and rouses him if
either man or beast approaches. An old Arab had a valua-
ble mare that had carried him for fifteen years in many a
hard-fought battle, and many a rapid, weary march; at
length, eighty years old, and unable longer to ride her, he
gave her, and a scimitar that had been his father’s, to his
eldest son, and told him to appreciate their value, and
never lie down to rest until he had rubbed them both as
bright as a looking-glass. In the’first skirmish in which
the young man was engaged, he was killed, and the mare
fell into the hands of the enemy. When the news reached
the old man, he exclaimed that ‘life was no longer worth
preserving, for he had lost both his son and his mare, and
he grieved for one as much as the other;’ and he immedi-
ately sickened and died.

**Man, however, is an inconsistent being. The Arab
who thus lives with and loves his Horses, regarding them
as his most valuable treasure, sometimes treats them with
a cruelty scarcely to be believed, and not at all to be justi-
fied. The severest treatment which the English Race
Horse endures, is gentleness compared with the trial of
the young Arabian. Probably the filly has neyer before
been mounted; she is led out; her owner springs on her
back, and goads her over the sand and rocks of the desert,
at full speed, for fifty or sixty miles, without one moment’s
respite. She is then forced, steaming and panting, into
water deep enough for her'to swim. If, immediately after
this, she will eat as if nothing had occurred, her character

is established, and she is acknowledged to be a genuine
descendant of the Kochlani breed. The Arab is not con-
scious of the cruelty which he thus inflicts. It is an inva~
riable custom, and custom will induce us to inflict many a
pang on those whom, after all, we love.

‘¢The following anecdote of the attachment of an Arab
to his mare, has often been told, but it comes home to the
bosom of every one possessed of common feeling:—‘ The
whole stock of an Arab of the desert consisted of a mare.
The French consul offered to purchase her in order to send
her to his sovereign, Louis XIV. The Arab would have
rejected the proposal at once with indignation and scorn;
but he was miserably poor. He had no means of supply-
ing his most urgent wants, or procuring the barest necessa-
ries of life. Still he hesitated;—he had scarcely a rag to
cover him—and his wife and his children were starving.
The sum offered was great, —it would provide him and his
family with food for life. At length, and reluctantly, he
consented. He brought the mare to the dwelling of the
consul,—he dismounted,—he stood leaning upon her;—
he looked now at his gold, and then at his favourite; he
sighed—he wept. ‘'To whom is it,’ said he, ‘I am going
to yield thee up? To Europeans, who will tie thee close, —
who will beat thee,—who will render thee miserable.
Return with me my beauty, my jewel, and rejoice the
hearts of my children.’ As he pronounced the last words,
he sprung upon her back, and was out of sight in a mo-
ment. ”

‘¢The next anecdote is scarcely less touching, and not
so well known. Ibrahim, a poor but worthy Arab, una-
ble to pay a sum of money which he owed, was compelled
to allow a merchant of Rama to become partner with him
in a valuable mare. When the time came, he could not
redeem his pledge to this man, and the mare was sold.
Her pedigree could be traced on the side of sire and dam
for full five hundred years. The price was three hundred
pounds, an enormous sum in that country. Ibrahim went
frequently to Rama to inquire after the mare: he would
embrace her,—wipe her eyes with his handkerchief,—rub
her with his shirt sleeves,—and give her a thousand bene-
dictions during whole hours that he remained talking to
her. ‘My eyes,’ would he say to her, ‘my soul! my
heart! must I be so unfortunate as to have thee sold to so
many masters, and not keep thee myself? I am poor, my
antelope! I brought thee up in my dwelling as my child.
I did never beat nor chide thee; I caressed thee in the
proudest manner. God preserve thee, my beloved! thou
art beautiful, thou art sweet, thou art lovely! God defend
thee from envious eyes!”

‘Sir John Maleolm gives two anecdotes to the same
purpose, but of a more amusing nature.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

¢ ¢ When the envoy, returning from his former mission,
was encamped near Bagdad, an Arab rode a bright bay
mare of extraordinary shape and beauty before his tent,
until he attracted his attention. On being asked if he
would sell her—‘ What will you give me?’ was the reply.
‘That depends upon her age; I suppose she is past five?’
‘Guess again,’ said he. ‘Four?’ ‘Look at her mouth,’
said the Arab, with a smile. On examination, she was
found to be rising three. This, from her size and symme-
try, greatly enhanced hervalue. The envoy said, ‘I will
give you fifty tomans,’ (a coin nearly of the value of a
pound sterling.) ‘A little more, if you please,’ said the
fellow, apparently entertained. ‘ Kighty—a hundred.’
He shook his head, and smiled. The offer at last came to
two hundred tomans. ‘Well,’ said the Arab, ‘you need
not tempt me further—it is of no use. You are a rich
elchee (nobleman.) You have fine horses, camels, and
mules, and, I am told, you have loads of silver and gold.
Now,’ added he, ‘you want my mare, but you shall not
have her for all you have got.’

«¢¢ An Arab sheick, or chief, who lived within fifty
miles of Bussorah, had a favourite breed of Horses.
He lost one of his best mares, and could not for a long
while discover whether she was stolen, or had strayed.
Some time after, a young man of a different tribe, who had
long wished to marry his daughter, but had always been
rejected by the sheick, obtained the lady’s consent, and
eloped with her. The sheick and his followers pursued,
but the lover and his mistress, mounted on one Horse,
made a wonderful march, and escaped. The old chief
swore that the fellow was either mounted upon the devil,
or the favourite mare he had lost. After his return, he
found that the latter was the case; that the lover was the
thief of his mare as well as his daughter; and that he stole
the one to carry off the other. The chief was quite grati-
fied to think he had not been beaten by a mare of another
breed; and was easily reconciled to the young man, in
order that he might recover the mare, which appeared an
object about which he was more solicitous than about his
daughter.’

The enterprising traveller, Major Denham, affords us a
pleasing instance of the attachment with which the docility
and sagacity of the Horse, may inspire the owner. He thus
relates the death of his favourite Arabian, in one of the most
desert spots of Central Africa. His feelings needed no apolo-
gy. We naturally honour the man in whom true sensibility
and undaunted courage, exerted for useful purposes, were
thus united: —‘ There are few situations in a man’s life in
which losses of this nature are felt most keenly; and this was
one of them. It was not grief, but it was something very
nearly approaching to it; and though I felt ashamed of the

I

33

degree of derangement I suffered from it, yet it was seve-
ral days before I could get over the loss. Let it, however,
be remembered that the poor animal had been my support
and comfort,—nay, I may say, my companion, through
many a dreary day and night;—had endured both hunger
and thirst in my service; and so docile, that he would
stand still for hours in the desert while I slept between
his legs, his body affording me the only shelter that could
be obtained from the powerful influence of a noon-day
sun;—he was yet the fleetest of the fleet, and ever fore-
most in the chase.’

‘¢ Our Horses would fare badly on the scanty nourishment
afforded the Arabian. The mare usually has but one or two
meals in the twenty-four hours. During the day she is tied
to the door of the tent, ready for the Bedouin to spring, at
a moment’s warning, into the saddle; or she is turned
out before the tent ready saddled, the bridle merely taken
off, and so trained that she gallops up immediately at her
master’s call. At night she receives a little water; and
with her scanty provender of five or six pounds of barley,
or beans, and sometimes a little straw, she lies down con-
tent in the midst of her master’s family. She can, how-
ever, endure great fatigue; she will travel fifty miles with-
out stopping; she has been pushed, on emergency, one
hundred and twenty miles; and, occasionally, neither she
nor her rider has tasted food for three whole days.

[ Zo be continued. |

THE LION.

TuE most interesting object of a menagerie is probably
its Lion; and there are few persons who are not familiar
with the general appearance of this most powerful animal.
To behold, in perfect security, that creature which is the
terror of all travellers in the regions where he abounds;
which is said to be able to bear off a buffalo on his back,
and crush the skull of a horse by a single stroke of his paw
—this is certainly gratifying to a reasonable curiosity.
The appearance of dignified self-possession which the Lion
displays when at rest; his general indifference to slight pro-
vocations; his haughty growl, when he is roused by the
importunities of his keepers, or the excitement of the mul-
titude; his impatient roar when he is expecting his daily
meal, and his frightful avidity, when he is at length ena-
bled to seize upon his allotted portion;—these are traits of
his character in confinement, which are familiar to almost
every one.

To comprehend the habits of the Lion, we must not be

34 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

satisfied to observe him in menageries; but we must follow
with attention the narratives of those travellers who have
seen him in his native haunts. From the Cape of Good
Hope, for instance, an adventurous naturalist sets forth to
explore the immense plains of the interior of Southern
Africa. His journey is performed partly on foot, and
partly in a wagon drawn by eight or ten oxen. His escort
consists of a few sturdy Hottentots, accustomed to the
country into which he desires to penetrate—excellent
marksmen—and expert in following up the track of every
wild or ferocious beast. Further and further he rolls on
from the abodes of civilization, and soon finds himself sur-
rounded by tribes of Bushmen, or Caffres, who live in a
rude but contented manner, depending for subsistence upon
their flocks and upon the chase, and knowing very few of
those agricultural arts by which their arid plains might be
partially redeemed from sterility. At length he reaches
those parts where ferocious animals abound; and where the
Lion, particularly, is an object of dread. Having passed the
borders of European colonization, his fears are first excited
by viewing the footmarks of the Lion. His Hottentot
guides have their tales of terror ready for the traveller,
who beholds, for the first time, the impress of those tre-
mendous feet upon the sands of the plain which he is to
cross; and they are ready to show their skill in tracking,
if necessary, the prowling savage to his lair. So nice is
this faculty in a Hottentot, of tracking footsteps, that Mr.
Barrow tells us he will distinguish the wolf from the do-
mestic dog, by the largeness of the ball of the foot, and the
comparative smallness of the toes; and will single out,
amongst a thousand, any of his companions’ feet. This is
an effect of education—an ability produced by the constant
exercise of a peculiar faculty, which has been acquired by
early training. It is the same ability by which a skilful
shepherd is enabled to know every individual sheep belong-
ing to his flock; and its exercise, in each case, proceeds
from that habit of attention which enables the human mind
to attain excellence in every pursuit. But even a Hotten-
tot does not discover the footsteps of a Lion without fear.
Mr. Burchell, with his man Gert, was in search of a party
who had killed a hippopotamus. They were hurrying on
through a willow-grove, when the Hottentot suddenly
stopped, and cried out, with some emotion, ‘‘ Look here,
sir’? Mr. Burchell continues:—“«I turned my eyes
downwards, and saw the recent footmarks of a Lion, which
had been to drink at the river, apparently not more than
an hour before. This gave a check to our dialogue on the
hippopotamus; and, in a lower and graver tone of voice,
he talked now only of Lions, and the danger of being
alone in a place so covered with wood.’? That immediate
danger passed away, but new fears of the same nature were

constantly presenting themselves. Mr. Barrow says:—
‘< It seems to be a fact well established, that the Lion pre-
fers the flesh of a Hottentot to any other creature;’’ and
the same writer states, in another place, that this powerful
and treacherous animal seldom makes an open attack, but,
like the rest of the feline genus, lies in ambush, till it can
conveniently spring upon its prey. The best security
which man and beast have against the attacks of the Lion,
is found in his indolence; he requires the strong excite-
ment of hunger to be roused to a pursuit; but when he is
roused, his vaunted magnanimity is no protection, even for
a sleeping foe, as the poets have pretended.

We must, however, follow our African traveller a little
further in his career of observation. A lowering evening

comes on; thunder clouds collect in every quarter; and the

night becomes extremely dark. The most vivid flashes of
lightning are intermingled with the heaviest torrents of
rain. The cattle are restless; and the Hottentots are pre-
vented making their evening fire for the cookery of their
supper, and for defence against the beasts of prey. On
such nights as these the Lion is particularly active. The
fury of the elements appears to rouse him from his ordi-
nary torpidity. He advances upon his prey with much
less than his usual caution; and he is not at once driven off
by the barking of dogs and the sound of muskets. The
oxen of the caravan, who appear to scent the distant ap-
proach of their terrible enemy, struggle to break loose from
their wagons to escape their danger by instant flight—an
escape which would prove their destruction. Itis only by
keeping with man that they are safe. The repeated dis-
charge of fire-arms has the remarkable effect not only of
keeping off the Lion, but of abating the restlessness of
the cattle. They appear to feel that their enemy will
retreat when he hears this demonstration of the powers of
the only creature that is enabled, by superior reason, to
cope with him. Nights of such harassing watchfulness are
frequently experienced by the African traveller.

It is no uncommon thing in the plains of Southern
Africa, to encounter innumerable herds of wild animals,
quietly grazing like tame cattle. Wherever the quagga,
(a species of wild ass,) the sprinkbok, and the hartebeest,
(the Dutch names for two varieties of the antelope,) are
found, there will be Lions, numerous in proportion, for
the destruction of their prey. Of course, those formidable
beasts can only exist where the means of their support are
tobe procured. They are destined to live on animal food;
and, therefore, where there are flocks and herds, whether
in a wild or a domestic state, there they will be also. Mr.
Campbell states that the quagga migrates in winter from
the tropics to the vicinity of the Malaleveen river; which,
though farther to the south, is reported to be considerably

ee

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 35

warmer than within the tropics, when the sun has retired
to the northern hemisphere. He saw bands of two or three
hundred quaggas, all travelling southward. They are
followed by Lions, who slaughter them night by night;
and what the Lions leave of the carcases of these unfortu-
nate animals, is devoured by the vultures and the Bushmen.
Even the buffalo, whose forehead, when he is of mature
age, is completely covered with a rugged mass of horn as
hard as a rock, the fibres of whose muscles are like so
many bundles of cords, and whose hide is little inferior in
strength and thickness to that of the rhinoceros—even he
is not safe from the attacks of the Lion. ‘ He lies waiting
for him in ambush till a convenient opportunity offers for
springing upon the buffalo, and fixing his fangs in his
throat; then sticking his paw into the animal’s face, he
twists round the head, and pins him to the ground by the
horns, holding him in that situation till he expires from
loss of blood.”

It has been often stated by Mr. Pringle, upon the autho-
rity of a chief of the Bechuanas, that the Lion, after he
has made his fatal spring upon the giraffe, when he comes
to drink at the pools, is carried away for miles, fixed on
the neck of that fleet and powerful creature, before his
victim sinks under him.

To the traveller in Africa, the Lion is formidable, not
at night only; he lies in his path, and is with difficulty
disturbed to allow a passage for his wagons and cattle, even
when the sun is shining with its utmost brilliancy: or he
is roused from some bushy place on the road-side, by the
indefatigable dogs which always accompany a caravan.
Mr. Burchell has described, with great spirit, an encounter
of this nature:—

«‘The day was exceedingly pleasant, and not a cloud
was to be seen. For a mile or two we travelled along the
banks of the river, which in this part abounded in tall
mat-rushes. The dogs seemed much to enjoy prowling
about and examining every bushy place, and at last met
with some object among the rushes which caused them to
set up a most vehement and determined barking. We ex-
plored the spot with caution, as we suspected, from the
peculiar tone of their bark, that it was what it proved to
be, Lions. Having encouraged the dogs to drive them
out, a task which they performed with great willingness,
we had a full view of an enormous black-maned Lion and
a Lioness. The latter was seen only for a minute, as she
made her escape up the river, under concealment of the
rushes; but the Lion came steadily forward, and stood
still to look at us. At this moment, we felt our situation
not free from danger, as the animal seemed preparing to
spring upon us, and we were standing on the bank at the
distance of only a few yards from him, most of us being on

foot, and unarmed, without any visible possibility of escap-
ing. I had given up my horse to the hunters, and was on
foot myself; but there was no time for fear, and it was
useless to attempt avoiding him. I stood well upon my
guard, holding my pistols in my hand, with my finger
upon the trigger,—and those who had muskets kept them-
selves prepared in the same manner. But at this instant,
the dogs boldly flew in between us and the Lion, and sur-
rounding him, kept him at bay, by their violent and reso-
lute barking. The courage of these faithful animals was
most admirable; they advanced up to the side of the huge
beast, and stood making the greatest clamour in his face,
without the least appearance of fear. .The Lion, conscious
of his strength, remained unmoved at their noisy attempts,
and kept his head turned towards us. At one moment,
the dogs perceiving his eyes thus engaged, had advanced
close to his feet, and seemed as if they would actually
seize hold of him; but they paid dearly for their impru-
dence, for, without discomposing the majestic and steady
attitude in which he stood fixed, he merely moved his paw,
and at the next instant I beheld two lying dead. In doing
this, he made so little exertion that it was scarcely percep-
tible by what means they had been killed. Of the time
which we had gained by the interference of the dogs, not
a moment was lost; we fired upon him; one of the balls
went through his side just between the short ribs, and the
blood immediately began to flow, but the animal still re-
mained standing in the same position. We had now no
doubt that he would spring upon us; every gun was
instantly reloaded; but happily we were mistaken, and
were not sorry to see him move quietly away; though I
had hoped in a few minutes to have been enabled to take
hold of his paw without danger.

‘¢ This was considered by our party to be a Lion of the
largest size, and seemed, as I measured him by compari-
son with the dogs, to be, though less bulky, as large as an
ox. He was certainly as long in body, though lower in
stature; and his copious mane gave him a truly formidable
appearance. He was of that variety which the Hottentots
and boors distinguish by the name of the black Lion, on
account of the blacker colour of the mane, and which is
said to be always larger and more dangerous than the
other, which they call the pale Lion, (vaal leeuw.) Of
the courage of the Lion I have no very high opinion; but
of his majestic air and movements, as exhibited by this
animal, while at liberty in his native plains, I can bear
testimony. Notwithstanding the pain of a wound, of
which he must soon afterwards have died, he moved
slowly away with a stately and measured step.

‘¢ At the time when men first adopted the Lion as the
emblem of courage, it would seem that they regarded great

36 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

size and strength as indicating it; but they were greatly
mistaken in the character they have given to this indolent,
skulking animal, and have overlooked a much better ex-
ample of true courage, and of other virtues also, in the
bold and faithful dog.”

[ To be continued. |

CANVAS-BACK DUCK.
ANAS VALISINERI A.

[Plate IV. Vol. 2.]
Collection of S. P. Grirritrts, Esq.

Turis celebrated American species, as far as can be
judged from the best figures and descriptions of foreign
birds, is altogether unknown in Europe. It approaches
nearest to the Pochard of England, Anas ferina, but dif-
fers from that bird in being superior in size and weight, in
the greater magnitude of its bill, and the general whiteness
of its plumage. A short comparison of the two will eluci-
date this point. The Canvas-back measures two feet in
length, by three feet in extent, and when in the best order
weighs three pounds and upwards. The Pochard, according
to Latham and Bewick, measures nineteen inches in length,
and thirty in extent, and weighs one pound twelve or
thirteen ounces. The latter writer says of the Pochard,
“the plumage above and below is wholly covered with
prettily freckled slender dusky threads, disposed trans-
versely in close set zig-zag lines, on a pale ground, more
or less shaded off with ash;’’ a description much more
applicable to the bird figured beside it, the Red Head, and
which very probably is the species meant. In the figure
of the Pochard given by Mr. Bewick, who is generally
correct, the bill agrees very well with that of our Red
Head, but is scarcely half the size and thickness of that of
the Canvas-back; and the figure in the Planches Enlumi-
nees corresponds in that respect with Bewick’s. In short,
either these writers are egregiously erroneous in their
figures and descriptions, or the present Duck was altogether
unknown to them. Considering the latter supposition the
more probable of the two, I have designated this as a new
species, and shall proceed to detail some particulars of its
histery.

The Canvas-back Duck arrives in the United States from
the north about the middle of October; a few descend to
the Hudson and Delaware, but the great body of these
birds resort to the numerous rivers belonging to and in

the neighbourhood of the Chesapeake Bay, particularly
the Susquehanna, the Patapsco, Potomac, and James’
Rivers, which appear to be their general winter rendez-
vous. Beyond this, to the south, I can find no certain
accounts of them. At the Susquehanna they are called Can-
vas-backs, on the Potomac, White-backs, and on James’
River, Sheldrakes. They are seldom found at a great
distance up any of these rivers, or even in the salt water
bay; but in that particular part of tide water where a
certain grass-like plant grows, on the roots of which they
feed. This plant, which is said to be a species of Valisz-
nerid, grows on fresh water shoals of from seven to nine
feet, (but never where they are occasionally dry,) in long
narrow grass-like blades of four or five feet in length; the
root is white, and has some resemblance to small celery.
This grass is in many places so thick that a boat can with
difficulty be rowed through it, it so impedes the oars.
The shores are lined with large quantities of it torn up by
the Ducks, and drifted up by the winds, lying like hay in
wind rows. Wherever this plant grows in abundance the
Canvas-backs may be expected, either to pay occasional
visits, or to make it their regular residence during the
winter. It occurs in some parts of the Hudson; in the
Delaware, near Gloucester, a few miles below Philadel-
phia; and in most of the rivers that fall into the Chesa-
peake, to each of which particular places these Ducks
resort; while in waters unprovided with this nutritive
plant they are altogether unknown.

On the first arrival of these birds in the Susquehanna,
near Havre-de-grace, they are generally lean; but such is
the abundance of their favourite food, that towards the
beginning of November they are in pretty good order.
They are excellent divers, and swim with great speed and
agility. They sometimes assemble in such multitudes as
to cover several acres of the river, and when they rise sud-
denly, produce a noise resembling thunder. They float about
these shoals, diving and tearing up the grass by the roots,
which is the only partthey eat. They are extremely shy,
and can rarely be approached unless by stratagem. When
wounded in the wing, they dive to such prodigious dis-
tances, and with such rapidity, continuing it so persever-
ingly, and with such cunning and active vigour, as almost
always to render the pursuit hopeless. From the great
demand for these Ducks, and the high price they uniformly
bring in market, various modes are practised to get within
gunshot of them. The most successful way is said to be,
decoying them to the shore by means of a dog, while the
gunner lies closely concealed in a proper situation. The
dog, if properly trained, plays backwards and forwards
along the margin of the water, and the Ducks observing
his manceuvres, enticed perhaps by curiosity, gradually

CANV AS-BACK DUCK. RED HEADED DUCK.

a
Tah ieee vaste

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 37

approach the shore, until they are sometimes within twenty
or thirty yards of the spot where the gunner lies concealed,
and from which he rakes them, first on the water, and
then as they rise. This method is called tolling them in.
If the Ducks seem difficult to decoy, any glaring object,
such as ared handkerchief, is fixed round the dog’s mid-
dle, or to his tail, and this rarely fails to attract them.
Sometimes, by moonlight, the sportsman directs his skiff
towards a flock, whose position he had previously ascer-
tained, keeping within the projecting shadow of some wood,
bank, or headland, and paddles along so silently and imper-
ceptibly, as often to approach within fifteen or twenty
yards of a flock of many thousands, among whom he gene-
rally makes great slaughter.

Many other stratagems are practised, and indeed every
plan that the ingenuity of the experienced sportsman can
suggest, to approach within gunshot of these birds; but of
all the modes pursued, none intimidate them so much as
shooting them by night; and they soon abandon the place
where they have been thus repeatedly shot at. During
the day they are dispersed about; but towards evening
collect in large flocks, and come into the mouths of creeks,
where they often ride as at anchor, with their head under
their wing, asleep, there being always sentinels awake,
ready to raise an alarm on the least appearance of danger.
Even when feeding and diving in small parties, the whole
never go down at one time, but some are still left above
on the look-out.

When the winter sets in severely, and the river is
frozen, the Canvas-backs retreat to its confluence with the
bay, occasionally frequenting air-holes in the ice, which
are sometimes made for the purpose, immediately above
their favourite grass, to entice them within gunshot of the
hut or bush which is usually fixed at a proper distance, and
where the gunner lies concealed ready to take advantage of
their distress. A Mr. Hill, who lives near James’ River, at a
place called Herring Creek, informs me, that one severe
winter he and another person broke a hole in the ice about
twenty by forty feet, immediately over a shoal of grass,
and took their stand on the shore, in a hut or bush, each
having three guns well loaded with large shot. The Ducks,
which were flying up and down the river in great extre-
mity, soon crowded to this place, so that the whole open
space was not only covered with them, but vast numbers
stood on the ice around it. They had three rounds, firing
both at once, and picked up eighty-eight Canvas-backs, and
might have collected more had they been able to get to
the extremity of the ice after the wounded ones. In
the severe winter of 1779-80, the grass, on the roots of
which these birds feed, was almost wholly destroyed in
James’ River. In the month of January the wind conti-

K

nued to blow from W. N. W. for twenty-one days, which
caused such low tides in the river that the grass froze to
the ice every where, and a thaw coming on suddenly, the
whole was raised by the roots, and carried off by the fresh.
The next winter a few of these Ducks were seen, but they
soon went away again; and for many years after, they con-
tinued to be scarce; and even to the present day, in the
opinion of my informant, have never been so plenty as
before. ;

The Canvas-back, in the rich juicy tenderness of its
flesh, and its delicacy and flavour, stands unrivalled by the
whole of its tribe, in this or perhaps any other quarter of
the world. Those killed in the waters of the Chesapeake
are generally esteemed superior to all others, doubtless
from the great abundance of their favourite food which
these rivers produce. At our public dinners, hotels, and
particular entertainments, the Canvas-backs are universal
favourites. They not only grace but dignify the table,
and their very name conveys to the imagination of the
eager epicure, the most comfortable and exhilarating ideas.
Hence on such occasions, it has not been uncommon to pay
from one to three dollars a pair for these Ducks; and, in-
deed, at such times, if they can they must be had, what-
ever may be the price.

The Canyas-back will feed readily on grain, especially
wheat, and may be decoyed to particular places by baiting
them with that grain for several successive days. Some
few years since, a vessel loaded with wheat, was wrecked
near the entrance of Great Egg-Harbour, in the autumn,
and went to pieces. The wheat floated out in vast quan-
tities, and the whcle surface of the bay was in a few days
covered with Ducks of a kind altogether unknown to the
people of that quarter. The gunners of the neighbour-
hood collected in boats in every direction, shooting them;
and so successful were they, that, as Mr. Beasley informs
me, two hundred and forty were killed in one day, and
sold among the neighbours, at twelve and a half cents a
piece, without the feathers. The wounded ones were
generally abandoned, as being too difficult to be come up
with. They continued about three weeks, and during the
greater part of that time a continual cannonading was heard
from every quarter. The gunners called them Sea Ducks.
They were all Canvas-backs, at that time on their way
from the north, when this floating feast attracted their
attention, and for awhile arrested them in their course. A
pair of these very Ducks I myself bought in Philadelphia
market at the time, from an Egg-Harbour gunner, and
never met with their superior either in weight or excel-
lence of flesh. When it was known among those people
the loss they had sustained in selling for twenty-five cents
what would have brought them from 4 dollar to a dollar

38 THE CABINET OF

and a half per pair, universal surprise and regret were na-
turally enough excited.

The Canvas-back is two feet long, and three feet in ex-
tent, and when in good order weighs three pounds; the
bill is large, rising high in the head, three inches in length,
and one inch and three-eighths thick at the base, of 2
glossy black; eye very small; irides dark red; cheeks, and
fore part of the head, blackish brown; rest of the head, and
greater part of the neck, bright glossy reddish chesnut,
ending in a broad space of black that covers the upper part
of the breast, and spreads round to the back; back, seapu-
lars and tertials, white, faintly marked with an infinite
number of transverse waving lines, or points, as if done
with a pencil; whole lower parts of the breast, also the belly,
white, slightly pencilled in the same manner, scarcely
perceptible on the breast, pretty thick towards the vent;
wing coverts gray, with numerous specks of blackish;
primaries and secondaries, pale slate, two or three of the
latter of which nearest the body, are finely edged with
deep velvetty black, the former dusky at the tips; tail very
short, pointed, consisting of fourteen feathers of a hoary
brown; vent and tail coverts, black; lining of the wing,
white; legs and feet, very pale ash, the latter three inches
in width, a circumstance which partly accounts for its
great powers of swimming.

The female is somewhat less than the male, and weighs
two pounds and three-quarters; the crown is blackish-
brown; cheeks and throat of a pale drab; neck, dull brown;
breast, as far as the black extends on the male, dull brown,
skirted in places with pale drab; back, dusty white,
crossed with fine waving lines; belly, of the same dull
white, pencilled like the back: wings, feet, and bill, as in
the male; tail coverts dusky, vent white waved with
brown.

The windpipe of the male has a large flattish concave
labyrinth, the ridge of which is covered with a thin trans-
parent membrane; where the trachea enters this it is very
narrow, but immediately above swells to three times that
diameter. The intestines are wide, and measure five feet
in length.

Note.—It is a circumstance calculated to excite our sur-
prise, that the Canvas-back, one of the commonest species
of our country,—a Duck which frequents the waters of the
Chesapeake in flocks of countless thousands, should yet
have been either overlooked by the naturalists of Europe,
or confounded with the Pochard, a species whose characters
are so obviously different. But that this is the fact, I feel
well assured, since I have carefully examined every author
of repute to which I have had access, and have not been
enabled to find any description which will correspond to
the subject before us. The species, then, we hope, will

NATURAL HISTORY,

stand as Wilson’s own; and it is no small addition to the
fame of the American Ornithology, that it contains the first
scientific account of the finest Duck that any country can
boast of.

The Canvas-back Ducks frequent the Delaware in consid-
erable numbers. The Valisineria grows pretty abundantly
in various places, from Burlington, New-Jersey, to Eagle
Point, a few miles below Philadelphia. Wherever this
plant is found, there will the Ducks be; and they will fre-
quently venture within reach of their enemies’? weapons
rather than abstain from the gratification of their appetite
for this delicious food. The shooters in the neighbourhood
of Philadelphia for many years were in the habit of sup-
plying our markets with this species, which always hpre
the name of Red-heads, or Red-necks; and their ignorance
of its being the true Canvas-back was cunningly fostered by
our neighbours of the Chesapeake, who boldly asserted that
only their waters were favoured with this species, and that
all other Ducks, which seemed to claim affinity, were a
spurious race, unworthy of consanguinity. Hence at the
same time when a pair of legitimate Canvas-backs, proudly
exhibited from the mail-coach, from Havre-de-Grace, rea-
dily sold for two dollars and fifty cents, a pair of the iden-
tical species, as fat, as heavy, as delicious, but which had
been unfortunately killed in the Delaware, brought only
one dollar; and the lucky shooter thought himself suffi-
ciently rewarded in obtaining twenty-five per cent. more
for his Red-necks, than he could obtain for a pair of the
finest Mallards that our waters could afford. But the delu-
sion is now passed; every shooter and huckster knows the
distinctive characters of the Canvas-back and the Red-
head; and prejudice no longer controverts the opinion that
this species is a common inhabitant of the Delaware; and
epicures are compelled to confess that they can discern no
difference between our Canves-back, when in season, and
that from Spesutie, or Carrol’s Island, the notorious shoot-
ing ground of the don-vivants of Baltimore.

The last mentioned place, though commonly termed an
island, is properly a peninsula, situated on the western side
of the Chesapeake Bay, a few miles from Baltimore. It is
a spot highly favourable for the shooting of water fowl. It
extends for a considerable distance into the bay; and, being
connected with the main land by anarrow neck, the shoot-
ers are enabled to post themselves advantageously on the
isthmus; and intercept the fowl, who, in roving from one
feeding ground to another, commonly prefer crossing the
land to taking a long flight around the peninsula. In calm
weather the shooters have not much luck, the Ducks keep-
ing out in the coves, and, when they do moye, flying high;
but should a fresh breeze prevail, especially one from the
eastward, rare sport may be anticipated; and it is no unusual

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 39

circumstance for a party of four or five gentlemen return-
ing home, after a couple of days’ excursion, with fifty or
sixty Canvas-backs, besides some other Ducks of inferior
note. The greatest flight of Ducks commonly takes place
between daybreak and sunrise, and, while it lasts, the roar-
ing of the fowling-pieces, the bustle of the sportsmen, the
fluttering of the fowl, and the plunging of the dogs, consti-
tute a scene productive of intense interest. The dog in
most esteem for this amusement is a large breed, partaking
of the qualities of the Newfoundland variety. They trust
altogether to their sight, and it is astonishing what sagacity
they will manifest in watching a flock of Ducks that had
been shot at, and marking the birds that drop into the wa-
ter, even at a considerable distance off. When at fault,
the motion of their master’s hand is readily obeyed by them;
and when unable to perceive the object of their search,
they will raise themselves in the water for this purpose,
and will not abandon the pursuit while a chance remains of
succeeding. A generous, well-trained dog, has been known
to follow a Duck for more than half a mile; and, after hav-
ing been long beyond the reach of seeing or hearing his
master, to return, puffing and snorting under his load,
which seemed sufficient to drag him beneath the waves.
The Editor having been an eye-witness of similar feats of
these noble animals, can therefore speak with confidence
as to the fact.

On the Delaware but few of this species, comparatively,
are obtained, for the want of proper situations whence they
may be shot on the wing. To attempt to approach them,
in open day, with a boat, is unproductive labour, except
there be floating ice in the river, at which time, if the
shooter clothe himself in white, and paint his skiff of the
same colour, he may so deceive the Ducksas to get within
a few feet of them. At such times it is reasonable to sup-
pose that these valuable birds get no quarter. But there is
one caution to be observed, which experienced sportsmen
never omit: it is to go always with the current; a Duck
being sagacious enough to know that a lump of ice seldom
advances against the stream. They are often shot, with
us, by moonlight, in the mode related in the foregoing ac-
count; the first pair the Editor ever killed, was in this
manner; he was then a boy, and was not a little gratified
with his uncommon acquisition.

As the Valisineria, will grow in all our fresh water
rivers, in coves, or places not affected by the current, it
would be worth the experiment to transplant this vegetable
in those waters where it at present isunknown. There is
little doubt the Canvas-backs would, ‘by this means, be
attracted; and thus would afford the lovers of good eating
an opportunity of tasting a delicacy, which in the opinion
of many, is unrivalled by the whole feathered race.

In the spring, when the Duck-grass becomes scarce, the
Canvas-backs are compelled to subsist upon other food,
particularly shell-fish; their flesh then loses its delicacy of
flavour, and although still fat, it is not esteemed by epi-
cures; hence the Ducks are not much sought after; and are
permitted quietly to feed until their departure for the north.

Our author states that he had had no certain accounts of
this species to the southward of James’ River, Virginia. In
the month of January, 1818, I saw many hundreds of
these Ducks feeding in the Savannah River, not far from
Tybee light-house. They were known by the name of
Canvas-backs; but the inhabitants of that quarter considered
them as fishing Ducks, not fit to be eaten: so said the pilot
of the ship which bore me to Savannah. But a pair of
these birds having been served up at table, after my arri-
val, I was convinced, by their delicate flavour, that they
had lost little by their change of residence, but still main-
tained their superiority over all the water fowl of that
region. In the river St. John, in Hast Florida, I also saw
a few scattered individuals of this species; but they were
too shy to be approached within gunshot.

The Canvas-backs swim very low, especially when fat;
and when pursued by a boat, they stretch themselves out
in lines in the manner of the Scaup Ducks, so that some of
the flock are always enabled to reconnoitre the paddler,
and give information to the rest, of his motions. When
the look-out Ducks apprehend danger, the stretching up of
their necks is the signal, and immediately the whole
squadron, facing to the wind, rise with a noise which may
be heard at the distance of half a mile.

The guns employed in Canvas-back shooting should be
of a medium length and caliber; and of the most approved
patent breech. My experience has taught me that a barrel of
three feet seven inches, with a bore short of seven-eighths
of an inch, is quite as effective as one of greater dimensions,
and is certainly more convenient. It may appear a work
of supererogation to speak of the quality of powder to be
used in this kind of sporting; and yet so often are shooters
deceived in this article, either through penuriousness or
negligence, that a word of advice may not be unprofita-
ble. One should obtain the best powder, without regard
to price; it being an indispensable maxim in shooting, but
which is too often forgotten, that the best is always the
cheapest.— Wilson’s Ornithology.

[As the Red-headed Duck is so frequently imposed on purchasers
for the Canvas-back, from the Philadelphia and other markets, we
have thought it advisable to introduce both birds in the same Plate,
(vide Plate IV. Vol. 2,) when it will be seen, that the distinguishing
marks are chiefly confined to the bill, eyes, head, and size of the birds;
the Red-head being the smallest bird, and having a brighter red over
the whole head.—Ep. ]

40 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

RED-HEADED DUCK.
ANAS FERINA.
[Plate IV. Vol. 2.]

“Anas Ferina, GMet. 1. p. 530, No. 31.—nas rufa, Id.
p- 515.—Ind. Orn. p. 862, No. 77; p. 863, No. 78.—
Rufous necked-Duck, Gen. Syn. 11. p. 477, No. 32.—
Pochard, Id. p. 523, No. 68.—Red-headed Duck, Law-
son’s Carolina, p. 150.—Bzrwick u. p. 320.—/rct.
Zool. No. 491. Br. Zool. No. 284.—Le Millouin,
Briss. vr. p. 384, No. 19, pl. 35. fig. 1; Le Millowin
nois, Id. p. 389, A. young male? Le Millowin du
Mezxique, Id. p. 390, No. 20, female, Burr. 1x. p. 216.
Pl. Enl. 803.—Trmmu. Man. d’Orn. p. 669.—W11-
LouGHBY, p. 367, § x1.—Monragu, Orn. Dict.—Put-
LADELPHIA MuszEvum.

Tuts is a common associate of the Canvas-back, fre-
quenting the same places, and feeding on the stems of the
same grass, the latter eating only the roo¢s; its flesh is very
little inferior, and it is often sold in our markets for the
Canvas-back, to those unacquainted with the characteristic
marks of each. Anxious as I am to determine precisely
whether this species be the Red-headed Wigeon, Pochard,
or Dun bird of England, I have not been able to ascertain
the point to my own satisfaction; though I think it very
probably the same, the size, extent, and general description
of the Pochard agreeing pretty nearly with this.

The Red-head is twenty inches in length, and two feet
six inches in extent; bill, dark slate, sometimes black, two
inches long, and seven-eighths of an inch thick at the base,
furnished with a large broad nail at the extremity; irides,
flame-coloured; plumage of the head long, velvetty, and
inflated, running high above the base of the bill; head, and
about two inches of the neck, deep glossy reddish chesnut;
rest of the neck and upper part of the breast black, spread-
ing round to the back; belly white, becoming dusky
towards the vent by closely marked undulating lines of
black; back and seapulars, bluish white, rendered gray by
numerous transverse waving lines of black; lesser wing
coverts, brownish ash; wing quills, very pale slate, dusky
at the tips; lower part of the back, and sides under the
wings, brownish black, crossed with regular zig-zag lines
of whitish; vent, rump, tail, and tail coverts, black; legs
and feet, dark ash.

The female has the upper part of the head dusky brown,
rest of the head and part of the neck, a light sooty brown;
upper part of the breast, ashy brown, broadly skirted with
whitish; back, dark ash, with little or no appearance of white
pencilling; wings, bill, and feet, nearly alike in both sexes.

This Duck is sometimes met with in the rivers of North
and South Carolina, and also in those of Jersey and New-
York; but always in fresh water, and usually at no great
distance from the sea. Is most numerous in the waters of
the Chesapeake, and with the connoisseurs in good eating,
ranks next in excellence to the Canvas-back. Its usual
weight is about a pound and three-quarters, avoirdupois.

The Red-head leaves the bay and its tributary streams in
March, and is not seen until late in October.

The male of this species has a large flat bony labyrinth on
the bottom of the windpipe, very much like that of the
Canvas-back, but smaller; over one of its concave sides is
spread an exceeding thin transparent skin, or membrane.
The intestines are of great width, and measure six feet in
length. —Jd.

From the New-England Galaxy.

SOME PASSAGES FROM THE DIARY OF A
SPORTSMAN.

{Continued from page 21.]

Ir is impossible that the Sportsman should be other
than an admirer of nature. In all his solitary rambles,
whether upon the wild and lonely hill-side, or in the
heart of the pastoral valley; at the edge of the mirror-like
lake, or along the borders of the mountain brook,—his eye
is always filled with beautiful and picturesque objects. His
ear soon becomes familiar with the light carol of every bird
which inhabits the thicket or the forest; and his eye is soon
made acquainted with the whole lovely family of flowers,
which enamel the earth, and enrich the air with their wind-
seattered perfume. There is not a wild flower that nods
to him from the top of the verdant bank, or the vine-covered
precipice, or a bird that salutes him with its voluble oyer-
ture from its leafy dome, that he cannot recognize and call
by name. The speckled turtle, that plunges from its black
fortress into the pool, at the sound of his approaching step,
or the glittering snake, which hastens to conceal itself
beneath its bush, at his coming, are not unnoticed by him.
He has an eye open to the observance of all rural objects,
and an ear awake to the hearing of all woodland sounds.

One of our most favourite places for ramble and sport,
has been Mount Holyoke, the most romantic link in that
chain of hills, which Nature has stretched along the west-
ern borders of this state. At its base rolls the broad and
fertilizing Connecticut. Behind it, hills after hills, like
successive ranks of an advancing host, lift up their vapoury

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 41

summits, covered with verdure, and bristling with the
sharp spires of a thousand forests. Many a time have I
stood, surrounded by the mists and shadows that repose or
tumble around its summit, to behold the bright coming of
the dawn, or to admire the gradual departure of the twi-
light, from its loftiest peak, ‘‘the last to parley with the
setting sun.”’ Poets have always delighted to select the
decaying glory of twilight, or the sober grandeur of even-
ing, as the themes for their song,—but it seems to me,
that they would find a far nobler theme for their verse, in
the first grey breaking of the dawn, and its first rosy flush
upon the mists and shadows that cover up the hills, as
with a garment. The most unromantic mind could not
contemplate such a scene with indifference. The spectator
seems, as it were, to be surrounded with an illimitable sea
of vapour, whose white surges perpetually boil and heave
around him. If Ilook into the dome above me, my eye can-
not penetrate the thick curtain of gloom that hangs around it;
if I cast my eye into the abyss around and beneath, I can-
not discern an object on the bosom of the green earth
below, for ‘ shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it.”’

“* At once that sea of vapour
Parted away, and melting into air

Rose round me, and I stood involved in light;

As if aflame had kindled up, and wrapped me
In its innocuous blaze. Away it rolled

Wave after wave. Thenclimbed the highest rocks,
Poured over them in surges, and then rushed
Down glens and valleys, like a wintry torrent
Dashed instant tothe plain. Itseemed a moment,
And they were gone, as if the touch of fire
Atonce dissolved them. Then I found myself
Midway in air;—ridge after ridge below,
Descended with their opulence of woods,

Even to the dim-seen level, where a lake
Flashed in the sun, and from it wounda line,
Now silvery bright even to the farthest verge
Of the encircling hills. A waste of rocks

Was round me—but below how beautiful!

How rich the plain! a wilderness of groves,

And ripening harvests; while the sky of June—
The soft blue of June, and the cool air,

That makes it then a luxury to live

Only to breathe it, and the busy echo

Of cascades, and the voice of mountain-brooks,
Stole with such gentle meanings to my heart,
That where I stood seemed heaven.”

The verdure of the earth is then lost and mingled in a
thousand varied colours, made up of all the rich combina-
tions of the rainbow. The sky itself then seems to lose its
rich, deep azure, and the smoky vapours that then ascend
its dome, and repose in its serene chamber, seem to have
caught the variegated hues of the earth itself. Every moun-
tain turn and lonely pool, every brimming river and subsi-

diary stream, is then richly tinged with a myriad of wavy
hues, caught from the reflected woods, or the overhanging
clouds. In the very depths of the woods the pine and fir,
and a few other evergreens, may still retain their verdant
tinge, the wild grape-vines also, which are among the last
to perish, may preserve their pure and lovely greenness,
but every where else the eye is dazzled with the gaudiest
combinations, of azure, purple, crimson, scarlet, yellow,
orange, and gold. All these rich varieties of colour, ren-
ders the wide drapery of the woods, inexpressibly lovely,
whether it is shaken and tossed about by the clear moun-
tain breeze, or remains utterly motionless in the profound
silence; so profound that nothing is audible, save, perhaps,

The sound of nutshells, by the squirrel dropped
From some tall beech, fast falling through the leaves,

I was once, I remember, rambling alone on those hills, on
a beautiful day in that period of the year, when the foliage,
having attained the perfection of its colouring, and drop-
ping in clouds from the trees, seemed to repeat that moni-
tory lesson, which Autumn has been so poetically repre-
sented as conveying. Nothing can exceed the glory of
our native woods at the autumnal period, when the forest
casts the leaf, and

When the sound of dropping nuts is heard
Though all the trees are still;

And twinkle in the smoky light
The waters of the rill.

I had been rambling the whole day, with my gun, upon
that mountain, so celebrated for gray squirrels, wild tur-
keys, rattlesnakes, and various kind of game, and being
fatigued with scaling precipices and straggling through
almost impervious thickets, was about returning, when
chance threw in my way a very eccentric, and at the same
time agreeable companion. He was a stout woodsman,
who had been employed like myself, in the pursuit of
game, but with a very different weapon. Like the hardy
pioneers of the West, he used the rifle only in his sports,
disdaining to employ the ordinary weapon in common use
with New-England Sportsmen. He had killed nothing
but gray squirrels, but of these he had destroyed a great
number. Each animal bore the mark of a single ball, and
many of them were pierced directly through the head. - He
assured me thet he rarely failed of despatching his victim,
though perched on the loftiest limb of the forest. This
feat is the more surprising, when we consider how closely
the animal adheres to the body of the tree, whenever
alarmed, and by this sagacious act protects itself from obser-
vation, and offers but a very uncertain mark to its pursuers.

I subsequently saw this man at certain ‘‘ turkey shoot-
ings,” and was still more struck with the astonishing accu-

42 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

racy of his aim. In fact, it was not unusual for the owners
of the poor birds, which were inhumanly ‘set up” on
such occasions, to bribe him to take no share in the sports.
If he did persist in claiming his privilege, the six-cents
premium paid for the chance, was but a poor recompense
to the owner for the loss of his bird. ‘‘ Old Natty Bumpo,”’
for so he was called by his brother shooters, was in the
habit of posting away to take a part in great turkey-matches,
in remote villages, where he was unknown, from which
he always returned, with a large proportion of the plunder. I
was told that he at one time hired his wagon, rode twenty
miles, and returned the same day, having killed forty out
of fifty of the birds. His booty amply paid him for his
trouble and ,expense, in addition to the gratification of
gaining so complete a triumph over the ‘“ strangers.”
He was in the practice of wandering about, alone, in the
extensive meadows in the valley of the Connecticut, and
wo betide the beast or bird that ventured within the range
of his rifle. He at one time, in the course of his rambles
in these plains, discovered an eagle sitting upon a large
and solitary oak, apparently regardless of his approach. He
fired at him from a great distance, fearing that he should be
unable to approach without giving alarm, and fortunately
wounded him. The eagle lost his balance, but still held,
however, his grasp upon the branch upon which he had
rested. Our rifleman fired again, cut off the twig which
he clung to, and secured his prisoner.

It was of such hardy and skilful men that our armies of
the Revolution were composed; and to their accuracy of
eye, and firmness of nerve, we may attribute the repeated
successes of undisciplined men, over the practised veterans
of Europe. If General Hull, during the North-Western
Campaign of the last war, had been followed to the field by
a body of such men, bearing, any fair proportion to the
army of Brock, he would have added new lustre to the
reputation he had gained under Washington, in nearly
every battle of the Revolution, and escaped those vile im-
putations upon his honour and courage, which his enemies,
and those by whom he had been wronged, endeavoured to
east upon him. Posterity, however, will see this affair
through the medium of historical truth, and will render to
his memory a deserved though tardy tribute. M.

INSTRUCTIONS TO YOUNG SPORTSMEN.
No. I.

Tue first important step towards becoming an expert
Sportsman, is a perfect knowledge of the gun. This is
the rudiment of the science, and is of more importance than

most young men are aware, who are about to enter into
the enjoyments of the field. To obtain this knowledge,
much patience and experience are required; and certain
rules observed by the learner, from which he ought not to
depart. In the hands of the careless and inexperienced,
the gun often proves an instrument of death to a compa-
nion, and his future days become embittered by the care-—
lessness of a moment, which might have been avoided, had
that attention been paid to the subject which it certainly
demands. Wherefore, I hold it as an infallible rule, that
none should ever venture in search of game with a gun,
especially beside his companions, until familiarity with it at
home, has made him a master of his gun. I shall advance
a few rules on this head, founded on my own observation
and the experience of others, which perhaps may assist the
young beginner in the science.

So much has been said about the ‘‘ choice of guns,”’ that
any thing advanced here on that point might be considered
superfluous; but when we reflect on the number of accidents
which have occurred through the medium of inferior guns,
and how much it is recommended that ‘‘ any kind of gun”’
will answer to learn with,—that I cannot help joining other
writers, and exclaim against all inferior or low priced guns.
I most strenuously recommend the young Sportsman to
beware of common English, French, and Dutch guns. A
medium or high price English gun is the cheapest in the
end for a gentleman who intends using it during the succes-
sive seasons of shooting, and would recommend him to pay
a price not less than fifty dollars, as very few lower priced
than this can be depended on. The best, and most popular
description of guns, are the stub and twist double guns, of
11-16ths of an inch calibre, and thirty inches in length, with
back action locks, and steel works; steel furniture without
scroll guards; spring-box triggers; a plain stock, cheequered
only at the breech, and the grain of the wood running
parallel with the bend. Do not choose a gun for its beau-
tiful stock, as that description seldom proves serviceable,
but will break with very trifling usage. Let the stock be
rather straight, and long from the trigger to the butt, in
order to enable you to keep your head elevated.

A gun of the above cast can be purchased now for sixty to
seventy-five dollars,—should you pay less than this for a
new gun, in a regalar gun store, you cannot depend on its
being a stub and twist. Very showy guns have been sell-
ing at prices, varying from thirty-five to fifty dollars, but
be assured they are only twisted iron; and have not steel
works in their locks, but case-hardened iron, which is
almost as brittle as glass, and the furniture is either of cast
iron, or of the most inferior quality.

A gun of the former kind may be used constantly for
eight or ten years, or until the owner becomes an expert

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

shot, when, if his means will warrant, he can purchase a
higher price, or first rate London gun.

I have two guns, one of which is of Birmingham manu-
facture, and the other from London; the former was in-
voiced at £18.10, and cost me ninety dollars,—the latter
had seen many years of service before it came into my
possession, and J was assured it originally cost forty gui-
neas. This gun, although upwards of twenty years old, is
substantial and perfect in its parts, and performs as well as
when it came into my possession, eight years since; and I
have no doubt that with care and constant use, it will last
for half a century to come; while the other gun has seen but
seven years’ service altogether, and is deficient, more or less,
in all its parts. I do not mean by this to say, that a young
beginner should be so extravagant as to pay two hundred
dollars for a gun, but it is only to contrast the two kinds of
guns, and the superiority of the manufacture, and the dura-
tion of the one over the other, which augments its price,
and endeavour to reconcile a difficulty which arises in the
minds of many persons, who frequently ask the question,
_ £6 What makes one gun cost so much more than another” —
and, ‘‘ What advantage is to be derived from such difference
in price.”

The young Sportsman haying now provided himself
with a gun, he should learn to handle it expertly, and with
grace. I delight to see a man do this;—it proves him
worthy of the instrument, and that he has given proper
care and attention to the leading principles of shooting.
What is more unsightly than a Sportsman to use his gun
as though it was an uncouth stick of wood?—to see him
bring it to his shoulder so clumsily, as to catch it either in
his accoutrements, or the butt an inch or two under his
arm-pit, before he can bring it to its proper place. And
yet you will see many persons do this, (and some good shots
too,) but certainly if there is any thing which requires grace,
I think this noble science does. The manner in which a
Sportsman handles his gun, is in my view, an index to his
proficiency in the art; for I never yet saw a man use his
gun with grace, who was an inferior shot. The beauty
of any thing is constituted by the symmetry or proportion
of one part with another, and these with the whole; and
perfection in any science or art, is only achieved, when not
only the general and leading principles are acquired, but
the minutiz also.

To attain this, handle your gun very frequently, (but
always uncharged)—hold it carelessly in your hand, or on
your shoulder, and repeatedly throw it to your sight at
some distant object, until your familiarity with it is so
great, as to make you as perfectly drilled to it as the sol-
dier is to his musket. Just behold one of our militia~-men
attempt the manual exercise, and then witness a regular, or

43

a marine, and it needs no further argument to convince
you of the necessity of constant drilling, until you are per-
fect in handling your gun. It is a great acquisition to
sight your gun quick, or to become a snap-shot, as it ena-
bles the shooter to be more successful in thicket shooting,
where the game often springs at his feet, and passes swiftly
through the dense shrubbery, and only a trifling opening
offers. Success in this case can only attend, with any de-
gree of certainty, him who has habituated himself to
sighting and shooting quick. I do not mean that you should
hurry yourself; there is a vast difference between being
expert, and being hurried. An expert shot will so econo-
mise, (if I may thus speak,) his moments of shooting, as to
bring his gun to his shoulder, and sight the bird at the same
time; and knowing the precise moment when the impulse
to the trigger is to be given, he is quick, and yet deliberate.
But a hurried person is always taken by surprise, and dis-
concerted at the moment of shooting, and before he deter-
mines the correctness of his aim, fires, and either misses
his object, or tears it to atoms.

After you have become expert in handling your gun, I
would advise, before you take the field in search of game,
to practise at other things. ‘These may be objects, such as
stones, or blocks of wood, thrown in the air, or swiftly
by you, by a companion. But, in either case, never -
put your gun to your shoulder until the article is fairly in
the air. A most excellent plan will be found in the fol-
lowing:—Tie a block of wood, (the size of a lark,) to the
end of a long string, and let this, if possible, be suspended
from the projecting limb of a large tree, or some tall ob-
ject; then take a side or an oblique situation of fifteen or
twenty yards from it,—let some friend draw it back to
the stretch of the cord, and let it swing, and while in mo-
tion, fire at it; this do repeatedly, and until you can
strike it almost successively, always minding to keep up
the swing of the gun in proportion to the motion of the
target. When you have become perfect in one position,
try another, and so vary the motion of the target in every
manner as may accord with the flight of a bird. One hour
a day, on several (lays spent in this way, will so accustom
you to the use of your gun, that its advantages will be
felt as soon as you take the field after game. There
are those, however, who condemn every thing of this kind,
as being unlike the flight of game, and would rather recom-
mend you to practise on swallows, blackbirds, bats, and
pidgeons from thetrap. If, however, my plan has nothing
else to recommend it, it has the merit of discouraging the
destruction of life, which must necessarily follow the other
plan; and this destruction of innocent birds I do most
heartily deprecate, for, independent of the unnecessary
waste of life, it is a public injury, for those birds destroy

44 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

myriads of insects, which are injurious, and are only pre-
vented from being exceedingly annoying to our own spe-
cies, by the wise provision of our Creator, in placing
those very birds as their destroyers which are recom-
mended as subject of sport and cruelty. Beside, the flight
of these birds is as unlike the flight of game, as is the mo-
tion of the things which I recommend. The object in recom-
mending either, is to enable the shooter to sight correctly
and shoot quick, and this may be done as well with one as
the other. Nothing short of practice at the very game
itself, will make the shooter perfect in the science; there
are so many things to be learned in the field, (which I
shall take occasion to notice hereafter,) that all other prac-
tice can have no other tendency than to make the learner
familiar with his gun.

The flight of the various game so differs, that it is abso-
lutely necessary to practise on every kind, before a man
may successfully contend with each of those which consti-
tutes our variety. I have known those who could shoot
Rail, that could not kill Woodcock; and then, again, those
who were successful at Woodcock, not able to kill Part-
ridges; and a friend of mine, who was an excellent shot at
Partridges, I saw miss eight times successively at Snipe:
and most every Sportsman knows the difficulty of killing
a Pheasant.

In holding your gun, I recommend you to gripe with
your left hand, about midway between the tail-piece and
guard, and instead of bringing your gun up in a direct line
to your shoulder, to throw it gently into its place, by
keeping it rather from you and across you, with the
muzzle elevated, and making a slight curve outward,
until it ison a level with your shoulder, when it may
be brought gently, but solidly in its place; you thereby
avoid bringing it into contact with your clothes, or accou-
trements, which are hanging over your shoulders. The
proper plan of sighting a gun, is to fix your eyes intensely
on the object to be shot at, and the gun brought up ina
line of aim with the object, without diverting your eye for
a moment, or squatting your cheek down to your gun; this
you will be the better able to accomplish, by having the
stock of your gun rather straight and long, as it will neces-
sarily keep your head more upright, by which means you
can more distinctly see the object you are going to shoot
at, beside avoid the intolerable boxing, which is consequent
to all who press their cheek forward against the breech of
the gun. A long stock, also, will press against the shoul-
der, and serve to steady your gun, as well as to break the
rebound, which short-stocked guns, are always subject to;
for it is evident, that if the stock is so short as to admit
the face to press forward to the breech, that the constant
rebounding of the gun will act against the cheek instead

of the shoulder, and cause a head-ache, which at times is
almost insupportable, beside the danger of having the eye
injured by the broken particles of the percussion cap.
Many persons, in griping their guns with the left hand,
do it immediately on the guard, and under the locks. I
never could see any advantage arising from this plan, but
always regarded it as an affectation on the part of those
who practised it, to imitate some few eccentric beings, or
to be so themselves; for I have more than once witnessed,
that some of those who strenuously recommended this plan
when at home, forget to exercise it when abroad. For my
part, [ condemn it as more dangerous in the event of a
gun’s bursting; beside, it does not give the shooter as
much control in the management of his gun as the common
plan. In the first place, the construction of a gun, and
its balance, point out, that midway between the tail-
piece and guard, is the only proper place for the left hand,
which gives the possessor a power to wield his gun with
more certainty and ease, especially in thickets; and in the
second place, it is more free from danger should the gun
burst. Most stub and twist guns, when they burst, do so at
the breech, and not more than four inches along the barrels.
I have witnessed, within a few years, four guns of this de-
scription bursting, and the owners escaped injury, except
one, who always caught his gun at the guard,—and the con-
sequence to him was the loss of his thumb, and part of the
hand. One of the others which burst, was held on the plan
I recommend, and the owner thereby escaped a most
dreadful accident, as his gun burst at the breech, tore
off the lock, guard, and part of the stock, within an inch
of his right hand, and so completely were the parts severed,
that he held in his left hand the barrels, while in his right
was the butt of the stock, completely detached from the
former, and had he griped his gun on the guard, the inevi-
table consequence would have been the entire loss of his
hand, and perhaps his life. if

THE SPORTSMAN’S CHAMBER.

Tuts room, which is exclusively my own,
And which to every other, I prefer,

Is furnished for convenience, not for show;
Plain, but yet clean—retired, yet o’erlooking
Villages, and woods, and fields, and rivers;
And giving to the eye a distant view

Of one great town, whose constant bustle, and
Ne’er ceasing sounds, disturb not meditation
Where I write. The firm floor is cover’d

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 45

With a cloth which vies with April’s verdant
Meads, when the blythe robin has begun to
Carol in the woods. Near to the fire-place

Ts a mat, on which my faithful Pointer

Takes repose when home returned, and weary
From the chase. There, by the closet, stands my
Double-barrel instrument of death, well
Protected in its leathern coat. Not far

From that, on hooks projecting from the
Whiten’d wall; game-bags and shot-belts are
Suspended. Hard by my wardrobe is;

And over it, in not the most methodical
Array, of books a small but choice collection.
These serve to while away the hours when
Sickness or foul weather keep me home.

Snug in a corner is my cot, friendly

Receiver of my jaded frame, when from

The fields I come laden with spoils. A desk,
A single table, two arm-chairs, (one for

A friend,) complete the scanty list of goods
And chattels that my room contains. And yet
For unpretending bachelor like me

These will suffice. As simple quite, the
Ornamental part. Over the mantel-

Piece a portrait of my mother hangs, sketch’d
By myself in boyhood, long ere the cares

Of life had rais’d one wrinkle on my brow;
Her full, dark eye is fixed on me in
Tenderness, and her scarcely open mouth

Is smiling, perhaps at the success of

This my juvenile aspiring. Around

The walls, promiscuously arranged, are

Some few sporting pictures, painted in
By-gone days, when shooting and the chase were
Follow’d by a race of men such as the

Fields and woods are not soon destined to
Behold again; a hardy, free, and

Jovial set of beings, who shot and

Hunted for the love they bore to healthful
Exercise and sylvan sports. The noble

Art of hunting for the pot, was then but
Little known; pecuniary thoughts and
Culinary calculations, never

Disturb’d their minds; their ammunition, game,
And purse, were equally their comrades, and
Their own. Then there was no anticipating
Of the seasons: Game in their days was
Unmolested left, till by the hand of

Time matured, and quite prepar’d to use the
Means that Nature had bestowed to escape

Its numerous foes. These men my plates

Exhibit in various circumstances

Of the day, as finding, killing, resting,

And returning home; fatigued, but yet

Invigorated by the sport. The modern

Caricatures I despise: they prove

Degeneracy in both the artists

And admirers: a vitiated taste

Alone can love to see those manly sports

Thus ridiculed; and therefore I condemn

Them all. On brackets here and there about

The room, guarded from dust, and the rude touch

Of people over curious, by cases

Fac’d with glass, are some few specimens of

Birds, stuff’d by my friend J. D******’s hand, the Wood-
cock,

Quail, and Snipe, in form and attitude so

Well preserved, that even life itself is

Scarce more natural. ’Tis birds alone I

Hunt. The savage Panther and the surly

Bear, I leave to hunters more robust; nor

Now does even the timid Deer or

Wily Fox decoy me from my home.

Let the rough Rabbit-hunter go his rounds,

And poke about ’midst rocks and roots of trees,

With hound and ferret, to drive out the poor

And worried quadruped, that for awhile

Has taken shelter there; if pleasure he

Can find in catching with his hand a

Frighten’d coney when trying to escape

His tutor’d vermin, I envy not his

Taste, nor much admire the skill display’d in

Such plebeian sport. For me, I love to

Scale the hemlock-covered mountains, where the

Proud Pheasant spreads his fan-like tail, droops low

His wings, and full of vernal ardour, gives

Intimation loud to all his wives that

He (great Turk!) is ready to return their

Annual loves, drumming them to enjoyment.

There in the fall I find the full grown

Families around the base, and on the

Sides of hills abrupt, and joy to hear them

Whirring through the woods. Or in the vales

Below I beat the stubble fields for Quails;

Tis there our dogs show best, as ranging o’er

The extended plains, they eagerly inhale

Th’ autumnal breeze; a sudden start, and

Added earnestness, demonstrate they have

Struck the scent; assur’d of which, they draw with

Steady, cautious step, up the full stream of

Tainted air, till having reached the spot

Beyond which it were dangerous to proceed,

46 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

Firmly they stand, and point where lies the game.

In swampy bottoms, thickly covered o’er

With alders, or the almost impenetrable

Briar, I sometimes spring with spaniels, the

Least wary of our feather’d game, and most

Delicious to an epicure. And yet

But little satisfaction does it yield

To hunt for Woodcocks in solstitial heats,

Compared with that amusement when the

Falling leaf give signs of their departing

From our coast; then, birds full plumaged, and

Well-open’d woods, make this of all our shooting

Most delightful. Snipes, too, I love to shoot.

Not the rank beach birds, allur’d by stools to

Meet a ‘leaden death,’ but the sleek English

Snipe, whose zig-zag motion through the air

Puzzles the sight of inexperienced shots;

These, when abundant, need no dog to find

Them; and when scarce, a slow, staunch Pointer, suits

Them best. From sports like these, not too

Laborious, I return; refreshment

In my own snug chamber soon procure; then

From a cupboard, (not till now made known,) I

Find some comfort in a cordial glass;

When o’er our grog, and Pellon-brand cigars,

My friend and I discourse sweet music on

The past excursion, make fresh arrangements

For the coming morn, and at the hour of

Ten, yawning, shake hands, and bid good night.
New-York, March, 1832. D. J.

From the American Turf Register.
WESTERN SHOTS.

Our western marksmen of the present day do not con-
fine themselves to the use of the rifle alone, (like the pio-
neer ‘‘ Hunters of Kentucky,”” who despised a “ smooth
bore,’’) but handle the fowling piece with equal facility;
indeed some use it exclusively. In Cincinnati, and the
vicinity, we can boast of some first rate shots, who would
be **hard to beat’? any where.

A Shooting Club, recently formed here, will no doubt
bring out some fine shooting; an account of which, if accepta-
ble, I shall occasionally furnish for your valuable Magazine.
At present, I shall merely give a brief sketch of a few shots
previous to the formation of the Club.

Two of our best marksmen went out one afternoon,
snipe shooting. Each killed 14 snipe, making 28; and

the 29th was shot at the same instant by both, which they
counted as 14% snipe a piece. On their way home, in
the evening, they called at a pigeon match, and obtaining
privilege to shoot, tried each other.

Distance 20 yards—9 birds to each man.

Mr. Corben killed - - 9
Mr. Aumack, = - - - 9

At a match, some time afterwards:—Distance 20 yards

—17 birds to each man.
Corben killed - - =F 7
Aumack - - - 16—missed 1—the 17th.

At this match very fair shooting was made by others of
the party, which I regret being unable to furnish at pre-
sent.

At another pigeon match:—Distance 18 yards—2 birds
put into the trap or box, to be let out together—15 birds
to each man—both barrels to be used.

Mr. Corben killed his 15 birds at 7 rounds, having shot
two at once, which crossed each other.

Mr. Wright killed 11 out of the 15.

Mr. Noble, 11 «é éé

On other occasions, at 18 to 20 yards—10 birds up—
10, 9, 8, and 7, has generally been the result.

Although much improvement is expected from the
younger members of the Club, yet it is very questionable
if they will ever be able to excel their e/der brethren. An
emulation, however, is excited among them, which [
hope will enable me to report to you hereafter some fine
shooting.

To conclude, I shall just mention the game killed hy a
member of the Club in one year, viz.

20 Woodcock.
102 Snipe.
38 Ducks.
66 Rabbits.
1226 Quails.

1452 in all—57 times out.
Killed also an abundance of less valuable game, not
counted.
Last year, 75 Woodcock—other game not yet reported.

I am happy to report to you, that the two last winters
(counting the present as one, and presuming it to be nearly
over,) have not been so destructive to the Partridge in this
part of the country as at first apprehended. The western
sportsmen highly approve of the humane regulations
adopted by their eastern brethren for the preservation of
this valuable bird, and will no doubt adopt similar ones when
necessary.

Cincinnati, Feb. 3, 1832.

Mark.

AND AMERICAN

Extracted from Silliman’s Journal.
PERCUSSION POWDER.

GunpowpeER made of chlorate of potash, sulphur, and
charcoal, is much stronger than that made of saltpetre.
Welter filled small bombs with this powder, buried them
in the ground, and then caused them to explode. They were
constantly broken into pieces of the size of a horse-ches-
nut, while those exploded with common gunpowder, under
circumstances precisely similar, were broken into much
larger pieces. As a material for priming, to be fired by
percussion or otherwise, this powder has serious inconve-
niences. It soils and corrodes the lock very rapidly, a de-
fect which cannot be easily remedied, and the use of it is
very much abandoned.

A preference is therefore given to a powder composed of
ten parts of fulminating mercury, and six of common
priming powder. The fulminate is ground upon a marble
slab with a wooden muller, after having been moist-
ened with thirty per cent. of water; six parts of common
powder are then added, and the grinding continued. A
firm paste is thus attained, which being properly dried, is
divided into grains, one of which is sufficient for a prim-
ing.—Ann. de Chimie, Sept. 1829.

COMMON SALT A REMEDY FOR ANIMAL
POISON.

Tur Rey. J. G. Fischer, formerly a missionary in
South America, says he ‘actually and effectually cured all
kinds of very painful and dangerous serpents’ bites, after
they had been inflicted for many hours,” by the applica-
tion of common salt, moistened with water, and bound
upon the wound, ‘‘ without any bad effect ever occurring
afterwards.”’

<<J, for my part,”’ says he, ‘‘never had an opportunity
to meet with a mad dog, or any person who was bitten
with a mad dog. I cannot, therefore, speak from expe-
rience, as to hydrophobia, but that I have cured serpents’
bites always, without fail, I can declare in truth.” He
then cites a case from a newspaper, in which a person was
bitten by a dog, which in a few hours died raving mad.
Salt was immediately rubbed for some time into the
wound, and the person never experienced any inconyeni-
ence from the bite.

Mr. Fischer was induced to try the above remedy, from
a statement made by the late Bishop Loskiell in his history
of the Missions of the Moravian Church in North America,
purporting that certain tribes of Indians, had not the least
fear of the bite of serpents, relying upon the application of

RURAL SPORTS. AT
salt as so certain a remedy, that some of them would suffer
the bite for the sake of a glass of rum.—Jour. of Roy.
Inst.

TO RESTORE THE ELASTICITY OF A DAMAGED
FEATHER.

A FEATHER, When damaged by crumpling, may be
perfectly restored by the simple expedient of immersing it
in hot water. The feather will thus completely recover
its former elasticity, and look as well as it ever did. This
fact was accidentally discovered by an amateur ornitholo-
gist of Manchester. Receiving, on one occasion, a case of
South American birds, he found that the rarest specimen of
it was spoilt, from having its tail rumpled in the packing.
Whilst lamenting over this mishap, he let the bird fall
from his hands into his ‘coffee-cup; he now deemed it
completely lost, but, to his agreeable surprise, he found,
that after he had laid it by the fire to dry, the plumage of
the tail became straight and unruffled, and a valuable spe-
cimen was added to his collection. —JZ0.

DESTRUCTION OF LIVE STOCK BY WOLVES
IN RUSSIA.

In the government of Livonia alone, the following ani-
mals were destroyed by Wolves in 1823. The account is
an official one.

Horses, - - - 1,841 Goats, - - - - 2,545
Howls) ences W243) bKadsw ys. aatedy IaT83
Horned eattle, - 1,807 Swine, - - - - 4,190
Calves, - - - 733 Sucking pigs, - 312
Sheep, - - - 15,182 Dogs, - - - - 708
Lambs, - - - 726 Geese, - - - - 673

[Revue Encyc. Sept. 1830.

From the London Sporting Magazine.
ANECDOTE OF A DOG.

A rarrurut Dog followed the hearse of its master to
a burial-ground two miles from London. Nothing could
prevail on it to remain in the house of the deceased when
the body was removed from it. A number of persons as-
sisted at the funeral, some of whom (the family) the ani-
mal was accustomed to. With none of them would it re-

48 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

turn, but laid itself down in a mournful posture, and
howled over the grave of the departed. In vain was per-
suasion used to get it away. At night the watchman at-
tempted to dislodge it by force: it resisted, ran away from
the man, and again returned to keep watch over him who
had fed and sheltered it during his life. On the following
morning the sexton used his endeavours to take away the
Dog; but in vain. He returned with food, thinking that the
poor brute would follow him from hunger: this failed, and
it refused sustenance. On the second day, a number of per-
sons went to the grave with meat and drink to the trusty
mourner: these it accepted, seemed grateful, but took up its
first post, and stretched itself over the cold bed of its de-
parted master. Day followed day, and the neighbours re-
paired from curiosity to the spot, and from humanity fed
the Dog. I was told of this circumstance, and went to see
this practical lesson of attachment and gratitude given by an
irrational being to us intellectual lords of the creation. It
was the eighth day when I saw the fact. On the next day,
the animal was forcibly taken from the grave, and brought
home by a kind neighbour, who treated it with all possible
humanity. Nevertheless, the inflexible Dog ran away, and
returned to its first position. It was then taken some miles
from town, and closely confined for a few days, when it
died of grief, probably broken-hearted—for such things
are. What an example to cold, fickle, and ungrateful man!
The survivors of the nearest relations and best of friends,
wipe off hastily and soon after their death

** The tear forgot as soon as shed:”

they reject not food, nor refuse comfort—they keep not
their vigil near the narrow bed of those who have nursed
and served them: such privations are reserved for the ani-
mal which boasts not the light of reason.

SPORTING IN INDIA.

In youth the pleasures of hope form our greatest enjoy-
ments; but, in the autumn and wintry season of our life,
we must draw upon the pleasures of memory for our chief
resource. Such is my case: and I derive much amusement
from looking over my old portfolio, ransacking my writ-
ing desk, and from turning over the annals of other days,
which my paper-drawer and library contain, and it would
be my proudest endeavour thereby to convey entertainment
to my readers. In this feeling, and with this view, I have
drawn from a blotting-book a parcel of letters from a very

good fellow, a Scotchman, written to me some years back
from India, on the subject of Sporting there, and I shall
make an extract from one of them, which I trust will not |
be wholly devoid of interest: —

‘¢ Shortly after my arrival at Calcutta, I was invited
to a day’s sporting by Major , which I accepted
gladly, having great curiosity to witness Oriental hunting,
which, I was led to think, must be, like other pastimes
there, in Eastern splendour. Nor was I disappointed—
the scene and our success surpassed my most sanguinary
expectations. We started before day-break, in a style
more resembling the march of a corps d’armeée, or a tri-
umphal procession in honour of the Goddess of the Chase,
than the preparation for a day’s hunting. No Scotch
Laird, Yorkshire Squire, nor Melton Mowbray Sportsman,
can conceive any thing equal to it: our strength and num-
bers, our arms and appointments, our slaves and attendants,
were astounding to behold. A Tiger-hunt was the object
in view, and a grand and memorable day we had. The
Major, a fine portly man, was mounted on an elephant,
from the elevation of which, placed in a castle, he scoured
the circumjacent country with eagle eye, preceded by
sharp-shooters, 7¢razlleurs, scouts, spies, and savages, fol-
lowed and surrounded by divers brother sportsmen, com-
rades, and domestics.

“¢ We were not long before we found a Tiger, which
afforded considerable sport, and was killed by a brother
officer’s rifle. From the dingle in which we found the
last ferocious animal, we proceeded on with nobler game
in view—the monarch of all beasts of prey; and, after some
excursive riding, a magnificent Lion made its appearance.
The sight was most grand! but I confess that at this mo-
ment, no small degree of fear mingled with my ambition
to have to record a Lion-hunt amongst the adventures of
my life. The attack seemed really more like actual war
than any thing else, so great and grand was the enemy to
which we were opposed. The bold Major and a dashing
young Cavalry Subaltern, discharged their rifles simultane-
ously at the Lion, and each of them wounded him: infuriated
with pain, the fierce animal attacked the elephant, whilst
the Major seized another rifle and took deliberate aim at
him; but being anxious that this shot might tell, he leaned
so far forward, that he overbalanced himself, and fell from
his castle into the Lion’s arms, (or rather paws.) Here
was an awful moment! but wonderful to tell, the Major
got off with a broken arm only, a rush having been made
towards the Lion, whereby he was despatched, covered
with wounds, and torrents of blood streaming around.
Nothing could be so brave, so desperate, nor so marvel-
lous!’’— bid.

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AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

FOX-HUNTING.
BREAKING COVER.
[ Vide Plate V. Vol. 2.]

‘*Soon as Aurora drives away the night,

And edges eastern clouds with rosy light,

The healthy huntsman, with the cheerful horn,
Summons the dogs, and greets the dappled morn,

The jocund thunder wakes th’ enlivened hounds,
They rouse from sleep, and answer sounds for sounds.
Wide through the furzy field their route they take—
Their bleeding bosoms force the thorny brake—

The flying game their smoking nostrils trace,

No bounding hedge obstructs their eager pace ;

The distant mountains echo from afar,

And hanging woods resound the flying war—

The tuneful noise, the sprightly courser hears,

Paws the green turf and pricks his trembling ears,
The slacken’d rein now gives him all his speed,

Back flies the rapid ground beneath the steed!

Hills, dales, and forests, far behind remain,

While the warm scent draws on the deep-mouthed train.”

Amone the variety of sports°common to this country,
none are so manly and invigorating as Fox-hunting. This
sport, so replete with enjoyment, is however confined
to but few districts in the United States, and these are
chiefly in the Southern states. From Maryland, south,
this has always been the favourite amusement of the
sportsmen, by whom it is followed with a keenness and
perseverance, which show at once its fascinating tendency.
There are, however, Fox-hunters in almost every state;
but their number is so small, and excursions comparatively
so few, to those of the Southern states, that it may properly
be called a Southern sport; and it is a matter of surprise,
that in the Northern states, (in most of which plenty of
foxes may always be found,) so little attention is paid to a
sport, with which none others can bear a comparison,
whether it is for the rich variety it affords, the healthful
exercise consequent to it, or the superior horsemanship
required to follow it successfully.

Of the enjoyments of the field, the Chase has always
been superlatively regarded, not only from its all-absorb-
ing interests, but for the benefits to the hunter and commu-
nity at large.

The beauties and merits of the Chase, consist of the soul-
enlivening music of the hounds, the hilarity which always
prevails in the company, the intrepidity of mind, and
daring boldness, which fear no obstacles, and an acquire-
ment of so good a knowledge of horsemanship, as to sur-
mount great difficulties, without injury to the horse or
rider. The benefits are, the necessity of early rising,—

N

49

the continual exercise of the body, while the mind is enli-
vened by passing scenes, and an emulation to excel, when
the prospect of victory is pressing the expectants in joyful
anticipation to the desired goal. It is neither cruel to the
horse, which derives as much pleasure nearly as his rider,
nor does it pursue to death a useful or innocent animal,
but a thief and a destroyer.

To the fastidious mind, most field amusements are objec-
tionable, in consequence (as itissaid) of theirtendency to cru-
elty. In Fox-hunting, however, no such objection should
present itself, Most enjoyments which this life affords, are
allowable to a certain extent; every thing may be over-
done; and that which at one time, by moderate use, is a
source of delight, may, at another time, by dissipation, be
an intolerable burden; but any enjoyment which, while it
increases the happiness and welfare of an individual, is
also of service to a community, becomes doubly imposing,
and allowable. In this sense, then, should Fox-hunting
be regarded; for in the first place it can only be properly
done on horseback, which gives the rider a knowledge of
the horse and horsemanship, and every man who is profi-
cient in these things, is a useful member of society, either
in agriculture or war; and again, the sportsman becomes
healthful and endured to hardship, while the mind, hav-
ing been enlivened and made buoyant by rural enjoyments,
fits the possessor more properly to fulfil the moral and
social duties of life.

The interests of the Chase can only be properly appre-
ciated by those who have mingled in its pleasures. No
tongue nor pen can do justice to an interesting chase;
although volumes in prose and poetry have been written
by able hands and practical sportsmen, and whose descrip-
tions have been admired by the world, but which fall far
short of the reality of these soul-absorbing pleasures.

As we shall in the progress of this work, have occasion
to record some very celebrated Fox-hunts, it may suffice
at present, to give a few rules on Fox-hunting, selected
from very high authority, from which the sportsman may
glean some useful hints:—

This author remarks, that ¢* There are certain rules that
ought to be observed by a huntsman: he should always
listen to his hounds whilst they are running in cover; he
should be particularly attentive to the head hounds, and he
should be constantly on his guard against a skirter; for, if
there are two scents, he must be wrong. Generally speak-
ing, the best scent is least likely to be that of the hunted
fox, and as a fox seldom suffers hounds to run up to him,
as long as he is able to prevent it, so, nine times out of ten,
when foxes are hallooed early in the day, they are all fresh
foxes. The hounds most likely to be right are the hard-
running, line-hunting hounds; or such as the huntsman

50 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

knows had the lead before there arose any doubt of
changing.

‘With regard to the Fox, if he breaks over an open
country, it is no sign that he is hard run; for they seldom,
at any time, will do that, unless they are a great way
before the hounds. Also, if he runs up the wind,—foxes
seldom do that when they have been long hunted and
grow weak; and when they run their foil, ¢hat also may
direct the huntsman. All this requires a good ear and
nice observation; and, indeed, in these consist the chief
excellence of a huntsman.

‘¢The huntsman at a check, had better let his hounds
alone, or content himself with holding them forward,
without taking them off their noses. Hounds that are not
used to be cast, will of themselves acquire a better cast
than it is in the power of any huntsman to give them; will
spread more and try better for the scent; and, if they are
in health and spirits, they will want no encouragement.

“Ifthey are at fault, and have made their own cast, which
the huntsman should always encourage them to do, it is
then his business to assist them further; but, except in some
particular instances, they should never be cast as long as
they are inclined tohunt. The first cast of a huntsman
should be a regular one: if that does not succeed, he
should be at liberty to follow his own opinion, and proceed
as observation and genius may direct. When a knowing
cast is made, there ought to be some mark of good sense or
meaning in it—whether down the wind, or towards some
likely cover or strong earth; however, as it is at best un-
certain, and as the huntsman and the fox may be of dif-
ferent opinions, a regular cast should always be made
before a knowing one is attempted, which, as a last re-
source, should not be called forth till it is wanted. The
letting hounds alone is but a negative goodness in a hunts-
man; whereas it is true that this last gives him an opportu-
nity of displaying genius, if he happen to possess so rare
and valuable a qualification. There is one fault, however,
which a knowing huntsman is apt to commit—he will find
a fresh fox, and then claim the merit of having recovered
the hunted one.

‘¢Jt is always dangerous to throw hounds into a cover
to retrieve a lost scent; and, unless they hit him in, is not
to be depended on. Driven to the last extremity, should
a knowing cast not succeed, the huntsman is no way blame-
able.

«¢ When hounds are at fault, gentlemen are apt to con-
tribute to their remaining so. They should always stop
their horses some distance behind the hounds; and, if it is
possible to be silent, this is the time to be-so: they should

be careful not to ride before the hounds or over the scent;
nor should they ever meet a hound in the face unless with

a design to stop him. Shoulda sportsman, at any time,
happen to get before the hounds, he should turn his horse’s
head the way they are going; get out of their way, and let
them pass.

‘¢ When the weather is dry, foxes will run the roads,
particularly in heathy countries. If gentlemen, at such
a time, ride close upon the hounds, they may drive them
miles without any scent. High-mettled fox-hounds are
seldom inclined to stop whilst horses are close at the heels
of them.

‘¢The first moment that hounds are at fault is a eritical
one for the sport: sportsmen should then be very atten-
tive. Those who look forward perhaps may see the Fox;
or, the running of sheep, or the pursuit of crows, may give
them some tidings of him. Those who listen may some-
times take a hint which way he is gone, from the chat-
tering of a jay, or perhaps be at a certainty from a dis-
tant halloo; nothing that gives any intelligence at such a
time as this should be neglected. Gentlemen are too apt
to ride altogether; were they to spread more, they might
sometimes be of service; particularly such, as from a
knowledge of the sport, keep down the wind; it would
then be difficult for either hounds or fox to escape their
observation.

‘<The idea that a fox never stops is a very necessary
one for a fox-hunter, that he may be active, and lose no
time; yet tired foxes will stop if you can hold them on;
and they have been known to stop even in wheel ruts on
the open down, and leap up in the midst of the hounds.
A tired fox ought not to be given up; for he is killed
sometimes very unexpectedly. If hounds have ever
pressed him, he is worth your trouble; perseverance may
recover him, and, if recovered, he most probably will be
killed; nor should you despair while any scent remains.
The business of a huntsman is only difficult when the scent
dies quite away; and it is then he may show /zs judgment,
when the hounds are no longer able to show ¢hezr’s. The
recovering a lost scent, and getting near to a fox by a long
cast, requires genius, for which huntsmen in general are not
remarkable. When hounds are no longer capable of feeling
the scent, it all rests with the huntsman; either the game is
entirely given up, or is only to be recovered by him.

‘If hounds come to a check on the high road, by the
fox being headed back, if in that particular case, you
suffer them to try back, it gives them the best chance of hit-
ting off the scent again, as they may try both sides at once.

‘¢When hounds are running in cover you cannot be too
quiet. If the fox be running short, and the hounds are
killing him, not a word should then be said: itis a difficult
time for hounds to hunt him, as he is continually turning,
and will sometimes lie down and let them pass him.

AND AMERICAN

<¢In following hounds, it may be useful to know, that,
when in cover, they run up the wind, you cannot in rea-
son be too far behind them, as long as you have a perfect
hearing of them, and can command them; and, on the con-
trary, when they are running down the wind, you cannot
keep too close to them. é

«¢ When covers are much disturbed, foxes will sometimes
break away as soon as they hear a hound, Where the
country round is very open, the fox least likely to break
is the one which you are hunting; fe will be very unwill-
ing to quit the cover, if it be a large one, unless he can
get a great distance before the hounds. HH sportsmen are
desirous of a run over such a country, the likeliest means
will be to post a quiet and skilful person to halloo one off,
and lay on to him. The further he is before the hounds,
the less likely he will be to return. The best method,
however, of hunting a cover like this, which is full of foxes,
is to stick constantly to it, not suffering the hounds to
break so long as one fox remains:—if this be done two or
three hunting days in succession, foxes will then fly, and
good runs may be obtained.

“Frequently changing the country is prejudicial to
hounds: should they change from a good scenting country
to a bad one, they willbe some time before they kill a fox,
unless they have better luck than ordinary; whereas,
hounds have always a great advantage in a country which
they are used to. They not only know better where to
find their game, but they will pursue it with more energy
when they have found it.

‘¢Huntsmen of penetration will observe where foxes
like best to lie. Where there is a great tract of cover to
draw, such observations are of great utility, and will save
much time. Generally, foxes are partial to such as lie
high, and are dry and thick at bottom; such also as lie out
of the wind; and such as are on the sunny side of hills.
The same cover where one fox has been found, if it has
remained quiet any time, will most likely produce ano-
ther.

‘¢The season when foxes are most wild and strong is
about Christmas; a huntsman then must lose no time in
drawing; he should draw up the wind, unless the cover be
very large, in which case, it may be better, perhaps, to
cross it, giving the hounds a side wind, lest he should be
obliged to turn down the wind at last:—in either case, he
should draw as quietly as he can.

<< The best drawing hounds are shy of searching a cover
when it is wet; and on such occasions the huntsman should
ride into the likeliest part of it; and as there will most
likely be no drag, the closer he draws the better; hunts-
men, by drawing in too great a hurry, frequently leave
foxes behind them. Some huntsmen draw too quick,

RURAL SPORTS. 51

some too slow. The time of the day, the behaviour of
the hounds, and the covers they are drawing, will direct
an intelligent huntsman in the pace which he ought to go.

«‘ When a fox slinks from his kennel, gets a great way
before the hounds, and you are obliged to hunt after him
with a bad scent—if you are in a country where foxes are
in plenty, and you know where to find another, it will
be advisable to call off, and try fora second. Unless a
fox can be well pressed in the early part of the run, the
hounds will not easily reach him; on the contrary, if he is
at such a distance before them, as will enable him to regu-
late his pace, he will be very likely to tire out both horses
and hounds—hence one very essential reason for speed in
the fox-hound. When the fox is a great way a-head, he
will listen to the hounds, and act accordingly—if the
hounds are not able to blow him, the chase is sure to be
very long, and will most likely end with the loss of the fox.

<¢ During the time that hounds are drawing for a fox, the
sportsmen should place themselves in such a manner that
he cannot go off unseen. Foxes will sometimes lie in
sheep’s scrapes on the side of hills, and in small bushes,
and even in stubbles, where huntsmen seldom think of
looking for them; yet, when they hear a hound, they
generally shift their quarters, and make for close cover.

‘¢ When a huntsman has a perfect knowledge of his coun-
try, he possesses an eminent advantage—he can trot away
and make a knowing cast, from having observed that nine
foxes out of ten, with the wind in the same quarter, have
constantly made for the same point or cover.

«¢ When a fox runs into a village, great caution is neces-
sary: if he is halloo’d there, the huntsman should get for-
ward as fast as he can. Foxes, when tired, will lie down
any where, and are thus often lost. A wide cast is not the
best to recover a tired fox with tired hounds—they should
hunt him out inch by inch, though they are ever so
long about it, and for the reason just given, that he will
lie down any where.

«¢ The true spirit of Fox-hunting is not to walk down a
fox, or starve him to death, but to keep close at him, and
kill him as soon as you can. A fox-hound may hunt too
much; if tender nosed, and not over-hurried, he will al-
ways hunt enough; whilst the lightest bred hounds may
be made to tye on the scent by improper encouragement.
Slackness in the men occasions slackness in the hounds;
and any person may perceive by the manner in which
the hounds hunt, what kind of men they have been accus-
tomed to.

<¢ The many chances in favour of the fox in Fox-hunting,
such as the frequent changing, the heading of the fox, his
being coursed by sheep-dogs, long faults, cold hunting, and
the dying away of the scent, make it necessary to keep

52 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

always as near the fox as possible:—this should be the first
and invariable. principle of Fox-hunting.

‘«‘ Nothing is more essential in Fox-hunting, than the
huntsman knowing the country he is to hunt. Foxes are
not capricious creatures, but know very well what they are
about: are quick in determining, and resolute in perseve-
rance. They generally have a point to go to; and, though
headed and turned directly from it, seldom fail to make it
good at the last; ¢his, therefore, is a great help to a hunts-
man of discernment.

<‘ With respect to digging of foxes that have been run to
earth, the hole is generally followed, except where the
earth is large, and the terriers have fixed him in an angle
of it—the more expeditious method then is to sink a pit
as near to him as possible. By listening above ground,
that is, by placing your ear close to the ground, a tolera-
bly correct opinion may be formed of the situation of the
fox, from the noise of the terriers. A terrier should al-
ways be kept at the fox, otherwise he may move, and in
loose ground may dig himself further in. In digging, room
enough should be kept, and care should be taken not to
throw the earth where there may afterwards be occasion
to removeit. In following the hole, the surest way not to
lose it, is to keep below it. All the holes on the surface
should be stopped, lest the fox should bolt unseen.

‘¢ But, before the operation of digging is commenced, the
huntsman should try all round, and be perfectly satisfied
that the fox has not gone on: ‘for want of this precau-
tion, (says Beckford,) I dug three hours to a terrier that
lay all the time at a rabbit.’

«¢ A fox will sometimes go over an earth, and will not go
into it: he will sometimes go in and will not remain—he
may find it too hot, or not like the company he meets
with there—a fox has most likely good reasons for all he
does, though we are not acquainted with them.

«¢Huntsmen, when they get near a fox, will some-
times put a hound in to draw him. This is, however, a
cruel operation, and seldom answers any other purpose
than to procure the dog a severe biting, the fox’s head
generally being towards him; besides, a few minutes dig-
ging will make it unnecessary. If you let the fox first
seize the handle of your whip, the hound will more rea-
dily draw him.

<< Tf foxes are bred in an earth which is deemed unsafe,
they had better be stunk out; that or any disturbance at the
mouth of the hole, will make the old one carry them off to
another place.

<¢ Foxes, when they are much disturbed in open coun-
tries, will lie at earth. If any difficulty occurs in finding,
stinking the earths will sometimes produce them again.

‘Stinking earths may be practised in the following

manner:—Three pounds of sulphur and one pound of
assafcetida, should be boiled up together; matches should
then be made of brown paper and lighted in the holes,
which are afterwards stopped very close.

“In regard to bag foxes, hounds should be as little used
to them as possible:—the scent of them is stronger than
that of other foxes; and is therefore apt to make hounds
idle; besides, in the manner in which they are frequently
turned out, it makes hounds very wild. They seldom
fail to know what is going forward before the fox is turned
out; and if often used to bag foxes, will become riotous
enough to run any thing. A fox that has been confined
long in a small place, and carried out afterwards some
miles in a sack, his own ordure hanging about him, must
needs stink extravagantly; to which may be added, he is
most probably weakened for want of his natural food and
usual exercise; his spirit broken by despair, and his limbs
stiffened by confinement; he then is hurried out in open
ground, without any point to go to; he runs down the
wind, it is true; but he is so much at a loss all the
while, that he loses a good deal of time in not knowing
what to do; while the hounds, who have little occasion to
hunt, pursue as closely as if they were tied to him. If,
however, it be necessary to turn out a bag fox, he should
be turned into a small cover, and the hounds should be
laid on as quietly as possible—in order that they may sup-
pose they found him; and as bag foxes always run down
the wind, those who turn them out, may therefore choose
what country they shall run.

<¢¢'T’o those who may think the danger that attends hunt-
ing, (says Beckford,) a great objection to the pursuit of it,
I must beg leave to observe, that the accidents which are
occasioned by it are very few. I will venture to say that
more bad accidents happen to shooters in one year than to
those who follow hounds in seven. You will remind me,
perhaps, of the death of F h and the¥fall of D t; but
do accidents never happen on the road? The most famous
huntsman, and the boldest rider of his time, after having
hunted a pack of hounds for several years unhurt, lost his
life at last by a fall from his horse, as he was returning
home. A surgeon of my acquaintance has assured me,
that in thirty years’ practice, in a sporting country, he
had not once an opportunity of setting a bone for a sports-
man, though ten packs of hounds were kept in the neigh-
bourhood. This gentleman surely must have been much
out of luck, or hunting cannot be so dangerous as it
is thought. Besides, they are all timid animals which we
pursue, nor is there any danger in attacking them: they
are not like the furious beast of the Gevawdin, which, as
the French author informs us, ¢wenty thousand French
Chasseurs went out in vain to kill? ”

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 53

NOTES OF A NATURALIST.

By Jacozs Green, M. D.
[Concluded from page 10.]

June 18th. Locusts begin to die; the male first. Ox-
alis stricta, and Ascetocella, flower.

Cockle, (agrostemma,) blossoms.

Dung-beetle rolls his balls, (scarabzeus carnifex.) This
beetle, it is thought, will produce an oil and a colouring
dye. The Oil-beetle, (meloe procarabzus,) has been
found to produce a medicinal oil. They are to be collected
in the spring. Only females are used for the above pur-
pose.

Cherries are ripe.

Lampyris, or jire-/ly, first seen. The light of this insect
increases in an atmosphere of oxygen gas. If it gets wet
in the gas it soon expires. Perhaps phosphoric acid is thus
produced, and the acid then kills the insect.

I observed a battle between the old blue birds and a
domestic eat. The birds darted violently at the cat, mak-
ing a snapping noise with their bills, which eventually
drove her away. The young birds have neither the blue
feathers on the back, nor the brown ones on the breast, as
their parents. Another pair of Blue Birds have made their
nest between the weather-boards and the plastering of the
kitchen: their entrance to it is through a knot-hole, and in a
situation very favourable for my observations. The follow-
ing wasa curious manceuvre to keep the nest clean while the
young were growing. When they brought food to the young,
they always carried away with them, when they flew off in
search of more, the mutings of their offspring; which were
often projected directly into their bills, for that purpose.
Since writing the above, I find that Montague states the
same fact respecting the English Nightingale, and adds—
«¢ The sagacity of this, as also the disposal of the egg-shells,
is aremarkable instinctive power, implanted in these little
creatures for the security of their young; to assist which,
Nature has given a skin or covering, in which the mutings
are enveloped.”’? (See Ornithological Dictionary, p. 31.)

19¢h. A large brown Caterpillar, about two inches long,
with seven orange-coloured spots on its back, made its
appearance in the willow tree. The sides and upper part
of this insect, are sprinkled with small whitish spots, and
covered with hairs and spines. On placing some of them
in a box, for the purpose of examining their transforma-
tions, the following facts were the result. Twenty-four
hours after, they became remarkably active, running
about, and eating the leaves of the willow. This conti-
nued some time; when they fastened themselves by the
extremity, (I suppose the tail,) to the top of the box, the

O

head hanging downwards, and curved a little towards the
body. In this situation, they remained about eight or ten’
hours; a glutinous kind of fluid exuding from every part
except the head, which presently dropped off. The whole
insect then assumes a different form and appearance. The
spines on the back vanish, except three near the head;
the body is much smaller, and attenuated; the colour, which
at the falling of the head was a light ash, gradually grows
darker and darker.

22d. A large Vellow Butterfly, (papilio turnus,) and
anash-coloured Sphinx, striped with black, made their ap-
pearance.

23d. Wild Buckwheat, (polygonum fagopyrum,) blos-
soms. Windsor, or Horse Beans, ripe. Yellow and blue
Cerambyzx, seen on the barberry vine.

A day or two after the young blue birds had left the
nest, to which they never returned; the old pair began to
clean it out, and rebuild. They proceeded precisely in the
same manner as at first.

28th. Common Eider blossoms. Micheaux remarks there
is no difference between this and the S. nigra of Europe,
except in size, the one being a tree and the other only a
shrub!

I witnessed a contest between the Cow Bunting (Embe-
riza Pecoris,) and the Robin, in which the first was the con-
queror. Tull now, I supposed the Cow Bunting chose re-
tired places for rearing its young. The Robin had a nest
on the neighbouring tree. Perhaps the Bunting was about
depositing its eggs in the nest of the Robin, which may
have occasioned the conflict.

Horehound, (marrubium.) The flowers of this plant are
just falling off, and it is now cut and dried for domestic
purposes.

Toad Flax, sometimes called Butter and Eggs, (linaria
vulgaris,) flowers. Though this is a very common plant
along the road-sides, and in waste fields, it probably is not
a native. I have some of them transplanted into the gar-
den, and its long spikes crowded with bright flowers, adds
much to the beauty of the borders.

Raspberries ripe. There is a kind of apterous insect,
with a coloured head and six feet, which infests this plant
at this season.

Large Pincher, a variety of lucanus capriolus, appears.

Common Sage, (salvia officinalis,) begins to flower: it
is now dried for culinary use.

Sea Kale, (crambe maritima,) in seed. The flowers of
this plant were eaten long before the young sprouts, which
are now esteemed so highly. Lovel mentions this in his
Adversaria, page 92. This vegetable was introduced into
the United States about twenty years ago by a gentleman
of Boston, (Mass.) It is now common in gardens.

54 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

July \st and 5th. Rye harvest.

Observed the Night-Hawk, (Caprimulgus America-
nus,) in search of gnats, just at sun-set, the time at
which it usually appears for this purpose. I have heard
it, however, at noon. It soars very high in the air,
and then darts in an almost perpendicular direction, and
with great velocity on its prey, which is commonly in
thick swarms near the ground. At the moment of turning
to ascend again, it utters a shrill kind of noise, something
like the croaking of a bull frog. This remarkable note, I
cannot find mentioned by any ornithologist. I suppose it
is occasioned by the sudden entrance of the air into the
throat, through the small aperture in the thin membrane
which lines the mouth. On capturing its prey, the mandi-
bles are widely expanded, and then this thin membrane
is stretched or tightened like the head of a drum.

8th. The Locusts have ceased to sing, and the branches
of the trees are loaded with their eggs. They seem to
prefer the apple trees for this purpose.

10¢h. A species of Cerambyx seen. The elitra are of a
dusky orange colour, with six black spots.

The apterous insect, which I mentioned on the 28th of
June, as infesting the raspberry, I placed in a box, where,
after fastening itself by the tail, it assumed in a few days
the appearance of a spotted curculio. Its covering, which
it has now left, looks like a cocinella punctata, or hie-
roglyphia. The animal in its larva or catterpillar state,
fed upon the raspberry—but in its winged form, (though
raspberries were in the box,) I found it eating a decayed in-
sect. Quere: Do not other insects, which undergo a
similar metamorphosis, also change the quality of their
food ?

The young of the Picus Pubescens flew into one of my
rooms. When I took it into my hands it uttered most
piteous cries, and appeared greatly enraged. It plucked
with its bill some feathers from its wings, and pecked fu-
riously at my hand. AsI held it by the wings, its strug-
gles were so violent as to break off the principal bone of
one wing near the shoulder. I judged it to be a young
bird from the smadiness of the red mark on the back of the
head. In other particulars, it exactly agrees with Wilson’s
plate of the Picus Pubescens.

14¢h. Cerambyx Cinnamomeus, found in decayed wood
—all the species of this genus which I have seen, make a
sort of squeaking noise when held in the hand.

Scarabeus Carolinus common at night. The muscular
strength of this insect is remarkably great, and may be il-
lustrated by placing it under the hollow bottom of a large
candlestick; in its endeavours to escape it will move the
candlestick along the top of the table, much to the surprise
of those who are unacquainted with the cause.

The common Locust, (grillus,) heard. The note of this
is very different from that of the Cicada septemdecima.

The Brown Caterpillar mentioned on the 19th of June
last, is now a Brown Butterfly; the lower wings of
which have similar orange spots to those on the back, be-
sides some others of a different colour. Quere: Do not
the colours in the caterpillar, in every case, resemble
those of the butterfly it produces? The chrysalis of this
insect splits open in the back near the head.

20th. Young Swallows now leave the nest. I saw
numbers of them on the fences, which were so tame as
to be easily captured. Pyrola maculata in flowers. I saw
also some blossoms of the Pyrola Umbellata, and P. Rotun-
difolia. These last, however, are now dropping off. The
leaves of the P. Maculata and P. Umbellata, are used by
the farmers in this neighbourhood as a blister, instead of
the Spanish-fly, (lytta vesicatoria,) and they supply its
place very well.

25th. A Caterpillar of a pea-green colour, with twowhite
lines down the back, having two tails, made its appearance.
I enclosed one in a box, and found that it does not undergo
the transformation usual to caterpillars. It fastened itself
in a horizontal position to the top of the box, where re-
maining motionless for some hours, it burst open, and the
whole of its body, except the upper skin, the head and
tails, were converted into green eggs, of aneliptical form,
thirty-eight in number. The other parts then fell off. The
caterpillar was about an inchlong. I do not find in M. de
Reaumur’s Insects any account of asimilar process. Quere:
Might not these eggs have been those of the Ichneumon,
deposited in the body of the caterpillar!

August 20. Caty-dids sing about this time.

29th. Hops (humulus lupulus,) are pulled. The vul-
gar notion is, that a September wind must not blow upon
them.

Potatoes are gathered in.

A beautiful Glow-worm, which I cannot find described,
was taken in the woods. It measured two inches; its co-
lour on the back, when examined by the light of a candle,
was of a dirty orange-yellow, with whitish bands, which
formed the articulation of the worm; the under side was of
a lighter colour. But when examined by a faint light,
or in the dark, it presents a most brilliant appearance.
The whitish bands which formed the articulations, and
which were twelve in number, then assumed a strong and
steady phosphorescent light, something like the evanescent
glow of the common fire-fly. The articulation near the
head was by no means so bright as the others, and the one
next the tail, was interrupted in the middle of the back.
Very near the termination of each of the little luminous
bands on the sides, there was a bright spot, about the size

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 55

of a pin’s head. These were eight in number, on each
side, and appeared in a straight line, when the animal was
in motion. When the room was entirely dark, the light
emitted from the worm was of a clear white hue, but by
candle-light it was clear pea-green, similar to the phospho-
rescence of the sea. The under side of the body was not
in the least degree luminous. When it was touched with a
little force it drew itself up in a kind of spiral form, likea
cornu ammonis, and then the luminous bands seemed to
radiate from a centre, and the bright spots formed a circle
within them. The animal had six legs in front, and a kind
of leg or support beneath the last articulation. The head
could be withdrawn and projected from the body, some-
thing in the manner of a land tortoise. It deserves the
name of Lampyris Splendidissima.

Near the window of my study, I noticed this morning a
caterpillar climbing up a single web, which he had sus-
pended from the branch of a tree; the thread was about ten
feet long, and the insect was attached to the lower end of it.
I at first thought it entangled in the web of a spider.
examination, I found that he must have attached the web or
line himself to the projecting branch of the tree, perhaps for
the purpose of descending during the night in search of food;
and now as the morning advanced, he was returning to the
tree to avoid his enemies. He clambered up the line with
difficulty, and stopped to rest himself every foot or two of
his ascent. He was an inch and a half long; was covered
with yellow hair; had two black and broad filaments pro-
jecting from the tail, and four from the head.

September 27. Solidagos and asters, in all their varieties,
adorn the fields and hedges. Winter potatoes gathered.
Honey collected from the hives.

The leaves of the Sumach, (rhus,) turn red mixed with
brown. This I think is the first shrub which changes the
colour of its leaves in the fall.

I observed that the land tortoise, which I have in a pen,
begins to burrow in the ground; he now remains a great
part of his time in a hole I made for him under the earth,
though during all the summer months he never could be
induced to stay but a short time in it.

28th. The leaves of the Maple begin to change co-
lour.

I neglected to mention, that on the 28th and 29th of Au-
gust, all our Martins left us. If the second brood, (for
they usually have two broods in a season,) is not fledged,
or otherwise prepared to accompany them when the time of
migration arrives, it is left behindin thenest. In cleaning
the nest when they return the following spring, the dried
carcases are thrown out.

October 1st. I saw to-day what appeared to me the same
species of butterfly, as that mentioned April 1st; if so, this

On >

insect, as the one mentioned May 4th, continues with us
during the greater part of the year.

Large numbers of orange-coloured and brown caterpillars
were seen creeping along the fences, and upon the shrubs.
Upon confining some of them in a box, they wrapped them-
selves up in their cocoons.

4th. The elm and the black cherry tree begin to change
the colour of their leaves, many of them dropping off. A
caterpillar about three inches long, of a dusky brown co-
lour, with oblique yellow bands on the side, and having a
curved protuberance, something resembling a horn, placed
near the tail, was observed on the corn.

Catydids have ceased to chirp. I observed that these in-
sects within ten days past, commence their chirping about
one o’clock in the afternoon, though when they first ap-
peared, they rarely began before sun-set.

[hear no more the notes of our little Blue Bird,—he is
the last songster in the fall, and the first in the spring.

** When all the gay scenes of the Summer are o’er,
And Autumn slow enters, so silent and sallow;
And millions of warblers that charmed us before
Have fled in the train of the sun-seeking swallow—
The Blue Bird forsaken, yet true to his home,
Still lingers, and looks for a milder to-morrow,
*Till forced by the horrors of Winter to roam,

He sings his adieu in a lone note of sorrow.” Witson.

12¢h. Wild Geese begin to pass over this place on their
flight to the south. This circumstance is considered by us
a certain indication of approaching cold weather. The lakes
which form our northern and western boundary, are the
summer resort of the geese; and they remain there till
driven away by the cold.

13th. The leaves of the common blackberry. (rubus
occidentalis,) turn red. I observed that the leaves of a
small buttonwood tree had changed to yellow, while those
on a larger tree remained green. From this one might
be led to conclude that large trees retain the colour of their
leaves longer than small ones. The first change of this
kind certainly takes place in small shrubs or herbs.

A tortoise was seen crossing the path in the woods; from
this I suppose that when at liberty, that animal does not
retire for the winter so soon as when confined. (See
Sept. 27th.)

14th. The leaves of the Athenian Poplar turn yellow;
this tree was small.

16th. We had a severe frost this evening; this, though
not the first, is by far the heaviest. The observation on the
Blue Bird made on the 9th instant, should be inserted here,
as I heavd one this morning.

The Locust, (gleditsia,) turns yellow. There appears to
be a great coincidence in the discolouration of the leaves of

56 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

the following trees; and the beauty of our forest at this
season, owing to this circumstance, is not equalled by its
appearance at any other time of the year.

White Ash—leaves turn bright yellow.
White Oak—leaves, dark orange.
Black Oak—reddish-brown.
Hickory—pale yellow.

Maple—light red.

24th. The weather, for a day or two past, has been re-
markably mild. I heard the little Blue Bird in the air,
and the grasshopper among the low plants. The Catydids
chirped on the trees, and the old tortoise dragged himself
from his winter retreat to crawl in the sunshine.

As a person was walking in a field just back of my
study, and through which there was a small stream of
water, a large bird alighted on the ground, within a few
yards of him. On approaching the bird he ruffled his fea-
thers, and made a show of resistance; he exhibited no
signs of fear, and permitted himself to be taken. When he
was brought to me he was quite furious, and struck at me
with his bill, though at some distance from him. I looked
him steadily in the eyes, and this seemed to provoke him
exceedingly. He is a species of Bittern, and comes very
near the Ardea Stellaris, of Linné. The Bittern is only
occasionally seen in this part of New-Jersey, and never
remains more than a day or two on his return from north-
ern latitudes to milder climates.

25th. The weather has become damp and cold; the tall
Lombardy Poplar changes the colour of its leaves yellow,
while those which were lopped last October, are still green.
This verifies the remark of the Rev. G. White, that lopped
trees, while their heads are young, carry their leaves a
long time.

Quere:—Is there any thing in the vulgar proverb, that
‘¢Cocks crow for Christmas??? I think they certainly
crow earlier about this time of the year, than during the
summer months. Probably this is occasioned by the even-
ing commencing sooner.

There was an unusual number of worms and crawling in-
sects of every description last spring and summer. On the
summer preceding, there was an unusual drought, which
perhaps was the cause of the death of vast numbers of
toads, who live upon these animals; it is certainly a fact that
we had but few toads this year.

27th. Cherry trees become red.

Apple trees become yellow.

29th. This morning I found ice made in the tubs, the
thickness of half a dollar. I saw the Blue Birds flying
about the fences, and the little yellow butterfly skimming
along the road.

Nov. 8th. After some cold weather, we have had a few
pleasant days. I have seen a large moth hovering about at
night; and a red, brown, and white butterfly, during the
day. The old tortoise has also left his winter retreat.

17th. This morning we had a storm of hail. The hail-
stones were very small.

20th. The leaves of the weeping willow are yet green.
This is among the first trees which show signs of vegeta-
tion, and it is also the last. Though not an invariable rule,
it commonly happens, I think, that those plants which ve-
getate first, retain their leaves the longest. It is to be ex-
pected that those plants which are hard enough to bud
during the cold of the spring, would remain longest unin-
jured by the severities of winter, as I have before re-
marked.

From this period to the close of the year, nothing re-
markable has occurred—

“IN SESE VERTITUR ANNUS.”

THE LION.

[Concluded from page 36.]

Mr. BurcHett, as we may learn from the foregoing ex-
tract, is not inclined to maintain the courage of the African
Lion, whatever impression he may have had of his extra-
ordinary physical strength. The natural habits of the Lion
are certainly those of treachery; he is not disposed, under
any circumstances, to meet his prey face to face; and he is
particularly unwilling to encounter man when he crosses
him in the full blaze of day. The inability of his eye, (in
common with most others of the cat tribe,) to bear a strong
light, may account, in a great degree, for this circumstance,
which has probably brought upon him much of the reproach
of being a skulking, cowardly animal. But we apprehend
that there were periods in the history of African coloniza-
tion, when the Lion was of a bolder nature in his encoun-
ters with mankind; that the dread of fire-arms has become, in
some degree, a habit of the species; and that he has sagacity,
or hereditary instinct, to know that a flash and aloud sound
is often followed by a speedy death or a grievous injury.
One of the most remarkable examples of the audacity of a
Lion, is to be found in the Journal of a Settler at the Cape,
more than a century ago. The first settlement of the
Dutch at Cape Town, was in the year 1652: the site which
they selected was on the southern edge of Table Bay, and
the number of the settlers amounted only to a hundred per-
sons. In half a century the colonists had greatly increased,

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 57

and had driven the native Hottentots a considerable dis-
tance into the interior, amongst dry and barren tracts.
This is the ordinary course of colonization. In 1705,
the Landdrost, (a local magistrate,) Jos. Sterreberg Kupt,
proceeded on a journey into the country, to procure some
young oxen for the Dutch Hast India Company; and he has
left a very interesting Journal of his expedition, which has
been translated from the original Dutch, and published by
the Rey. Dr. Philip in his truly valuable Researches in
South Africa. The account which the Landdrost gives of
the adventure of his company with a Lion, is altogether so
curious, that we extract it without abridgment:—

<¢ Our wagons, which were obliged to take a circuitous
route, arrived at last, and we pitched our tent a musket-
shot from the kraal; and after having arranged every
thing, went to rest, but were soon disturbed; for, about
midnight, the cattle and horses which were standing be-
tween the wagons, began to start and run, and one of the
drivers to shout, on which every one ran out of the tent
with his gun. About thirty paces from the tent stood a
Lion, which, on seeing us, walked very deliberately about
thirty paces farther, behind a small thorn-bush, carrying
something with him, which I took to be a young ox. We
fired more than sixty shots at that bush, and pierced it
stoutly, without perceiving any movement. The southeast
wind blew strong, the sky was clear, and the moon shone
very bright, so that we could perceive every thing at that
distance. After the cattle had been quieted again, and I
had looked over every thing, I missed the sentry from be-
fore the tent, Jan Smit, from Antwerp, belonging to the
Groene Kloof. We called as loudly as possible, but in vain——
nobody answered; from which I concluded that the Lion
had carried him off. Three or four men then advanced
very cautiously to the bush, which stood right opposite the
door of the tent, to see if they could discover any thing
of the man, but returned helter-skelter, for the Lion, who
was there still, rose up, and began to roar. They found
there the musket of the sentry, which was cocked, and
also his cap and shoes. :

<‘ We fired again about a hundred shots at the bush,
(which was sixty paces from the tent, and only thirty paces
from the wagons, and at which we were able to pointas at
a target,) without perceiving any thing of the Lion, from
which we concluded that he was killed, or had run away.
This induced the marksman, Jan Stamansz, to go and see
if he was there still or not, taking with him a firebrand.
But as soon as he approached the bush, the Lion roared
terribly, and leapt at him, on which he threw the firebrand
at him, and the other people having fired about ten shots,
he retired directly to his former place behind that bush.

‘‘ The firebrand which he had thrown at the Lion, had

P y,

fallen in the midst of the bush, and, favoured by the strong
south-east wind, it began to burn with a great flame, so
that we could see very clearly into and through it. We
continued our firing into it; the night passed away, and the
day began to break, which animated every one to aim at
the Lion, because he could not go from thence without
exposing himself entirely, as the bush stood directly
against a steep kloof. Seven men, posted on the farthest
wagons, watched him to take aim at him if he should come
out.

“At last, before it became quite light, he walked up the
hill with the man in his mouth, when about forty shots
were fired at him, without hitting him, although some
were very near. Every time this happened, he turned
round towards the tent, and came roaring towards us; and
I am of opinion, that if he had been hit, he would have
rushed on the people and the tent.

«‘When it became broad day-light, we perceived, by
the blood, and a piece of the clothes of the man, that the
Lion had taken him away, and carried him with him. We
also found behind the bush, the place where the Lion had
been keeping the man, and it appeared impossible that no
ball should have hit him, as we found in that place several
balls beaten flat. We concluded that he was wounded, and
not far from this. The people, therefore, requested per-
mission to go in search of the man’s corpse, in order to
bury it, supposing that, by our continual firing, the Lion
would not have had time to devour much of it. I gave
permission to some, on condition that they should take a
good party of armed Hottentots with them, and made
them promise that they would not run into danger, but
keep a good look out, and be circumspect. On this seven
of them, assisted by forty-three armed Hottentots, fol-
lowed the track, and found the Lion about half a league
farther on, lying behind a little bush. On the shout of the
Hottentots he sprang up and ran away, on which they all
pursued him. At last, the beast turned round, and rushed,
roaring terribly, amongst the crowd. The people, fatigued
and out of breath with their running, fired and missed him,
on which he made directly towards them. The captain,
or chief head of the kraal; here did a brave act in aid of two
of the people whom the Lion attacked. The gun of one of
them missed fire, and the other missed his aim, on which
the captain threw himself between the Lion and the people
so close, that the Lion struck his claws into the caross
(mantle) of the Hottentot. But he was too agile for him,
doffed his caross, and stabbed him with an assagai. In-
stantly, the other Hottentots hastened on, and adorned him
with their assagais, so that he looked like a porcupine.
Notwithstanding this, he did not leave off roaring and
leaping, and bit off some of the assagais, till the marksman,

58 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

Jan Stamansz fired a ball into his eye, which made him
turn over, and he was then shot dead by the other people.
He was a tremendously large beast, and had but a short
time before carried off a Hottentot from the kraal, and
devoured him.”’

Mr. Pringle, who had extraordinary opportunities of
observing the habits of the half-civilized natives of South-
ern Africa, and of becoming acquainted with the character-
istics of the wild beasts with which that part of the world
abounds, has given us a very good description of the Lion
hunt, in which he and several of his countrymen, all
somewhat inexperienced in such adventures, was engaged.
Mr. Pringle was a settler on the eastern frontier of the
Cape Colony; and in 1822 was residing on his farm, or
‘‘location,”? at Bavian’s River. We should deprive his
account of a Lion hunt of its interest, if we attempted to
give it in any other than his own words:—

‘One night a Lion, that had previously purloined a few
sheep out of my kraal, came down and killed my riding
horse, about a hundred yards from the door of my cabin.
Knowing that the Lion, when he does not carry off his
prey, usually conceals himself in the vicinity, and is very
apt to be dangerous, by prowling about the place in search
of more game, I resolved to have him destroyed or dislodged
without delay. I therefore sent a messenger round the
location, to invite all who were willing to assist in the
enterprise, to repair to the place of rendezvous as speedily
as possible. In an hour every man of the party, (with the ex-
ception of two pluckless fellows who were kept at home by
the women, ) appeared ready mounted, and armed. We were
also reinforced by about a dozen of the ‘ Bastaard’ or Mu-
latto Hottentots, who resided at that time upon our terri-
tory as tenants, or herdsmen,—an active and enterprising,
though rather an unsteady race of men. Our friends, the
Tarka boors, many of whom are excellent Lion hunters,
were all too far distant to assist us—our nearest ne?ghbours,
residing at least twenty miles from the location. We were,
therefore, on account of our own inexperience, obliged to
make our Hottentots the leaders of the chase.

‘¢The first point was to track the Lion to his covert.
This was effected by a few of the Hottentots, on foot.
Commencing from the spot where the horse was killed,
they followed the spoor* through grass, and gravel, and
brushwood, with astonishing ease and dexterity, where an
inexperienced eye could discern neither footprint nor mark
of any kind,—until, at length, we fairly tracked him into
a large bosch, or straggling thicket of brushwood and ever-
greens, about a mile distant.

‘¢The next object was to drive him out of this retreat,

* The Hottentot name for a footmark.

in order to attack him in close phalanx, and with more
safety and effect. The approved mode in such cases is to
torment him with dogs till he abandons his covert, and stands
at bay in the open plain. The whole band of hunters then
march forward together, and fire deliberately, one by one.
If he does not speedily fall, and grows angry, and turns
upon his enemies, they must then stand close in a circle,
and turn their horses rear-outward; some holding them
fast by the bridles, while the others kneel to take a steady
aim at the Lion as he approaches, sometimes up to the
very horses’? heels—crouching every now and then, as if
to measure the distance and strength of his enemies. This
is the moment to shoot him fairly in the forehead, or some
other mortal part. If they continue to wound him inef-
fectually till he waxes furious and desperate; or if the horses,
startled by his terrific roar, grow frantic with terror, and
burst loose, the business becomes rather serious, and may
end in mischief—especially if all the party are not men of
courage, coolness, and experience. The frontier boors are,
however, generally such excellent marksmen, and withal
so cool and deliberate, that they seldom fail to shoot him
dead, as soon as they get within a fair distance.

‘¢In the present instance, we did not manage matters
quite so scientifically. The Bastaards, after recounting to
us all these and other sage laws of Lion hunting, were
themselves the first to depart from them. Finding that
the few indifferent hounds we had made little impression
on the enemy, they divided themselves into two or three
parties, and rode round the jungle, firing into the spot
where the dogs were barking round him, but without
effect. At length, after some hours spent in thus beating
about the bush, the Scottish blood of some of my country-
men began to get impatient; and three of them announced
their determination to march in and beard the Lion in his
den, provided three of the Bastaards, (who were superior
marksmen,) would support them, and follow up their fire,
should the enemy venture to give battle. Accordingly,
in they went, (in spite of the warnings of some more
prudent men among us,) to within fifteen or twenty paces
of the spot where the animal lay concealed. He was
couched among the roots of a large evergreen bush, with a
small space of open ground on one side of it; and they
fancied on approaching, that they saw him distinetly, lying
glaring at them from under the foliage. Charging the
Bastaards to stand firm and level fair should they miss, the
Scottish champions let fly together, and strueck—not the
Lion, as it afterwards proved—but a great block of red
stone, beyond which he was actually lying. Whether any
of the shot grazed him is uncertain, but, with no other
warning than a furious growl, forth he bolted from the bush.
The pusillanimous Bastaards, in place of now pouring in

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

their volley upon him, instantly turned, and fled helter-
skelter, leaving him to do his pleasure upon the defence-
less Scots—who, with empty guns, were tumbling over
each other, in their hurry to escape the clutch of the
rampant savage. In a twinkling he was upon them, and,
with one stroke of his paw, dashed the nearest to the
ground. ‘The scene was terrific! There stood the Lion,
with his foot upon his prostrate foe, looking round in con-
scious power and pride upon the bands of his assailants—
and with a port the most noble and imposing that can be
conceived. It was the most magnificent thing I ever
witnessed. The danger of our friends, however, rendered
it at the moment too terrible to enjoy either the grand or
the ludicrous part of the picture. We expected to see
one or more of them torn in pieces; nor, though the rest
of the party were standing within fifty paces, with
their guns cocked and levelled, durst we fire for their as-
sistance. One was lying under the Lion’s paw, and
the others scrambling towards us in such a way as to
intercept our aim at him. All this passed far more rapidly
than I have described it. But luckily the Lion, after
steadily surveying us for a few seconds, seemed willing
to be quits with us on fair terms; and with a fortunate
forbearance, (for which he met but an ungrateful recom-
pense,) turned calmly away, and driving the snarling dogs
like rats from among his heels, bounded over the adjoining
thicket like a cat over a footstool, clearing brakes and
bushes twelve or fifteen feet high as readily as if they had
been tufts of grass, and, abandoning the jungle, retreated
towards the mountains.

<¢ After ascertaining the state of our rescued comrade,
(who fortunately had sustained no other injury than a
slight seratch on the back, and a severe bruise in the ribs,
from the force with which the animal had dashed him to
the ground,) we renewed the chase with Hottentots and
hounds in full ery. Ina short time we again came up
with the enemy, and found him standing at bay under an
old mimosa tree, by the side of a mountain-stream, which
we had distinguished by the name of Douglas Water. The
dogs were barking round, but afraid to approach him, for
he was now beginning to growl fiercely, and to brandish
his tail in a manner that showed he was meditating mis-
chief. The Hottentots, by taking a circuit between him
and the mountain, crossed the stream, and took a position
on the top of a precipice overlooking the spot where
he stood. Another party of us occupied a position on
the other side of the glen; and placing the poor fellow
between two fires, which confused his attention, and _pre-
vented his retreat, we kept battering away at him, till he
fell, unable again to grapple with us, pierced with many
wounds.

59

“«He proved to be a full grown Lion, of the yellow
variety, about five or six years of age. He measured
nearly twelve feet from the nose to the tip of the tail.
His fore leg, below the knee, was so thick that I could not
span it with both hands; and his neck, breast, and limbs,

_appeared, when the skin was taken off, a complete conge-
ries of sinews.”’

The Lion, as well as all of the cat tribe, takes his prey
at night; and it is necessary, therefore, that he should
have peculiar organs of vision. In all those animals which
seek their food in the dark, the eye is usually of a large
size, to admit a great number of rays; and that part which is
called the chorozdes reflects, instead of absorbing the light.
The power of seeing in the dark, which the cat tribe pos-
sesses, has always appeared a subject of mystery; and it
is natural that it should be so, for man himself sees with
more difficulty in the dark than any other animal: he has a
compensation in his ability to produce artificial light.
There were formerly two opinions on the subject of the
cat’s eye: the one, that the external light only is reflected;
the other, that light was generated in the eye itself. Pro-
fessor Bohn, of Leipsic, made experiments, however,
which proved that, when the external light is wholly
excluded, none can be seen in the cat’s eye; and it is now
established that the illumination is wholly produced by the
external rays of light, which, after being concentrated by
those parts which are called the cornea, and the erystal-
line lens, are reflected in a brilliant concave mirror at the
bottom of the eye, called the tapetwm. This effect may
be constantly seen in. the domestic cat. In the strong
light of day, the zris is contracted, so that a very small
quantity of light is admitted to this mirror; but in the
twilight the zrzs opens, and then the mirror being com-
pletely exposed, the eye glares in the manner with which
we are all familiar. The construction, therefore, of the
eye of the cat tribe enables them to collect in one focus
whatever rays of light there may be: and few places are so
dark but that some light may be found—as we know, when
we have gone into a cellar, where the darkness at first
appears impenetrable, but where, even with our differently
constructed organ of vision, we soon distinguish objects
without difficulty. This peculiar eye, therefore, is neces-
sary to the Lion to perceive his prey; and he creeps to-
wards it with a certainty which nothing but this distinct
nocturnal vision could give.

Every one must have observed what are usually called
the whgskers, on a cat’s upper lip. The use of these in a
state o® nature is very important. They are organs of
touch. They are attached to a bed of close glands under
the skin; and each of these long and stiff hairs is connected
with the nerves of the lip. The slightest contact of these

60 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

whiskers with any surrounding object is thus felt most
distinctly by the animal, although the hairs are themselves
insensible. They stand out on each side, in the Lion, as
well as in the common cat, so that, from point to point,
they are equal to the width of the animal’s body. If we
imagine, therefore, a Lion stealing through a covert of
wood in an imperfect light, we shall at once see the use of
these long hairs. They indicate to him, through the nicest
feeling, any obstacle which may present itself to the pas-
sage of his body; they prevent the rustle of boughs and
leaves, which would give warning to his prey if he were
to attempt to pass through too close a bush; and thus, in
conjunction with the soft cushions of his feet, and the fur
upon which he treads, (the retractile claws never coming
in contact with the ground,) they enable him to move
towards his victim with a stillness greater even than that of
the snake, who creeps along the grass, and is not perceived
till he has coiled round his prey. —Lib. Ent. Knowl.

DRIFTING OF ANIMALS ON FLOATING
ISLANDS.

Tur power of the terrestrial mammalia to cross the sea
is very limited, and we have already stated that the same
species is scarcely ever common to districts widely sepa-
rated by the ocean. If there be some exceptions to this
rule they generally admit of explanation, for there are na-
tural means whereby some animals may be floated across
the water, and the sea sometimes wears a passage through a
neck of land, leaving individuals of a species on each side
of the new channel. Polar bears are known to have been
frequently drifted on the ice from Greenland to Iceland;
they can also swim to considerable distances, for Captain
Parry, on the return of his ships through Barrow’s Strait,
met with a bear swimming in the water about midway be-
tween the shores, which were about forty miles apart, and
where no ice was in sight. ‘‘ Near the east coast of Green-
land,’’ observes Scoresby, “ they have been seen on the ice in
such quantities, that they were compared to flocks of sheep
on a common—and they are often found on field ice above
two hundred miles from the shore.’’ Wolves, in the are-
tic regions, often venture upon the ice near the shore, for
the purpose of preying upon young seals, which they sur-
prise when asleep. When these ice-floes get detached, the
wolves are often carried out to sea, and though some may
be drifted to islands or continents, the greater part of them
perish, and have been often heard in this situation howling
dreadfully, as they die by famine.

During the short summer which visits Melville Island,
various plants push forth their leaves and flowers the mo-
ment the snow is off the ground, and form a carpet span-
gled with the most lively colours. These secluded spots
are reached annually by herds of musk-oxen and rein-deer,
which travel immense distances over dreary and desolate
regions, to graze undisturbed on these luxuriant pastures.
The rein-deer often pass along in the same manner, by the
chain of the Aleutian Islands, from Behring’s Straits to
Kamtschatka, subsisting on the moss found in these islands
during their passage.

Within the tropics there are no ice-floes; but, as if to
compensate for that mode of transportation, there are float-
ing isles of matted trees, which are often borne along
through considerable spaces. These are sometimes seen
sailing at the distance of fifty or one hundred miles from
the mouth of the Ganges, with living trees standing erect
upon them. The Amazon, the Congo, and the Orinoco,
also produce these verdant rafts, which are formed in the
manner already described when speaking of the great raft
of the Atchafalaya, an arm of the Mississippi, where a natu-
ral bridge of timber, ten miles long, and more than two
hundred yards wide, has existed for more than forty years,
supporting a luxuriant vegetation, and rising and sinking
with the water which flows beneath. That this enormous
mass will one day break up and send down a multitude of
floating islands to the gulf of Mexico, is the hope and well-
founded expectation of the inhabitants of Louisiana.

On these green isles of the Mississippi, observes Malte-
Brun, young trees take root,and the pisliar and nenuphar dis-
play their yellow flowers; there serpents, birds, and the
cayman alligator, come to repose, and all are sometimes
carried to the sea, and engulphed in its waters.

In a memoir lately published, a naval officer informs us,
that as he returned from China by the eastern passage, he
fell in, among the Moluccas, with several small floating
islands of this kind, covered with mangrove trees, inter-
woven with underwood. The trees and shrubs retained
their verdure, receiving nourishment from a stratum of
soil which formed a white beach round the margin of each
raft, where it was exposed to the washing of the waves and
the rays of the sun. The occurrence of soil in such situa-
tions, may easily be explained, for all the natural bridges
of timber which occasionally connect the islands of the
Ganges, Mississippi, and other rivers, with their banks,
are exposed to floods of water densely charged with sedi-
ment.

Captain W. H. Smyth informs us, that when cruizing
in the Cornwallis amidst the Philippine Islands, he has more
than once seen, after those dreadful hurricanes called ty-
phoens, floating islands of wood, with trees growing upon

SE JAY.

BL

N

RI BY-CROWNED WRE

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 61

them, and that ships have sometimes been in imminent
peril, in consequence of mistaking them for terra-firma.

It is highly interesting to trace, in imagination, the ef-
fects of the passage of these rafts from the mouth of a large
river to some archipelago, such as those in the South Paci-
fic, raised from the deep in comparatively modern times,
by the operations of the voleano and the earthquake, and
the joint labours of coral animals and testacea. Ifa storm
arise, and the frail vessel be wrecked, still many a bird and
insect may succeed in gaining, by flight, some island of
the newly-formed group, while the seeds and berries of
herbs and shrubs, which fall into the waves, may be thrown
upon the strand. But if the surface of the deep be calm,
and the rafts are carried along by a current, or wafted by
some slight breath of air fanning the foliage of the green
trees, it may arrive, after a passage of several weeks, at
the bay of an island, into which its plants and animals may
be poured out as from an ark, and thus a colony of several
hundred new species may at once be naturalized.

We may remind the reader, that we merely advert to
the transportation of these rafts as of extremely rare and
accidental occurrence; but it may account, in tropical
countries, for some of the rare exceptions to the general
law, of the confined range of species.—Lyell’s Geology.

RUBY-CROWNED WREN.
SYLVIA CALENDULA.
[Plate VI. Vol. 2. Reduced to half size. ]

Le Roitelet Rubis, Burr. v. 373.—Epw. 254.—Lara.
Syn. 1. 511.—Arct. Zool. 320.—Regulus cristatus
alter vertice rubini coloris, BARTRAM, p. 292.—Mota-
cilla calendula, Linn. 1. p. 337.—Gurt. Syst. 1. p.

994.—Sylvia calendula, Latu. Ind. Orn. p. 549.—

Regulus rubineus, Vir1tLoT, Otis. de Am. Sept. pl.

104.—J. Doueury’s Collection.

Tuts little bird visits us early in the spring from the
south, and is generally first found among the maple _blos-
soms, about the beginning of April. These failing, it has
recourse to those of the peach, apple, and other fruit trees,
partly for the tops of the sweet and slender stamina of the
flowers, and partly for the winged insects that hover among
them. In the middle of summer I have rarely met with
these birds in Pennsylvania, and as they penetrate as far
north as the country round Hudson’s Bay, and also breed
there, it accounts for their late arrival here in fall. They
then associate with the different species of Titmouse, and

Q

the Golden-crested Wren; and are particularly numerous
in the month of October and beginning of November, in
orchards, among the decaying leaves of the apple trees,
that at that season are infested with great numbers of small,
black winged insects, among which they make great havoc.
I have often regretted the painful necessity one is under of
taking away the lives of such inoffensive and useful little
creatures, merely to obtain a more perfect knowledge of
the species, for they appear so busy, so active, and unsuspect-
ing, as to continue searching about the same twig, even
after their companions have been shot down beside them.
They are more remarkably so in autumn; which may be
owing to the great number of young and inexperienced
birds which are then among them; and frequently at this
season I have stood under the tree, motionless, to observe
them, while they gleaned among the low branches, some-
times within a foot or two of my head. They are extremely
adroit in catching their prey; have only at times a feeble
chirp; visit the tops of the tallest trees, as well as the low=
est bushes; and continue generally for a considerable time
among the branches of the same tree, darting about from
place to place; appearing, when on the top of a high ma-
ple, no bigger than humble-bees.

The Ruby-crowned Wren is four inches long, and six in
extent; the upper parts of the head, neck and back, are of
a fine greenish-olive, with a considerable tinge of yellow;
wings and tail, dusky purplish-brown, exteriorly edged
with yellow olive; secondaries and first row of wing-coverts
edged and tipt with white, with a spot of deep purplish-brown
across the secondaries, just below their coverts; the hind
head is ornamented with an oblong lateral spot of vermil-
lion, usually almost hid by the other plumage; round the
eye a ring of yellowish-white; whole under parts of the
same tint; legs dark brown; feet and claws yellow; bill
slender, straight, not notched, furnished with a few black
hairs at the base; inside of the mouth orange. The female
differs very little in its plumage from the male, the colours
being less lively, and the bird somewhat less. Notwith-
standing my utmost endeavours, I have never been able to
discover their nest; though, from the circumstance of hay-
ing found them sometimes here insummer, I am persuaded
that they occasionally breed in Pennsylvania; but I know
several birds, no larger than this, that usually build on the
extremities of the tallest trees in the woods; which I have
discovered from their beginning before the leaves are out;
many others, no doubt, choose similar situations; and
should they delay building until the woods are thickened
with leaves, it is no easy matter to discover them. In fall
they are so extremely fat, as almost to dissolye between the
fingers as you open them; owing to the great abundance of
their favourite insects at that time.—Wzuzson.

62
BLUE JAY:
CORVUS CRISTATUS.

[Plate VI. Vol. 2. Reduced to half size. ]

Linn. Syst. 1. p. 106, No. 8. ed. 10.—Garrulus cana-
densis ceruleus, Briss. 1. p. 55.—Pica glandaria
cristata, Kien. p. 61, 3.—Le Geai bleu de ? Amerique
Septentrionale, Burr. 111. p. 120. Pl. Enl. 529.—Blue
Jay, Catrss. Car. 1. 15.—Epw. 239.—/rect. Zool. 1.
No. 138.—Latu. Syn. 1. p. 386, 20.—Barrram, p.
290.—J. Doucury’s Collection.

Tuts elegant bird, which, as far as I can learn, is pecu-

liar to North America, is distinguished as a kind of beau
among the feathered tenants of our woods, by the brilliancy
of his dress; and like most other coxcombs, makes him-
self still more conspicuous by his loquacity, and the odd-
ness of his tones and gestures. The Jay measures eleven
inches in length; the head is ornamented with a crest of
light blue or purple feathers, which he can elevate or de-
press at pleasure; a narrow line of black runs along the
frontlet, rising on each side higher than the eye, but not
passing over it, as Catesby has represented, and as Pen-
nant and many others have described it; back and upper
part of the neck a fine light purple, in which the blue pre-
dominates; a collar of black proceeding from the hind-head,
passes with a graceful curve down each side of the neck,
to the upper part of the breast, where it forms a crescent;
chin, cheeks, throat, and belly, white, the three former
slightly tinged with blue; greater wing-coverts a rich blue;
exterior sides of the primaries light blue, those of the secon-
daries a deep purple, except the three feathers next the
body, which are of a splendid light blue; all these, except
the primaries, are beautifully barred with crescents of
black, and tipt with white; the interior sides of the wing
feathers are dusky black; tail long and cuneiform, com-
posed of twelve feathers of a glossy light blue, marked at
half inches with transverse curves of black, each feather
being tipt with white, except the two middle ones, which
deepen into a dark purple at the extremities. Breast and
sides under the wings a dirty white, faintly stained with
purple; inside of the mouth, the tongue, bill, legs, and
claws, black; iris of the eye, hazel.

The Blue Jay is an almost universal inhabitant of the
woods, frequenting the thickest settlements, as well as the
deepest recesses of the forest, where his squalling voice often
alarms the deer, to the disappointment and mortification of
the hunter; one of whom informed me, that he made it a
point, in summer, to kill every Jay he could meet with.
In the charming season of spring, when eyery thicket pours

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

forth harmony, the part performed by the Jay always
catches the ear. He appears to be, among his fellow-mu-
sicians, what the trumpeter is ina band, some of his notes
having no distant resemblance to the tones of that instru-
ment. These he has the faculty of changing through a
great variety of modulations, according to the particular
humour he happens to be in. When disposed to ridicule,
there is scarce a bird whose peculiarities of song he cannot
tune his notes to. When engaged in the blandishments of
love, they resemble the soft chatterings of a duck; and while
he nestles among the thick branches of the cedar, are
searce heard at a few paces distance; but no sooner does
he discover your approach, than he sets up a sudden and
vehement outery, flying off, and screaming with all his
might, as if he called the whole feathered tribes of the
neighbourhood to witness some outrageous usage he had
received. When he hops undisturbed among the high
branches of the oak and hickory, they become soft and
musical; and his calls of the female, a stranger would rea-
dily mistake for the repeated creakings of an ungreased
wheelbarrow. All these he accompanies with various nods,
jerks, and ofher gesticulations, for which the whole tribe
of Jays are so remarkable, that, with some other peculiari-
ties, they might have very well justified the great Swedish
naturalist in forming them into a separate genus by them-
selves.

The Blue Jay builds a large nest, frequently in the cedar,
sometimes in an apple-tree, lines it with dry fibrous roots,
and lays five eggs, of a dull olive, spotted with brown.
The male is particularly careful of not being heard near
the place, making his visits as silently and secretly as possi-
ble. His favourite food is chesnuts, acorns, and Indian
corn. He occasionally feeds on bugs and caterpillars, and
sometimes pays a plundering visit to the orchard, cherry-
rows, and potatoe-patch; and has been known, in times
of scarcity, to venture into the barn, through openings be-
tween the weather-boards. In these cases, he is extremely
active and silent, and if surprised in the fact, makes his
escape with precipitation, but without noise, as if conscious
of his criminality.

Of all birds he is the most bitter enemy to the Owl]. No
sooner has he discovered the retreat of one of these, than
he summons the whole feathered fraternity to his assist-
ance, who surround the glimmering solitaire, and attack
him from all sides, raising such a shout as may be heard,
in a still day, more than half a mile off. When in my
hunting excursions I have passed near the scene of tumult,
I have imagined to myself that I heard the insulting party
venting their respective charges with all the virulency
of a Billingsgate mob; the owl, meanwhile, returning
every compliment with a broad goggling stare. The war

AND AMERICAN

becomes louder and louder, and the owl, at length forced
to betake himself to flight, is followed by the whole train
of his persecutors, until driven beyond the boundaries of
their jurisdiction.

But the Blue Jay himself is not guiltless of similar depre-
dations with the owl, and becomes, in his turn, the very
tyrant he detested, when he sneaks through the woods, as
he frequently does, and among the thickets and hedge-
rows, plundering every nest he can find of its eggs, tearing
up the callow young by piecemeal, and spreading alarm
and sorrow around him. The cries of the distressed pa-
rents soon bring together a number of interested spectators,
(for birds, in such circumstances, seem truly to sympa-
thize with each other,) and he is sometimes attacked with
such spirit, as to be under the necessity of making a speedy
retreat.

He will sometimes assault small birds, with the inten-
tion of killing and devouring them; an instance of which I
myself once witnessed, over a piece of woods, near the
borders of Schuylkill; where I saw him engaged for more
than five minutes pursuing what I took to be a species of
Motacilla, wheeling, darting, and doubling in the air, and
at last, to my great satisfaction, got disappointed, by the
escape of his intended prey. In times of great extremity,
when his hoard or magazine is frozen up, buried in snow,
or perhaps exhausted, he becomes very voracious, and will
make a meal of whatever carrion or other animal substance
comes in the way; and has been found regaling himself on
the bowels of a robin, in less than five minutes after it was
shot.

There are, however, individual exceptions to this gene-
ral character for plunder and outrage, a proneness for which
is probably often occasioned by the wants and irritations
of necessity. A Blue Jay, which I have kept for some
time, and with whom I am on terms of familiarity, is in
reality a very notable example of mildness of disposition,
and sociability of manners. An accident in the woods
first put me in possession of this bird, while in full plum-
age, and in high health and spirits; I carried him home
with me, and put him into a cage already occupied by a
Gold-winged Woodpecker, when he was saluted with such
rudeness, and received sucha drubbing from the lord of
the manor, for entering his premises, that, to save his life,
I was obliged to take him out again. I then put him into
another cage, where the only tenant was a female Orchard
Oriole. Shealso put on airs of alarm, as if she considered
herself endangered and insulted by the intrusion; the Jay,
meanwhile, sat mute and motionless on the bottom of the
cage, either dubious of his own situation, or willing to al-
low time for the fears of his neighbour to subside. Ac-
cordingly, ina few minutes, after displaying various threat-

RURAL SPORTS. 63

ening gestures, (like some of those Indians we read of, in
their first interviews with the whites,) she began to make
her approaches, but with great circumspection and readi-
ness for retreat. Seeing, however, the Jay begin to pick
up some crumbs of broken chesnuts, ina humble and peace-
able way, shealso descended, and began to do the same;
but at the slightest motion of her new guest, wheeled round,
and put herself on the defensive. All this ceremonious
jealousy vanished before evening, and they now roost
together, feed, and play together, in perfect harmony and
good humour. When the Jay goes to drink, his mess-
mate very impudently jumps into the water to wash her-
self, throwing the water in showers over her companion,
who bears it all very patiently; venturing now and then to
take a sip between every splash, without betraying the
smallest token of irritation. On the contrary, he seems
to take pleasure in his little fellow-prisoner, allowing her
to pick, (which she does very gently,) about his whis-
kers, and to clean his claws from the minute fragments of
chesnuts which happen to adhere to them. This attach-
ment on the one part, and mild condescension on the other,
may, perhaps, be partly the effect of mutual misfortunes,
which are found not only to knit mankind, but many spe-
cies of inferior animals, more closely together; and shows
that the disposition of the Blue Jay may be humanized, and
rendered susceptible of affectionate impressions, even for
those birds, which, in a state of nature, he would have
no hesitation in making a meal of.

He is not only bold and vociferous, but possesses a con-
siderable talent for mimicry, and seems to enjoy great satis-
faction in mocking and teasing other birds, particularly the
little hawk, (F. sparvertus,) imitating his ery wherever
he sees him, and squealing out as if caught; this soon
brings a number of his own tribe around him, who all join
in the frolic, darting about the hawk, and feigning the
cries of a bird sorely wounded, and already under the
clutches of its devourer, while others lie concealed in
bushes ready to second their associates in the attack. But
this ludicrous farce often terminates tragically. The hawk
singling out one of the most insolent and provoking,
sweeps upon him in an unguarded moment, and offers him
up a sacrifice to his hunger and resentment. In an instant
the tune is changed; all their buffoonery vanishes, and
loud and incessant screams proclaim their disaster.

Wherever the Jay has had the advantage of education
from man, he has not only shown himself an apt scholar,
but his suavity of manners seems equalled only by his art
and contrivances; though it must be confessed that his
itch for thieving keeps pace with all his other acquire-
ments. Dr. Mease, on the authority of Col. Postell, of
South Carolina, informs me, that a Blue Jay, which was

64 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

brought up in the family of the latter gentleman, had all
the tricks and loquacity of a parrot; pilfered every thing
he could conveniently carry off, and hid them in holes and
crevices; answered to his name with great sociability, when
ealled on; could articulate a number of words pretty dis-
tinetly; and when he heard any uncommon noise or loud
talking, seemed impatient to contribute his share to the
general festivity, (as he probably thought it,) by a display
of all the oratorial powers he was possessed of.

Mr. Bartram relates an instance of the Jay’s sagacity,
worthy of remark. ‘‘ Having caughta Jay in the winter
season,’’ says he, ‘‘I turned him loose in the green-house,
and fed him with corn, (zea, maize,) the heart of which
they are very fond of. This 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,
and as if considering for a moment, he picked up his grain,
carried and placed it close up in a corner on the shelf, be-
tween the wall and a plant-box, where being confined on
three sides, he soon effected his purpose, and continued
afterwards to make use of this same practical expedient.
The Jay,” continues this judicious observer, ‘is one of
the most useful agents in the economy of nature, for dis-
seminating forest trees, and other ruciferous and hard-
seeded vegetables on which they feed. Their chief em-
ployment during the autumnal season, is foraging to sup-
ply their winter stores. In performing this necessary duty,
they drop abundance of seed in their flight over fields,
hedges, and by-fences, where they alight to deposit them
in the post-holes, &c. It is remarkable what numbers of
young trees rise up in fields and pastures after a wet winter
and spring. These birds, alone, are capable, in a few years
time, to replant all the cleared lands.”’

The Blue Jays seldom associate in any considerable num-
bers, except in the months of September and October, when
they hover about in scattered parties of from forty to
fifty, visiting the oaks, in search of their favourite acorns.
At this season they are less shy than usual, and keep
chattering to each other in a variety of strange and queru-
lous notes. I have counted fifty-three, but never more,
at one time; and these generally following each other in
straggling irregularity from one range of woods to ano-
ther. Yet we are told by the learned Dr. Latham, and his
statement has been copied into many respectable European
publications, that the Blue Jays of North America ‘often
unite into flocks of twenty thousand at least! which alight-
ing ona field of ten or twelve acres, soon lay waste the
whole.”’ If this were really so, these birds would justly
deserve the character he gives them, of being the most
destructive species in America. But I will venture the
assertion, that the tribe Oriolus pheniceus, or red-winged

Blackbirds, in the environs of the river Delaware alone,
devour and destroy more Indian corn than the whole Blue
Jays of North America. As to their assembling in such
immense multitudes, it may be sufficient to observe, that a
flock of Blue Jays of twenty thousand, would be as extraor-
dinary an appearance in America, as the same number of
Magpies or Cuckoos would be in Britain.

It has been frequently said, that numbers of birds are
common to the United States and Europe; at present, how-
ever, Iam not certainof many. Comparing the best de-
scriptions and delineations of the European ones with
those of our native birds, said to be of the same species,
either the former are very erroneous, or the difference of
plumage and habits in the latter, justify us in considering a
greater proportion of them to be really distinct species. Be
this, however, as it may, the Blue Jay appears to belong
exclusively to North America. I cannot find it men-
tioned by any writer or traveller among the birds of
Guiana, Brazil, or any other part of South America. It is
equally unknown in Africa. In Europe, and even in the
eastern parts of Asia, it is never seen in its wild state. To
ascertain the exact limits of its native regions would be
difficult. These, it is highly probable, will be found to
be bounded by the extremities of the temperate zone. Dr.
Latham has indeed asserted, that the Blue Jay of America
is not found farther north than the town of Albany. This,
however, is a mistake. They are common in the eastern
states, and are mentioned by Dr. Belknap in his enumera-
tion of the birds of New-Hampshire. They are also
natives of Newfoundland. I myself have seen them
in Upper Canada. Blue Jays and Yellow-birds were
found by Mr. M‘Kenzie, when on his journey across
the continent, at the head waters of the Unjigah, or Peace
River, in N. lat. 54°, W. long. 121°, on the west side of
the great range of Stony Mountains. Steller, who in
1741 accompanied captain Behring in his expedition for
the discovery of the north-west coast of America, and who
wrote the journal of the voyage, relates, that he himself
went on shore near Cape St. Elias, in N. lat. 58° 28' W.
long. 141°46', according to hisestimation, where he observed
several species of birds not known in Siberia; and one, in
particular, described by Catesby under the name of the Blue
Jay. Mr. William Bartram informs me, that they are nu-
merous in the peninsula of Florida, and that he also found
them at Natchez on the Mississippi. Captains Lewis and
Clark, and their intrepid companions, in their memorable
expedition across the continent of North America to the Pa-
cific Ocean, continued tosee Blue Jays for six hundred miles
up the Missouri. From these accounts it follows, that this
species occupies, generally or partially, an extent of coun-
try stretching upwards of seventy degrees from east to

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 65

west, and more than thirty degrees from north to south;
though, from local circumstances, there may be interme-
diate tracts in this immense range, which they seldom

visit.—J6.

ODE TO MAY.
BY CHARLES WEST THOMSON.

I.

Tue winter is past and the rain is o’er,

The flowers appear on the earth once more—
And Nature from icy fetters free,

Starts into life, and song and glee—

There’s a gentle breeze comes over the land,
From the warm south-west by the Zephyrs fann’d,
And the frosts arouse when they hear the sound,
And commence their march, for the Arctic bound—
A genial softness spreads o’er the scene,

And the hills begin to resume their green,

And from the sunny realms of day

Comes fleet o’er the mountains the lovely May.

If.

At her approach the earth awakes,
And puts her rosy garment on,
And from her hand of beauty shakes
Sweet dew-drops o’er the smiling lawn.
The primrose peeps from its lowly bed,
And the fern is bright on the far-spread heath,
And the cowslip is crushed beneath your tread,
As you search the meadow to bind a wreath.
The young leaves burst from the dark gray trees,
Like youth and age together entwined,
And spreading their petals to court the breeze,
Soon cover with beauty the mossy rind—
The cherry tree stands like a ghost in the wood,
Enveloped in blossoms as white as snow,
While numberless others their forms obtrude,
All cover’d with leaves of a crimson glow.

Ill.

Now from the hills—the sunny hills—
Come bounding down the mountain rills,
With laughter rude and revelry,

Like young fawns, joying to be free
From the ice-prison where they lay,
While winter o’er the land had sway.
From the deep fountains where, unseen,
They crept the rugged roots between,
They come with gay and gallant bound,
To irrigate and bless the ground ;
Cheering the woods with pleasant chimes,
That tell of balmy summer times,

Q

When heaven is bright and earth is gay,
And clouds and storms have passed away—
That tell of peaceful moon-light eves,

With soft winds rustling in the leaves,
And odours that ascend above,

And tranquillize the soul to love.

IV.

The sun from his orient chamber
Comes early to drink the dew,
And spreads his bright rays, like clear amber,
On forest and mountain blue—
All Nature looks gay at his coming,
The mists roll away from the hills,
And insects are cheerily humming,
Tn tune with the murmuring rills;
The cattle in quietness going,
To the meadows are winding their way, -
And utter their joyous lowing,
To welcome the coming of May.

We

But hark! the voice of melody, that breaks

In gushing fulness from the shady grove,

Where the wild warbler of the woodland wakes

Once more his song of harmony and love;

The lively blackbird and the plaintive dove,

The jay—the lark, and all the numerous train

That haunt the earth below or air above,

All send their varied notes of joy again,

Glad to resume the woods, from wandering o’er the main.

And when the first gay tint of morn is seen,
Fringing with ruddy light the orient cloud,

Amid the forest shades and alleys green,

O how they greet the skies with clamours loud—
And when the evening sun, in glory proud,

Sinks to his gorgeous rest and shuts the day,

Thro’ the calm twilight how the happy crowd
Twitter on restless wing from spray to spray,
Without a grief to mar the bliss that lights their way.

VI.

Hail, gentle May! the rosy queen of flowers,
Mistress of silent dew, and pearly showers,
Whose step, in freshness, on the verdant lawn,
Tells that the winter’s rage is past and gone,
Thee we re-welcome to the woods and vales,
The ambrosial gardens, and the hedgy dales—
The uplifted mountains joy when thou hast smiled
Along their dark ravines and dingles wild ;

And the fair valleys laugh when thou art seen
Spreading about their plains thy mantle green—
The lowing cattle on a thousand hills,

With new delight thy balmy presence fills,—
The warbling birds, that sport from tree to tree,
Sing their wild songs of happiness to thee—

i

66 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

And even things inanimate—the streams

And flowers—seem to own their pleasant dreams.
Man, too, his heart with rapture sweetly filled,
Feeling fresh life thro’ all his frame distilled,
Blessing the hand that bids thee gaily bound
Through Nature’s fields to strew thy joys around,
Looks o’er the land, delightfully serene,

Where human passions have not marred the scene,
And seeing all in tranquil beauty gay,

Hails the fair queen of Nature, rosy May!

From the New-England Galaxy.

SOME PASSAGES FROM THE DIARY OF A
SPORTSMAN.

[Continued from page 42.]

I am convinced from long observation, that persons who
live on or near the sea-board of New-England, are more
prone to wage war against the wild fowl which frequent
the salt marshes and sea beach, than the birds which are
found only in the woods. There are periods of the year
when wood game and sea game may be found in equal
abundance, and at such times I have remarked, that while
the woods are undisturbed, save by an occasional report,
the sea-shore is fairly besieged with gunners, and a con-
stant discharge of musquetry maintained. The more
scientific and fastidious Sportsman, however, prefers to
take his chance against a solitary wood-bird, and confines
his skill to the partridge, snipe, quail, woodcock, and that
magnificent bird, which is found only in lonely and uncul-
tivated moors, the Grouse. But the great body of sports-
men, the militia of gunners, if I may so speak, press eagerly
toward the sea, and carry on a most destructive warfare
against the goose, the coot, the teal, the yellow-leg and
gray-back plover, the gray and black duck, the widgeon,
curlew, the dipper, the doe-bird, and the keen-eyed and
strong-winged loon. So also the younger class of these
water-shooters practice their boyish skill upon the quern-
lous little peep, the brown-back, ring-neck, e¢ id omne
genus, not the least illustrious of which is that strange and
solitary bird, which the boys have baptised with a very
significant name, in allusion to its awkward habit of con-
tinually bobbing up and down, with the ill grace of a vil-
lage posture-master.

There is, it must be acknowledged, a world of enjoyment
in pursuing these wanderers of the deep, from beach to
beach, or in invading the enemy on their own element,
by tossing about upon the rolling billow, in a mere shell,

no bigger than a fairy’s barge. There is something in the
very sound and sight of the great sea itself,—something
in the roar of the perpetual surge, in the flash of the
breaking billow, that leads the step with an irresistible
influence to its borders, and fills the mind with an engross-
ing charm, which no time or change can dissolve. When-
ever my foot presses that white and sandy floor, which is
washed by the clear billow of the sea, there is communi-
cated to my footstep the elasticity, to my body the vigour,
to my mind the joy and exhilaration of the free-born
Highlander, when his tartan is fluttering in the wild
breeze of his own mountain land, and his foot is on the
heather of its own native hills. As I enter upon that
bright and golden border, which seems to extend without
limit, along the edge of the ocean; as I glance upon the
multitudinous billows, which race up its shelving bosom,
and then with a musical ripple retire into their bed again;
as I gaze abroad upon the expanded main itself, crested
with uncounted billows, covered with a thousand passing
sails, and traversed by a thousand snowy pinions, I can-
not but feel an exultation which the world cannot give,
and which, for a time, the world cannot take away.
Gentle reader, did you ever shoot a Peep? In all pro-
bability you will confess that your earliest essays with the
gun, were directed against that numerous and diminutive
species of game. Wherever there is a small patch of salt
marsh, or a little pool deserted by the tide, you are sure to
meet a detachment of some half-score of those winged
rovers, and if you will only tread lightly, you may slay
or make captive the whole party. If your fire destroys
but one-half, the remainder of the thoughtless creatures,
after revolving for a few moments in the air, and raising a
shrill scream of lamentation, will drop down into their for-
mer position, to look after their fellows, and thus become
an easy prey to you. But the grown-up Sportsman, of
course, disdains to notice such pigmy pinions, but leaves
them to be picked off by the small birding piece of his
younger brother. We remember the day, when we toiled
mile after mile, over rock, bush, and briar, through mud,
and quaking quagmires, and yielding marshes, till the
evening came suddenly upon us in the midst of a dreary
desert, far distant from ourhome. We had taken but few
victims to console us for our fatigue. For they contrived
to baffle all our cunning, and whenever we had crept suffi-
ciently near for a shot, and when in the very act of kneel-
ing, that the execution might be the more destructive,
away they would all scamper, uttering in triumph their
provoking whistle. It is their habit to alight in a body, and
if the shooter fires instantly, and before they have had
time to disperse in pursuit of their food, the whole flock
may be disposed of at ashot. We availed ourself of seve-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 67

ral such opportunities, but we had in our pouch nothing
but some enormous geese shot, which, to be sure, knocked
them about right and left, but caused them no farther
damage than the fright, for lo! they would all scramble up
again, and make off with what speed they might. Here
are some verses addressed by a poet to the little bird we
have spoken of.

Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea,
Why takest thou its melancholy voice ?
Why with that boding cry
O’er the waves dost thou fly?
O, rather, bird, with me
Through the fair land rejoice!

Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and pale,
As driven by a beating storm at sea;
Thy cry is weak and scared,
As if thy mates had shared,
The doom of us. Thy wail—
What does it bring to me?

Thou call’st along the sand, and haunt’st the surge,
Restless and sad; as if, in strange accord
With motion and with roar
Of waves that drive to shore,
One spirit did ye urge—
The mystery—the Word,

Of thousands thou, both sepulchre and pall,
Old Ocean art! A requiem o’er the dead,
From out thy gloomy cells,
A tale of mourning tells—
Tells of man’s wo and fall,
His sinless glory fled.

Then turn thee, little bird and take thy flight,
Where the complaining sea shall sadness bring
Thy spirit never more.
Come quit with me the shore,
For gladness and the light,
Where birds of summer sing.

The two most stately species of all the feathered tribe
which frequent our shores, are the Whooping Crane, and
the Great Heron. The former haunts immense sandy
flats, salt marshes, desolate swamps, and open morasses, in
the neighbourhood of the sea. We have seen them repeat-
edly on the sea-beach, stalking about in quest of the ma-
rine worms upon which they feed, or standing perfectly
motionless upon some black rock, watching patiently for
their prey. The former is a most melancholy and unsocial
creature, and resembles in its habits and life some mem-
bers of the human family, who separate themselves from
the companionship of their fellow-men, and consume their
existence in solitude and seclusion, among the unfrequented
hills. It is avery shy, and sharp-sighted bird, and the

shooter is rarely allowed to approach it on the marsh,
within musket range. I have, however, at the edge of a
wet and misty evening, when the heavy shadows that fall
around, allow but a narrow horizon, stumbled unexpectedly
upon it, and killed it before it could take wing. It is a
clumsy bird, and rises with difficulty, and trailing its long
legs behind it, moves with a heavy and awkward flight.
After describing a few very broad circles in the air, and
reconnoitering the shores for many miles, it slowly alights
again, at a great distance from its pursuer. It utters at the
same time a clear and not unmusical ery, which may be
heard for a mile or more over the solitary marsh. The
Heron, though not uncommon with us, builds and breeds
only in the gloomy solitudes of the vast cedar and cypress
swamps of the South. Like the Crane, it stands like a
motionless sentinel on the sea-shore, or at the edge of a
pond or river, watchful for its prey, which it transfixes
with its powerful bill, with the speed and accuracy of an
arrow. It often follows up the course of creeks and rivers,
rioting upon the multitudes of fish, frogs, reptiles, and
insects, which swarm around their borders. This bird
though very timid, and easily alarmed, is, when wounded,
of a most obstinate and ferocious nature, and we would
caution all youthful gunners against approaching too near
at such times, for one blow of his spear-like bill, would
be ‘excessively disagreeable.’? A young sportsman once
persuaded a little cur dog which followed him, to attack
one of these birds which he had erippled, but Mr. Heron
so pegged away at poor Tray, that the latter was happy to
back out of the scrape with life. I once wounded and
brought to the ground an immense crow, which was soar-
ing over my head, and which a small cur animal who had
persisted in tagging behind me the whole day, seized upon
in an instant, but was glad to releaseagain. Mr. Croaker
upon being assaulted in this rude manner, coolly flung it-
self upon its back, and fastening its long crooked claws in
the neck of the dog, hammered away upon his head, till
the animal was fairly bewildered. The beak of the bird had
nearly gouged his eyes from his head. The moment the
bird was released, he managed to raise himself from the
ground, and make off. I had a fair race for him, (my gun
having been discharged,) for a good half mile, without
gaining or losing a foot of ground, tillat length he reached a
thick wood and escaped. I aimed several blows at him
with the breach of my gun, during the chase, all of which
he contrived to elude.

Our own widely extended shore, indented with its broad
bays, inlets and creeks, abounds with a thousand varieties
of rare and beautiful water-fowl. Among these may be
enumerated the black or surf duck, the blue-winged teal,
the brant, occasionally the canvas-back duck, the golden-

68 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

eye, the gooseander, the green-winged teal, the harlequin
duck, the long-billed curlew, the richly coloured mallard,
the rare red-headed duck, the yellow-winged gadwale, the
diver or fisher duck, the dusky duck, the sooty tern, the
goose, and various species of plover. All these, and
others of equal beauty and delicacy, may be found by the
eager sportsman soaring around our shores, or by the no
less eager gourmand, smoking upon the boards of our
friends Boyden, Graham, Hunt, and Malfa. It is hard to
determine whether they are more delightful to the eye
when rocking on the rolling billow, traversing the empty
fields of air, or served up with pickles and oysters, flanked
with a bottle or two of ’s most particular, from the
right binn in the cellar. But the true sportsman should be
able to look with a cold eye upon all such epicurean dain-
ties. An ounce of bread, and acup of water, (dashed with
a sprinkling of the choicest Irish or Columbian,) should
content his simple palate. Let him adopt for a motto this
scrap from a beautiful ode of Horace.

Premant Calena falce, quibus dedit
Fortuna vitem; dives et aureis
Mercator exsiccet culullis
Vina, Syra reparata merce,
Dis carus ipsis, quippe ter et quater
Anno revisens equor Atlanticum
Impune. Me pascunt Olive,
Me chichorea levesque Olive.
Frui paratis et valido mihi,
Latoe, dones, et, precor, integra
Cum mente; nec turpem senectam
Degere, nec cithara carentem.

But since the days of the Latin bard, even the ** Olive”
have been esteemed by the capricious tastes of man as the
highest luxury, therefore the frugal sportsman may sub-
stitute for it whatever unsophisticated dish he pleases.

M.

From the London Sporting Magazine.

STANZAS TO MY HORSE.

BY BULWER.

Come forth, my brave steed! the sun shines on the vale,
And the morning is bearing its balm on the gale—

Come forth my brave steed, and brush off as we pass,
With the hoofs of thy speed, the bright dew from the grass.

Let the lover go warble his strains to the fair—

I regard not his rapture, and heed not his care;

But now, as we bound o’er the mountain and lea,

I will weave, my brave steed, a wild measure to thee.

Away and away !—I exult in the glow

Which is breathing its pride to my cheek as we go;
And blithely my spirit springs forth—as the air
Which is waving the mane of thy dark flowing hair.

Hail, thou gladness of heart! and thou freshness of soul !
Which have never come o’er me in pleasure’s control—

Which the dance and the revel, the bowl and the board,
Tho’ they flush’d, and they fever’d, could never afford.

In the splendour of solitude speed we along,

Through the silence but broke by the wild linnet’s song ;
Not a sight to the eye—not a sound to the ear—

To tell us that sin and that sorrow are near.

Away—and away—and away then we pass,

The blind mole shall not hear thy light hoof on the grass;
And the time which is flying, whilst I am with thee,
Seems as swift as thyself—as we bound o’er the lea.

THE LION AND THE BEAR.

We were yesterday, (22d March,) informed that on
Tuesday last a Bear was taken to the Menagerie now ex-
hibiting in this city, and let down into the cage of an Afri-
ean Lion, twenty-four years of age, with the belief that it
would be immediately torn to pieces. Many people assem-
bled under the awning which encompasses the exhibition
to witness the scene, but all were disappointed and struck
with astonishment; for although the Bear, so soon as he
had reached the bottom of the cage, placed himself in a
fighting position, and once or twice flew at the Lion, with
the apparent intention of commencing the battle, the Lion
did not attempt to injure it, but on the contrary, after
some time had elapsed, placed his paw on the Bear’s head
as if to express its pity for its helpless situation, and
evinced every disposition to cultivate friendship.

Having heard and read much of the Lion’s nobleness of
disposition, and understanding that the Bear was still in
the cage, prompted by curiosity, we visited the Menagerie
this morning, and actually saw them together. The mana-
ger of the Lion tells us that since the Bear has been put
into the cage no person has dared to approach it, and that
the Lion had not slept for three hours, but continues con-
stantly awake to guard his weaker companion from dan-
ger. The Lion, says the manager, suffers the Bear to eat
of whatever is thrown into the cage until he has enough,
but will scarcely touch food himself.

During the time that we remained, the Lion once or
twice walked to the end of the cage opposite to that at
which the Bear was lying, and some person motioned

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 69

his hand towards the Bear, but so soon as the Lion saw it,
he sprang to the Bear, and kept his head resting over it
for some time: he has so fatigued himself with watching,
that as soon as he lies down he falls asleep, but awakens
again at the first noise that is made, and springs to the
object of his care.

This seems to us astonishing indeed, and will no doubt
attract the notice of naturalists.—V. Orleans Emporium.

INSTRUCTIONS TO YOUNG SPORTSMEN.
No. II.

Havrne now gone through the necessary requirements
fo familiarize yourself with your gun, as laid down in my
instructions, No. I. you may enter the field in search of
game; but before we prosecute our excursion, it will be
necessary here to make some remarks on your dress,
accoutrements, manner of loading, and ammunition.

In these respects I differ, more or less, from most
authors, especially English writers, who in the articles of
dress recommend shoes, gaiters, and hunting coats with
large pockets. As the latter are worn and recommended
by many Sportsmen, I will analyze some of their proper-
ties, and see whether there is any thing else to recommend
them, but because they are styled hunting coats, and
others wear them. This description of coat, from the im-
mense size of the pockets, is intended to supersede a game-
bag;—my objections to it are, the size of the coat, the
inconvenience of the large pockets, and the slovenly ap-
pearance of the wearer.

This country so abounds with thickets, and other places
difficult of access under the best circumstances, in which
game always seek refuge, that a superfluity of clothing
should be avoided. Then it will be found that the huge
pockets, (more like saddle-bags,) will, if filled with game,
hang dangling about your knees, and retard your pro-
gress much,—or, should the high grass or bushes be wet,
from rain or dew, the intolerable chafing of the thighs
consequent to this unwieldy coat, will render it a grie-
vous burden, all of which might be avoided by a more
tidy and compact dress. English Sportsmen may adopt
the usages of their own country, while residing among us,
as it respects the sporting materié/; but in regard to
myself, I would wear and recommend to others, the follow-
ing:—Boots and pantaloons, and roundabout jacket with
standing collar, made of some strong fabric suitable to
the season, andacap. The accoutrements necessary are
a game-bag, powder-flask of Sykes’ patent, to contain half

s

a pound, and a single shot-bag, with spiral spring charge,
to contain four pounds of shot—this, in all conscience, is,
or ought to be, sufficient for one day’s hunt. A man who
would shoot more than four pounds of shot in one day
at the ordinary ground game, does not deserve the name of
Sportsman; this quantity will make fifty charges, and if a
greater number than this is used at game, the shooter must
either kill an undue proportion, or miss so frequently, as
to make him unworthy of the title; for I hold it asa prin-
ciple, that no one who is desirous of being considered a
man of feeling, should kill more game than may be used
for the table,—and him who does not kill once out of every
two shots he makes, falls far short of that, which in my
view, constitutes a Sportsman. It is not to be understood,
that I am now speaking of the learner; it is expected that
he will miss, and that very often, but I wish to impress on
his mind how far he may go, and in what proficiency he
may consider himself a Sportsman.

The advantages of the dress which I recommend, are
its compactness, so as not to interfere with other ob-
jects—the comfort, greater neatness, and sportsmanlike
appearance of the wearer; and when he wishes either
to rest himself, or partake of refreshment in the house
or field, he can divest himself of the game-bag and other
articles, and thus be released of a tiresome load at once,
and thereby feel light and airy; but him that wears a
hunting coat cuts at all times the same ludicrous figure,

- with his huge pockets filled, and the only plan remains

for him is, either to take off his coat, or the game from
his pockets, which is not always practicable or convenient.
Again, look at the two persons in the field, —the former ap-
pears like a Sportsman, and his errand cannot be mistaken;
while the other looks sneaking, and as though other arti-
cles might be stowed away, in his capacious wallets, besides
game. These hunting coats savour strongly of having had
their origin with Poachers.

I will now suppose you are pressing your way to the
fields, the first of which you enter; call in your dogs,
and bring them to the ‘“‘down charge,”’ and then com-
mence loading your gun. Previous to this, however,
it will be well to discharge a cap on each tube, in order to
clear them or the chambers from any dirt, or other sub-
stance which may have lodged there; this is all-sufficient,
and prevents the necessity of discharging a load of pow-
der, or as many call it, ¢¢ squibbing off your gun.””, When
you load, gripe the gun with your left hand about the top-
most thimble, and hold the muzzle from you eight or ten
inches, then with your right hand pour the powder first in

‘the off barrel, after which the near one, and then take

from your right pocket the wadding, which settle down on
the powder firm, but not too hard. Your wadding should

70

be punched from bonnet-boards, and pierced with a small
hole in each wad, in order to let all air pass through
which may be confined between the wadding and powder.
Your shot, also, take from the bag with the right hand,
which may easily be done, by letting the charger hang
downwards, observing the same plan of loading as with the
powder. The main object of recommending one particular
barrel to be charged first, is to habituate yourself to a
regular system, which will prevent mistakes, and the off,
or right barrel, is the one most usually fired, when only
one is discharged. In no instance relax your hold of the
gun with the left hand while loading, and by all means
avoid hugging the gun assome do, while getting the shot
from the bag;—one mistake may be fatal to yourself.

Beware of an error, too often followed by most begin-

_ners, and that is, of overcharging your gun; this isa mis-

take which many split on, and one-half of the wounding or
missing the game altogether, may be justly attributed to it.
If you have a gun of 11-16ths calibre, one drachm of
powder, and one and a quarter ounces of shot is sufficient.
I would advise you never to exceed this charge, but rather
diminish the quantity; this will be found to be a fair pro-
portion, as that quantity of powder will drive the whole
or greater part of the shot to the object aimed at, with
effect; whereas, if a greater charge of shot should be used,
it is evident, that it will not only resist the action of the
powder in proportion as the quantum of shot is increased,
but also by greater friction along the barrels, in consequence
of this accumulated weight, and the result will be, numbers
will fall short of the object, and the gun, by reason of the
crowded state of the shot, be necessarily leaded, besides
the certainty of suffering from the reaction of the gun, and
the bad result of making the shot scatter too much. What-
ever quantity, however, you determine on, either in shot
or powder, so regulate the respective charges of the flask
and shot-bag, that no deviation may take place, but the
same proportions always fired; a slight alteration in either
of these, may materially interfere with your success.

If I had to make choice of a gun from the manner in
which it planted the shot in a target, it would be that one
which threw the shot not only regular but close; but no
gun, if overloaded, will do this—hence the necessity of
avoiding any cause which prevents this desirable end.

An ounce of No. 8 shot is said to contain 660 pellets,
and my experience warrants me to aver, in most cases, that
at a distance of thirty yards, as many pellets will be found
in a target fired at with an ounce, as if by one and a half
ounces of shot from the same gun and quantity of pow-
der—consequently the folly of using more shot than a
gun will drive home with certainty. Using light charges
has also another great advantage, which is, not to affect the

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

head in the manner which heavy charges do, if fired con-
stantly on a warm day—therefore, my young friend, try
a lesser quantity first, and if it does not prove satisfactory,
increase your charge to or beyond my limits.

Another very important thing to the Sportsman, is the
quality of the powder, and size of the shot,—of the for-
mer, there are but three kinds which may be said to have
prevalence for sporting purposes in the United States.
These are, Pigous’ & Wilks, (London powder,) Dupont’s
Eagle powder, manufactured near Wilmington, in Delaware,
and Rogers’ Orange powder, made at Newburgh, New-
York; the two former kinds I have always used, and for
most purposes I would give preference to that made by
Mr. Dupont; it is strong, clean, quick, and being much
cheaper than the former, it certainly possesses great advan-
tages. The manufacture of this powder certainly does
great credit to the enterprising gentleman whose name it
bears, as well as to the country; and it was not, until great
perseverance on his part established it on so good a cha-
racter, that we could depend with certainty on any powder
manufactured in the United States. These facts should at
once determine its use among Sportsmen, independent of
encouraging an article of domestic manufacture. Ano-
ther circumstance much in favour of the Eagle powder, is,
the undeyviating quality in the component parts; nor does it
seem to be impaired by age, as one of the best canisters
of this description I ever used, was one, which had been
on ship-board, traversing the ocean many thousand miles,
for a space of fifteen months. Pigous’ & Wilks powder
is the most celebrated in England, and is also very exten-.
sively used here. I have never tried the Orange powder,
but have been told by the New-York Sportsmen, that it is
of most excellent quality, and preferred by them to any sold
in that market. I shall, however, speak more particularly
on the merits of these different kinds of powder at some
future day, as I shall test their qualities with much care.

A very common fault with many Sportsmen, is that of
using shot too large. Ihave, generally, been very success-
ful in my excursions, and always confined myself to No. 9,
for woodcock and snipe, and No. 8, for partridges, (or
quail)—this, I am aware, is two numbers smaller than
many Sportsmen use, and one size smaller than the majority
shoot, but, as my precepts are warranted by experience,
I certainly recommend the learner to try those sizes.

I recollect the most pleasant day’s shooting I ever had,
(and withal successful,) was in consequence of having, in the
early part of the day, lost my shot, the charger having been
drawn while passing through a thicket, and I did not make
the discovery until my bag was nearly empty. Game was
in abundance, and my excursion was confined to a spot in
the great valley in Chester county, Pa.; and I could not

AND AMERICAN

replace my loss only by sending several miles to a store,
and then my choice was limited to the sizes Nos. 4 and
11. I however chose the latter size, and purchased the
whole stock, which was but little over three pounds. Thus
scantily supplied in a region which abounded in game, I
restricted my charges to rather less than one ounce, with a
proportionate quantity of powder, and even thus reduced, I
found that I not only killed my birds at as long distances,
but with greater certainty than with No. 7—the size I had
been using previously. This determined me in my fu-
ture charges and size of the shot. I doubt, however, of
my success, if the day had been very windy, as the shot
was so exceedingly small, that the sudden blasts of wind
which occur during that month, (December,) would entirely
have diverted the shot from a right line: but not so with
No. 8, as I have invariably used that size during the most
windy weather, with effect. Success in killing the kind
of game I am now speaking of, or indeed any kind of
game whatever, is not attributable so much to the size, as
the multiplicity of the shot thrown at it; the chances of
killing multiply very fast after you pass No. 7 shot—for
instance, an ounce of No. 7 contains but 289 pellets,
while an ounce of No. 8 contains 660 pellets, by which it
will appear that in augmenting the size only one number,
your chances of striking the object aimed at are increased
upwards of one hundred per cent.; or in other words,
it will require two and an eighth ounces of No. 7 shot
to give an equal number of chances with No. 8; by this, it
must certainly appear that great advantages are on the
side of finer shot than is ordinarily used. Again, an
object twenty-five or thirty yards distant, will be struck
sooner by fine than by coarse shot, although the latter
may be driven with greater force; beyond this distance,
however, coarse shot has the advantage. If, then, at
the distance of thirty yards, small shot is driven with
more velocity than coarser shot, and yet possess sufficient
power to destroy the game shot at, my position is good, and
fine shot in preference to coarse should be adopted. The
argument which many use in favour of large shot, “ that
one frequently encounters larger game, such as Pheasants,
&e.”’ need be of no avail. The most effective and best
shots I ever made were at Pheasants, with No. 8 shot;
however, let the learner try the experiment, and if he
does not find my advice correct, he can abandon it. Me

CHAMOIS HUNTERS.

Tue Tyrolese are perhaps the most persevering hunters
in the world, and seem to despise all danger in their favour-
ite pursuit. They are such admirable marksmen that their

RURAL SPORTS. 71

services as sharp-shooters, in the late war, were rewarded
with the temporary liberty of hunting with impunity. The
value of this liberty can only be estimated by those who
know the passion of the Tyrolese for the chase, a passion
more violent than that of the gamester. Neither threats nor
punishment can deter them from the pursuit of it. Gain is
not the object, as the Chamois, flesh and skin, does not
sell for above ten or twelve florins; and yet a man who had
been many times caught in the fact, declared, that if he
knew the next tree would be his gallows, he would never-
theless hunt. M. de Saussure records an interesting anec-
dote of a Chamois hunter whom he knew; he was a tall,
well-made man, and had just married a beautiful woman:—
‘¢ My grandfather (said he) lost his life in the chase, and
so did my father, and I am so well assured that one day
or other I shall also lose mine, that this bag, which I always
earry with me in the hunt, I call my winding-sheet, for I
shall certainly never have any other; nevertheless, sir, if
you were to offer me a fortune immediately, on condition
that I must relinquish the chase, I would not accept it.’’
De Saussure says, that he took several excursions among
the Alps with this man; his strength and agility were as-
tonishing, but his courage, or rather his temerity, still
greater than either. About two years afterwards his foot
slipped on the edge of a precipice, and he met the fate
which he had so calmly contemplated.
[Sportsman’s Cyclopedia.

BEAR HUNTING.

Tue Bridgeton (N. J.) Whig contains an account of a
grand “‘ Bear Hunt,”’ had in Cape May county on the
17th of April. Mr. Joshua Stiles discovered a Bear track
leading from the bay to the sea side. He gave notice, and
a company formed, and tracked Bruin into a swamp,
where they found that he had breakfasted on a sheep.
The next morning search was resumed, with one good dog.
He immediately took the track, and dragged it through
the swamp, and over the main road leading from Cape May
Court House to Dennis Creek, and intoa swamp to the north-
ward of said road, where he started Bruin. The Bear
not being in the swamp where the men expected to find
him, they were, in consequence, thrown into confusion
and disorder, running in all directions to keep in with the
dog. A man who was carting cord wood, saw the Bear
cross the road, and the dog behind, snapping him. The
Bear, steering his course northwardly, ran out of hearing
of the men, but the dog pursued him so closely, snapping

72 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

him, that finally he treed on a large oak, in the high woods
north of Crooked Creek Swamp. ‘Three of the company
soon came within hearing of the dog, and made all possible
speed to get in with him. On coming up they found the
Bear sitting on a large limb of the tree, looking down at
them, grinning and showing his long teeth, as though he
bade them defiance. He didnot appear to take any notice
of the dog after the three men came up. Two of the men
agreed to shoot him on the left side, with a view of reach-
ing his heart. Each of them taking deliberate aim, they
fired, and the third man, who had reserved his fire until
the Bear had changed his position, fired also. The Bear
let go his hold, and fell from the tree, a distance of about
thirty feet. Notwithstanding the height from which he
fell, he jumped up on his feet, and ran, with the dog fast to
him, about a hundred yards. This was his final feat. There,
after his noble breakfast of mutton, he fell, yielding to
the more powerful influence of powder and ball. The
remainder of the party kept coming in. A firing was kept
up, so that all were soon there. Wagons were brought
from different directions, and many persons round about,
who heard the firing of the guns, assembled at the place.
The body of Bruin was placed in one of the wagons, and
the others followed in the rear. The company came into
the neighbourhood of the Court House in military order,
under the command of Captain Jonathan Hand. The Bear
was taken to Mr. Nathaniel Holmes’ barn, and dressed.
He measured seven feet in length, and old men in the
place, who had seen Bears, said this was the largest one
they had ever seen.

COMPOSITION OF GUNPOWDER.

Dr. Ure has analyzed various samples of Gunpowder,

and the following are the results of his investigation:

Waltham Abbey—nitre, 74.5; charcoal, 14.4; sulphur,
10; water, 1.1.

Hall, Dartford—nitre, 76.2; charcoal, 14.; sulphur,
9.0; water, .5; loss, .3.

Pigou & Wilkes—nitre, 77.4; charcoal, 13.5; sulphur,
8.5; water, .6.

Curtis & Harvey—nitre, 76.7; charcoal, 12.5; sulphur,
9.; water, 1.1; loss, .7.

Battle Gunpowder—nitre, 77.; charcoal, 13.5; sulphur,
.8.; water, .8; loss, 7.

‘‘The process,’’ observes Dr. Ure, ‘‘most commonly
practised in the analysis of Gunpowder, seems to be tolera-
bly exact. The nitre is first separated by hot distilled

water, evaporated and weighed. A minute loss of salts
may be counted on from its known volatility, with boiling
water. I have evaporated always ona steam bath. It is
probable that a small proportion of the lighter and looser
constituents of Gunpowder, the carbon, flies off in the ope-
ration of corning and dusting. Hence analysis may show
asmall deficit of charcoal below the synthetic proportions
originally mixed. The residuum of charcoal and sulphur
left on the double filter paper, being well dried by the heat
of ordinary steam, is estimated as usual by the difference of
weights of the inner and outer papers. This residuum is
cleared off into a platina capsule with a tooth brush, and
digested in a dilute solution of potash at a boiling tempera-
ture. Three parts of potash are fully sufficient to dissolve
out one of the sulphur. When the above solution is
thrown on a filter, and washed first with a very dilute so-
lution of potash boiling hot, then with boiling water, and
afterwards dried, the carbon will remain; the weight of
which deducted from that of the Powder, will show the
amount of sulphur.”’

“« If we acquire,” says Dr. Ure, ‘‘ how the maximum gas-
eous volume is to be produced from the chemical reaction
of the elements of nitre on charcoal and sulphur, we shall
find it to be by the generation of carbonic oxide and sulphu-
reous acid, with the disengagement of nitrogen. This will
lead us to the following proportions of these constituents:

1 prime equiv. of nitre 102 75.00 per cent.
1 do. sulphur 16 11.77
3 do. charcoal 18 13.23

136 100.00

The (acid of the) nitre contains five primes of oxygen, of
which three, combining with the three of charcoal, will
furnish three of carbonic acid gas, while the remaining two
will convert the one prime of sulphur into sulphureous
acid gas. The single prime of nitrogen is, in this view,
disengaged alone.

The gaseous volume, on this supposition, evolyed from
136 grains of Gunpowder, equivalent in bulk to 75 grains
of water, or three-tenths of a cubic inch, will be, at the
atmospheric temperature as follows:

Grains. Cubic inches.
Carbonic oxide, - 42 - - 141.6
Sulphurous acid - 32 - - 47.2
Nitrogen - ~ - - 14 - - 47.4
Being an expansion of one volume into 787.3. Butas the

temperature of the gases at the instant of their combustive
formation must be incanescent, this volume may be safely
estimated at three times the above amount, or considerably
upwards of two thousand times the bulk of the explosive
solid.””,—Phil. Mag.

“NOODIVU

unong:

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 78

THE RACCOON.
PROCYON LOTOR.
[Plate VII. Vol. 2.]

Ursus Lotor; Lix. Erxxi. Bopp.—Vulpes Americana;
Cuarteton.—Le Raton; Burr. Hist. Nat. 8, pl. 43.
—Procyon Lotor; Cuy. Reg. An. p. 143. Sainz app.
p- 649.—Coati Brasiliensium; Kix1n.—Mapach, etc.
Mexicanorum.—MenagGeriz or Livine ANIMALS, ex-
hibited in Philadelphia, winter of 1831-2.

TueERE are few parts of the American continent in
which the Raccoon has not, at some period, been found
native, from the borders of Nootka Sound, to the forests
of Mexico, and still more southern regions. Yet the
Count de Burrow asserts, that this animal was originally
from South America, and is most numerous in hot climates,
without giving any fact on which his opinion is founded,
or supporting his declaration by the observations of other
naturalists. Sonnini properly observes, that neither Fre-
zier, Ulloa, nor Molina, who have given descriptions of
the animals of Peru, Brazil, and Chili, make any mention
of the Raccoon; and, in his own long and numerous jour-
neys in Guiana, he never found one among the great num-
ber of quadrupeds which hold undisturbed possession of
the vast forests, by which that interesting region is over-
shadowed.

But the most positive proofs of their existence, in the
northern parts of this continent, are to be found in the jour-
nals of the most respectable observers. By Dampier, they
were seen near the southern point of California, in the
22° of N. latitude; Bartram found them on the isle of St.
Simon, near the coast of Georgia, in 30° of N. latitude;
and the celebrated Capt. Cook saw them in considerable
numbers at Nootka and Prince William’s Sound. Most
probably, had this enterprising voyager landed still far-
ther north, he would have discovered the Raccoon there,
as the natives of Prince William’s Sound were, in a great
degree, clothed with skins of this animal.

Were we to form an opinion of this animal’s character
solely from external appearances, the mingled expression of
sagacity and innocence exhibited in his aspect, his personal
neatness and gentle movements, might all incline us to
believe that he possessed a guileless and placable disposi-
tion. But in this, as in most other cases where judg-
ments are formed without sufficient examination, we should
be in error, and find, that to the capricious mischievous-
ness of the monkey, the Raccoon adds a blood-thirsty and
vindictive spirit peculiarly his own. In the wild state,

T

this sanguinary appetite frequently leads to his own de-
struction, which his nocturnal habits might otherwise
avert; but as he slaughters the tenants of the poultry-yard
with indiscriminate ferocity, the vengeance of the plun-
dered farmer speedily retaliates on him the death so libe-
rally dealt among the feathered victims. This destructive
propensity of the Raccoon is more remarkable, when we
observe that his teeth are not unsuited for eating fruits.
When he destroys wild or domesticated birds, he puts to
death a great number, without consuming any part of them,
except the head, or the blood which is sucked from the
neck. nit

Being peculiarly fond of sweet substances, the Raccoon
is occasionally very destructive to plantations of sugar-
cane,* and of Indian corn. While the ear of the Indian
corn is still young, soft and tender, or ‘in the milk,” it
is very sweet, and is then eagerly sought by the Raccoons;
troops of them frequently enter fields of maize, and in one
night commit extensive depredations, both by the quan-
tity of grain they consume, and from the number of stalks
they break down by their weight.

The Raccoon is an excellent climber, and his strong
sharp claws effectually secure him from being shaken off
the branches of trees. In fact, so tenaciously does this
animal hold to any surface upon which it can make an
impression with its claws, that it requires a considerable
exertion of a man’s strength to drag him off; and as long
as even a single foot remains attached, he continues to
cling with great force. I have had frequent occasion to
pull a Raccoon from the top of a board-fence, where there
was no projection which he could seize by; yet, such was
the power and obstinacy with which the points of his claws
were stuck into the board, as repeatedly to oblige me to
desist for fear of tearing his skin, or otherwise doing him
injury by the violence necessary to detach his hold.

The conical form of the head, and the very pointed and
flexible character of the muzzle or snout, are of great im-
portance in aiding the Raccoon to examine every vacuity
and crevice to which he gains access, nor does he neglect
any opportunity of his natural advantages, but explores
every nook and cranny, with the most persevering dili-
gence and attention, greedily feeding on spiders, worms,
or other insects which are discovered by the scrutiny.
Where the opening is too small to give admittance to his
nose, he employs his fore-paws, and shifts his position, or
turns his paws sidewise, in order to facilitate their intro-
duction and effect his purpose. ‘This disposition to feed
on the grubs or larve of insects must render this animal
of considerable utility in forest lands, in consequence of

* Sir Hans Sloane; Natural History of Jamaica.

74 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

the great numbers of injurious and destructive insects he
consumes. He is also said to catch frogs with considera-
ble address, by slily creeping up, and then springing on
them, so as to grasp them with both paws.

The circumstance which has procured for the Raccoon
the specific name of ‘‘ Lotor,” or the Washer, is very
remarkable and interesting: this is, the habit of plunging
its food into water, as if for the purpose of soaking
or cleansing it. To account for this disposition, some
naturalists have supposed that the Raccoon is not as libe-
rally supplied with salivary organs as other animals, and
is therefore obliged to prepare its food by softening it in
water. The Raccoon, however, does not invariably wait
to subject his food to this preparation, but frequently
devours it in the condition he receives it, although it may
be nothing but dry bread, and clean water be within a
few steps of where he stands.

Water seems to be essential to their comfort, if not of
absolute necessity for the preparation of their food. I
have had for some time, and at the moment of writing
this have yet, a male and female Raccoon in the yard.
Their greatest delight appears to be dabbling in water, of
which a large tub is always kept nearly full for their use.
They are frequently seen sitting on the edge of this tub,
very busily engaged in playing with a piece of broken
china, glass, or a small cake of ice. When they have any
substance which sinks, they both paddle with their fore-
feet with great eagerness, until it is caught, and then it is
held by one, with both paws, and rubbed between them;
or a struggle ensues for the possession of it, and when it
is dropped the same sport is renewed. The coldest wea-
ther in winter does not in the least deter them from thus
dabbling in the water for amusement; nor has this action
much reference to their feeding, as it is performed at any
time, even directly after feeding, till satiated. I have
frequently broken the ice on the surface of their tub, late
at night, in the very coldest winter weather, and they have
both left their sleeping place with much alacrity, to stand
paddling the fragments of ice about, with their fore-legs in
the water nearly up to the breast. Indeed, these animals
have never evinced the slightest dislike to cold, or suffered
in any degree therefrom: they have in all weathers slept
in a flour-barrel thrown on its side, with one end entirely
open, and without any material of which to make a bed.
They show no repugnance to being sprinkled or dashed
with water, and voluntarily remain exposed to the rain or
snow, which wets them thoroughly, notwithstanding their
long hair, which being almost erect, is not well suited to
turn the rain. These Raccoons are very fond of each
other, and express the greatest delight on meeting after
having been separated for a short time, by various move-

ments, and by hugging and rolling one another about on
the ground.

My Raccoons are, at the time of writing this, more than
a year old, and have been in captivity for six dr eight
months. They are very frolicsome and amusing, and
show no disposition to bite or injure any one, except when
accidentally trodden on. They are equally free from any
disposition to injure children, as has been observed of
other individuals. We frequently turn them loose in the
parlour, and they appear to be highly delighted, romping
with each other and the children, without doing any injury
even to the youngest. Their alleged dispositicn to hurt chil-
dren especially, may probably be fairly explained by the fact
above mentioned, that they always attempt to bite when
suddenly hurt, and few children touch animals without
pinching or hurting them. They exhibit this spirit of re-
taliation, not only to man, but when they accidentally hurt
themselves against an inanimate body; I have many times
been amused to observe the expression of spite with which
one of them has sprung at and bit the leg of a chair or
table, after knocking himself against it so as to hurt some
part of his body.

These animals may be tamed while young, but as they
grow to maturity, most generally become fierce and even
dangerous. I have had one so tame 4s to follow a servant
about through the house or streets, though entirely at
liberty; this was quite young when obtained, and grew so
fond of human society as to complain very loudly, by a
sort of chirping or whining noise, when left alone. Nothing
can possibly exceed the domesticated Raccoon in restless
and mischievous curiosity, if suffered to go about the house.
Every chink is ransacked, every article of furniture ex-
plored, and the neglect of servants to secure the closet-
doors, is sure to be followed by extensive mischief, the
evil being almost uniformly augmented by the alarm
caused to the author of it, whose ill-directed efforts to
escape from supposed peril, increase at the same time the
noise and the destruction.

To complete the history of the Raccoon in a state of
captivity, we shall insert here the greater part of a letter
written by Mr. Blanquart de Salines to Count de Buffon,
on the correctness of which full reliance may be placed.

«¢ My Raccoon was always kept chained before he came
into my possession, and in this captivity he seemed suffi-
ciently gentle, though not caressing; all the inmates of the
house paid him the same attention, but he received them
differently; treatment he would submit to from one person,
invariably offended him when offered by another. When
his chain was occasionally broken, liberty rendered him
insolent; he took possession of his apartment, suffering no
one to approach him, and was, with difficulty, again con-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 75

fined. During his stay with me, his confinement was fre-
quently suspended; without losing sight of him, I allowed
him to walk about with his chain on, and he expressed his
gratitude by various movements. It was otherwise when
he escaped by his own efforts: he would then ramble for
three or four days together over the neighbouring roofs,
and only descend at night into the yards, enter the hen-
roosts and destroy the poultry, especially the Guinea-
fowls, eating nothing but their heads. His chain did not
render him less sanguinary, though it made him more cir-
cumspect; he then employed stratagem, allowing the
poultry to familiarize themselves with him by partaking
of his food, nor was it until he had induced them to
feel in perfect security that he would seize a fowl and
tear it to pieces: he also killed kittens in the same man-
ner.

«Tf the Raccoon be not very grateful for favours re-
ceived, he is singularly sensible of bad treatment; a ser-
vant one day struck him some blows with a stick, and
often afterwards vainly endeavoured to conciliate him, by
offering eggs and shrimps, of which the animal was very
fond. Atthe approach of this servant he became enraged,
and with sparkling eyes would spring towards him, mak-
ing violent outcries; under such circumstances he would
accept of nothing until his enemy had withdrawn. The
voice of the Raccoon, when enraged, is very singular,
sometimes resembling the whistling of a curlew, and at
others the hoarse barking of an old dog. When struck
by any one, or attacked by an animal stronger than him-
self, he offered no resistance; like the hedge-hog, he hid
his head and paws, by rolling his body in form of a ball,
and would have suffered death in that position. I have
observed that he never left hay nor straw in his bed, pre-
ferring to sleep on the boards; when litter was given, he
threw it away immediately. He did not seem very sen-
sible to cold, and passed two out of three winters exposed
to all the rigours of the season, and did well, notwith-
standing he was frequently covered with snow. I do not
think he was solicitous to receive warmth; during some
frosts I gave him separately warm water, and water almost
frozen, to soak his food in, and he always preferred the
latter. He was at liberty to sleep in the stable, but often
preferred passing the night in the open yard.”’

Captivity and domestication produce great changes in
the habits of this animal, as he learns to spend nearly the
whole of the daytime in active exercise, and sleeps during
the greater part of the night. When inclined to sleep,
the Raccoon forms itself into a sort of ball, by sitting on
its hind legs, and doubling the head under the body, so as
to apply the forehead to the ground; the tail is then
brought forward so as to conceal the feet and face on one

side, and the true figure of the animal is no longer dis-
cernible. In this position the Raccoon sleeps profoundly,
and is not startled readily, nor by slight sounds.

The size of the Raccoon varies with the age and sex of
the individual. A full grown male may be stated to have
the body a foot, or a few inches more, in length; the high-
est part of the back is about a foot from the ground, while
the highest part of the shoulder is ten inches. The head
is about five, and the tail rather more than eight inches
long. The female is larger than the male in every respect,
at least such is the fact in relation to the Raccoons now in
my possession, which, however, have not yet attained
their full growth. They are of the same age, and the fe-
male is strongly distinguished from the male by the black
markings on all parts of the body being more purely black,
and the fur and hair longer, thicker, and more glossy than
that of the male; these peculiarities, in addition to her
greater size, uniformly lead strangers to suppose this indi-
vidual to be the male, instead of the female. The pelage
of the male is not only less purely black at the extremities
of the hairs, but there isa much greater intermixture of
fawn-coloured hair than in the female, giving more of a
rusty appearance to the whole surface of his body. A
young Raccoon of thirty days old, is about the size of a
common cat of a year old, though the greater length of
its legs, and the bushiness of its pelage, make it at first
sight appear much larger.

The general colour of the body isa blackish-gray, which
is paler on the under part of the body, and has, over consi-
derable part of the neck, back and sides, some fawn or
light rust-coloured hair intermixed. The general gray
colour is owing to the manner in which the hairs are alter-
nately ringed with black and dingy white. The tail is
very thickly covered with hair, and is marked by five
or six black rings around it, on a yellowish-white
ground.

The head, which is about five inches long, is very tri-
angular, and from its pointed snout reminds us of the aspect
of the fox: the snout terminates in a smooth and shining
black membrane, through which the nostrils open, having
the slit to rise slightly at the sides. The nose is pro-
longed considerably beyond the upper jaw, and this, toge-
ther with its great flexibility, gives the animal great
advantages in exploring little crevices and crannies for
insects, &c. The pupils of the eyes are round; the ears are
oval, or rather elliptic, and ofa yellowish-white colour on
their extremities and anterior edges. The face is whitish
in front, but there is a black patch surrounding the eye,
that descends entirely to the lower jaw, over the posterior
part of which it is diffused, and a black line running from
the top of the head down the middle of the face, ending

76 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

below the eyes. The rest of the hair between the eyes,
the ears, and eye-brows, is almost entirely white, and di-
rected downwards. The hair on the muzzle is usually
very short; on the feet also, and on one half of the legs;
the short hair of the feet and legs is of a dirty whitish
colour. The whiskers on the upper lip are long and
strong.

All the feet have five toes each, terminated by strong
curved and pointed claws; and each foot is furnished
with five thick and very elastic tubercles beneath. The
first toe or thumb of the fore-foot is the shortest of all; the
little or external finger is next in length, and then the fore
finger: the remaining two are equal. The first tubercle,
which is a very strong one, is situated near the wrist; the
second is at the base of the little finger; the third at the
root of the inner finger or thumb; the fourth opposite the
second digit, and the fifth opposite the two longest. The
hind-feet are throughout similar, except that the first tuber-
cle is farthest distant from the heel.

The Raccoon has a gland on each side of the anus, which
secretes a strong scented fluid; but this does not impart an
unpleasant smell to the animal. Its liver has five lobes,
and is provided with a large gall-bladder; the bowels have
no ceecum, and the stomach, which is situated entirely on
the left side, is elongated and small, compared with the
size of the animal.

The pelage of the Raccoon is subject to considerable
variations of colour at different periods of life, and in dif-
ferent individuals. The rings on the tail, and the patches
around the eyes are, however, uniform and constant. The
tail of the Raccoon is not affected by the coldest weather;
hence this quadruped is never known to gnaw his tail, as
has been observed of animals closely allied to it in configu-
ration and habits.

The fur of the Raccoon forms an article of considerable
value in commerce, as it is largely employed in the fabri-
cation of hats. Vast numbers of Raccoon skins are col-
lected by the different fur companies; and we occasionally
see in our furrier shops, skins which must have belonged
to individuals of much larger size than those from which
the measurements have been hitherto taken.

Raccoons are found throughout the whole of North
America, and they still continue to be numerous in many
of the well peopled parts of the United States. Occasion-
ally their numbers are so much increased as to render them
very troublesome to the farmers in the low and wooded
parts of Maryland, bordering on the Chesapeake Bay.
Their season of sexual intercourse begins in the first week
of March; the female usually produces two or three cubs
at a litter; her den is then made in some hollow tree, or
very secure situation. —Gopman.

THE HORSE.
[Continued from page 33.]
The East Indian Horse.

‘We will now travel further eastward, and look at the
breeds of Horses in the Indian possessions. First, we have
the Toorky, originally from a Toorkoman and a Persian,
beautiful in his form, graceful in his action, and docile in
his temper. It is said that, when skilfully managed, the
grandeur and stateliness of his carriage are equal to what
the warmest imagination can conceive of the Horse: his
spirit rising as his exertions are required, he exhibits to
his beholders an appearance of fury in the performance of
his task, yet preserving to his rider the utmost playfulness
and gentleness.

Next comes the Jranee, well limbed, and his joints
closely knit, and particularly powerful in the quarters, but
with scarcely sufficient spirit, and his ears large and
loose.

The patient and docile Cozakee is deep in the girth,
powerful in the fore-arm, but with large head, and sadly
cat-hammed; hardy, and calculated for long journeys and
severe service.

The Mojinniss have spirit, beauty, speed, and perseve-
rance.

The Tazsee is slight, hollow-backed, and, for that rea-
son perhaps, although deficient in strength, and leaving as
it were his hind-legs behind him, and likewise irritable in
temper, yet sought after on account of the peculiar easiness
of his pace.

A sale of Horses near the Company’s stud, at Hissar, is
thus described by an excellent judge. ¢ Not less than one
thousand Horses were shown. They were all above four-
teen hands and a half in height, high-crested, and showy-
looking Horses. The great defect seemed a want of bone
below the knee, which is indeed general to all the native
Horses throughout India: and also so great a tendency to
fulness in the hock, that, in England, it would be thought
half of them had blood spavins.’

The Chinese Horse.

This breed is small, weak, ill-formed, without spirit,
and altogether undeserving of notice.

The Persian Horse.

Returning westward we find the Persian next in estima-
tion, and deservedly so, to the Arabian. The head is
almost equally beautiful, the crupper superior; he is equal

AND AMERICAN

son degrades him; we look at him, and give our opinions,
not from himself, but comparatively with the Horse; we
forget that he is an Ass, that he has all the good qualities
of his nature, all the gifts attached to his species; and at
the same time, we only think of the figure and qualities of
the Horse which are wanting in him, and which he ought
not to have.

There are among Asses different races, as among Horses;
but they are much less known, because they have not been
taken the same care of, or followed with the same atten-
tion; but we cannot doubt that they came all originally
from warm climates. Aristotle assures us, that there were
none in his time in Scythia, nor in the other neighbouring
countries of Scythia, nor even in Gaul, which, he says, is
a cold climate; and he adds, that a cold climate either
prevents them from procreating their species, or causes
them to degenerate; and that this last circumstance is the
reason that they are small and weak in Illyria, Thrace, and
Epirus. They appear to have come originally from Ara-
bia, and to have passed from Arabia into Egypt, from
Egypt into Greece, from Greece into Italy, from Italy into
France, and afterwards into Germany, England, and lastly
into Sweden, &c. for they are in fact, weak and small in
proportion to the coldness of the climate. They are said
to have been introduced into England subsequently to the
reign of Elizabeth. Of all the various breeds of Asses, the
Spanish breed is by far the finest. They are often found
of the height of fifteen hands, and the value of a hundred
guineas.

The Latins, after the Greeks, have called the Wild
Ass, Angra; which animal must not be confounded, as
some naturalists and many travellers have done, with the
Zebra, because the Zebra is of a different species from the
Ass. The Angra, or Wild Ass, is not striped like the
Zebra, and is not near so elegant in figure. Wild Asses
are found in some of the islands of the Archipelago, and
particularly in that of Cerigo; there are also many in the
deserts of Libya and Numidia; they are gray, and run so
fast that the Horses of Barbary only can beat them in
hunting. When they see a man, they give a loud cry,
turn themselves about, and stop, and do not attempt to fly
till they find he comes near them; they are taken in snares
made with ropes, and go in troops both to pasturage and
to drink; their flesh is also eaten. There were also, in the
time of Marmol, Wild Asses in the island of Sardinia, but
less than those of Africa, and Pietro della Valle says, he
has seen a Wild Ass at Bassora, whose figure differed in
no respect from a domestic one; he was only of a lighter
colour, and had, from the head to the tail, a stripe of
white; he was also much livelier and lighter in hunting,
than Asses usually are.
x

RURAL SPORTS. 81

Neither Asses nor Horses were originally found in
America, though the climate, and especially of that part
called North America, is as good for them as any other:
those which the Spaniards have transported from Europe,
and which they have left in the West Indies and on the
continent, have greatly multiplied; and in some parts Wild
Asses are found in troops, and are taken in snares like
wild Horses. The Wild Asses of America will not suffer
a Horse to live among them. Wo to the Horse that
chances to stray into the pasture where they are feeding in
bands. They fall upon him, and bite and kick him till he
ceases to exist.

As Wild Asses are unknown in these climates, we can-
not in reality say whether the flesh is good to eat; but it is
certain that the flesh of the domestic Ass is extremely bad,
and harder than that of the Horse. The milk of the Ass,
on the contrary, is an approved and specific remedy for
certain complaints, and its use was known from the Greeks
to us: that it may be good in its kind, we should choose
a young healthy she Ass, full of flesh, which has lately
foaled, and which has not since been with the male: care
must be taken to feed her well with hay, wheat, and grass,
with particular care not to let the milk cool, and not even
to expose it to the air, which will spoil it in a little time.

The Ass is, perhaps with respect to himself, the animal
which can carry the greatest weight; and as it costs but little
to feed him, and he scarcely requires any care; he is of
great use in the country, at the mill, &c.; he also serves to
ride on, as all his paces are gentle, and he stumbles less
than the Horse: he is frequently put to the plough in
countries where the earth is light, and his dung is an ex-
cellent manure to enrich hard moist lands.

The Ass, like some other animals, and some birds, pos-
sesses in great perfection the power of finding his way
home, when lost at a great distance. An instance of this
is recorded by Kirby and Spence, in their excellent Intro-
duction to Entomology. In March, 1816, an Ass, the
property of Captain Dundas, R. N. then at Malta, was
shipped on board the Ister frigate, Captain Forrest, bound
from Gibraltar for that island. The vessel having struck
on some sands off the Point de Gat, at some distance from
the shore, the Ass was thrown overboard to give it a
chance of swimming to land,—a poor one, for the sea was
running so high, that a boat which left the ship was lost.
A few days afterwards, however, when the gates of Gib-
raltar were opened in the morning, the Ass presented him-
self for admittance, and proceeded to the stable of Mr.
Weeks, a merchant, which he had formerly occupied, to
the no small surprise of this gentleman, who imagined
that, from some accident, the animal had never been
shipped on board the Ister. On the return of this vessel

82 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

to repair, the mystery was explained, and it turned out,
that Valiante, (as the Ass was called,) had not only swam
safely to shore, but without guide, compass, or travel-
ling map, had found his way from Point de Gat to
Gibraltar,—a distance of more than two hundred miles,
through a mountainous and intricate country, intersected
by streams, which he had never traversed before, and in
so short a period, that he could not have made one false
turn. His not having been stopped on the road was attri-
buted to the circumstance of his having formerly been used
to whip criminals upon, which was indicated to the pea-
sants, who haye a superstitious horror of such Asses, by
the holes in his ears, to which the persons flogged were
tied.

The Mule

Is an intermediate creature, springing from the union of
the male Ass with the Mare, or of the Horse with the fe-
male Ass, (the former being the best;) and it accordingly
inherits the small legs and handsome shape of the Horse,
and the long ears, and cross on the back, which character-
ize its more humble parent. In obstinacy it surpasses the
latter; but it is valuable for its sureness of foot, which ena-
bles it to pass with safety along the most tremendous pre-
cipices, if left to the guidance of its own instinct. The
Mile is fond of handsome trappings, and is longer lived
than either the Horse or the Ass. Nature denies it the
power of continuing its race. In one or two instances,
however, an exception has occurred to this rule.

[ To be continued. |

INCUBATION.

A nen has scarcely sat on the egg twelve hours, when
some lineaments of the head and body of the chicken ap-
pear. The heart may be seen to beat at the end of the
second day; it has at that time somewhat of the form of a
horse-shoe, but no blood yet appears. At the end of two
days the vesicles of blood are to be distinguished, the
pulsation of which is very visible: one of them is the left
ventricle, and the other the root of the great artery. At the
end of the fiftieth hour, one auricle of the heart appears, and
resembles a noose folded down upon itself. The beating of
the heart is first observed in the auricle and afterwards in the
ventricle. At the end of seventy hours the wings are dis-
tinguishable; and on the head two bubbles are seen for the
brain; one for the bill; and two others, for the fore and

hind part of the head. Towards the end of the fourth day,
the two auricles, already visible, draw nearer to the heart
than they did before. The liver appears towards the fifth
day. At the expiration of one hundred and thirty-four
hours, the first voluntary motion is observed; in seven
hours more, the lungs and stomach become visible; and
four hours after this, the intestines, the loins, and the
upper jaw. At the hundred and forty-fourth hour, two
ventricles are discerned, and two drops of blood, instead
of the single one which was seen before. The seventh
day, the brain begins to have some consistence. At the
hundred and ninetieth hour of incubation, the bill opens,
and the flesh appears in the breast; in four hours more, the
breast bone is seen; and in six after this, the ribs appear,
forming from the back; and the bill is plainly seen, as
well as the gall-bladder. The bill becomes green at the
end of two hundred and thirty-six hours, and if the chicken
is taken out of its coverings, it evidently moves itself.
The feathers begin to shoot out towards the two hundred
and fortieth hour, and the skull becomes gristly. At the
two hundred and sixty-fourth, the eyes appear. At the two
hundred and eighty-eighth, the ribs are perfect. At the
three hundred and thirty-first, the spleen draws near the
stomach, and the lungs to the chest. At the end of three
hundred and fifty-five hours, the bill frequently opens and
shuts; and at the end of the eighteenth day, the first ery of
the chicken is heard. It afterwards gets more strength
and grows constantly, till at length it is enabled to set
itself free from its confinement.

In the total of this process must be remarked, that every
part appears at the appropriate time; if, for example, the
liver is formed on the fifth day, it is founded on the pre-
ceding situation of the chicken, and on the changes which
are to follow. No part of the body could possibly appear,
either sooner or later, without the whole embryo suffering;
and each of the limbs becomes visible at the proper mo-
ment. This ordination, so invariable in its effects, is
manifestly the work of a supreme Being, whose creative
powers must be still more sensibly acknowledged, when
the manner in which the chicken is formed out of the parts
which compose the egg is also considered; how astonish-
ing it is that in this there should exist the principles of life:
that all the parts of an animal’s body should therein be
concealed, and require nothing but heat to unfold and

quicken them—that the formation of the bird should be so

regular—that exactly at the same instant the same changes
will take place in a great number of eggs—that the chicken,
when hatched, is heavier than the egg was before. But
even these are not all the wonders in the production of
the bird from the egg, (and this instance will serve to illus-
trate the whole feathered race,) there are others, which,

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 83

from our limited faculties, are altogether hidden from our
research.

Hatching chickens by artificial heat, is a process that
has been long known in Egypt: (it was successfully tried
by Mr. Potter, in the isle of Ely, both with hens and phea-
sants’ eggs,) but this is only now practised by the inhabi-
tants of a single village called Berne, and by those who
live in its immediate vicinity. About the beginning of
autumn, these persons spread themselves all over the coun-
try, and each of them are ready to undertake the manage-
ment of anoven. These ovensare of different sizes, capa-
ble of containing from forty to eighty thousand eggs; and
the number of ovens in different parts, was about three
hundred and eighty. These were annually kept working
for about six months; and as each brood takes up twenty-
one days in hatching, it is easy in every one of them to
produce eight different broods of chickens in the year.

The ovens are of the most simple construction, consist-
ing of only a low arched apartment of clay. Two rows
of shelves are formed, and-the eggs are placed so as not to
touch each other. They are slightly moved five or six
times in every twenty-four hours. All possible care is to
be taken to diffuse the heat equally throughout; and there
is but one small aperture large enough to admit a man
stooping. During the first eight days, the heat is rendered
great, in the last eight it is gradually diminished, till at
length, when the young brood is ready to come forth, it
is reduced almost to the state of the natural atmosphere.
At the end of the first eight days, itis known which of the
eges will not be productive.

Every person who undertakes the care of an oven is
under the obligation of delivering to his employer only
two-thirds of as many chickens as there have been eggs
given to him, and he is a gainer by this bargain, as it always
happens (except from some unexpected accident) that more
than two-thirds of the eggs produce birds. In order
to make a calculation of the number of chickens thus
hatched yearly in Egypt, it has been supposed that, upon
an average of only two-thirds of the eggs being productive,
and that each brood consists of at least thirty thousand
chickens, the ovens, by this estimate, give life, annually,
to about 92,600,000 of these animals.

M. de Reaumur introduced this advantageous mode of
hatching eggs into France, and by a number of ingenious
experiments, reduced the art to certain principles. He
found that the degree of heat necessary for the production
of all kinds of domestic fowls was the same, the only dif-
ference consisting in the time during which it ought to be
communicated to the eggs; it will bring the canary-bird to
perfection in eleven or twelve days, while the turkey
poult requires from twenty-four to twenty-eight. M. de

Reaumur found that stoves heated by means of pipes from
a baker’s oven, or the furnace of glass-houses, succeeded
better than those made hot by layers of dung, the mode pre-
ferred in Egypt. Theseshould have their heat kept as
nearly equal as possible, and the eggs should be frequently
removed from the sides into the middle, in order that each
may receive an equal portion of heat. After the eggs were
hatched, he had the offspring put into a kind of low boxes
without bottoms, and lined with fur, the warmth of which
supplied that of the hen, and in which the chickens could
at any time takeshelter. Tull the chickens acquired some
strength, these boxes were keptin a warm room; with safety
they then could be exposed to the open air in a court-yard.
The young seldom take any food the whole day after being
hatched; then a few crumbs of bread are given for a day
or two, after which time they begin to pick up insects and
grain for themselves. That the trouble of attending them
might be saved, M. de Reaumur taught capons to watch
them in the same manner as hens, of which three or four
were sufficient to take care of two hundred chickens.

RAPID PROPAGATION OF DOMESTIC QUAD-
RUPEDS.

Next to the direct agency of man, his indirect influ-
ence in multiplying the numbers of large herbivorous quad-
rupeds of domesticated races, may be regarded as one of the
most obvious causes of the extermination of species. On
this, and on several other grounds, the introduction of the
horse, ox, and other mammalia, into America, and their
rapid propagation over the continent within the last three
centuries, is a fact of great importance in natural history.
The extraordinary herds of wild cattle and horses which
overrun the plains of South America, sprung from a very
few pairs first carried over by the Spaniards; and they
prove that the wide geographical range of large species in
great continents, does not necessarily imply that they have
existed there from remote periods. Humboldt observes,
in his Travels, on the authority of Azzara, that it is be-
lieved there exist, in the Pampas of Buenos Ayres, twelve
million cows and three million horses, without comprising
in this enumeration, the cattle that have no acknowledged
proprietor. In the Llanos of Caraccas, the rich hateros, or
proprietors of pastoral farms, are entirely ignorant of the
number of cattle they possess. The young are branded
with a mark peculiar to each herd, and some of the most
wealthy owners mark as many as fourteen thousand a year.

84 THE CABINET OF

In the northern plains, from the Orinoco to the lake of
Maracaybo, M. Depons reckoned that one million two hun-
dred thousand oxen, one hundred and eighty thousand
horses, and ninety thousand mules, wandered at large. In
some parts of the valley of the Mississippi, especially in
the country of the Osage Indians, wild horses are immensely
numerous.

The establishment of black cattle in America dates from
Columbus’ second voyage to St. Domingo. They there
multiplied rapidly; and that island presently became a kind
of nursery from which these animals were successively trans-
ported to various parts of the continental coast, and from
thence into the interior. Notwithstanding these numerous
exportations, in twenty-seven years after the discovery of
the islands, herds of four thousand head, as we learn from
Oviedo, were not uncommon, and there were even some
that amounted to eight thousand. In 1587, the number of
hides exported from St. Domingo alone, according to
Acosta’s report, was thirty-five thousand four hundred
and forty-four; and in the samé year there were ex-
ported sixty-four thousand three hundred and fifty from
the ports of New Spain. This was in the sixty-fifth year
after the taking of Mexico, previous to which event the Spa-
niards, who came into that country, had not been able to
engage in any thing else than war.

All our readers are aware, that these animals are now
established throughout the American continent, from Ca-
nada to Paraguay.

The ass has thriven very generally in the New World;
and we learn from Ulloa, that in Quito they ran wild, and
multiplied in amazing numbers, so as to become a nui-
sance. They grazed together in herds, and, when attacked,
defended themselves with their mouths. If a horse hap-
pened to stray into the places where they fed, they all fell
upon him, and did not cease biting and kicking till they
left him dead.

The first hogs were carried to America by Columbus,
and established in the island of St. Domingo the year fol-
lowing its discovery in November, 1493. In succeeding
years they were introduced into other places where the
Spaniards settled; and, in the space of half a century, they
were found established in the New World, from the lati-
tude of 25° north, to the 40th degree of south latitude.
Sheep, also, and goats have multiplied enormously in the
New World, as have also the cat and the rat, which last
has been imported unintentionally in ships. The dogs
introduced by man, which have at different periods become
wild in America, hunted in packs like the wolf and the
jackal, destroying not only hogs, but the calves and foals
of the wild cattle and horses.

Ulloa in his voyage, and Buffon on the authority of old

NATURAL HISTORY,

writers, relate a fact which illustrates very clearly the prin-
ciple of the check which the increase of one animal neces-
sarily offers to that of another. The Spaniards had intro-
duced goats into the island of Juan Fernandez, where they
became so prolific as to furnish the pirates who infested
those seas with provisions. In order to cut off this re-
source from the buccaneers, a number of dogs were turned
loose into the island; and so numerous did they become in
their turn, that they destroyed the goats in every accessi-
ble part, after which the number of the wild dogs again
decreased.

As an example of the rapidity with which a large tract
may become peopled by the offspring of a single pair of
quadrupeds, we may mention that in the year 1773 thir-
teen rein-deer were exported from Norway, only three of
which reached Iceland. These were turned loose into the
mountains of Guldbringé Syssel, where they multiplied
so greatly, in the course of forty years, that it was not un-
common to meet with herds consisting of from forty to one
hundred in various districts.

In Lapland, observes a modern writer, the rein-deer is
a loser by his connexion with man, but Iceland will be
this creature’s paradise. There is, in the interior, a tract
which Sir G. Mackenzie computes at not less than forty
thousand square miles, without a single human habitation,
and almost entirely unknown to the natives themselves.
There are no wolves; the Icelander will keep out the bears;
and the rein-deer, being almost unmolested by man, will
have no enemy whatever, unless it has brought with it its
own tormenting gad-fly.

Besides the quadrupeds before enumerated by us, our
domestic fowls have also succeeded in the West Indies and
America, where they have the common fowl, the goose, the
duck, the peacock, the pigeon, and the guinea-fowl. As
these were often taken suddenly from the temperate to
very hot regions, they were not reared at first without
much difficulty: but after a few generations they became
familiarized to the climate, which, in many cases, ap-
proached much nearer than that of Europe to the tempera-
ture of their original native countries.

The fact of so many millions of wild and tame individuals
of our domestic species, almost all of them the largest quad-
rupeds and birds, having been propagated throughout the
new continent within the short period that has elapsed
since the discovery of America, while no appreciable im-
provement can have been made in the productive powers
of that vast continent, affords abundant evidence of the
extraordinary changes which accompany the diffusion and
progressive advancement of the human race over the globe.
That it should have remained for us to witness such mighty
revolutions is a proof, eyenif there was no other evidence,

“LANL OA NWOWAIN LYOWM L MOUNT A UNV IAIN

Tune phy 9 3U0) SY 10 SA mm Ry War

gq?

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 85

that the entrance of man into the planet is, comparatively
speaking, of extremely modern date, and that the effects of
his agency are only beginning to be felt.

A modern writer has estimated, that there are in Ame-
rica upwards of four millions square miles of useful soil,
each capable of supporting two hundred persons; and
nearly six million, each mile capable of supporting four
hundred and ninety persons. If this conjecture be true,
it will follow, as that author observes, that if the natural
resources of America were fully developed, it would afford
sustenance to five times as great a number of inhabitants
as the entire mass of human beings existing at present upon
the globe. The new continent, he thinks, though less

than half the size of the old, contains an equal quantity: of -

useful soil, and much more than an equal amount of produc-
tive power. Be this as it may, we may safely conclude that
theamount of human population now existing, constitutes but
a small proportion of that which the globe is capable of
supporting, or which it is destined to sustain at no distant
period, by the rapid progress of society, especially in
America, Australia, and certain parts of the old continent.
[Lyell’s Geology.

MARYLAND YELLOW-THROAT.
SYLVIA MARILANDICA.

[Plate VIII. Vol. 2. Size of life. ]

Turdus Trichas, Linn. Syst. 1. 293.—Epw. 237.—
Vellow-breasted Warbler, Arct. Zool. 11.Nq. 283. Id.
284.—Le Figuier aux joues noires, Burr. vy. 292.—
La Fauvette a poitrine jaune de la Louisiane, Burr.
y. 162. Pl. Enl. 709, fig. 2.—Latru. Syn. 1v.—J.
Doveuty’s Collection.

Tuts is one of the humble inhabitants of briars, bram-
bles, alder bushes, and such shrubbery as grow most luxu-
riantly in low watery situations, and might with propriety
be denominated Humility, its business or ambition seldom
leading it higher than the tops of the underwood. Insects
and their larve are its usual food. It divesinto the deep-
est of the thicket, rambles among the roots, searches round
the stems, examines both sides of the leaf, raising itself on
its legs so as to peep into every crevice; amusing itself at
times with a very simple, and not disagreeable, song or
twitter, whitititee, whitititee, whitititee; pausing for half
a minute or so, and then repeating its notes as before. It

inhabits the whole United States from Maine to Florida,
and also Louisiana; and is particularly numerous in the
low swampy thickets of Maryland, Pennsylvania, and
New-Jersey. It is by no means shy; but seems delibe-
rate and unsuspicious, as if the places it frequented, or its
own diminutiveness, were its sufficient security. It often
visits the fields of growing rye, wheat, barley, &c. and no
doubt performs the part of a friend to the farmer, in rid-
ding the stalks of vermin, that might otherwise lay waste
his fields. It seldom approaches the farm-house or city;
but lives in obscurity and peace amidst his favourite thick-
ets. It arrives in Pennsylvania about the middle or last
week of April, and begins to build its nest about the mid-
dle of May: this is fixed on the ground, among the dried
leaves, in the very depth of a thicket of briars, sometimes
arched over, and a small hole left for entrance; the mate-
rials are dry leaves and fine grass, lined with coarse hair;
the eggs are five, white, or semi-transparent, marked with
specks of reddish-brown. The young leave the nest about
the twenty-second of June, and a second brood is often
raised in the same season. Early in September they leave
us, returning to the south.

This pretty little species is four inches and three-quar-
ters long, and six inches and a quarter in extent; back,
wings, and tail, green-olive, which also covers the upper
part of the neck, but approaches to cinereous on the crown;
the eyes are inserted ina band of black, which passes from
the front, on both sides, reaching half way down the neck;
this is bounded above by another band of white deepening
into light blue; throat, breast, and vent brilliant yellow;
belly, a fainter tinge of the same colour; inside coverts of
the wings also yellow; tips and inner vanes of the wings,
dusky brown; tail cuneiform, dusky, edged with olive-
green: bill black, straight, slender, of the true Motacilla
form; though the bird itself was considered as a species of
Thrush by Linnzus, but very properly removed to the
genus Motacilla by Gmelin; legs flesh-coloured; iris of the
eye dark hazel. The female wants the black band through
the eye, has the bill brown, and the throat of a much paler
yellow. This last, I have good reason to suspect, has
been described by Europeans asa separate species; and that
from Louisiana, referred to in the synonymes, appears evi-
dently the same as the former, the chief difference, ac-
cording to Buffon, being in its wedged tail, which is
likewise the true form of our own species; so that this
error corrected will abridge the European nomenclature
of two species.

The chief difference between the male and female, in the
markings of their plumage, is, that the female is destitute
of the black bar through the eyes, and the bordering one of
pale bluish-white.—Wrtson.

86 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

AMERICAN REDSTART.
MUSCICAPA RUTICILL.A.

[Plate VIII. Vol. 2. Size of life. |

Muscicupa Ruticilla, Linn. Syst. 1. 236, 10.—GMeEt.
Syst. 1. 935.—Motacilla flavicauda, Guru. Syst. 1.
997. (female. )—Le Gobemouche d’Amerique, Briss.
Orn. 11. 383, 14. Pl. Enl. 566, fig. 1, 2.—Small Ame-
rican Redstart, Epw. 80, Id. 257. (female. )— Yellow-
tailed Warbler, Arct. Zool. 11. No. 301. Id. 11. No.
282.—Larnam Syn. 1v.427, 18.—4rct. Zool. u. No.
301.—J. Dovexurty’s Collection.

Tuoveu this bird has been classed by several of our
most respectable ornithologists, among the Warblers, yet
in no species are the characteristics of the genus Muscicapa
more decisively marked; and in fact it is one of the most
expert Flycatchers of its tribe. It is almost perpetually
in motion; and will pursue a retreating party of flies from
the tops of the tallest trees, in an almost perpendicular but
zig-zag direction, to the ground, while the clicking of its
bill is distinctly heard, and I doubt not but it often secures
ten or twelve of these in a descent of three or four seconds.
It then alights on an adjoining branch, traverses it length-
wise for a few moments, flirting its expanded tail from
side to side, and suddenly shoots off, in a direction quite
unexpected, after fresh game, which it can discover at a
great distance. Its notes, or twitter, though animated and
sprightly, are not deserving the name of song; sometimes
they are weese, weese, weese, repeated every quarter of a
minute, as it skips among the branches; at other times this
twitter varies to several other chants, which I can instantly
distinguish in the woods, but cannot find words to imitate.
The interior of the forest, the borders of swamps and mea-
dows, deep glens covered with wood, and wherever flying
insects abound, there this little bird is sure tobe seen. It
makes its appearance in Pennsylvania, from the south,
late in April, and leaves us again about the beginning of
September. It is very generally found over the whole
United States; and has been taken at sea, in the fall, on
its way to St. Domingo and other of the West India islands,
where it winters, along with many more of our summer
visitants. It is also found in Jamaica, where it remains all
winter.

The name Redstart, evidently derived from the German
Rothsterts, (ved tail,) has been given this bird from its
supposed resemblance to the Redstart of Europe, (JZota-
cilla phoenicurus;) but besides being decisively of a dif-
ferent genus, it is very different both in size and in the

tints and disposition of the colours of its plumage. Buffon
goes even so far as to question whether the differences
between the two be more than what might be naturally
expected from change of climate. This eternal reference
of every animal of the New World to that of the old, if
adopted to the extent of this writer, with all the transmu-
tations it is supposed to have produced, would leave us in
doubt whether even the Aa-te-dids of America, (a species
of Gryllus, well known for its lively chatter during the
evenings and nights of September and October,) were not
originally Nightingales of the old world, degenerated by
the inferiority of the food and climate of this upstart con-
tinent. We have in America many different species of
birds that approach so near in resemblance to one another,
as not to be distinguished but by the eye of a naturalist, and
on a close comparison; these live in the same climate, feed
on the same food, and are, I doubt not, the same now as
they were five thousand years ago; and ten thousand years
hence, if the species then exist, will be found marked with
the same nice discriminations as at present. Is it therefore
surprising, that two different species, placed in different quar-
ters of the world, should have certain near resemblances to
one another, without being bastards, or degenerated de-
scendants, the one of the other, when the whole chain of
created beings seem united to each other by such amazing

gradations, that bespeak, not random chance and accidental

degeneracy, but the magnificent design of an incomprehen-
sively wise and omnipotent Creator?

The American Redstart builds frequently in low bushes,
in the fork of a small sapling, or on the drooping branches
of the elm, within a few feet of the ground; outwardly it is
formed of flax well wound together, and moistened with
its saliva, interspersed here and there with pieces of
lichen, and lined with a very soft downy substance. The
female lays five white eggs, sprinkled with gray, and
specks of blackish. The male is extremely anxious for
its preservation; and on a person’s approaching the place
will flirt about within a few feet, seeming greatly dis-
tressed.

The length of this species is five inches, extent six and
a quarter; the general colour above is black, which covers
the whole head and neck, and spreads on the upper part of
the breast in a rounding form; where, as well as on the
head and neck, it is glossed with steel blue; sides of the
breast, below this black, the inside of the wings, and upper
half of the wing-quills, are of a fine aurora colour; but
the greater and lesser coverts of the wings being black con-
ceal this; and the orange, or aurora colour, appears only as
a broad transverse band across the wings; from thence to
the tip they are brownish; the four middle feathers of the
tail are black, the other eight of the same aurora colour,

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

and black, towards the tips; belly and vent white, slightly
streaked with pale orange; legs black; bill of the true
Muscicapa form, triangular at the base, beset with long
bristles, and notched near the point. The female has not
the rich aurora band across the wing; her back and crown
is cinereous inclining to olive; the white below is not so
pure; lateral feathers of the tail and sides of the breast
greenish-yellow; middle tail feathers dusky brown. The
young males of a year old, are almost exactly like the fe-
male, differing in these particulars, that they have a yel-
low band across the wings which the female has not, and
the back is more tinged with brown; the lateral tail fea-
thers are also yellow; middle ones brownish-black; inside
of the wings yellow. On the third season they receive
their complete colours; and as males of the second year,
in nearly the dress of the female, are often seen in the
' woods, having the same notes as the full plumaged male,
it has given occasion to some people to assert, that the
females sing as well as the males; and others have taken
them for another species. The fact, however, is as I have
stated it. This bird is too little known by people in gene-
ral to have any provincial name.—ZJ0.

DEER HUNTING IN SOUTH AMERICA.

As the haunts of the Fallow-Deer or Venays, are
generally far from the abodes of men, and as they live in
continual alarm from the depredations of the host of ene-
mies, beasts, and birds of prey, and even reptiles, that
beset them, but for the extraordinary instinct, or sagacity
nature has endowed them with, for their preservation, the
race must long since have been extinct. The impenetra-
ble mountains of the Cordilleras are inhabited by immense
herds of these animals, a species of the stag-kind, also,
sometimes herds amongst them, though, as there seems a
great aversion to this commixture, it must be considered
as dictated by some necessary or instinctive policy. In
those haunts are also to be met the Cabia Montes or
Mountain-Goat, so much admired for its symmetry of
form and delicious flavour. The intricate and steep path-
ways leading to their couching haunts, are mostly in clefts
of rocky precipices, inaccessible to beasts of prey; and
even a nimble dog can scarcely skip from rock to rock, to
the outposts where their videttes are placed. Should any
of them venture, they soon have occasion to repent their
temerity.

It is not uncommon to see the jaguar, the tiger, &e. who
have the hardihood to attack their outposts, hurled by the

87

butting sentinels, the horned patriarchs of the flock, down
a precipice of five or six hundred feet: so that, unless im-
pelled by extreme hunger, they never attack them, except
in their more open pastures. As those ravenous creatures
are dormant during the day, the Deer are then partly secure.
At night a straggler from the community is sure of its fate,
as the jaguars hunt in packs, and are very quick-scented.
One trait of the South American Deer is worthy of notice.
In Europe a hunted Deer is driven from amongst the herd,
and abandoned to its fate: here, the guardians of the flock,
succour even a stranger of theircommunity. I apprehend,
that during the fawning season, the females and fawns suf-
fer more than the males, as the young are obliged to be
deposited in thickets, and the eagle and vulture are always
watching over head. The large brown snake isalso a great
destroyer of them, but the jaguar and wild-cat are their
worst enemies. There are about four bucks to one doe in
the herd, which shows what destruction there must be of
the latter. The colours of the Deer are various, and mostly
beautifully dappled upon yellow, white, and dun. The
stag is generally of a dusky brown. Hunting those ani-
mals is a source both of amusement and emolument to the
Indian tribes in high latitudes, and they may be said to
have brought it to high perfection. Having ascertained
the haunts of the animals for about a week, the whole tribe
assemble before day-break; some ascend the highest trees
to mark their progress; others couch themselves under
leaves, so as to impound them when they betake them-
selves to their fastnesses; then the whole tribe, men,
women, and boys, stretch over a vast tract of country, and,
assisted by their curs and horns, make every kind of hideous
noises, obliging them to quit their grazing spots while the
dew is on the ground. As the Deer assemble, they form in
complete marching order, preceded by the elder or patri-
archs, while the bucks of the second class bring up the
rear, to protect the females and young, and repel any at-
tacks. In this manner they arrive at their haunts; while
the Indians, advancing in all directions, prevent their re-
treat, by closing up all the embouchures or openings, and
while the Deer are forming in battle-array, prepare the in-
struments of destruction, viz. large lances, resinous torches,
and nooses fixed to long poles. The women are also
busy stuffing jaguar and tiger skins. The Indians having
made proper crevices dug into the grit and brown rock
which form the path, advance. The images of the wild
beasts are now presented to intimidate the Deer from break-
ing, which the bucks no sooner perceive than they make
a violent effort to strike them into the gulf,—their ani-
mosity to those beasts being such, that they often pass or
leap over aman to get at them. The Indians then strike,
and hurl them into the abyss below, where the women are

88 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

ready to hamstring or disable them before they recover
from their stupor. When the hunters can no longer pro-
voke them to rush on the stuffed tigers, &c., they make
signals to those over-head, to throw lighted flambeaux
amongst them. This causes them to make a desperate
effort to escape, and when the Indians have hurled a suffi-
cient number down the precipice, they suffer the females
and the fawns, and some of the bucks, to escape. Indeed,
they seem very much averse to destroying a doe at all, and
always liberate the doe fawns. In those excursions they
take on an average from four to five hundred. In taking the
Ciervo Grande, or Large Stag, they seldom get more than
from thirty to fifty; but of the¢Mountain-Goat they catch
an immense number; they enter the caverns in the rocks
by night, and pursue them by torch-light; and frequently
yoke a great many of them together alive, although the
flesh loses its flavour from the effort to domesticate them,
and they scarcely ever lose their native wildness. A full-
grown Fallow-Deer could be bought at Valencia for seven
pisettos, or five shillings British. During the hunting
season the Creoles sometimes hunt, but the Indians are
more expert.—Monthly Mag.

ANECDOTE OF A DOG.

A Frencu merchant, having some money due from a
correspondent, set out on horseback, accompanied by his
Dog, on purpose to receive it. Having settled the busi-
ness to his satisfaction, he tied the bag of money before
him, and began to return home. His faithful Dog, as if he
entered into his master’s feelings, frisked round the horse,
barked and jumped, and seemed to participate his joy.

The merchant, after riding some miles, alighted to re-
pose himself under an agreeable shade, and, taking the bag
of money in his hand, laid it down by his side, under a
hedge, andon remounting, forgot it. The Dog perceived
his lapse of recollection, and wishing to rectify it, ran to
fetch the bag; but it was too heavy for him to drag along.
He then ran to his master, and, by crying, barking, and
howling, seemed to remind him of his mistake. The mer-
chant understood not his language, but the assiduous crea-
ture persevered in its efforts, and, after trying to stop the
horse in vain, at last began to bite his heels.

The merchant, absorbed in some reverie, wholly over-
looked the real object of his affectionate attendant’s im-
portunity, but entertained the alarming apprehension that
he was gone mad. Full of this suspicion, in crossing a
brook, he turned back to look if the Dog would drink.

The animal was too intent on his master’s business to
think of itself; it continued to bark and bite with greater
violence than before.

‘‘Mercy!” cried the afflicted merchant, ‘it must be
so; my poor Dog is certainly mad; what must I do? I
must kill him, lest some greater misfortune befal me:
but with what regret! Oh, could I find any one to per-
form this cruel office for me! but there is no time to lose;
I myself may soon become the victim if I spare him.”
With these words, he drew a pistol from his pocket, and,
with a trembling hand, took aim at his faithful servant.
He turned away in agony as he fired; but his aim was too
sure. The poor animal fell wounded, and, weltering in
his blood, still endeayoured to crawl towards his master,
as if to tax him with ingratitude. The merchant could not
bear the sight; he spurred on his horse with a heart full of
sorrow, and lamented that he had taken a journey which
had cost him so dear. Still, however, the money never
entered his mind; he only thought of his poor Dog, and
tried to console himself with the reflection that he had
prevented a greater evil, by despatching a mad animal,
than he had suffered a calamity by his loss. This opiate
to his wounded spirit, however, was ineffectual. ‘¢I am
most unfortunate,’’? said he to himself, ‘“‘I had almost
rather lost my money than my Dog.” Saying this, he
stretched out his hand to grasp his treasure. It was miss-
ing!—no bag was to be found. In an instant he opened
his eyes to his rashness and folly. ‘* Wretch that I am!
I alone am to blame! I could not comprehend the admo-
nition which my innocent and most faithful friend gave me,
and I have sacrificed him for his zeal. He only wished to
inform me of my mistake, and he has paid for his fidelity
with his life.”’

Instantly he turned his horse, and went off at full gallop
to the place where he had stopped. He saw, with half-
averted eyes, the scene where the tragedy was acted; he
perceived the traces of blood as he proceeded; he was op-
pressed and distracted; but in vain did he look for his
Dog,—he was not to be seen on the road. At last he ar-
rived at the spot where he had alighted. But what were
his sensations! His heart was ready to bleed; he exeerated
himself in the madness of despair. The poor Dog, unable
to follow his dear but cruel master, had determined to
consecrate his last moments to his service. He had
crawled, all bloody as he was, to the forgotten bag, and, in
the agonies of death, he lay watching beside it. When he
saw his master, he still testified his joy by the wagging of
his tail—he could do no more—he tried to rise, but his
strength was gone. The vital tide was ebbing fast; even
the caresses of his master could not prolong his fate for a
few moments. He stretched out his tongue to lick the

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 89

hand that was now fondling him in the agonies of regret,
as if to seal forgiveness of the deed that had deprived him
of life. He then cast a look of kindness on his master, and
closed his eyes for ever.

From the New-England Galaxy.

SOME PASSAGES FROM THE DIARY OF A
SPORTSMAN.

[Continued from page 66.]

Tuer genuine Water-fowl Shooting, is no holiday work.

It is very much like arming oneself from helm to heel,
and of laying in a sufficient stock of resolution, and of
<< provant”’ (as Major Dalgetty has it) for a long and ar-
duouscampaign. The dainty dress, light boots, and short,
slight gun of wood-craft or field-shooting, are out of the
question. They would not stand the racket, (to employ
another popular, but rather coarse phrase) an hour. You
must encase your body in warm substantial garments, and
inearcerate the lower extremities in high greaves of the
toughest leather. The best gun for service is the long,
— double-barrel piece, which carries two ounces of
shot a good half mile, and neither bruises your shoul-
der, nor prostrates you in the recoil. Always give pre-
ference to a double-barrel over any species of gun, for it
gives you a double chance at the enemy—one ‘* bang” at
them as they are cosily swimming on the billow, in happy
unconsciousness of peril, and one other ‘bang’? when
they start up from their repose in tumult and affright.
When they do rise, be not hasty and over-eager, and so
destroy good sport, and abuse the goods the ‘‘ Gods pro-
vide thee,” through imprudent anxiety—but be cool and
collected—cock your gun promptly, but carefully—place
the finger on the trigger with due precision—select
with a provident eye the most desirable portion of the
flock against which direct the s¢ght of the barrel—and
then pull away, and if you bring not down as many
feathers as you can cleverly carry, then are you a most
precious blockhead. Then, if you are shooting from
the beach, order in your dog to tow them ashore, (if he is
a true animal, he will not wait for the order, but with one
grand plunge will seize the nearest bird, although ten yards
from shore,) or if you are on the water, up with the ‘ kil-
lock,”? and row toward them. There they lie, scattered
over the water, a rare and beautiful picture, which the
elated shooter stops not to admire, however, for lo! he has

Z

stretched forth both hands over the gunwale, well employ-
ed in gathering in his wealth. Here lies the strong-winged
Loon, the imperial cloud-cleaver himself! who was but yes-
terday fanning with his broad pinions the clear atmosphere
above some snow-covered and far-distant mountain in the
untrod regions of the North, or screaming to his now wi-
dowed mate around the silent waters of some Polar lake!
But no more will his black head be aimed at by the Indian
rifle or the savage arrow; and the Indian fisher, whose
solitary canoe has often glided by him in the lake of the
wilderness, will look for that lonely bird in vain. For his
long pilgrimage on the earth has now reached its end, and
his red blood is tinging the blue wave that washes the
shore of New-England, and his far-travelled wing has
been struck motionless by a Yankee musket.

Beautiful Mallard! Well might’st thou be vain of that
lovely plumage—of those intense hues which rival the rare
glories of the breaking dawn, or the decaying twilight of
autumn, or the intermingled dyes which tinge the stripes
of the showery bow. But, alas! that most venial vanity
will be indulged no more, for the red drop of death is
trembling on that polished beak, and thy heart’s blood is
oozing over thy downy bosom. Thine affrighted mate has
left thee to breathe out thy last gasp on the billow; and on
the wings of fear, (with a broken leg, however!) is now
eens away with the rest of thy meine en to the distant
country of thy destination. Many a time will she, while
swimming in some remote lagoon with her brood, (thy off-
spring) relate the cruel story of thy death, and caution
them to make a wide circuit, whenever they shall chance
to espy a small suspicious-looking wherry, with a long
gun and a rough face peeping over its side, in the waters
of Boston Bay. She will caution them to keep farther out
to sea along that piratical coast, and thereby avoid that
treacherous, picaroonish sort of craft, which there lies in
wait, between two billows, ready to pounce upon and pop
over the unwary cruiser.

The Loon, however, is not so easily taken as some young
Sportsmen are apt to imagine. If the question is put to
you, ‘will you have him now or wait till you get him,”
the chances are very considerable in favour of your reply-
ing in the language of the latter clause of the query. The
invention and use of those prompt little percussion-caps,
however, has caused sad havoc among them, of late years,
and will have a tendency greatly to diminish their num-
bers, unless their sagacity teaches them to use greater cau-
tion in their migrations. They have so long been accus-
tomed to baffle our tardy flint-locks, that they have grown
quite presumptuous, and will suffer the shooter’s boat to
approach within ten waves of them, when presto! under
they go, after the flash, but long before the explosion.

90 THE CABINET OF

Indeed, by the time the shot shall have reached the point of
their immersion, they have sculled away beneath the sur-
face, and under the very boat itself, some hundred or two
yards, and presently thrust up their black heads, far astern
of the discomfited gunner. But the poor Loon now be-
gins to discover that this confounded percussion powder,
is much too quick for him, and it will no longer answer
for him to rely upon his own celerity against so swift a
traveller. This new enemy emits no flash, and drives a
score of leaden messengers into him, before he begins to
think of moving.

I remember my first pitched-battle against the Loon.
If I had then known the ‘nature of the beast,’’ as tho-
roughly as I do now, I should not have suffered myself to
have been foiled in so unequal an encounter. Myself and
a brother fowler, (both ardent, though inexperienced gun-
ners,) had been traversing the woods for the better part of
a long summer’s day, and found ourselves about the hour
of twilight, on the shore of a broad inland bay, whose
sandy border skirted the woods around. Upon entering
upon the beach, we were no less surprised than pleased to
see two of these large birds, riding silently at anchor within
pistol-shot of us. There they were, quietly rocking on
the billow, like two gallant ships patiently watching the
movements in a blockaded port. Their long crooked
necks slowly swung round as we approached, and I could
see the sharp, black eye of each cast upon us an inquisitive
and fearless glance. Up went our guns to our shoulders,
and bang they went with a simultaneous report. When
the smoke blew aside, I expected to behold them both keeled
over on their sides, well riddled with our shot. But here
was a reckoning without mine host. They had both, like
the ‘little Aerial,” in the Water Witch, disappeared from
the surface of the sea, but whether they had vanished into
the air, or had plunged to the bottom of the deep, was a
moot point with us. Presently, however, up rose my
two gentlemen, for a commodity of fresh air, which they
much needed after so long a sojourn among the fishes. My
comrade and myself being resolved to give chase to the
enemy, eagerly traversed the shore, in search of a wherry,
skiff, or water craft of any description, in which to em-
bark. In the mean time the enemy were securely riding
again at anchor under the lee of a huge black rock, afar off,
which rose abruptly from the bosom of the deep, and
which the billows for ever encircled with their foamy
wreaths. We heard their solitary seream coming from
afar over the waters, and it seemed to us like a bold chal-
lenge, gallantly sent by the flag of one nation, to that of
another hostile land. I thought of the day when the gal-
lant Shannon fired her signal-gun on the coast of New-
England, and sent in her courteous inyitation to the no

NATURAL HISTORY,

less gallant Chesapeake, then anchored in Boston harbour,
to sail forth and do her utmost for the honourof her country.
But our feathered challengers had somewhat the advantage
of myself and comrade, inasmuch as a great watery gulf
intervened between us, and although with the help of their
strong wings they might come to us, we could not pass over
to them without the aid of a boat. At length we found a
small and clumsily-built wherry, lying bottom-upwards,
far above high-water mark, which with our united strength
we succeeded in launching. But the burning sun of sum-
mer had opened in it a thousand gaping seams, through
which the element of water entered without opposition.
But into it we stowed our persons and guns, which I was
commissioned to serve in the battle, while my comrade, in
the capacity of crew, sculled away as well as a fragment of
an oar would permit, and at the same time bailed out the
water, which gained upon us in the hold, with his hat.
Tran out both of our pieces of ordnance, and opened a fire
upon the enemy when within half gun-shot. But they
showed the ‘‘ white feather,’”? or rather no feather at all,
and dove at the flash, and emerged again, a good half mile
distant. We pursued, fired again and again, with no
better success, till they had allured us nearly out to sea,
when they left us to find our way back again, as we could.
In the meantime ‘‘ with one stride came the dark.’ We
ran our little vessel into a sandy cove of a small but beau-
tiful island, and there spent the night under a tree in the
woods. The isle was uninhabited, so comfortable lodgings
and a good civilized supper, were not to be had for love or
money,—but we made a fine blazing fire, by means of our
guns, and broiled upon it the few birds we had shot,
(chiefly wild pigeons) and passed a most merry night un-
der the green wood tree. Indeed, we lit up a beacon that
was seen for miles around, and a grand spectacle did the
ruddy flames disclose, casting their glare upon the savage
woods around, and the heaving billows of the sea. When
the earliest streak of the dawning trembled in the east, we
re-embarked, and returned to ‘‘ the bosom of our afilicted
families. ”? M.

MAZEPPA.

Tue dreadful punishment inflicted upon the hero of
Lord Byron’s Poem, has a demoniacal example in a news-
paper called ‘¢ Mercurius Politicus,”’ printed in 1655. The
narrative is dated from Hamburg.

“< This last week several wagoners coming from Bres-
land to Silesia, on their way into the Duke of Saxony’s
country, perceived a stag with a man upon his back, run-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 91

ning with all his might; coming near the wagons, he sud-
denly fell-down, the poor man sitting upon his back made
a pitiful complaint—how that the day before he was, by
the Duke of Saxony, for killing a deer, condemned to be
bound with chains upon that stag, his feet bound fast un-
der the stag’s belly with an iron chain soldered, and his
hands so chained to the horns. The miserable man beg-
ged earnestly that they would shoot him, to put him out
of his pain; but they durst not, fearing the Duke. Whilst
they were talking with him, the stag got up again, and ran
away with all his might. The wagoners computed that he
had run in sixteen hours, not less than twenty-six Dutch
miles in the least, which makes near one hundred of our
English miles. The miseries which that poor creature
did and must undergo, especially if the stag killed him not
in running, cannot be expressed, hardly imagined.”

INSTRUCTIONS TO YOUNG SPORTSMEN.
No. II.

In my former communication, I introduced you to the
fields, and very unceremoniously left you there, while I
reviewed several items, very important in the Sporting con-
cern; and, having thus intruded on your patience a little,
I must apologize, and resume my remarks on the duties
before you.

The situation I left you in, I believe, was with your
dogs at the ‘down charge,” and you loading your gun—
this being completed, you may give notice of your readi-
ness to the dogs, by using the words, ‘‘hie on,”’ or ‘hold
off;’? but in no instance permit them to leave your feet,
until you have not only completed loading your gun, but
also have fixed the cap on the tube—this precaution is ne-
eessary, as will appear hereafter.

Now commence beating the field, with a moderate and
regular walk, going in zig-zag directions, until you have
reached the extremity. It is requisite that you should
always keep moving, and industriously hunt over the
ground as well as your dogs—you will in this case be
likely to spring a covey of birds,* which may have been
passed unnoticed by the dogs,—and your industry tends
much to keep up their ambition, especially towards the

* | allude altogether to the Partridge,—and as this bird is called by
different names in different sections of our country, I mean the Part-
ridge of Pennsylvania and the Southern States—and the Quail of New-
Jersey, New-York, and the Eastern States. In New-York and New-
England the Pheasant is called the Partridge.

close of a laborious day’s hunt. Should you have evidence
that game is near, slacken your pace, and do not crowd
the dogs, but give them every advantage of time and their
judgment. Remember you cannot beat a stubble too well;
no part of it should be omitted—but every nook and cor-
ner tried, until you are convinced no game is there. You
are in search of game, and you had better hunt a few fields
well, than overrun a large extent of country at a hurried
and unsuccessful rate.

It frequently occurs, that birds do not like to rise before
the Sportsman or his dogs, which may be accounted for,
either by the tameness of the birds or the dampness of their
feathers, and will only avoid an approaching object by
merely running aside and squatting, until such noise as
alarmed them, has ceased. In this case, a Sportsman must
be indefatigable in hunting the ground, as such game, when
sprung, generally affords fine sport. Sometimes, on very
cold mornings, also, Partridges do not leave their roosts
until quite late in the day. I have frequently discovered
a covey huddled together ina roosting position before my
dog’s nose as late as ten o’clock, on severe mornings; con-
sequently, there is not so much effluvium arising from them
in this quiescent state, as when searching for food among
the stubble;—hence the necessity of hunting a field close,
and not at all times to depend on the perfection of your
dogs to wind the birds ata long distance. A dog will some-
times pass within a very few feet to the windward of a co-
vey of birds, and not heed them, especially should the wind
be high; this every Sportsman knows, —and I am the more
convinced of the necessity of adhering to this rule, from
several cases which I have experienced;—one in particular
may be mentioned, to show the truth of my remarks.
One windy afternoon, I was hunting Partridges on ground
which had every appearance of containing plenty- of that
kind of game; part of this was a very extensive wheat
stubble, which I had entered but a few minutes, when my
dogs soon convinced me game was in the field, or had just
left it; but, after they had ranged from side to side to the
extremity of the field, without success, I called them
in and left it, and hunted several adjoining fields and
thickets with the same success. My old dog, ‘ the most
faithful of his kind,’’ re-entered the stubble, and ranged it
again with the same energy as at first. I however noticed,
that about the middle of the field was the spot where the
birds had just left, for, on five or six times, the dogs, when-
ever unsuccessful in ranging, would return to this very
spot, to ascertain and make themselves more sure that the
birds had been there. I now thought I had tried every
spot, both in the field and in those places adjoining it. I
had incontestible evidence that the birds had been there
within a short period, but I could not find them. I was

92 THE CABINET OF

at a stand what to do—the dogs were also confounded—
while my old dog looked me full in the face, wagged his
tail, and then took a survey of the field—and by his dumb
expression seemed to say, ‘‘ the birds are not far off, and
must be found.’? While in this dilemma, the old dog took
one more snuff at the spot in the centre of the field, and
then started off anew, direct for the fence,—and with cau-
tious step, and nose down, he proceeded to scent every
inch for the whole circumference of the field, most proba-
bly to ascertain whether the birds had run out of it or not,
keeping not more than two feet from the fence. He had
proceeded nearly around the field, until he came to a cor-
ner beside the public road—and while with one paw on
the fence, in the act of leaping through it, he snuffed the
tainted air, and set the long desired birds; these were
lodged in a small tuft of grass, not more than five feet
from the corner of the fence; and as appears, suffered the
dog to pass within three feet of them without moving;
and had he not gone to the windward, and between them
and the fence, they would have remained undiscovered.
I supposed they must have sprung of their own accord,
previous to my entering the field, and after having settled
again, remained unmoved, until I flushed them. Two hours
had elapsed while hunting these birds, but my persever-
ance was rewarded by a large portion of the flock, which
would have been lost, had my movements been more rapid.
At any rate, it proves that a Sportsman should always
move with cautious step, and if he has good dogs,* it is
better to trust them nine times out of ten, than his own
judgment.

When you are convinced that you are approaching a
covey of birds, be quiet, and let your dogs rather exercise
their own judgment, than by attempting to correct a sup-
posed error, you make matters worse. Many persons
think that it is a necessary part of hunting, to be constantly
hallooing at and abusing their dogs. No Sportsman, how-
ever, does this;—noise not only confuses dogs, but fright-
ens and puts the game on their alert; therefore avoid any
thing of the kind, and, as you discover by the slackened
pace, and short ranging of the dogs, that they are drawing
the game, walk slowly towards them, and soon as they
stand, give notice to them of your approach by using the
word ‘¢'To-ho.”

This, now, is the season of the most exciting interest to
the young Sportsman; his nerves evince it, and his heart
begins to flutter with anxiety, and it requires no common

* I have supposed that the Sportsman isin possession of good dogs,
as these are the most important auxiliaries in hunting;—but if he does
not possess them, it is useless to attempt a successful excursion. For
the manner of educating dogs, see ‘* Treatise on Breaking Dogs,”
pages 160 and 186, Vol. I. of this work.

NATURAL HISTORY,

fortitude to obtain self-command, that he may subdue these
feelings. This is common toevery beginner, and nothing but
much practice will overcome them, and establish the sang
Jroid and self-possession so highly important to success.
This trepidation arises altogether from anxiety in the learn-
er; he wishes to secure the game, and yet fearful to spring
it, lest it should eseape,—and he would almost shrink from
the effort, as is evident, by his unwillingness to approach
the spot. But let me advise the learner, the moment his
dogs point, to walk slowly, and with undeviating step,
right upon the game, as though he intended to kick them
from the ground; but in no instance hurry yourself,—the
difference of time between a deliberate, and a hurried
walk, over a wide field, would be little over one minute,
and the dog must be poor indeed, which would not wait
that long for your approach;—besides, when you arrive at
the goal, you are not excited by undue exercise, your
nerves are more settled, and you feel deliberate—and you
also stand less chance of prematurely flushing the covey,
than if, by your hurry through the stubble or bushes, you
create alarm. Recollect that the earth is a great conduc-
tor of sound to objects which lie near its surface, and the
brushing of stubble, or the rustling of leaves, will most as-
suredly alarm the game, as well as make the dogs impa-
tient.

When within thirty or forty yards of your dogs, set
both cocks of your gun, and after you have sprung the
game, single out one bird and fire—let your gun fall to
the position of carrying it—single out another, bring up
your gun, and fire a second time. In all this you may be
deliberate, and yet astonishingly quick.

It is very important how you should carry your gun,
especially when cocked, and you in company with a friend.
The best and most ready plan is to let the left hand gripe
the barrels, the right hand the breech, and the gun lie
obliquely across you, with the muzzle elevated in a line
with the head, and the butt resting near or against the
right hip. This position requires but a little effort to
throw the gun to the shoulder; when, if by accident it
should be discharged, the contents are thrown harmlessly
into the air.

In recommending you to cock both barrels of your gun,
before you flush the game, I am aware that I run counter
to the precepts of most writers, and that I come in colli-
sion with some (whom I could name) who are ready to
reprobate me at once for this advice. But let us hear both
sides, before we condemn either. Nearly every work on
Sporting which I have read, were produced by English
authors; consequently their advice is restricted to the game
of their own country. Some of these advise, that when
the Sportsman has sprung the game, he must deliberately

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 93

cock one barrel, and fire—bring down his gun—cock the
other barrel, bring it to the shoulder, and fire again.
Others recommend the learner, in order to insure delibe-
ration, that so soon as the birds have sprung, to speak the
words ‘hold, halt, now!”’ before firing, intending by this
to give time for self-command, and the bird a proper dis-
tance. Another relates, in exemplification of his rules, an
anecdote of a Frenchman, who was so deliberate in his
movements, that after the bird had sprung, he would take
from his pocket his snuff-box—take a pinch of snuff—re-
place the box—and then kill his bird. Now, all this
looks well enough on paper, and does to give temporary
amusement to the reader; but let me tell you, young
Sportsman, this cannot be so—and if you are to account
yourself proficient in the science of shooting flying, only
when you can do these things, you may at once despair of
ever becoming a good shot. [can see no use of laying
down rules which can never be followed, nor giving ad-
vice which the preceptors themselves never follow; it
only adds more difficulties, already numerous, to be sur-
mounted by the learner, and trammels his way with per-
plexities which should never exist.

It certainly would amuse me much, to have a few excur-
sions after the Pheasant and Partridges of this country,
with those authors who recommend such rules. I would
like to see how often they would exercise them, and with
what success. It argues one of two things, viz. that these
authors are only theoretically acquainted with shooting, or,
that the English game-birds bear no comparison in the
yelocity of their flight, with those of this country; the lat-
ter case, however, is the most probable,—and to prove the
fallacy of such rules, permit me to remark, that one of our
Partridges, at the most moderate computation, will fly,
when in possession of strength, and the vigour of maturity,
forty-five feet in a second of time, and a Pheasant sixty
feet. Now supposing on an average, the bird will rise from
you twenty feet, and the expression of the words, ‘hold,
halt, now,”’ will consume three seconds more, the Par-
tridge will have departed a distance of one hundred and
fifty-five feet, or upwards of fifty yards, before you shoot
—and the Pheasant sixty-seven yards. Now tell me, what
success would a Sportsman have, who would follow this
rule. It is well enough to avoid all danger, and it would
be an excellent thing would Sportsmen never cock their
guns until the game has sprung—but as I said before, no one
follows it, and a rule is no rule unless it governs in some
instances—hence I advise the young Sportsman to adopt the
common usage, and if he is careful in other respects, I
will vouch that no accident will accrue by cocking his gun
prior to starting the game.

After you have fired, bring your dogs to the ‘‘ down

AA

charge” again, and without moving from the place put
your gun in the attitude of loading, and fix your eyes on
the flying game to the utmost stretch, and mark their direc-
tion by some standing object. Should not those birds
which you fire at fall, it may, as it often has happened,
that although mortally wounded, they have gone off in
company with their fellows, sometimes to the extremity of
their flight, and again but a short distance, and fall dead,
which more particularly proves the necessity of watching
the birds until their flight is completed, or they are hidden
from your view by some intervening object. Should you
have discharged but one barrel, do not commence loading
again, until you have uncocked your gun, by letting it down
upon the tube; and I would impress on you by all means
not to remove the broken fragments of the cap from the dis-
charged barrel, until after you have reloaded, and are about
to put another cap on. This advice will appear more
weighty, when I remark, that explosions sometimes occur
when the powder is poured from the flask into the empty
barrel, in consequence of a spark having remained at the
bottom of the barrel: this may be avoided, by not remov-
ing the broken cap, inasmuch as the force of the percussion
being so great, as generally to drive a portion of the cap
into the tube, which so effectually keeps out air, that
should a spark have remained in the barrel, it would be-
come extinguished as instantaneously by pouring in the
powder, as if saturated by water; but, should you remove
these broken fragments, and open a passage for the air to
circulate freely, it would fan and keep a spark alive, and
an explosion would certainly be the consequence: the stop-
page of this tube by the copper, acts precisely as the
thumb on the touch-hole when firing ordnance.

I witnessed an explosion but a short time since, which
had like to have proved serious, being as I supposed occa-
sioned by drawing back the cock, and removing the bro-
ken cap; the powder exploded when poured in, burst, and
drove the flask from the hand of the shooter to the distance
of thirty yards,—but fortunately the only injury was a
scorching of the face and hands. Such accidents can only be
accounted for on the above principle; for this reason, I con-
demn those small vents which appear at the sides of some
percussion guns.

Being prepared a second time, give the dogs the usual
sign of readiness, and then follow, in direct line, the flight
of the birds. Observe the same gait at all times, and let
your dogs quarter the ground well until you reach the de-
sired spot. In this way you may recover many a dead bird,
which has fallen short of itsintended flight, and not unfre-
quently encounter another covey. In getting over fences,
I have seen the hurried Sportsman accidentally discharge
his gun, by having it cocked, and his finger, unheeded by

94 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

him, on or just before the trigger, and the exertion re-
quired to surmount the fence, would give impulse to his
finger, and thus discharge the gun. I have also seen guns
discharged by leaping froma fence, when the trigger would
strike a small twig, while in the act of jumping. All of
this should be avoided, and it only requires forethought
and system to lessen these dangers; therefore ascertain at
every fence if your gun is uncocked—and then you may
either gripe the gun at the breech with the right hand, and
put it over the fence first, and use your left for the purpose
of climbing; or place your gun first on the opposite side of
the fence before you get over; and it would be well when
you attempt a post and rail fence, always to go to the right,
but close to the post,—you then have a solid place for
your feet, and a good purchase for your left hand. I.

POINTER AND SETTER DOGS,
OR, WHICH ARE BEST.

TueErz is a great diversity of opinion, among Sports-
men, in regard to the choice of Dogs,—and this arises, not
so much from the superiority of one breed over the
other, as from fancy or habit. The relation which a Dog
bears to his master, confirms the opinions of the latter
as to the merits of that particular breed; and no argument
scarcely, or circumstance, will influence him to make a
change, or alter his feelings—so firmly are his opinions
settled by the continual intercourse with his Dog, and the
pleasures enjoyed from his services: hence the tenacity
with which some adhere to the Pointer, while others re-
gard the Setter as the most superior Dog.

A man is apt to form his judgment from the qualities of
the first Dog he owns; and, as this may prove good or bad,
he accordingly approves or condemns the breed. Should
this Dog be only of mediocrity, his good parts are admired
and magnified,—while his bad qualities, owing to the at-
tachment and charitable feelings of his master, are over-
looked or suppressed, and being but a novice, he is not
acquainted with the requisites which constitute a first rate
Dog, or look beyond the qualities of his Dog for greater
perfection. He recollects his more early essays after
game, and the gratification he derived at the first point his
Dog made,—the admiration of his noble propensities in
quartering the fields, and drawing the game,—the infatua-
tion excited by killing the first bird,—and the bag of game
produced by his energy and the instrumentality of his
faithful companion: all these rivet his affections on his

Dog, and no matter how much the qualities of other Dogs
may be praised by their masters, he feels convinced that
his is no way inferior. All of these feelings grow out of first
impressions, which proverbially are called ‘the strong-
est;”’? and should this Dog have been either a Setter or
a Pointer, his future choice of that breed to which this
animal belonged, to the latest day of his life, is influenced
by the retrospection of early enjoyment, so much is judg-
ment biased by attachment.

It may be well to remark, however, that the superiority
of one breed of Dogs over the other, may be tested accord-
ing to the description of country to be hunted over, and
may properly be divided thus:—In open, dry, and moun-
tainous districts, especially in a warm climate, preference
may be given to the Pointer Dog;—but in low, wet, cold,
and woodland countries, the Setter is the most desirable.
The former, by reason of the slight covering of hair, and
thinness of skin, is not so easily excited by thirst, and can
withstand fatigue during warm days longer than the Set-
ter,—but the latter being covered by much more hair, is
protected from wet, cold, and briars; his feet are thickly
matted with hair, and are not liable to be injured by hard
or sharp substances protruding from the earth. In conse-
quence of this thick covering, his thirst returns fre-
quently, which makes it necessary to hunt in the vicinity
of water. This also more particularly accounts for this
animal’s fondness for water, into which, at all times and
seasons, he shows a willingness to enter; his covering
creates fever; this thirst; and as fleas are generally in num-
bers on him, his fondness for the water is more the effect
of necessity than of natural inclination.

Under these circumstances, then, I think the Setter
better adapted for hunting in the United States; the geo-
graphical part of it is more suited to his constitution and
qualities, and that portion of game usually sought after,
being snipe, woodcock, and partridge, and which are
mostly found in low-lands and thickets, that, abstractedly
from a choice of fancy, it appears to me, to say the least,
every Sportsman should be provided with one Setter
Dog.

The Pointer was not used for Sporting purposes until
a much later period than the Setter Dog, and it appears
was not introduced into England until the beginning
of the last century. Indeed, the Setter is supposed to
have had its origin in England, and is said by some authors
to have been produced, by crossing the Bloodhound with
the Land Spaniel, or Springer; while others contend their
production to have arisen between the Newfoundland Dog
and the Spanish Pointer. The latter, however, is the most
probable. But all this is so involved in uncertainty, that it is
given as conjecture. The purity of the Pointer, however,

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 95

is well established, being a distinct breed in Spain, Por-
tugal, and France.

A well-formed Setter, is certainly a beautiful Dog; his
body is well proportioned; his long, flowing hair gives a
softness of expression to the whole figure,—the pendant
and silken ears hang gracefully beside the head, which
become more interesting when in playful mood, or excited
by the words or actions of his master, he elevates and moves
them in token of fondness andrespect,—while the benignant
countenance bespeaks that generosity so prominent in the
Newfoundland Dog; and the tail, the prettiest ornament
of the animal, completes the finish.of the whole. The
Pointer is neat and cleanly, but does not possess the grace
and playfulness of the Setter.

I do not think there is much difference in the inherent
properties of these two breeds; but there does exist, some-
times, a difference,—and this, as has been stated before, is
caused more by local circumstances than any thing else.
My choice of one in preference to the other, would be
governed altogether by the latter, although the best Dogs
I ever owned, or indeed ever saw, were Setters.

When I choose a Dog, I always select one with a broad
head—black eyes, and nose, if possible—a nose full and
blunt, not straight, but somewhat sunk between the eyes—
a high forehead, and a broad chest,—and if he should in-
cline to be bony and lank, I make no exception. His
colour should be mostly white, with a proportion of dark
spots, as he can be seen at a much greater distance through
shrubbery or high grass. The fashionable colour now pre-
yalent, is the brown and yellow Dogs; but I think their
popularity will subside, in consequence of the difficulties
before mentioned. I do not like the black Dogs, they look
well enough for companions, but they are generally head-
strong and savage; my dislike, however, may beno proof that
these qualities exist throughout that kind, although nearly
all the black Dogs I ever knew or hunted with, were of the
same ungovernable and ferocious dispositions. I have often
noticed, that the most hardy and indefatigable Dogs, were
those which had a dark brown or iron colour, prevailing
sometimes in large and again in small spots, on a dark gray
ground, over the whole animal, from the nose to the ex-
tremity of the tail. This, however, is a bad colour for the
Sportsman. I had a Dog of this description once,—and
owing to his colour and staunchness, I was often perplexed,
and suffered much loss of time, when hunting with him in
thickets; at which time, I have frequently passed within a
few feet of him, and pursued my way for half a mile, and
then retraced my steps to the last spot I saw him, and re-
mained hallooing and calling him from a supposed distance
for alongtime, oruntil I accidentally flushed the game, when
IT have found myself within perhaps twenty feet of him, ata

stand, where he had remained unmoved until the game
had sprung; and his colour being so like the faded’ leaves
and other objects, that he was undiscovered by me until
he broke from his stand.

There are some who give preference to those Pointers
or Setters which possess double noses, as they are called,
but which in fact is only a separation of the nostrils by a
longitudinal groove for a short distance up the nose. This
choice must arise more from the singularity and rarity of
the animal, than from superior excellence. I have seen
several of this description very superior; one especially, of
most beautiful proportions and reputed excellence, owned
in New-York, by a gentleman and a first rate Sportsman.

The Pointer, when standing at game, (unless other-
wise taught) always keeps himself erect and stiff, with the
tail and head usually more elevated than his body,—but
the Setter will oftentimes squat on his hinder parts, and
sometimes crouch completely on his belly, when coming
suddenly on the game, and in this way drag after them
until sufficiently near to remain stationary; his head and
tail are seldom raised on a level with his back, and it is
said by some writers, that they are more inclined to crouch-
ing according to the purity of their blood.

Cross breeds between the Pointer and Setter are con-
demned by some,—but for my part, I advocate them, as
uniting the qualities of the two, and when both are good,
it is reasonable to suppose the offspring will be good also.

D.

MY FAVOURITE WALKS.

Mr. Enprror:

So fond am I of rural things, that I frequently take
solitary walks in the neighbourhood of this city, through
woods, fields, and secluded lanes, many of which form the
most delightful promenades during the present warm wea-
ther. My excursions are not very limited, but some-
times extend for miles into the country;—this is more
generally the case, when I visit our sister state—and it is
astonishing how soon the visitor there, may avoid the
wearisome bustle of a great city, and find solitude and
calmness in the shady and extensive woods of New-Jer-
sey, —where nought but the carols of the most lovely birds,
disturb the reigning quietness, save now and then, favour-
ed by the western breeze, the hum and confusion of the
city floats swiftly over the waters. —

A Sportsman, (if I may so speak,) from my infaney, I
delight more especially to direct my footsteps to the com-

96 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

mon haunts of game,—not unseasonably to destroy, but to
admire and observe the progress of this portion of crea-
tion, which affords some of earth’s best pleasures; and it
is of no little satisfaction, that my solitary movements are
frequently enlivened by the voice of my favourite bird,
the Partridge. But a few days since, during one of my
walks, I heard and saw five pairs of these interesting birds,
within a mile of one of the ferries opposite Philadel-
phia. Whether they had been sustained through the
winter by some benevolent hand, or had survived its seve-
rities from their own resources, I am not able to say;—
but to those who delight in these things, it must be grati-
fying to learn of the existence of numbers of these birds;
indeed the prospect of game for next winter is favourable—
but I fondly hope that Sportsmen will exercise patience
and forbearance towards the Partridge for one more year,
and let time repair the ravages of past winters; we then shall
have our usual fall shooting in plenitude. It is also to be
hoped that farmers will avoid the destruction of the nests
of these birds, during the harvest season; for, want of care
in mowers by cutting over the nest, and sometimes destroy-
ing the parent birds, numbers of broods are prevented,
which might be avoided by cutting around, and leaving
sufficient covering about the nest; the old birds would then
rear their young with as much perseverance as though
they had not been disturbed.

Often, too, in the precincts of this city, when passing
some retired spot, I startle the Pheasant, which by the
wonderful swiftness of its flight, is lost to view in a
moment. How closely allied are solitude and the Phea-
sant!—and when it occurs that I spring this bird from its
shady retreat, although by emerging from the thicket I
would be brought in view of the habitations of an hun-
dred thousand souls, yet I feel myself removed, far from
civilization, to the loneliness of the mountains.

I have also been much diverted at the timidity and
pranks of the Rabbit; these little animals may always be
seen at a short distance from town, towards the close of
day, when the dazzling influence of the sun cannot affect
their sight, along the paths and by-roads which lead
through bush-lands, and beside woods. Frequently, when
seated on a stump, or little mound of earth, I have been
amused, on the approach of twilight, at the egress of these
little creatures from the bushes into the path,—when, by a
sudden stop, they will sometimes rise on their hinder-feet,
prick forward their suspicious ears, to listen if danger is
near, then give a few jumps, and act in this manner again.
Should one be intruded on at this time, by another of its
kind, a salutation commonly ensues, by a low, growling
noise, and a thumping of the earth with their hinder-feet,
and after eyeing each other for a few moments, one will

lead off, and, followed quickly by the other, will make a
few rapid and circuitous routes through the bushes, and
return again to the first spot, and undergo the same cere-
mony as before. Sometimes a third coney will present
himself, and divide the couple, and interchange salutations
with one of the former party. Their actions, I think, are
performed more in a playful than an angry mood.

Such are the little incidents which occur in my favourite
walks, and these, as well asa thousand pleasing trifles,
may be witnessed, from every bird, that flits from limb to
limb, or bush to bush, by the lover of rural things.

Rusricus.

Philadelphia, June 8th, 1832.

CATCHING WILD ASSES IN EGYPT.

On both sides of the path, (midway between Cairo and
Surat,) troops of Wild Asses stood looking at us, and seem-
ingly unfearful of any hostility, almost inviting our ap-
proach, They were beautifully striped, but seemed dull
and stupid to adegree greater than that of their kind else-
where. I however expected an active scene in their pur-
suit, but on the contrary, the manner of catching them is
dull, spiritless, and unanimated; and I had nothing to do
but look on. To a person of my ardent temperament,
this was of course tiresome to the last degree. On a sig-
nal being given, an attendant on Suleiman advanced from
the train, and drew from his pouch, a bottle filled to the
brim with a black muddy liquid, in taste and effect resem-
bling opium. This he poured (through a reed, in order to
regulate the quantity) on a Papyrus leaf, which he plucked
from the road-side, and placed it in a conspicuous situation;
the animals for which it was intended keeping aloof, but
attentively regarding our motions. Suleiman then called
aloud, ‘‘ kiachef osmyn kraal,” and we gallopped on
about ten paces from the place of our former halt; we stop-
ped our camels again, and looked round; the Wild Asses
had eagerly advanced towards the spot where the Papyrus
lay, and one of them, after a taste, swallowed it altogether.
He then snorted, looked wistfully towards us for more,
and advanced a few steps, but in a little time fell down
stupified from the effects of his draught. Two or three of
our brawniest mamalukes then dismounted, with a huge
cloak of leather, and laying the animal in it, carefully tied
him up, leaving merely a breathing place, and strapped
him on to my camel like a bale of goods; a ceremony at
which I could not restrain myself from laughing hear-
tily— Buchanan’s ‘ Letters from the indaman Con-
tinent.”’

‘90d XOAVYNIOOSH

D 4g DIY) Sy a. a on

_ inch.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 97

ESQUIMAUX DOG.
Canis fumiliaris Borealis.—DESMAREST.
[Plate IX. Vol. 2.]

Tuis variety of the Dog most nearly resembles the Shep-
herd’s Dog, and the Wolf Dog. The ears are short and
erect; the tail is bushy, and carried ina graceful curve
over the back: in this particular, the Esquimaux Dog prin-
cipally differs from the wolf of the same district, whose
tail is carried between his legs in running. The tail
- turned upward is the distinguishing characteristic of
the domestic Dog, of every variety. It has been consi-
dered by some naturalists, that these Dogs are wolves in a
state of domestication. The anatomy of both, for the most
part, corresponds; the wolf is, however, larger, and more
muscular. The average height of the Esquimaux Dog is
one foot, ten inches; the length of the body, from the oc-
ciput (the back of the head) to the insertion of the tail,
two feet three inches; and of the tail itself, one foot, one
Some of the Esquimaux Dogs are brindled, some
black and white, some almost entirely black, some of yel-
lowish tinge,and some are of a dingy red. Their coat isthick
and furry; the hair,in winter, being from three to four inches
Jong: nature has also provided them with an under coating
of close soft wool, at that season, which they lose in spring;
so that they endure their climate with comparative comfort.
They never bark; but have a long melancholy howl, like the
wolf. They are familiar and domestic; but snarl and fight
amongst themselves, much more than Dogs in general.

The Esquimaux, a race of people inhabiting the most
northerly parts of the American continent, and the adjoin-
ing islands, are dependent upon the services of this faith-
ful species of Dog, for most of the few comforts of their
lives; for assistance in the chase; for carrying burdens;
and for their rapid and certain conveyance over the track-
less snows of their dreary plains. The Dogs, subjected to
a constant dependance upon their masters, receiving scanty
food and abundant chastisement, assist them in hunting
the seal, the rein-deer, and the bear. In the summer, a
single Dog carries a weight of thirty pounds, in attending
his master in the pursuit of game: in winter, yoked in
numbers to heavy sledges, they drag five or six persons at
the rate of seven or eight miles an hour, and will perform
journeys of sixty miles a day. What the rein-deer is to
the Laplander, this Dog is to the Esquimaux. He isa
faithful slave, who grumbles, but does not rebel; whose
endurance never tires, and whose fidelity is never shaken
by blows and starving. These animals are obstinate in
their nature; but the women, who treat them with mcre

Bes

kindness than the men, and who nurse them in their help-
less state, or when they are sick, have an unbounded com-
mand over their affections; and can thus catch them at any
time, and entice them from their huts, to yoke them to
their sledges, even when they are suffering the severest
hunger, and have no resource but to eat the most tough
and filthy remains of animal matter which they can espy
on their laborious journeys.

The mode in which the Esquimaux Dogs are employed
in drawing the sledge, is described in a very striking man-
ner, by Captain Parry, in his “Journal of a Second Voy-
age for the Discovery of a North-West Passage.”’

«¢ When drawing a sledge, the Dogs have a simple har-
ness (annoo) of deer or seal skin, going round the neck
by one bight, and another for each of the fore legs, with a
single thong leading over the back, and attached to the
sledge as a trace. Though they appear at first sight to be
huddled together without regard to regularity, there is, in
fact, considerable attention paid to their arrangement, par-
ticularly in the selection of a Dog of peculiar spirit and
sagacity, who is allowed, by alonger trace, to precede the
rest as leadér, and to whom, in turning to the right or
left, the driver usually addresses himself. This choice is
made without regard to age or sex; and the rest of the Dogs
take precedency according to their training or sagacity,
the least effective being put nearest the sledge. The
leader is usually from eighteen to twenty feet from the
fore part of the sledge, and the hindmost Dog about half
that distance; so that when ten or twelve are running to-
gether, several are nearly abreast of each other. The dri-
ver sits quite low, on the fore part of the sledge, with his
feet overhanging the snow on one side, and having in his
hand a whip, of which the handle, made either of. wood,
bone, or whalebone, is eighteen inches, and the lash more
than as many feet, in length; the part of the thong next the
handle is platted a little way down to stiffen it, and give it
a spring, on which much of its use depends; and that which
composes the lash is chewed by the women to make it
flexible in frosty weather. The men acquire from their
youth considerable expertness in the use of this whip, the
lash of which is left to trail along the ground by the side of
the sledge, and with which they can inflict a very severe
blow on any Dog at pleasure. Though the Dogs are kept
in training entirely by fear of the whip, and, indeed,
without it, would soon have their own way, its immediate
effect is always detrimental to the draught of the sledge;
for not only does the individual that is struck, draw back
and slacken his trace, but generally turns upon his next
neighbour, and this passing on to the next, occasions a
general divergency, accompanied by the usual yelping and
showing of the teeth. The Dogs then come together again

98 THE CABINET OF

by degrees, and the draught of the sledge is accelerated;
but even at the best of times, by this rude mode of draught,
the traces of one-third of the Dogs form an angle of thirty
or forty degrees on each side of the direction in which the
sledge is advancing. Another great inconvenience attend-
ing the Esquimaux method of putting the Dogs to, besides
that of not employing their strength to the best advantage,

is the constant entanglement of the traces by the Dogs re- _

peatedly doubling under from side to side to avoid the
whip; so that, after running a few miles, the traces always
require to be taken off and cleaned.

“In directing the sledge, the whip acts no very essen-
tial part, the driver for this purpose using certain words,
as the carters do with us, to make the Dogs turn more to
the right or left. To these a good leader attends with
admirable precision, especially if his own name be repeated
at the same time, looking behind over his shoulder with
great earnestness, as if listening to the directions of the
driver. On a beaten track, or even where a single foot or
sledge-mark is occasionally discernible, there is not the
slightest trouble in guiding the Dogs: for even in the
darkest night, and in the heaviest snow-drift, there is lit-
tle or no danger of their losing the road, the leader keep-
ing his nose near the ground, and directing the rest with
wonderful sagacity. Where, however, there is no beaten
track, the best driver among them makes a terribly circui-
tous course, as all the Esquimaux roads plainly show;
these generally occupying an extent of six miles, when,
with a horse and sledge, the journey would scarcely have
amounted to five. On rough ground, as among hummocks
of ice, the sledge would be frequently overturned, or alto-
gether stopped, if the driver did not repeatedly get off,
and by lifting or drawing it to one side, steer clear of
those accidents. At all times, indeed, except on a smooth
and well made road, he is pretty constantly employed
thus with his feet, which, together with his never-ceasing
vociferations, and frequent use of the whip, renders the
driving of one of these vehicles by no means a pleasant or
easy task. When the driver wishes to stop the sledge,
he calls out ‘Wo, woa,’ exactly as our carters do, but the
attention paid to this command depends altogether on his
ability to enforce it. If the weight is small, and the jour-
ney homeward, the Dogs are not to be thus delayed; the
driver is therefore obliged to dig his heels into the snow
to obstruct their progress, and having thus succeeded in
stopping them, he stands up with one leg before the fore-
most cross-piece of the sledge, till by means of laying the
whip gently over each Dog’s head, he has made them all
lie down. He then takes care not to quit his position, so
that should the Dogs set off, he is thrown upon the sledge
instead of being left behind by them.

NATURAL HISTORY,

<‘With heavy loads, the Dogs draw best with one of
their own people, especially a woman, walking a little
way a-head; and in this case they are sometimes enticed
to mend their pace by holding a mitten to the mouth, and
then making the motion of cutting it with a knife, and
throwing it on the snow, when the Dogs, mistaking it for
meat, hasten forward to pick it up. The women also en-
tice them from the huts in a similar manner. The rate at
which they travel depends, of course, on the weight they
have to draw, and the road on which their journey is per-
formed. When the latter is level, and very hard and smooth,
constituting what, in other parts of North America, is
called ¢ good sleighing,’ six or seven Dogs will draw from
eight to ten hundred weight, at the rate of seven or eight
miles an hour, for several hours together; and will easily,
under these circumstances, perform a journey of fifty or
sixty miles a day. On untrodden snow, five and twenty
or thirty miles would be a good day’s journey. The same
number of well-fed Dogs, with a weight of only five or six
hundred pounds, (that of the sledge included,) are almost
unmanageable, and will, on a smooth road, run any way
they please, at the rate of ten miles an hour. The work
performed by a greater number of Dogs is, however, by
no means in a proportion to this, owing to the imperfect
mode already described, of employing the strength of
these sturdy creatures, and to the more frequent snarling
and fighting occasioned by an increase of numbers.”’

The Dogs of the Esquimaux offer to us a striking example
of the great services which the race of Dogs has rendered to
mankind in the progress of civilization. The inhabitants of
the shores of Baffin’s Bay, and of those still more incle-
ment regions to which discovery ships have recently pene-
trated, are perhaps never destined to advance much farther
than their present condition in the scale of humanity.
Their climate forbids them attempting the gratification of
any desires beyond the commonest animal wants. In the
short summers, they hunt the rein-deer for a stock of food
and clothing; during the long winter, when the stern de-
mands of hunger drive them from their snow-huts, to search
for provisions, they still find a supply in the rein-deer, in
the seals, which lie in holes under the ice of the lakes,
and in the bears which prowl about on the frozen shores of
the sea. Without the exquisite scent and the undaunted
courage of their Dogs, the several objects of their chase
could never be obtained in sufficient quantities, during the
winter, to supply the wants of the inhabitants; nor could
the men be conveyed from place to place over the snow,
with that celerity which greatly contributes to their suc-
cess in hunting. In drawing the sledges, if the Dogs
scent a single rein-deer, even a quarter of a mile distant,
they gallop off furiously in the direction of the scent; and

AND AMERICAN

the animal is soon within the reach of the unerring arrow
of the hunter. They will discover a seal-hole entirely by
the smell, at a very great distance. Their desire to attack
the ferocious bear is so great, that the word nennook,
which signifies that animal, is often used to encourage
them, when running in a sledge: two or three Dogs, led
forward by a man, will fasten upon the largest bear with-
out hesitation. They are eager to chase every animal but
the wolf; and of him they appear to have an instinctive
terror, which manifests itself, on his approach, in a loud
and long-continued howl. Certainly there is no animal
which combines so many properties useful to his master
as the Dog of the Esquimaux.

With the exception of that most serviceable property of
drawing and carrying burthens, most of the various races
of Dogs have, in a similar manner, assisted mankind in
subduing many wild beasts of the earth. This result,
without which civilization must have very slowly ad-
vanced, could not have been effected without the assist-
ance of the Dog. Cuvier, the great French naturalist,
says, ‘“‘the Dog is the most complete, the most remark-
able, and the most useful conquest ever made by man.
Every species has become our property; each individual is.
altogether devoted to his master, assumes his manners,
knows and defends his goods, and remains attached to him
until death, and all this proceeds neither from want nor
constraint, but solely from true gratitude and real friend-
ship. The swiftness, the strength, and the scent of the
Dog, have created for man a powerful ally against other
animals, and were perhaps necessary to the establishment
of society. He is the only animal which has followed man
through every region of the earth.”” Buffon says, ‘‘the
art of training Dogs seems to have been the first invented
by man; and the result of it was the conquest and peace-
able possession of the earth.” But this art would never
have become perfectly successful and completely univer-
sal, had there not been in the race of Dogs a natural desire
to be useful to man; an aptitude for his society; a strong
and spontaneous longing for his friendship. Burchell, a
distinguished traveller in Africa, has observed, that we
never see in various countries an equal familiarity with
other quadrupeds, according to the habits, the taste, or the
caprices of different nations; and he thence concludes, that
the universal friendship of the man and the Dog, must be
the result of the laws of nature. With singular propriety,
therefore, has the name Canis familiaris been assigned
by Linnzus to the species.

The Dogs of the Esquimaux lead always a fatiguing,
and often avery painful life. They are not, like the Sibe-
rian Dogs, (to which they bear a considerable resem-
blance,) turned out in the summer to seek their own sus-

RURAL SPORTS. 99
tenance: at that period they are fat and vigorous; for they
have abundance of £aow, or the skin and part of the blub-
ber of the walrus. But their feeding in winter is very
precarious. Their masters have but little to spare; and
the Dogs become miserably thin, at a time when the se-
verest labour isimposed upon them. It is not, therefore,
surprising that the shouts and blows of their drivers have no
effect in preventing them from rushing out of their road,
to pick up whatever they can descry; or that they are con-
stantly creeping into the huts, to pilfer any thing within
their reach: their chances of success are but small; for the
people within the huts are equally keen in the protection
of their stores, and they spend half their time in shouting
out the names of the intruders (for the Dogs have all
names, ) and in driving them forth by the most unmerciful
blows. This is a singular, but, from the difference of
circumstances, not unnatural contrast to the treatment of
Dogs described in Homer. The princes of the Trojan
war allowed their Dogs to wait under their tables, to
gather up the remains of their feasts. In the twenty-third
book of the Iliad, it is mentioned that Patroclus had no
fewer than nine such humble retainers. The same princes,
too, we learn in the tenth book of the Odyssey, carried
home to their Dogs the fragments which fell from the ta-
bles of their entertainers. Amongst these fragments were
the soft and fine parts of bread, called apomagdalia, with
which the guests wiped their fingers when the meal was
finished, and which were always a perquisite to the Dogs.
In allusion, probably, to this custom, the woman of Ca-
naan says, ‘‘the Dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from
their master’s table.”

The hunger which the Esquimaux Dogs feel so severely
in winter, is somewhat increased by the temperature they
live in. In cold climates, and in temperate ones in cold
weather, animal food is required in larger quantities than
in warm weather, and in temperate regions. The only
mode which the Dogs have of assuaging or deceiving the
calls of hunger, is by the distention of the stomach with
any filth which they can find to swallow. The wolves
and rein-deer of the polar countries, when pressed by hun-
ger in the winter, devour clay. The Kamschatkans
sometimes distend their stomachs with saw-dust. Hum-
boldt relates that the Otomacs, during the periodical inun-
dations of the rivers of South America, when the depth of
the water prevents their customary occupation of fishing,
appease their hunger, even for several months, by swallow-
ing a fine unctuous clay, slightly baked. Many other in-
stances of this nature are given in Dr. Hlliotson’s learned
and amusing Notes to his edition of Blumenbach’s Physi-
ology. The painful sense of hunger is generally regarded
as the effect of the contraction of the stomach, which ef-

100 THE CABINET OF

fect is constantly increased by a draught of cold liquid.
Captain Parry mentions that in winter the Esquimaux
Dogs will not drink water, unless it happens to be oily.
They know, by experience, that their cravings would be
increased by this indulgence, and they lick some clean
snow as a substitute, which produces a less contraction of
the stomach than water. Dogs, in general, can bear hun-
ger for a very long time, without any serious injury, hav-
ing a supply of some substance for the distention of their
stomachs. It is mentioned in the Memoirs of the French
Academy of Sciences, that a bitch which had been shut
up and forgotten in a country-house, was sustained for
forty days without any nourishment beyond the wool of
a quilt, which she had torn in pieces. A Dog has been
known to live thirty-six days without food, or substitute
for food.

We have already noticed that the Esquimaux Dogs do
not bark. This isa peculiarity of many varieties of the
Dog; but very rarely of those which are natives of tempe-
rate countries. Probably this is an effect of high as well
as of low temperature. Sonnini says, that the people of
Upper Egypt have a species of Dog resembling the Shep-
herd’s Dog, with voices so weak, that their barking can
scarcely be heard. Columbus observed, that the voices of
the Dogs which he took to the West Indies became feeble.
In both cases the tropical climate probably produced this
result. The prophet Isaiah alludes to this peculiarity, in
his denunciation of idle instructors: ‘¢ They are dumb Dogs,
and cannot bark.”

The Newfoundland Dogs, one of the most active and
sagacious varieties, are employed in their native districts
to draw carts and sledges, laden with wood and fish, and
to perform a variety of useful offices in the place of the
horse. In many of the northern countries, the bold and
powerful races of Dogs are thus rendered peculiarly valua-
ble. A century ago, nearly all the travelling intercourse
of Canada was carried on by Dogs. The superiority of the
Newfoundland Dogs in swimming is well known: they
are semi-webbed between the toes, which mechanism of
the foot is of the greatest advantage to them; presenting,
as it does, an extended surface to press away the water
from behind, and then collapsing, when it is drawn for-
ward, previous to making the stroke. The hereditary
habits of these Dogs, too, eminently qualify them for
swimming, or rowing through the water, as the action is
more correctly described by Sir Everard Home. It is
thus that we have the most abundant instances of human
life being saved by these generous and courageous animals.
All Dogs, however, can swim; although some dislike the
water, and take to it with difficulty at the bidding of their
masters. The Bull Dog would appear the least likely to

NATURAL HISTORY,

combat with a heavy sea, as the Newfoundland Dogs often
do; and yet the following circumstance is well authenti-
cated:—On board a ship, which struck upon a rock near
the shore during a gale, there were three Dogs, two of the
Newfoundland variety, and an English Bull Dog, rather
small in growth, but very firmly built, and strong. It
was important to have a rope carried ashore: and as no
boat could live for an instant in the breakers towards the
land, it was thought that one of the Newfoundland Dogs
might sueceed; but he was not able to struggle with the
waves, and perished. The other Newfoundland Dog, upon
being thrown overboard with the rope, shared a similar fate.
But the Bull Dog, though not habituated to the water, swam
triumphantly to land, and thus saved the lives of the persons
on board. Among them was his master, a military officer,
who still has the Dog in his possession.
[Lib. Ent. Knowl.

MICROSCOPIC VIEW OF SPIDERS WEAVING
THEIR WEBS.

Or all the beautiful discoveries with which we have
become acquainted, through the progress of the physical
sciences, there are none more striking than those of the
microscope, or which may be studied with greater ease.
The application of a powerful lens to any of those minute
objects which we have it daily in our power to examine,
exhibits a scene of wonder, of which those who have
never witnessed it cannot form an adequate idea.

For example, the construction of Cobwebs has in all
ages been lightly esteemed: nevertheless, for simplicity of
machinery and neatness of execution, they cannot be sur-
passed by the art of man. The spinners are the apparatus
through which, by a most wonderful process, the spider
draws its thread. Each spinner is pierced, like the plate
of a wire-drawer, witha multitude of holes, so numerously
and exquisitely fine, that a space often not bigger than a
pin’s point ineludes above a thousand. Through each of
these holes proceeds a thread of an inconceivable tenuity,
which, immediately after issuing from the orifice, unites
with all the other threads, from the same spinner into one.
Hence from each spinner proceeds a compound thread;
and these four threads, at the distance of about one-tenth
of an inch from the apex of the spinner, again unite, and
form the thread we are accustomed to see, which the spi-
der uses in forming its web. Thus a spider’s web, even
spun by the smallest species, and when so fine that it is

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

almost imperceptible to our senses, is not, as we suppose,
a single line, but arope composed of at least four thousand
strands. But to feel all the wonders of this fact, we must
follow Leuwenhoeck in one of his calculations on the sub-
ject. This renowned microscopic observer found, by an
accurate estimation, that the threads of the minutest spi-
ders, some of which are not larger than a grain of sand,
are so fine, that four millions of them would not exceed
in thickness one of the hairs of his beard! Now we know
that each of these threads is composed of above 4,000
still finer. It follows, therefore, that above 16,000 mil
lions of the finest threads which issue from such spiders,
are not, altogether, thicker than a human hair.

In the earlier part of last century, Bon of Languedoc,
fabricated a pair of stockings and a pair of gloves from the
threads of spiders. They were nearly as strong as silk,
and of a beautiful gray colour!

THE HORSE.
[Concluded from page 82.]

The Race Horse.

‘‘THErRE is much dispute with regard to the origin of
the thorough-bred Horse. By some he is traced through
both sire and dam to Eastern parentage; others believe
him to be the native Horse, improved and perfected by ju-
dicious crossing with the Barb, the Turk, or the Arabian.

It must, on the whole, be allowed, that the present tho-
rough-bred Horse is of foreign extraction, improved and
perfected by the influence of the climate, and by diligent
cultivation. There are some exceptions, as in the case of
Sampson and Bay-Malton, in each of whom, although the
best Horses of their day, there was a cross of vulgar blood;
but they are only exceptions to a general rule.

It must not be objected, that the number of Hastern
Horses imported is far too small to produce so numerousa
progeny. It will be recollected that the thousands of
wild Horses on the plains of South America, descended
from only two stallions and four mares, which the early
Spanish adventurers left there.

Whatever may be the truth as to the origin of the Race
Horse, the strictest attention has for the last fifty years
been paid to pedigree. In the descent of almost every
modern racer, not the slightest flaw can be discovered; or
when, with the splendid exception of Sampson and Bay-
Malton, one drop of common blood has mingled with the

Ce

101

pure stream, it has been immediately detected in the infe-
riority of form, and deficiency of bottom; and it has re-
quired two or three generations to wipe away the stain,
and get rid of its consequences.

The Racer is generally distinguished by his beautiful
Arabian head;—his fine, and _finely-set-on-neck;—his
oblique, lengthened shoulders,—well-bent hinder-legs, —
his ample, muscular quarters;—his flat legs, rather short
from the knee downwards, although not always so deep as
they should be;—and his long and elastic pastern.

The Racer, however, with the most beautiful form, is oc-
casionally a sorry animal. There is sometimes a want of
energy in an apparently faultless shape, for which there is
no accounting; but there are two points among those just
enumerated, which will rarely or never deceive—a well-
placed shoulder, and a well-bent hinder leg.

The Darley Arabian.

The Darley Arabian was the parent of the Racing
stock. He was purchased by Mr. Darley’s brother, at
Aleppo, and was bred in the neighbouring desert of Pal-
myra. His figure contains every point, without much
show, which could be desired ina Turf Horse.

The immediate descendants of this invaluable Horse,
were the Devonshire or Flying Childers; the Bleeding or
Bartlett’s Childers, who was never trained; Almanzor,
and others.

The two Childers were the means through which the
blood and fame of their sire were widely circulated,
and from them descended another Childers, Blaze, Snap,
Sampson, HWclipse, and a host of excellent Horses.

Flying Childers.

The Devonshire or Flying Childers, so called from the
name of his breeder, Mr. Childers, of Carr-House, and
the sale of him to the Duke cf Devonshire, was the fleetest
Horse of his day. He was at first trained as a hunter, but
the superior speed and courage which he discovered,
caused him to be soon transferred to the Turf. Common
report affirr:s, that he could runa mile in a minute; but
there is no authentic record of this. Childers ram over the
round course at Newmarket (three miles, six furlongs, and
ninety-three yards) in six minutes and forty seconds, and
the Beacon course, (four miles, one furiong, and one hun-
dred and thirty-eight yards,) in seven minutes and thirty
seconds.

In October, 1741, at the Curragh meeting in Ireland,
Mr. Wilde engaged to ride one hundred and twenty-seven
miles in nine hours. fle performed it in six hours and

102

twenty-one minutes. He employed ten horses, and, allow-
ing for mounting and dismounting, and a moment for re-
freshment, he rode for six hours at the rate of twenty
miles an hour.

Mr. Thornhill, in 1745, exceeded this, for he rode from
Stilton to London and back, and again to Stilton, being
two hundred and thirteen miles, in eleven hours and thirty-
four minutes, which is, after allowing the least possible
time for changing Horses, twenty miles an hour for eleven
hours, and on the turnpike road and uneven ground.

Mr. Shaftoe, in 1762, with ten Horses, and five of them
ridden twice, accomplished fifty miles and a quarter, in
one hour and forty-nine minutes. In 1763, Mr. Shaftoe
won a more extraordinary match. He was to procure a
person to ride one hundred miles a day, on any one Horse
each day, for twenty-nine days together, and to have any
number of Horses not exceeding twenty-nine. He accom-
plished it on fourteen Horses, and on one day he rode one
hundred and sixty miles, on account of the tiring of his
first Horse.

Mr. Hull’s Quibbler, however, afforded the most extra-
ordinary instance on record, of the stoutness as well as
speed of the Race Horse. In December, 1786, he ran
twenty-three miles round the flat at Newmarket, in fifty-
seven minutes and ten seconds.

Eclipse. (English.)

Eclipse was got by Marsk, a grandson of Bartlett’s
Childers.

Of the beauty, yet peculiarity of his form, much has
been said. The very great size, obliquity, and lowness of
his shoulders, were the objects of general remark—with
the shortness of his fore-quarters, his ample and finely
proportioned quarters, and the swelling muscles of his
fore-arm and thigh. Of his speed, no correct estimate
can be formed, for he never met with an opponent suffi-
ciently fleet to put it to the test.

He was bred by the Duke of Cumberland, and sold at
his death to Mr. Wildman, a sheep salesman, for seventy-
five guineas. Colonel O’Kelly purchased a share of him
from Wildman. In the spring of the following year,
when the reputation of this wonderful animal was at its
height, O’Kelly wished to become sole owner of him, and
bought the remaining share for one thousand pounds,

Eclipse was what is termed a thick-winded Horse, and
puffed and roared so as to be heard at a considerable dis-
tance. or this or some other cause, he was not brought
on the Turf until he was five years old.

O’Kelly, aware of his Horse’s powers, had backed him
freely on his first race in May, 1769. This excited cu-

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY, F

riosity, or perhaps, roused suspicion, and some persons
attempted to watch one of his trials. Mr. John Lawrence
says, that ‘‘ they were a little too late; but they found an
old woman who gave them all the inforr ation they want-
ed. On inquiring whether she had seen ¢ race, she replied,
that ‘‘she could not tell whether it was a race or not, but
that she had just seen a Horse with white legs running
away at a monstrous rate, and another Horse a great way
behind, trying to run after him; but she was sure he never
would catch the white-legged Horse if he ran to the
world’s end.

The first heat was easily won, when O’Kelly, observing
that the rider had been pulling at Eclipse during the whole
of the race, offered a wager that he placed the Horses in
the next heat. This seemed a thing so highly improbable,
that he immediately had bets to a large amount. Being
called on to declare, he replied, ‘‘ Eclipse first, and the
rest no where!’”? The event justified his prediction: all
the others were distanced by Eclipse with the greatest
ease; or, in the language of the Turf, they had no place.

In the spring of the following year, he beat Mr. Went-
worth’s Bucephalus, who had never before been con-
quered. Two days afterwards he distanced Mr. Strode’s
Pensioner, a very good Horse: and, in the August of the
same year, he won the great subscription at York. No
Horse daring to enter’against him, he closed his short ea-
reer of seventeen months, by walking over the Newmar-
ket course for the king’s plate, on October the 18th, 1770.
He was never beaten, nor ever paid forfeit, and won for
his owner more than twenty-five thousand pounds.”

“American Eclipse,*

“<Ts a chesnut Horse, with a star, and the near hind
foot white; 15 hands 3 inches high; possessing a large
share of bone and muscle, and excelling all the Racers of
the day in the three great essentials of speed—stoutness or
lastingness, and ability to carry weight. He was foaled
on the 25th of May, 1814, at Dusoris, Long Island, on the
farm of the late Gen. Nathaniel Coles. At five months
old, while a suckling, he gave his owner such a sample of
stride, strength, and speed, that he was at that time named
‘American Eclipse.” He was sired by Duroc; his dam
Miller’s Damsel, by Messenger; his grandam the English
mare PotS8os, imported in 1795, then three years old, by
William Constable, Esq. and bred by Lord Grosvenor;
sired by PotSos, and Pot80s by the celebrated Horse
‘Eclipse,’—his g. g. dam by Gimerack; Gimerack by
Cripple, and Cripple by the Arabian of Lord Godolphin.

* Extracted from the American Turf Register.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

While a colt he was not confined, but during the win-
ter season turned out every fair day. He was first shod in
the spring, when three years old.

In June, 1819, he won the Jockey Club’s purse of $500,
running the four mile heats over the Bath course, beating
Mr. Purdy’s Horse Little John, by the Virginia Poto-
mac, Mr. Bond’s Horse Eclipse, by First Consul; and Mr.
Potter’s Horse, James Fitz James, by Sir Archy.

In October, 1819, he again ran the four mile heats at
Bath, winning the purse of $500, beating Mr. Purdy’s
Horse, Little John, Mr. Schenck’s Horse, Fearnought, and
Mr. Bond’s Colt; the two latter being withdrawn the se-
cond heat. The Bath course measured fifteen links over
a mile: the first heat of this race was run in eight minutes
and thirteen seconds, and the second in eight minutes and
eight seconds.

In the spring of 1820, Eclipse stood to mares on Long
Island, at $12 50 the season. In the spring of 1821, he
again covered as a common stallion, at $12 50 the season,
and covered eighty-seven mares, nor was it contemplated
to bring him again upon the Turf,—but the legislature
of the state of New-York having new-modelled the law re-
specting Racing, and a society being re-organized specially
for the improvement of our breed of Horses, Mr. Van Ranst
was induced again to put Eclipsein training for the four mile
heats to be run overthe New Union course, eight miles from
Brooklyn,and near the Jamaica turnpike, in Oct. of that year.

From an opinion, long entertained by Sportsmen, that
covering renders a Horse unfit for the race, the friends of
Eclipse questioned the policy of again running him; but
the event proved that, so far as he was concerned, the opi-
nion was unfounded.

The races commenced the 15th of October, 1821, when
four Horses started for the purse of $500, to run the four
mile heats: viz. American Eclipse, Mr. Sleeper’s brown
mare, ‘Lady Lightfoot,’ by ‘Sir Archy;’? Mr. Schenck’s
Horse, ‘Flag of Truce,’ by ‘Sir Solomon;’ and Mr.
Schomp’s Horse, ‘Heart of Oak.? The two last named
Horses were drawn after the first heat, and ‘Lady Light-
foot’ was distanced in the second, being nine years old—
she had run upivards of twenty races, some very severe
ones, and was out of order.

The bets at starting, were two to one on the mare. The
mare led until ithe last quarter of the first heat, when
Eclipse passed her, coming in two lengths ahead. Inthe
second heat, Eclipse passed her in running the third mile,
and from that time left her alone. The time was, first
heat, eight minutes and four seconds; the second heat,
eight minutes ancl two seconds, and the course measured
thirty feet over a mile.

In the following ; week, Eclipse was exhibited at the an-

103

nual exhibition of the New-York County Agricultural So-
ciety, and received the Society’s first premium, $50, for
the best stallion.

In May, 1822, Eclipse won the purse of $700 for four
mile heats at the Union course, beating Mr. Badger’s five
year old Horse, Sir Walter, by Hickory. A bet of consi
derable amount was made by the owners of the two
Horses on the first heat, which, with the second heat, was
won by Eclipse. Time, first heat, seven minutes and
fifty-four seconds; second heat, eight minutes. é

In October, 1822, he again ran the four mile heats at the
Union course, for the $1000 purse, which he won, beating
a second time, Mr. Badger’s Horse, Sir Walter; Mr.
Sleeper’s bay mare, the Duchess of Marlborough, by Sir
Archy, and Mr. Jackson’s mare, Slow and Easy, by Duroc.
The first heat was run in seven minutes and fifty-eight
seconds, when the two mares were withdrawn, and Sir
Walter stopping short in the second heat, Eclipse came in
at his leisure. A day or two previous to this race, a chal-
lenge appeared in the New-York papers, by Mr. James J.
Harrison, of Brunswick, (Va.) in which he offered to ‘run
Sir Charles against the American Eclipse, over the Wash-
ington course, four mile heats, agreeably to the rules of
the course, for five or ten thousand dollars.? This chal-
lenge was promptly accepted by Mr. Van Ranst, who, as
two sums were named by Mr. Harrison, chose the great-
est, that the object of the contest might correspond with
the fame of the Horses.

The forfeit money, $5000 each, having been deposited,
the time for running was fixed for the 20th of November.
Atthe hour of starting, both Horses were brought out, and
the riders mounted; but instead of running agreeably to
the challenge, Mr. Harrison gave notice that as his Horse
had met with an accident, he would pay the forfeit. He
at the same time proposed to run a single four mile heat,
for $1500 each, which being instantly agreed to, both
Horses started, Eclipse taking the lead. On the last round,
Sir Charles broke down. The two first rounds were ‘run
in one minute and fifty-five seconds each, and the heat in
eight minutes and four seconds. In this race, Sir Charles
carried 120 lbs.; Eclipse 126 lbs.

In the evening of the same day, William R. Johnson,
Hsq. of Petersburg, Va. offered to produce a Horse on the
last Tuesday in May, 1823, to run the four mile heats
against Eclipse, over the Union course, on Long Island,
agreeably to the rules of that course, for $20,000 a side,
$3000 forfeit.

This challenge was immediately accepted by Mr. John
C. Stephens; in consequence of which Col. Johnson, on
the day mentioned, appeared on the race with a four year
old chesnut colt called Henry, (John Richards, intended for

104

the race, baving been lamed,) about fifteen hands and one
inch high, which had been bred by Mr. Lemuel Long,
near Halifax, North Carolina. Henry was sired by Sir
Archy; his dam by Diomed; her dam by Bell-Air; hers by
Pilgrim; hers by Valiant; hers by Janus; hers by Jolly
Roger—imported Horses. About half past 12 o’clock,
both Horses started. Helipse was rode by Wm. Crafts;
Henry by a young lad. Henry took the lead, and main-
tained it through the heat. They came in together, Henry
beating Eclipse by half a length, but apparently ‘hard
in hand.’—Bets on the second heat three to one on
Henry.

During the second heat, Eclipse was rode by Mr. Purdy.
Henry again took the lead, and kept it until the last quar-
ter of the third mile, when Purdy made a push, and
Eclipse passed his rival at the commencement of the fourth

mile. An attempt was made by Henry’s rider to recover
his ground, but in vain. He was beat by about thirty
feet. Henry reined in on passing the distance pole, the

loss of the heat being evident.

When the Horses were brought out for the third heat,
the great trainer, Arthur Taylor, mounted Henry, instead
of the boy who rode him the two first heats. On starting,
Eclipse took the lead, which he kept to the end of the
race, coming in about three lengths ahead of Henry, both
at their utmost speed—Henry, in this heat, having been
reserved for the last quarter.

The time of running the three heats, as given by the
judges, Gen. Ridgely, of Baltimore, Capt. Cox, of Wash-
ington, and John Allen, Esq. of Philadelphia, was as fol-
lows:

First heat, 7 min. 37 sec.—second heat, 7 min. 49 sec. —
third heat, 8 min. 24 sec.

Twelve miles in 23 minutes and 50 seconds.

The weights carried were—Eclipse, 126 lbs. Henry,
108. Weights, according to racing calculations, are so
nicely regulated to correspond with age, that no advan-
tage was given to Henry, as has been said; on the con-
trary, according to the long established usage of weights on
the Southern courses, now introduced at New-York,
Eclipse had an advantage of 8 lbs—more than a distance—
7 lbs. = 240 yds.

On the day previous to the Race, a number of gentle-
men visited the course with a surveyor, and finding it
thirty feet over a mile, reduced it as nearly to a mile as
could conveniently be done, leaving it still eighteen inches
over. Itis said, however, from the difference in the na-
ture of the ground, to be four or five seconds quicker than
the Tree Hill course.

Immediately after the race, Col. W. R. Johnson chal-
lenged J. C. Stevens, Esq. and the friends of Eclipse, to

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

run Henry against Eclipse the ensuing fall, over the
Washington course, for any sum from twenty to fifty thou-
sand dollars—forfeit, ten thousand dollars. The challenge
was declined, and the resolution then announced has been
adhered to, ‘never, on any consideration, to risk the life
or reputation of the noble animal, whose generous and
almost incredible exertions, have gained for the north so
signal a victory, and for himself, such well-earned and
never-fading renown.’
Eclipse was accordingly withdrawn from the Turf.”

The Hunter.

<¢ There are few agriculturalists who have not a little
liking for the sports of the field, and who do not fancy
rich music in the ery of the hounds. ‘To what extent it
may be prudent for them to indulge in these sports cireum-
stances must decide, and they deserve the most serious
consideration. Few can, or, if they could, ought to keep
a Hunter. There are temptations to expense in the field,
and to expense after the chase, which it may be difficult to
withstand. The Hunter, however, or the Hunting Horse,
z. e. the Horse on which a farmer, if he be not a professed
Sportsman, may occasionally with pleasure, and without
disgrace, follow the hounds, is in value and beauty next
to the Racer.

He should seldom be under fifteen or more than sixteen
hands high; below this standard he cannot always suffi-
ciently measure the object before him, and above this, he
is apt to be leggy and awkward at his work.

The foot of the Hunter is a most material point. It is of
consequence in the Racer, yet it is a notorious fact, that
many of the best thorough-bred Horses have had very in-
different feet. The narrow contracted foot, is the curse
of much of the racing blood. The work of the Racer,
however, is all performed on the Turf, and his bad feet
may scarcely incommode him; but the foot of the Hunter
is battered over many a flinty road and stony field, and if
not particularly good, will soon be disabled and ruined.

The position of the feet requires some attention in the
Hunter. They should, if possible, stand straight. If they
turn a little outward there is no serious objection, but if
they turn inward his action cannot be safe, particularly
when he is fatigued or over-weighted.

The body should be short and compact, compared with
that of the Race Horse, that he may not in his gallop take
too extended a stride. This would be a serious disadvan-
tage in a long day and with a heavy rider, from the stress
on the pasterns; and more serious when g;oing over clayey
poached ground, during the winter mcmths. The com-
pact, short-strided Horse will almost sskim the surface,

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

while the feet of the longer-reached animal will sink deep,
and he will wear himself out by efforts to disengage him-
self.

Every horseman knows how much more enduring is a
_ short-bodied Horse in climbing hills, although perhaps not
quite so much in descending them. This is the secret of
suiting the Race Horse to his course; and unfolds the ap-
parent mystery of a decidedly superior Horse on a flat and
straight course, being often beaten by a little Horse, with
far shorter strides, on uneven ground, and with several
turnings.

The loins should be broad;—the quarters long;—the
thighs muscular;—the hocks well bent, and well under
the Horse.

The reader needs not be told how essential temper and
courage are. A hot, irritable brute is a perfect nuisance,
and the coward that will scarcely face the slightest fence
exposes his owner to ridicule.

It is true that the farmer may enjoy a good day’s sport
on the Horse that carries him to market, or possibly occa-
sionally performs more menial drudgery; but the frothy
lather with which such a Horse is covered in the early
part of the day, evinces undeniable inferiority. There is,
however, one point on which the untrained Horse has the
advantage. Accustomed to all weathers, he rarely suffers,
when, after a sharp hurst, there comes a sudden check, and
the pampered and shivering stabled Horse, is exposed with
him for a considerable time to a piercing north-easter.
The one cares nothing about it; the other may carry home
the seeds of dangerous disease.

The Hunter may be fairly ridden twice, or, if not with
any very hard days, three times in the week; but, after a
thoroughly hard day, and evident distress, three or four days’
rest should be allowed. They who are merciful to their
Horses, allow about thirty days’ work in the course of the
season; with gentle exercise on each of the intermediate
days, and particularly a sweat on the day before hunting.

It is very conceivable, and does sometimes happen, that
entering as fully as his master into the sports of the day,
the Horse disdains to yield to fatigue, and voluntarily
presses on, until nature is exhausted, and he falls and dies;
but, much oftener, the poor animal has, intelligibly enough,
hinted his distress; unwilling to give in, yet painfully and
faulteringly holding on. The merciless rider, rather than
give up one hour’s enjoyment, tortures him with whip and
spur, until he drops and expires.

Although the Hunter may be unwilling to relinquish
the chase, he who ‘is merciful to his beast,’ will soon re-
cognize the symptoms of excessive and dangerous distress.
To the drooping pace and staggering gait, and heaving
flank, and heavy bearing on hand, will be added a very

Dob

105

peculiar noise. The inexperienced person will fancy it
to be the beating of the heart; but that has almost ceased
to beat, and the lungs are becoming gorged with blood.
It is the convulsive motion of the muscles of the belly,
called into violent action to assist in the now laborious
office of breathing. The man who proceeds a single mile
after this ought to suffer the punishment he is inflicting.

Let the rider instantly dismount. If he has a lancet,
and skill to use it, let him take away five or six quarts of
blood; or if he has no lancet, let him cut the burs with his
pocket-knife as deeply as he can. The lungs may be thus
relieved, and the Horse may be able to crawl home. Then,
or before, if possible, let some powerful cordial be admi-
nistered. Cordials are, generally speaking, the disgrace
and bane of the stable; but here, and almost here alone,
they are truly valuable. They may rouse the exhausted
powers of nature; they may prevent what the medical man
would call the reaction of inflammation; although they are
the veriest poison when inflammation has commenced.

A favourite Hunter fell after a long burst, and lay
stretched out, convulsed, and apparently dying. His mas-
ter procured a bottle of good sherry, from the house of a
neighbouring friend, and poured it down the animal’s
throat. The Horse immediately began to revive; soon
after got up; walked home, and gradually recovered. The
Sportsman may not always be able to get this, but he
may obtain a cordial-ball from the nearest farrier, or he
may beg a little ginger from some good house-wife, and
mix it with warm ale, or he may give the ale alone, or
strengthened with a little rum or gin. When he gets
home, or if he stops at the first stable he finds, let the Horse
be put into the coolest place, and then well clothed and
diligently rubbed about the legs and belly. The practice
of putting the animal thus distressed, into ¢ a comfortable,
warm stable,’ and excluding every breath of air, has de-
stroyed many valuable Horses.

The Farmer’s Horse.

The Farmer’s Horse is an animal of ad/-work—to he rid-
den oceasionally to market or for pleasure, but to be prin-
cipally employed for draught. He should be higher than
the Road Horse: about fifteen hands and two inches may be
taken as the best standard. A Horse with a shoulder
thicker, lower, and less standing than would be chosen in
a Hackney, will better suit the collar; and collar-work
will be chiefly required of him. A stout, compact Horse
should be selected, yet not a heavy cloddy one. Some
blood will be desirable, but the half-bred Horse will gene-
rally best suit the farmer’s purposes. He should have

106

weight enough to throw into the collar, and sufficient acti-
vity to get over the ground.

Farmers are now beginning to be aware of the superi-
ority of the moderate sized, strong, active Horse, over the
bulkier, but slower animal of former days. It is not only
in harvest, and when a frosty morning must be seized to
cart manure, that this is perceived, but, in the every-day
work of the farm, the saving of time, and the saving of
provender, too, will be very considerable in the course of
a year.

_It has often been said, that a Horse used much for
draught is neither pleasant nor safe for the saddle. The
little farmer does not want a showy, complete Hackney.
He will be content if he is tolerably well curried; and (if
he has taken a little care in the choice of his Horse; has
selected one with sound feet, shoulders not too thick, and
legs not too much under him; and, if he keeps him in good
condition, and does not scandalously over-weight him,)
the five days carting or harrow-work, will not, to any ma-
terial degree, unfit him for the saddle; especially if the
rider bear in mind what we have termed the golden rule
of horsemanship, always a little to feel the mouth of the
animal he is upon.

A farmer, and, more particularly, a small farmer, will
prefer a mare to a gelding, both for riding and driving.
She will not cost him so much at first; and he will get a
great deal more work outof her. There can be no doubt
that, taking bulk for bulk, a mare is stronger, and more
lasting than a gelding; and in addition to this, the farmer
has her to breed from.

The mare needs not be idle while she is breeding. She
may be worked moderately almost to the period of her
foaling, and with benefit rather than otherwise: nor is
there occasion that much of her time should be lost even
while she is suckling. If she is put to Horse in June, the
foaling time will be in the fall, and the loss of labour will
occur, in the most leisure time of the year.

The farmer, however, too frequently thinks that any
mare will do to breed from; and, if he ean find a great
prancing stallion, with a high sounding name, and loaded
with fat, he reckons on haying a valuable colt: and should
he fail, he attributes the fault to the Horse, and not to his
own want of judgment.

The foal should be well taken care of for the first two
years. It is bad policy to stint or half starve the growing
colt.

The colt may he earlier handled, but should not be bro-
ken-in until three years old; and then the very best break-
ing-in for the Carriage-Horse is to make him earn a little
of his living. Let him be put to harrow or light plough.
Going over the rough ground will teach him to lift his feet

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

well, and give him that high and showy action, excusable
in a Carriage-Horse, but excusable in no other. In the
succeeding winter, he will be perfectly ready for the town
or country market.

The Road Horse, or Hackney.

The Road Horse! more difficult to meet with in perfec-
tion than the Hunter or the Courser. There are many
reasons for this. The price of the Hackney, or the Horse
of all-work, is so low, that he who has a good one will not
part with him; and it is by mere accident that he can be ob-
tained. There are also several faults that can be overlooked
in the Hunter, but which the Road Horse must not have.
The Hunter may start, may be awkward in his walk, oreven
his trot; he may have thrushes or corns; but if he can go
a good slapping pace, and has wind and bottom, we can
put up with him, or prize him: but the Hackney, if he be
worth having, must have good fore-legs, and good hinder
ones too; he must be sound on his feet; eyen-tempered;
no starter; quiet in whatever situation he may be placed;
not hard in hand; and if there be one thing more than any
other, in which the possesser, and, in his own estimation
at least, the tolerable judge of the Horse, is in error, it is
the action of the Road-Horse: ‘Leet him lift his legs
well,’ it is said, ‘and he will never come down.’

In proportion, however, as he lifts his legs well, will be
the force with which he puts them down again; the jar and
concussion to the rider; and the battering and wear and
tear of the feet. A horse with too great ‘knee action’
will not always be speedy; he will rarely be pleasant to
ride, and he will not, in the long run, be safer than others.
The careless daisy-cutter, however pleasant on the Turf,
should indeed be avoided, unless the neck of the rider be
previously insured; yet it is a rule, not often understood,
and sometimes disputed, but which experience will fully
confirm,—that the safety of the Horse depends a great deal
more on the manner in which he puts his feet down, than
on that in which he lifts them up;—more on the foot being
placed at once flat on the ground, or perhaps the heel
coming first in contact with it, than on the highest and
most splendid action.

When the toe first touches the ground, it may be easily
supposed that the Horse will occasionally topple over. An
unexpected obstacle will throw the centre of gravity for-
ward, and down he will come. If the toe dig into the
ground before the foot is firmly placed, a little thing will
cause a trip and a fall.

Let the farmer who has a stumbler look at the shoes of
his Horse. In what part is the wear and tear?—The toe

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

of the shoe will become round, or even be altogether gone,
when the heel is scarcely touched.

For pleasant riding, and for safety, also, a Hackney
should not carry his legs too high. His going a little too
near to the ground is not always to be considered as an
insuperable objection. The question is, does he dig his toe
into the ground?

Mount him, and put him to the test. Take up his feet
and examine them. If the shoe, after having been ona
week or a fortnight, is not unnecessarily worn at the toe,
and you feel him put his foot flat on the ground, do not
scruple to buy him; nay, esteem him a ‘choice-gifted
Hackney,’ although he may not have the lofty action
which some have erroneously thought so necessary.

Every Horse, however, is liable to fall, and hence comes
the golden rule of riding, ‘ Never trust to your Horse,’—
always feel his mouth lightly. He does wrong who con-
stantly pulls might and main; he will soon spoil the Horse’s
mouth, and render his own work always necessary. He
does worse who carelessly throws the reins on the neck of
the Horse. Always feel the mouth lightly; you will
thus be able to give the animal assistance zmmediately,
before he is too much off his centre, and when a little
check will savehim. By this constant gentle feeling you
will likewise induce him to carry his head well, than which
few things are more conducive to the beautiful, safe, and
easy going of the Horse.

The Road Horse should be high in the fore-hand; round
in the barrel; and deep in the chest; the saddle will not then
press too forward, but the girths will remain, without
crupper, firmly fixed in their proper place.

A Hackney is far more valuable for the pleasantness of
his paces, and his safety, good temper, and endurance,
than for his speed. We rarely want to go more than eight
or ten miles in an hour; and, ona journey, not more than six
or seven. The fast Horses, and especially the fast trot-
ters, are not often easy in their paces, and although they
may peform very extraordinary feats, are disabled and
worthless, when the slower Horse is in his prime.

Ponies.

The Welsh Poney is one of the most beautiful little
animals that can be imagined. He has a small head, high
withers, deep yet round barrel, short joints, flat legs, and
good round feet. He will live on any fare, and can never
be tired out.

The New Foresters are generally ill-made, large-headed,
short-necked, ragged hipped, but hardy, safe, and useful.
The catching of these Ponies is as great a trial of skill, as

107

the hunting of the wild Horses on the Pampas of South
America, and a greater one of patience.

The Exmoor Ponies, although generally ugly enough,
are hardy and useful. A well known Sportsman says, that
he rode one of them half a dozen miles; and never felt such
power and action in so small a compass before. To show
his accomplishments, he was turned over a gate at least
eight inches higher than his back; and his owner, who rides
fourteen stone, travelled on him from Bristol to South
Molton, eighty-six miles, beating the coach which runs
the same road.

The Highland Poney is far inferior to the Galloway.
The head is large; he is low before, long in the back, short
in the legs, upright in the pasterns, rather slow in his paces,
and not pleasant to ride, except in the canter. His habits
make him hardy, for he is rarely housed in the summer or
the winter. The Rey. Mr. Hall, in his ‘Travels in Scot-
land, says, that ‘when these animals come to any
boggy piece of ground, they first put their nose to it, and
then pat on it in a peculiar way with one of their fore
feet, and from the sound and feel of the ground, they know
whether it will bear them. They do the same with ice, and
determine in a minute whether they will proceed.’

The Shetland Poney called in Scotland Shelfie, an
inhabitant of the extremest northern Scottish isles, is
a very diminutive animal, sometimes not seven hands
and a half in height, and rarely exceeding nine and a half.
He is often exceedingly beautiful, with a small head, good-
tempered countenance, a short neck, fine towards the
throttle, shoulders low and thick, (in so little a creature
far from being a blemish,) back short, quarters extended and
powerful, legs flat and fine, and pretty round feet. They
possess immense strength for their size, will fatten upon
any thing; and are perfectly docile. One of them nine
hands, or three feet in height, carried a man of twelve
stone forty miles in one day.”’

CLASSIFICATION OF ANIMALS.

MAMMALIA.

ORDER

1. Brana. Man with two hands.

2. QuapRUMANA. Animals with four hands—apes,
baboons, monkeys, and makis. (Lemurs. )

3. CHEIROPTERA. Mammiferous animals, in which
the fore feet form membranes for flying—bats.

108 ig

ORDER

4. Digirata. Mammiferous animals with separate
toes on all four feet. This order is divided, accord-
ing to the difference of the teeth, into the following
three families: —

(A.) Glires.—With teeth like those of the mouse, as
the squirrel, dormouse, and other mice; the mar-
mot, guinea-pig, jerboa, hare, porcupine.

(B.) Ferz.—Carnivorous animals, properly so called,
and some other genera, with teeth of the same kind—
lions, dogs, &c., the bear, weasel, civet, opossum,
hedgehog, shrew, mole.

(C.) Bruta.—Without teeth, or at least without fore
teeth, &c.—sloth, ant eaters, armadilloes, manis.

5. SoLipUNGULA. The horse, &c.

6. Bisuca. Ruminating animals with cloven feet—
the camel, the ox, the goat, the sheep, &e.

7. MuLtTuneuLa. Mammiferous animals, for the
most part very large, unshapely, with bristles of
scattered hairs, with more than two toes on each
foot—as swine, (which have usually four toes,) the
tapir, elephant, rhinoceros, hippopotamus.

. Patmarta. Mammiferous animals with feet made
for swimming; subdivided, according to the different
forms of their teeth into three families, as above:—

(A.) Glires.—The beaver.

(B.) Ferx.—Seals, otters, &e.

(C.) Bruta.—Duck-billed animals—walrus, manati;
and from these the most suitable transition to order.

9. CETACEA. Whales, warm-blooded animals, which
have nothing in common with cold-blooded fishes,
but the name; and the natural connexion of which,

with mammifera, was correctly remarked even by
Ray.

oa

BIRDS.

(a.) Land Birds.

1. ACCIPITRES. Birds of prey; with strong hooked
beaks, mostly with short, strong, knotty feet, and
large, crooked, sharp claws—the vulture, the fal-
con, the owl.

2. LervrrosTREs. With short feet; and very large,
thick, but mostly hollow, and therefore light bills—
parrots, toucans, &e.

Su etCr. With short feet; moderately long and
small bills, and the tongue sometimes worm-shaped,
sometimes thread-like—the wry neck, woodpecker,
ereeper, humming-bird, &c.

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

ORDER

4, CorAcEs. With short feet, and the bill mode-
rately long, tolerably strong, and convex above—
ravens, crows, &c.

5. PassERES. The singing birds, with swallows, &c.
The feet short, the bill more or less conical, pointed,
and of various length and thickness.

6. GALLIN=. Birds with short feet, the bill some-
what convex above, and having a fleshy membrane
at the base—the pigeon, the partridge, the pheasant,
the peacock, the common cock, &e.

7. STRUTHIONES. Large land birds unsuited for fly-
ing—the ostrich, cassowary, and dodo.

(s.) Water Birds.

8. GRALLE. Birds found in marshes with long feet;
long, and almost cylindrical bills, and generally a
long neck—the heron, the bittern, the plover, the
rail, &c.

9. ANSERES.

Swimming birds with oar-like feet; a
short bill covered with skin, generally serrated at
the edge, and terminated at the extremity of the
upper jaw by a little hook—the swan, goose, duck,
and the various species of sea fowl.

AMPHIBIA.

1. Reprives.
frogs, lizards.

2, SerPeNTES.—Serpents, without any external organs
of motion.

Amphibia with four feet—tortoises,

FISHES.

(a.) Cartilaginous, without true bones.

(z.) Bony Fishes—Fishes properly so called.

(a.) 1. CHonDROPTERYGII. Without an operculum,
or covering of the gills—as the shark, the lamprey,
the torpedo, the skate, the saw fish, &c.

(a.) 2. BRANCHIOSTEGI. With an operculum—the
sturgeon, the globe fish, the sun fish, &e.

(B.) 3. ApopEs. Without ventral fins—the eel, the
sword fish, &e.

(B.) 4. JUGULARES. Having the ventral in front of the
pectoral fins—the haddock, the cod, the piper, &ce.

(z.) 5. THoRACTICI. Having the ventral immediately
below the pectoral fin—the dory, the plaice, the
flounder.

FAR {Serre & ase uny Pry

% ON ‘OF Id

‘Sauls ONININDH

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

ORDER
(s.) 6. ABDOMINALEs. Having the ventral behind
the pectoral fins—the salmon, the trout, and most
fresh water fish.

INSECTS.

1. CoLEorrERA. Mostly with horny bodies—bee-
tles.

. HEMIPTERA. With four wings, folded together
erucically or longitudinally, hard for one-half, and
almost like parchment—the cock-roach, the grass-

hopper.

vo

3. LEPIDOPTERA. With soft hairy bodies, and four
expanded wings, covered with coloured scales—but-
terflies.

4, NEUROPTERA. ‘With four transparent, net-shaped,
or lattice-like wings—the ephemera or day-fly, the
water moth.

5. HyMENOPTERA. ‘With four transparent veined
wings—the wasp, the bee, the ant.

6. DietEeRa. Insects with two wings, (uncovered) —
the gnat, the various species of flies.

7. APTERA. Insects without wings—the spider, the
scorpion, the crab, the flea.

[Im the above orders of Insects, Blumenbach has fol-
towed Linnzus. |

WORMS.

1, INTESTINA. Long worms, without any evident
external organs of motion—common earth worms,
human worms, &c.

2. Mortusca. Naked, soft worms, with visible, and
often very numerous extremities—the slug, sea
blubber, sea anemone, &e.

3. TESTACEA. ‘Animals inhabiting shells, and-much
resembling those of the preceding order—the barna-
cle, the muscle, oyster, and most of the animals con-
tained in the sea shells.

4. CRusTACEA. Animals haying almost cartilaginous
bodies; and in some cases, with a firm incaleareous
crust—sea hedgehogs, sea stars, &c.

5. CoRRALLIA. Polypes and other zoophites inhabit-
ing coral branches and similar structures.
6. Zoopuira. Naked, plant-like animals, without
any habitations; also the animalcule of infusions.
[Blumenbach’s Nat. Hist.
Er

109
HUMMING-BIRD.

TROCHILUS COLUBRIS.

[Plate X. Vol. 2. Male and Female—size of life. ]

Trochilus colubris, Linn. Syst. 1, p. 191, No. 12.—
L? Oiseau mouche agorge rouge de la Caroline, Briss.
Orn. ut. p. 716, No. 13, ¢. 36, fig 6.—Le Rubis,
Burr. Ois. vi. p. 13.— Humming-Bird, Carzss. Car.
1. 65.—Red-throated Humming-Bird, Epw. 1, 38,
male and female.—Latu. Syn. 1. 769, No. 35.—
From life.*

Narvre in every department of her works seems to
delight in variety; and the present subject of our history
is almost as singular for its minuteness, beauty, want of
song, and manner of feeding, as the Mocking-bird is for
unrivalled excellence of notes, and plainness of plumage.
Though this interesting and beautiful genus of birds com-
prehends upwards of seventy species, all of which, with
very few exceptions, are natives of America and its adja-
cent islands, it is yet singular, that the species now before
us should be the only one of its tribe that ever visits the
territory of the United States.

According to the observations of my friend Mr. Abboit,
of Savannah, in Georgia, who has been engaged these
thirty years in collecting and drawing subjects of natural
history in that part of the country, the Humming-bird
makes its first appearance there, from the south, about
the twenty-third of March, two weeks earlier than it does
in the county of Burke, sixty miles higher up the country
towards the interior; and at least five weeks sooner than it
reaches this part of Pennsylvania. As it passes on to the
northward as far as the interior of Canada, where it is seen
in great numbers,? the wonder is excited how so feebly
constructed and delicate a little creature can make its way
over such extensive regions of lakes and forests, among so
many enemies, all its superiors in strength and magnitude.
But its very minuteness, the rapidity of its flight, which

* The male Humming-bird, figured in the plate, was brought by a
friend to the Editor, aliye,—but in consequence of confinement be-
came nearly exhausted, and on taking it from the cage, it was seized
with paroxysms of fear so great as to become apparently lifeless; it
however was restored, and remained the greater part of two days, sit-
ting on a small twig, in the exact posture as drawn, during which time
it was fed by means of a camel’s hair pencil dipped in dissolyed rock
candy, until sufficient strength was gained, when it took its final
leave by flying out of the window.—[Ep.]

{ Mr. M’Kenzie speaks of seeing a ‘* beautiful Humming-bird” near
the head of the Unjigah or Peace River, in lat. 54°; but has not parti-
cularized the species.

110

almost eludes the eye, and that admirable instinct, reason,
or whatever else it may be called, and daring courage
which heaven has implanted in its bosom, are its guides
and protectors. In these we may also perceive the rea-
son why an all-wise Providence has made this little hero
an exception to a rule which prevails almost universally
through nature, viz. that the smallest species of a tribe are
the most prolific. The Eagle lays one, sometimes two,
eges; the Crow five; the Titmouse seven or eight; the
small European Wren fifteen; the Humming-bird ¢wo,
and yet this latter is abundantly more numerous in Ame-
rica than the Wren is in Europe.

About the twenty-fifth of April the Humming-bird
usually arrives in Pennsylvania; and about the tenth of
May begins to build its nest. This is generally fixed on
the upper side of a horizontal branch, not among the twigs,
but on the body of the branch itself. Yet I have known
instances where it was attached by the side to an old moss-
grown trunk; and others where it was fastened on a strong
rank stalk, or weed, in the garden; but these cases are
rare. In the woods it very often chooses a white oak sap-
ling to build on; and in the orchard, or garden, selects a
pear tree for that purpose. The branch is seldom more
than ten feet from the ground. The nest is about an inch
in diameter, and as much in depth. A very complete one
is now lying before me, and the materials of which it is
composed are as follow:—The outward coat is formed of
small pieces of a species of bluish gray lichen that vege-
tates on old trees and fences, thickly glued on with the
saliva of the bird, giving firmness and consisteney to the
whole, as well as keeping out moisture. Within this are
thick matted layers of the fine wings of certain flying
seeds, closely laid together; and, lastly, the downy sub-
stance from the great mullein, and from the stalks of the
common fern, lines the whole. The base of the nest is
continued round the stem of the branch, to which it
closely adheres; and, when viewed from below, appears
a mere mossy knot or accidental protuberance. The eggs
are two, pure white, and of equal thickness at both ends.
On a person’s approaching their nest, the little proprie-
tors dart around with a humming sound, passing frequently
within a few inches of one’s head, and should the young
be newly hatched, the female will resume her place on the
nest even while you stand within a yard or two of the
spot. The precise period of incubation I am unable to
give; but the young are in the habit, a short time before
they leave the nest, of thrusting their bills into the mouths
of their parents, and sucking what they have brought them.
I never could perceive that they carried them any ani-
mal food; though from circumstances that will presently
be mentioned, I think it highly probable they do. As I

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

have found their nests with eggs so late as the twelfth of
July, I do not doubt but that they frequently, and perhaps
usually, raise two brood in the same season.

The Humming-bird is extremely fond of tubular flow-
ers, and I have often stopped, with pleasure, to observe
his manceuvres among the blossoms of the trumpet-flower.
When arrived before a thicket of these that are full-blown,
he poises, or suspends himself on wing, for the space of
two or three seconds, so steadily, that his wings become
invisible, or only like a mist; and you can plainly distin-
guish the pupil of hiseye looking round with great quick-
ness and circumspection; the glossy golden green of his
back, and the fire of his throat, dazzling in the sun, form
altogether a most interesting appearance. The position
into which the body is usually thrown while in the act of
thrusting the slender tubular tongue into the flower, to
extract its sweets, is exhibited in the figure on the plate.
When it alights, which is frequently, it always prefers
the small dead twigs of a tree, or bush, where it dresses
and arranges its plumage with great dexterity. The note of
the male is a single chirp, not louder than that of a small
cricket or grasshopper, generally uttered while passing
from flower to flower, or when engaged in fight with his
fellows; for when two males meet at the same bush or
flower, a battle instantly takes place; and the combatants
ascend in the air, chirping, darting and circling around each
other, till the eye is no longer able to follow them. The
conqueror, however, generally returns to the place, to
reap the fruits of his victory. I have seen him attack, and
for a few moments tease the King-bird; and have also seen
him, in his turn, assaulted by a humble-bee, which he soon
put to flight. He is one of those few birds that are uni-
versally beloved; and amidst the sweet dewy serenity of
asummer’s morning, his appearance among the arbours of
honeysuckles, and beds of flowers, is truly interesting.

When morning dawns, and the blest sun again
Lifts his red glories from the Eastern main,

Then through our woodbines, wet with glittering dews,
The flower-fed Humming-bird his round pursues;
Sips with inserted tube, the honeyed blooms,

And chirps his gratitude as round he roams ;
While richest roses, though in crimson drest,
Shrink from the splendour of his gorgeous breast ;
What heav’nly tints in mingling radiance fly!
Each rapid movement gives a different dye;

Like scales of burnish’d gold they dazzling show,
Now sink to shade—now like a furnace glow !

The singularity of this little bird has induced many
persons to attempt to raise them from the nest, and accus-
tom them to the cage. Mr. Coffer, of Fairfax county,
Virginia, a gentleman who has paid great attention to the

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

manners and peculiarities of our native birds, told me, that
he raised and kept two, for some months, in a cage; sup-
plying them with honey dissolved in water, on which they
readily fed. As the sweetness of the liquid frequently
brought small flies and gnats about the cage and cup, the
birds amused themselves by snapping at them on wing,
and swallowing them with eagerness, so that these insects
formed no inconsiderable part of their food. Mr. Charles
Wilson Peale, proprietor of the Museum, told me, that he
had two young Humming-birds which he raised from the
nest. They used to fly about the room; and would fre-
quently perch on Mrs. Peale’s shoulder to be fed. When
the sun shone strongly into the chamber, he has observed
them darting after the motes that floated in the light, as
Flycatchers would after flies. In the summer of 1803, a
nest of young Humming-birds was brought me, that were
nearly fit to fly. One of them actually flew out by the
window the same evening, and ‘falling against a wall, was
killed. The other refused food, and the next morning I
could but just perceive that it had life. A lady in the
house undertook to be its nurse, placed it in her bosom,
and as it began to revive, dissolved a little sugar in her
mouth, into which she thrust its bill, and it sucked with
great avidity. In this manner it was brought up until fit
for theeage. I kept it upwards of three months, supplied
it with loaf sugar dissolved in water, which it preferred to
honey 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, hovering from
flower to flower as if in its native wilds, and always ex-
pressed by its motions and chirping, great pleasure at see-
ing fresh flowers introduced to 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, by some means it got
at large, and flying about the room, so injured itself that it
soon after died.

This little bird is extremely susceptible of cold, and
if long deprived of the animating influence of the sun-
beams, droops and soon dies. A very beautiful male was
brought me this season, which I put into a wire cage, and
placed in a retired, shaded part of the room. After flut-
tering about for some time, the weather being uncommonly
cool, it clung by the wires, and hung in a seemingly tor-
pid state for a whole forenoon. No motion whatever of
the lungs could be perceived, on the closest inspection,
though at other times this is remarkably observable; the
eyes were shut; and when touched by the finger it gave
no signs of lifeor motion. I carried it out to the openair,
and placed it directly in the rays of the sun, in a sheltered

111

situation. In afew seconds respiration became very appa-
rent, the bird breathed faster and faster, opened its eyes,
and began to look about, with as much seeming vivacity
as ever. After it had completely recovered, I restored it
to liberty; and it flew off to the withered top of a pear
tree, where it sat for some time dressing its disordered
plumage, and then shot off like a meteor.

The flight of the Humming-bird from flower to flower,
greatly resembles that of a bee, but is so much more rapid,
that the latter appears a mere loitererto him. He poiseshim-
self on wing, while he thrusts his long slender tubular tongue
into the flowers in search of food. He sometimes enters a
room by the window, examines the bouquets of flowers,
and passes out by the opposite door or window. He has
been known to take refuge in a hot-house during the cool
nights of autumn; to go regularly out in the morning, and
return as regularly in the evening, for several days to-
gether.

The Humming-bird has, hitherto, been supposed to
subsist altogether on the honey, or liquid sweets, which it
extracts from flowers. One or two curious dbservers have
indeed remarked, that they have found evident fragments
of insects in the stomach of this species; but these have
been generally believed to have been taken in by accident.
The few opportunities which Europeans have to determine
this point by observations made on the living bird, or by
dissection of the newly-killed one, havé rendered this
mistaken opinion almost general in Europe. For myself,
I can speak decisively on this subject. I have seen the
Humming-bird for half an hour at a time darting at those
little groups of insects that dance in the air in a fine sum-
mer evening, retiring to an adjoining twig to rest, and re-
newing the attack with a dexterity that sets all other Fly-
catchers at defiance. I have opened from time to time
great numbers of these birds; have examined the contents
of the stomach with suitable glasses, and in three cases
out of four, have found these to consist of broken fragments
of insects. In many subjects entire insects of the coleop-
terous class, but very small, were found unbroken. The
observations of Mr. Coffer as detailed above, and the re-
marks of my worthy friend, Mr. Peale, are corroborative
of these facts. It is well known that the Humming-bird
is particularly fond of tubular flowers where numerous
small insects of this kind resort to feed on the farina, &c.
and there is every reason for believing that he is as often
in search of these insects as of honey; and that the former
compose at least as great a portion of his usual sustenance
as the latter. If this food be so necessary for the parents,
there is no doubt but the young also occasionally partake
of it.

To enumerate all the flowers of which this little bird is

112

fond, would be to repeat the names of half our American
Flora. From the blossoms of the towering poplar, or tu-
lip tree, through a thousand intermediate flowers, to those
of the humble larkspur, he ranges at will, and almost inces-
santly. Eyery period of the season produces a fresh mul-
titude of new favourites. Towards the month of Septem-
ber there is a yellow flower which grows in great luxuri-
ance along the sides of creeks and rivers, and in low moist
situations: it grows to the height of two or three feet, and
the flower which is about the size of a thimble, hangs in
the shape of a cap of liberty, above a luxuriant growth of
green leaves. It is the Balsamina noli me tangere of
botanists, and is the greatest favourite with the Humming-
bird of all our other flowers. In some places where these
plants abound, you may see at one time ten or twelve Hum-
ming-birds darting about, and fighting with and pursuing
each other. About the twentieth of September they gene-
rally retire to the south. I have, indeed, sometimes seen
a solitary individual on the twenty-eighth and thirtieth of
that month, and sometimes even in October; but these
cases are rare. About the beginning of November, they
pass the southern boundary of the United States into Flo-
rida.

The Humming-bird is three inches and a half in length,
and four and a quarter in extent; the whole back, upper
part of the neck, sides under the wings, tail coverts, and
two middle feathers of the tail, are of a rich golden green;
the tail is forked, and, as well as the wings, of a deep
brownish purple; the bill and eyes are black; the legs and
feet, both of which are extremely small, are also black; the
bill is straight, very slender, a little inflated at the tip, and
very incompetent to the exploit of penetrating the tough
sinewy side of a crow, and precipitating it from the clouds
to the earth, as Charlevoix would persuade his readers to
believe. The nostrils are two small oblong slits, situated
at the base of the upper mandible, scarcely perceivable
when the bird is dead, though very distinguishable and
prominent when living; the sides of the belly and belly
itself, dusky white, mixed with green; but what consti-
tutes the chief ornament of this little bird, is the splendour
of the feathers of his throat, which, when placed in a pro-
per position, glow with all the brillianey of the ruby.
These feathers are of singular strength and texture, lying
close together like scales, and vary when moved before
the eye from a deep black to a fiery crimson and burning
orange. The female is destitute of this ornament; but
differs little in other appearances from the male; her tail is
tipt with white, and the whole lower parts are of the same
tint. The young birds of the first season, both male and
female, have the tail tipt with white, and the whole lower
parts nearly white; in the month of September the orna-

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

mental feathers on the throat of the young males begin to
appear.

On dissection the heart was found to be remarkably
large, nearly as big as the cranium, and the stomach, though
distended with food, uncommonly small, not exceeding the
globe of the eye, and scarcely more than one-sixth part
as large as the heart; the fibres of the last were also ex-
ceedingly strong. The brain was in large quantity, and
very thin; the tongue, from the tip to an extent equal with
the length of the bill, was perforated, forming two closely
attached parallel and cylindrical tubes; the other extremi-
ties of the tongue corresponded exactly to those of the
Woodpecker, passing up the hind head and reaching
to the base of the upper mandible. These observations
were verified in five different subjects, all of whose sto-
machs contained fragments of insects, and some of them
whole ones. —W1tson.

ANGLING IN SURINAM.

Tue negroes of Surinam take their fish by implements
which may be denominated the spring hook and the spring
basket; the first of which consists of a strong elastic rod
or pole stuck in the ground under water, and to the other
end of which are attached two lines of unequal lengths,
the shorter having fastened to it a small stick ten inches
long, and the other the same, but fixed lower; while at
the extremity of this line is hooked a small fish, by the
fins, in such a manner, however, as to be able to swim to
and fro, and serve as a bait for the larger species. Two
long sticks being next placed in the ground, so as to
appear above water, a third stick is laid across, forming
them into the appearance of a gallows; above this gallows
is bent and fixed the elastic rod or pole, by means of the
double line and the sticks fixed thereon, as mentioned
above, but in such a manner that, at the least pull at the
bait, the apparatus gives way, the elastic rod instantly as-
sumes an upright position, and the fish that occasioned the
spring, by taking the bait, is immediately suspended above
water. The spring-basket is upon a similar construction.
The basket is made of warimbo-reeds in the form of a sugar-
loaf, in the small end of which the elastic rod is fastened,
while at the other end is an open trap-door, the whole
being supported in a proper position by a forked stick.
No sooner has a large fish entered the basket and taken
the bait, than the elastic rod, as in the former instance,
erects itself with a spring, the trap-door closes, and the
game is thus secured. In this mode of angling there is,

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS,

of course, no occasion to watch the line as in the common
method, when it frequently happens that the philosophic
fisher displays no ordinary degree of patience in calmly
waiting for hours, or perhaps for days, in expectation of a
very fine nibble at least, if not of a fierce bite. The spring-
hook, or spring-basket, if set at night, may be conve-
niently examined the next morning, and will seldom be
found empty, unless fish be very scarce.—2nnals of
Sporting.

From the New-England Galaxy.

SOME PASSAGES FROM THE DIARY OF A
SPORTSMAN.

{Continued from page 90.]

Tue Sportsman is led by the very nature of his pur-
suits to pass away many solitary hours, with no other com-
panionship than the communion of his own thoughts. In
his utter solitude he indulges in many a dreamy and deli-
cious reverie, in many a bright imagining. As he paces
the far extended plain, or reclines at noonday at the root
of the patriarchal tree of the forest, his thoughts wander
forth into the unexplored realms of the future, or steal
back into the shadowy halls of the great Past, and make
their melancholy sojourn with the glorious dead. The past,
the past! it is ever with a deep sense of awe that we ven-
ture into the broad mysterious dominions of the past. The
mind is impressed with a strange tinge of sadness as it
wanders among the ashes of long-forgotten generations; as
it ealls those mighty spirits of the dead again into ideal
life, as it meets with the good, the brave, the pious, the
learned, the benevolent men of other days.

It is natural, as it is delightful, for the solitary Sports-
man, as he plunges into the depths of our immense woods,
as he loiters along the lonely shore, as he glides across the
silent bay in his rocking skiff, as he muses upon the bor-
der of the rivulet, to recur to those not far-distant days,
when the barbaric tribes of the red men peopled the land
around him. The spirit of the departed savage is around,
and about him; it haunts the wood and peoples the valley.
As he urges his slender shallop over the billows, he almost
fancies that he can again discover the gliding boat of the
Indian; as he traverses the solemn glades of the forest he
almost expects to see the apparition of the savage warrior
start from the leafy thicket,

Fr

And then to mark the Lord of all,

The forest hero, trained to wars,
Quivered and plumed, and lithe and tall,

And seamed with glorious scars,
Walk forth, amid his reign, to dare

The wolf, and grapple with the bear.

But yesterday, as it were, the ealumet of peace was
lit, the council fire sent up its flames in the silence of the
deep woods, or the war-hatchet was dug from the root of
the peaceful tree, and the great war-dance made the hills
resound with the measured tramp of a thousand warriors,
and the hideous yell sent forth from a thousand warlike
bosoms. But yesterday, as it were, and the now cultivated
hill was overshadowed by the wide and drooping wood,
and the plain whose fertile glebe is now made fruitful by the
hand of the husbandman, or occupied by the secluded vil-
lage, or the vast and noisy city, wasa silent and intermina-
ble wilderness, whose tranquillity was only disturbed by the
shout of the Indian hunter, or the blast of the Indian horn.
From the recesses of every wood the hearth of the Indian
lodge sent up its curling smoke; on the green slopes around,
the sounds of childish sport were heard; beneath the sacred
tree the bones of the old forefathers of the hamlet were
committed to their long repose. The Sportsman is con-
tinually reminded of their existence, by a thousand objects
around him. With every venerable tree, thick with the
moss of age, with every wild stream that lifts up its cla-
morous voice in the solitude, are mysteriously connected
associations which call before his memory the glories of
other days, the ferocity of the savage warrior, or the free-
dom of the wild hunter. He often meets with relics of
that departed race in his solitary rambles; he discovers the
lonely cairn where the ashes of the distinguished chieftain
repose; he meets with the pious heap of stones which
savage affection has erected over the bones of a beloved
object; he oftentimes finds the relics of the crumbling
lodge or decayed canoe, the huge wooden bowl, the rude
pottery, the stone-hatchet, the clumsy knife, the flint-
pointed arrow, the shell-covered shield, the ornamented
pouch or moccasin, the bow or battle-axe of tough wood or
polished bone, and various other curiosities which serve
to remind of that untutored people whose hands so long
ago fashioned them.

If the Sportsman is wearied at any time with a long and
patient march, then what more delightful than to fling him-
self down upon the smooth sea-beach or the yielding car-
pet with which boon Nature has overspread the earth, and
indulge in repose mental or bodily. He can then produce
his well-filled scrip, and like the Greeks of old after the
battle, ‘‘snatch a short repast.”’ With what charitable
satisfaction does he bestow a bountiful portion of his stores

114 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

upon poor Carlo, whose watery jaws, wagging tail, and
swimming and wide-open eyes, so imploringly beseech him
for a benefaction! Then is the joy-bestowing flask pro-
duced, and the fragrant and delicious cigar ignited. ‘Then
also he can produce from a secret nook in his game-bag,
his miniature edition of his favourite poet, and surrender
up his imagination to the enchantment of inspired song.
Or if the spirit so moveth him, he can sharpen his pencil
and display his parchment, and inscribe in poetical verse,
the beauty of the rare scenery around him. Upon a flower-
enamelled bank, at the borders of a beautiful stream, whose
waters rivalled in purity and clearness the very atmosphere
itself, and whose voice poured out a melodious murmur,
richer than the sound of the flute, or the modulation of
the Eolian harp itself, the following verses were composed

TO A RIVULET.

Merry brook !
Upon thy margin green, how dear the joy!
When I did loiter here ;—a truant boy !
With line and hook!

Thou singest still,
That same light-hearted song thou then didst sing
When life to me had not a jarring string

Nor painful ill!

Thy silent strand,
Seemed then profusely paved with yellow gold !
That gold is now but poor and worthless mould,
—But shining sand!

I wondered then
Why human life was ever like the sea,
Vexed by the frantic noise eternally,
Ofangry men!

It seemed to me—
?T were better if the course of human life
Moved like thy current without noise or strife,
On to the sea !

Babbling stream,
Full many a pleasant thought of early days
Is wedded unto thy bewildering maze,

And cheerful gleam.

Favourite brook,
I love even now to pace thy grassy brink!
Upon the innocent sports of youth to think,
And on thee look.

Your angler is apt to be a more meditative and poetical
personage than the gunner. Hesits by the passing stream,
by the hour together, or glides about from eddy to eddy

(if trouting) with the coolness and silence of a philosopher.
His eye is limited to the peaceful wave; it is never suf-
fered to wander into the air in pursuit of the passing wing,
nor is his footstep led away from hill to hill, by the hover-
ing flock or the nimbly-moving animal. He poises the
silent and inoffensive rod in his hand, and has little affee-
tion for the murderous gun. In comparison with the war-
like gunner, he practices the gentle trade and craft of
peaceful and civil life. Here are some verses written
during a too-bright afternoon in the summer time, when
not a fin would wrinkle the surface of the water, nor a gill
venture within hail of our seductive hook. At such
times it is usual for the fishing line to give place to the
line poetical. If the verse is of a drowsy and narcotic na-
ture it is but fair to impute the blame to the universal
slumber of the woods and wilds around, which infuse
something of their nodding qualities into the bosom of the
bard.

THE ANGLER’S SONG.

When first the flame of day,
Crimsons the fleeting mist,

And from the valley rolls away

The haze, by the sunbeam kissed,
Then to the lonely woods I pass,
With angling rod and line ;

While yet the dew-drops in the grass,
Like scattered diamonds shine.

How vast the messy forest-halls ;

Silent and full of gloom!

Thro’ the arch’d roof the day-beam falls
Like torch-light in a tomb.

The old trunks of trees rise around,
Like pillars in a church of old,

And the wind fills them with a sound
As if a bell were tolled.

Where falls the noisy stream

In many a bubble bright,

Along whose grassy margin gleam
Flowers gaudy to the sight,
There silently I stand,

Watching my angle play;

And eagerly draw to the land,

My speckled prey.

Oft ere the carrion bird has left

His eyry the dead tree!

Or ere the eagle’s wing has cleft

The cloud in heaven’s blue sea,—

Or ere the lark’s bold pinion speeds
To greet the misty day,

My foot has shaken the bending reeds;
My rod has found its prey.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

And when the twilight with a blush
Upon her cheek, moves by,

And evening’s universal hush
Spreads o'er the darkening sky,
And flickeringly the tapers burn

In villages far away,

Then from the lonely stream I turn
And from the forests gray.

It is not easy to determine whether there is more real
pleasure to be derived from the angle or the gun. Some
persons are captivated by the stirring excitement of the
one, for whom all the quiet and unobtrusive fascination of
the other has no charm. But perhaps in most cases it is
true that the hand which is familiar with the gun can
wield a skilful rod. The same person who will patiently,
(nay joyfully) sustain the fatigue of the chase, in the woods
or on the sea-shore, with a heavy gun across his arm, will
also take delight in following the route of the running
stream, although he has to wade ‘‘up to his knees in wa-
ter.”’ In both occupations he receives equal and exquisite
pl sure; his mind is amused, his bodily strength is in-
e ed, his slumber is profound and refreshing, he rises

a liberal and merry heart, and the depressing cares

«' anxieties that prey upon most -slothful minds and
bodies, never venture to invade him. He is social and
happy, and passes through the world like one who is con-
tented to enjoy it as it is, without indulging in vain and
wicked repinings, because it is no better.

That picture of the angler! suspended over the door of
our good friend Bradley, how often has it enticed me into
the purchase of that fishing and shooting gear so dear to. a
Sportsman’s heart, so ineffably dear tohispurse. I never
pass that tempting bait without casting a longing and wistful
glance at the various implements and appliances of fishing
craft and shooting craft displayed at the window with such
a prodigal and judicious care, and I long to possess them
all, and hasten away with them ‘to the mountain’s brow,”’
or the forest’s heart, or the ocean’s border. Behold, the
golden profusion! the priceless wealth! exceeding in value
the Indian pearl, or barbaric gold. Here are rows of po-
lished hooks, comprehending all shapes and sizes, from that
which will conquer the biggest fin that cleaves the waters
around Nahant or Nantasket, to that which is suited to
the gills of the smallest minnow that sparkles in the pool.
Here is an angling creel of snow white twigs, woven per-
haps by still whiter hands; here the firm net-work of the
game-bag: the water-proof drinking flask—the copper
powder flask—the transparent horn—the double shot-belt
—the landing net—the gut, hair, grass, and silk lines,
buoys of all colours, jointed rods tapering into an almost
invisible point, trolling winches, and an endless variety

115

of gimp, tackle, and artificial flies, of most captivating
brilliancy.

There has been much controversy among our brother
anglers, in regard to the best bait for taking both brook
and salmon trout. We have often tried the artificial fly,
but without any extraordinary success. In fact, unless
you are fortunate enough to select the fly of the proper co-
lour and species, you will fail in all your attempts. After
many unsuccessful experiments, we have been obliged to
resort to the old-fashioned worm bait. In autumn, when
clouds of grasshoppers swarm in the meadows, one of that
long-legged gentry proves to be a very killing bait. The
white or green worm, however, (the red has not sufficient
tenacity,) if skilfully attached to the hook, may be relied
on as not inferior to all others. It is best to thrust two of
them upon the hook, taking care to leave bare its tip. One
end of each worm should be suffered to hang loosely from
the hook, that by its motion it may have the appearance of
life. If you do not suffer the fish to gorge this bait, it will
serve you on many trials. It requires long and careful
practice, to enable an angler to cast his line with skill and
precision. ‘The common practice is to go to the head of
the stream or the pool, and to allow the bait to make its
way before you, downwards, till it be caught by some
watchful eye, and lodged in some unhappy jaw. But in
this case you always pull against the stream, and conse-
quently you more than double the resistance; besides, as
all fish catch any bait floating downwards with their heads
turned against the current, it is ten to one but after your
bait has been almost as far home in the stomach of the
trout, as Jonah was in that of the whale, the trout may
open his mouth, and allow yow to free him of so inconve-
nient a meal. Now, instead of fishing with the bait down
a small mountain stream, fish wp it; keep a pretty long
line, and continue constantly pulling it out and throwing it
in; thus, even suppose there is nota single fish in the stream
or in the pool which may have the least intention to swal-
low, many will have a great inclination to look at, to nib-
ble at, and tamper with this danger. During all this float-
ing and circling, during all this nibbling and dallying, you
will observe that the trout still keep, in this mode of fish-
ing, betwixt your hook and you; and, accordingly, when-
ever you choose to call home your hook with a sudden
jerk, you have a great chance to come round some fellow’s
jaws, or across his breast, who had no intention to swallow.
You must however remember, while practising this me-
thod, to have a strong line and rod, which will bend
down almost to your hand, for, in order to accomplish
your purpose you are compelled to draw so powerfully
that should you hit upon a root or stone your tackle will
be in danger of giving way. It is very difficult to pro-

116

cure in this city a rod thoroughly seasoned, well balanced,
and made of proper materials. The India joint rods which
are so common, cannot be depended upon. They should
be made of hard, solid wood, tipped with whalebone, of
great elasticity and strength. It will be found to be very
convenient to attach a short, stout spear-point to the fer-
rule of the rod, which can be thrust into the turf, from
time to time. Indeed, many of the best imported rods are
provided with this useful instrument. There is no better
sport than that of taking the large salmon trout. It re-
quires no little generalship to capture this wary rover. It
will require all your science as a tactician, in the cautious
advance, in the guarded retreat, to outmanceuvre him. If
you press him too hotly, he will inevitably escape from
you, bearing away with him in triumph, your whole
length of line, hooks and all, as his opima spolia, the evi-
denees to his comrades, of his strength and cunning, and
of your defeat. A man never looks more like that person
which Dr. Johnson maliciously describes an angler to be,
than when standing upon a brook side with a rod in his
hand, whose Zine, a veteran trout has borne away to his
cell some fifteen feet under the bank. The salmon trout
abounds in our large lakes and ponds, and is often taken in
streams. The following lines by James Hogg, one of the
sweetest of British poets, I will venture, in consideration
of their beauty, to insert.

Thou bonny fish from the far sea,
Whose waves unwearied roll

In primitive immensity,

Aye buffeting the pole!

From millions of thy silvery kind

In that wide waste that dwell,

Thou only power and path did’st find,
To reach this lonely dell.

And now my beauty! bold and well
Thy pilgrim-course has been,

For thou like Wordsworth’s Peter Bell,
Hast gazed on Aberdeen!

And all those sweetest banks between,
By Invercauld’s broad tree,

The world of beauty hast thou seen
That sleeps upon the Dee.

There oft in silence clear and bright
Thou layest, a shadow still,

In some green nook where with delight
Joins in the mountain-rill,

‘There in the waters scarce-heard boom,
Didst thou float, and rise, and sink,
While o’er the breathing banks of broom,
The wild-deer came to drink.

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

Vain sparry grot and verdant cave
The stranger to detain—

For thou wast wearied of the wave,
And loud voice of the main;

And nought thy heart could satisfy,
But those clear gravelly rills,
Where once a young and happy fry,
Thou danced among the hills!

The river roaring down the rock,

The fierce and foaming linn,

Essayed to stay thee with the shock,
The dark and dizzy din—

With wilier malice nets did twist

To perfect thy undoing,

But all those dangers hast thou missed,
True to thy destined ruin!

The poetical angler meant, I suppose, to insinuate by
“True to thy destined ruin,”’ that after listening year after
year to ‘‘ The loud voice of the main,” lying like a shadow
in security by ‘‘Invercauld’s broad tree,” the noble subject
of his poem was predestined to die by his hand. Indeed
to perish by his hand, would be (in the savage language of
Metamora, ) to ‘‘die gloriously.’’ Indeed if he were but
half as skilful in casting as in composing lines, no fin could
resist or escape him.

PROGNOSTICS OF THE WEATHER.

Tue success of the Chase and Shooting must always
depend on the weather; and therefore the following prog-
nostics will be interesting to the Sportsman:—

Clouds.—When there are two different currents of
clouds, especially if the lowest flies fast before the wind,
and these appear in hot weather, in the summer, they por-
tend the gathering of a thunder-storm.

When thin whitish clouds fly swiftly in the air under
those that are thicker, and when small scattered ones ap-
pear in clear weather, rain.

When a general cloudiness covers the sky above, with
small black fragments of clouds, like smoke, driving un-
derneath, rain is not far off, and will probably be lasting.

Ifa black cloud is seen in the west about sun-setting, and
when, at any time, such clouds arise suddenly in that
quarter, rain.

When clouds are formed like fleeces, dense toward the
centre, and very white at the extremities, with a bright
and blue sky about them, they are of a frosty coldness, and
will soon fall, either in snow, hail, or hasty showers of
rain.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

Against heavy rain, every cloud rises larger than the
former, and all of them appear in an increasing state;—
this is perhaps most remarkable on the approach of a
thunder-storm; after the vapours have been copiously ele-
vated, suspended in the sky by the heat, and are highly
charged with the electrical fluid, small pieces of flying
clouds augment and assemble together, until, in a short
time, they cover the sky: as this collecting of the clouds
out of the air, is a certain forerunner of rain, so when
they decay and resolve themselves into air, it is a sure
symptom of fair weather.

Wien clouds are streaming within the canopy, and
small ones enlarge themselves; when they are large, and
shaped like rocks or towers; when waterish clouds are on
the tops of mountains, and small, rugged, livid ones near
the sun, especially at its setting, they all prognosticate rain.
Clouds, with white summits and livid bases, foretel thun-
der; and two such clouds rising on either hand, sudden
tempests.

If clouds are seen to breed high in the air, in thin white
trains, like locks of wool, they denote that the vapour, as
collected, is irregularly spread by contrary winds above;
and the consequence will soon be a wind belew, and pro-
bably rain with it.

Small and white clouds, high and light, and when
mountains are free from clouds, high and light, are both
symptoms of fine weather.

Wind.—Whirlwind, settled fair. Continuing in the
north-east three days without rain, fair for eight or nine
days; going backward, rain; when it veers hastily about
to several points of the compass, rain quickly follows.
When the wind makes a whistling or howling noise, it is
as sure a prognostic of rain as the wind can afford. A
brisk south wind, dry. Wind may be expected from that
quarter or the opposite, if the clouds, as they come for-
ward, seem to diverge from a point in the horizon. Wind
from north-east to north-west, fair; from south-east to
south-west, rainy. A week’s fair weather, with a south-
erly wind, drought; an easterly wind the fore part of sum-
mer, dry summer; westerly the latter part of summer, dry
autumn.

Dew.—A heavy dew, fair. If it vanishes suddenly or
early, rain. When the dew lies plentifully upon the grass
after a fine day, another fine one may be expected to suc-
ceed it; but if, after such a day, no dew is upon the
ground, and no wind stirring, itis a sign that the vapours
ascend, where they will accumulate, and must terminate
in rain.

Vapours.—A misty morning, and the mist falls, a hot
day; if the mist rises, rain. If general before sun-rise,

near the full of the moon, fine weather.
Ge

i17

Where there are high hills, and the mist which hangs over
the lower lands in a morning draws towards the hills, and
rolls up their sides until it covers their tops, there will be
no rain.

To judge correctly of the appearance of a fog, it is ne-
cessary to be acquainted .with the nature of the country,
as, in some places, if the mist hangs upon the hills and
drags along the woods, instead of overspreading the level
ground in a morning, it will turn to rain. The contrary,
when it comes down from the hills, and settles in the
vallies. ‘

There is commonly either a strong dew or a mist over
the ground between a red eve and a gray morn; but if a
red morning succeeds, there is no dew.

If a white mist in an evening or night is spread over a
meadow through which a river passes, it will be drawn up
by the next morning’s sun, and the day afterwards will be
bright.

When a rainbow appears in the morning, rain; in the
evening, fine. The frustrum of a rainbow, rain; predomi-
nantly red, wind; green or blue, rain; appearing in bois-
terous weather in the north, fine.

Lightning without thunder, after a clear day, is a sign
of the continuance of fair weather.

Sky.—When those vapours which the heat of the day
exhales from the earth are precipitated by the cold night,
then the sky is clear in the morning; but if they still re-
main in the air, rain may be expected.

A dark thick sky, lasting for some time, without either
sun or rain, changes to a fair clear sky before it turns to
rain. é

When a lowering redness spreads far upwards from the
horizon, either in the morning or evening, it is succeeded
either by rain or wind, frequently by both; and when a
fiery redness, with rugged clouds, extends towards the
zenith in an evening, a high wind from the west or south-
west, attended with rain, follows; when the sky is tinged
with a sea-green colour near the horizon, when it ought to
be blue, rain will continue and increase; when of a dead
blue, it is abundantly loaded with vapours, and will be
showery.

When the canopy is high, fair; low, rainy; orange co-
loured in the morning, rain; deep blue ground, fair; pale
blue, rainy.

One observation is general, we believe, —‘‘ the evening
red, the morning gray, are sure signs of a fair day;” and
it is founded upon this circumstance, that if the abundance
of vapours denoted by the red evening sky descends in
dew, or is otherwise so equally dispersed in the air, that
the morning shall appear gray, a fine day may be expected
from that equal state of the atmosphere.

118

If in a morning some parts of the sky appear green, be-
tween the clouds, while the sky is blue above, stormy wea-
ther is quickly approaching.

Sun.—Rising orangy, rain; rising red and fiery, wind
and rain; cloudy, and the clouds decrease, certain fair
weather; rising dimly, drizzly. If the sun’s rays breaking
through the clouds are visible in the air, it is a proof that
the air is sensibly filled with vapours, which reflect the
rays to the sight, and these vapours will soon produce
rain. When there is a haziness aloft in the air, so that the
sun’s light fades by degrees, and his orb looks whitish and
ill defined, it is one of the most certain signs of rain.

Sun setting foul, rain; red, wind or rain; blue, rain;
dusky, streaked with red, storm; purple, fine; bright, fine;
when the sun appears white at setting, or goes down into
a dusky bank of clouds, it portends the approach and con-
tinuance of bad weather.

Moon and Stars. —When the moon and stars grow dim
in the night with a haziness in the air, and a ring or circle
appears round the moon, rain is at hand.

If the moon looks red, it is a sign of wind; if pale and
dim, of rain; if white, and of her natural colour, with the
sky clear, of fair weather.

Should the moon be rainy throughout her course, it
will clear up at the ensuing change, and rain will probably
fall in a few days after, and continue; if, on the contrary,
the moon has been fair, and at the change it rains, fine
weather will, in all likelihood, be restored about the fourth
or fifth day of the moon, and be of some duration. When
the moon is bright with sharp tips, fair; new moon not ap-
pearing till the fourth day, rainy month; the lower horn
of the new moon sullied, foul weather before the full; the
middle, storms about the full; the upper horn, foul about
the wane. Saturday’s moon, rainy month.

/itmosphere.—Cold after rain, rain; cold in summer,
rain; warm in winter, rain; sultry in summer, thunder;
heavy, fair; light, rain; moist, rain; dry, fair.

Rain.—Sudden rain seldom lasts long; coming on gra-
dually, and when the air grows thick by degrees, and the
sun, moon, or stars, shine more and more dim, it is likely
to continue six hours. Beginning with a high southerly
wind, and the wind subsides, rain for twelve hours or
more, and sometimes continues until a strong north wind
clears the air; beginning before sun-rise, will end before
noon; a shower before sun-rise, a fine day usually suc-
ceeds; beginning an hour or two after sun-rise, a rainy
day; setting in wet between eleven and twelve o’clock, a
rainy afternoon; clearing up about that time, the after-
noon fine; cold wind after rain, more rain; a squall, or
rain, or hail, settled fair; a rainy Friday, the same wea-

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

ther on Sunday; and a wet Sabbath is frequently followed
by a daggly week.

Sounds, such as bells, noise of waters, beasts, birds,
heard distinctly from a great distance, portend rain., If
the earth, or any fenny places, yield any extraordinary
scents, or any disagreeable smells arise from drains, rain.
A white frost, rain within three days; the more than usual
sinking of rivers, presages rain. The speedy drying of
the surface of the earth denotes a northerly wind and fair
weather; and its becoming moist, southerly wind and rain,
for the air sucks up all the moisture on the surface, even
though the sky be overcast, and that is a sure sign of fine
weather; but if the earth continue damp, and water stand
in shallow places, no trust should be put in the clearest
sky; for, in this case, it is deceitful.

Animals.—If cattle or sheep feed greedily and faster
than ordinary when it rains, it is a sign of the rain’s con-
tinuance; and when sheep skip and play wantonly, rain is
at no great distance. Ifthe sheep wind up the hills in the
morning to their pasture, and feed near the tops, the wea-
ther, although cloudy and drizzling, will clear away by
degrees, and terminate in a fine day; but if they feed in
the bottoms, the rain will continue and increase. Geese
and ducks more noisy, and washing and diving more than
usual, rain; cock crowing in the middle of the day, and
peacock squalling much, rain; hawks hovering high in the
air, fine weather; owls screaming frequently in the eyen-
ing when foul, fair and frosty.

Swallows skimming the surface of waters, rain; so long
as they keep aloft after their prey, the sky is serene; but
when they descend and flit along the surface of the earth
or water, rain is not far off. A drought of three months’
duration broke up at the summer solstice in 1775: the
day previous to the rain falling, the swallows flew very
near the ground, which they had never done during the
whole period of the dry weather.

Sparrows chirping
much in a fine mornin

g, rain.

Dogs are said by some to be particularly sleepy, and to
eat grass, before rain; but grass is a salutary vomit which
nature prompts them to take at all times, when their sto-
machs require such an evacuation; of course it is not an
unerring proof that the approach of rain alone drives them
to seek this remedy. Moles throwing up more earth than
usual, and its being small and dry, and their appearance
sometimes above ground, rain. Worms creeping in num-
bers out of the ground, rain: and from the same principle,
that they as well as moles, are sensible of the access of
something new in the atmosphere, and to the surface of
the earth. Frogs appearing of a golden hue, fine; dusky
colour, rain: and toads, in an evening, crawling over the
road or beaten path, where they are seldom seen, but

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

when restless from the expectation of approaching rain.
Fishes are supposed to be affected, since they cease to bite
freely, when rain is depending. All sorts of insects are more
stirring than ordinary againstrain. Bees are in fullest em-
ploy, but, if likely to rain, confine their industry to where
they can reach their hives before the storm comes on; when
they fly far abroad, and stay out late, fine. When the com-
mon flesh flies are more bold and greedy, rain; when smali
flies flock together in great numbers, about the beams of
the sun, a little before it sets, fine. Ants bustle more than
usual, move their eggs to dry places, and then retire to
their burrows before rain falls. Gnats playing in the open
air, heat; when they form a vortex in the shape of a co-
lumn, it announces fine weather; when they collect and
dance in the shade, showers; and when they sting much,
cold and rain. Spiders crawling abroad, rain. Bats flying
more numerously and more early in the evening, fine.

Chronic pains being more violent than usual, rain in
summer, frostin winter. A disagreeable languor is gene-
rally felt before thunder.

A serene autumn denotes a windy winter; a windy win-
ter, arainy spring; a rainy spring, a fine summer; a fine
summer, a windy autumn: but it is very rarely that the
seasons succeed each other in the same manner for two
years together. It has been remarked, that, if at the be-
ginning of the winter, the south wind blow, and then the
north, it portends cold; but should the north wind first
blow, the winter will be mild. A hot and dry September,
a cold spring; summer moist and cool, a hard winter: if wails
that used to be damp are peculiarly dry at the commence-
ment of winter, a hard winter may be predicted, for it shows
a dry air, which, in winter, is always joined with frost.

Animals are affected by rain, wind, &c. and in a variety
of instances afford notice of their approach.

The leech, kept in a common eight ounce phial, three-
fourths filled with water, (changed once a week in sum-
mer, and twice in winter,) and covered witha bit of linen
rag,is a sure prognosticator of the alterations in the weather.
The following are its indications:—In serene weather, it
lies rolled up at the bottom in a spiral form. When it is
about to rain in the forenoon, it creeps to the top and
remains there, till the weather is settled. Previous to
wind, it keeps in rapid motion, and seldom rests, till it
begins to blow hard. If a remarkable storm of thunder
and rain is to succeed, it lodges some days before conti-
nually without the water, and is very uneasy and convulsed.
In frost, as well as in clear weather, it lies at the bottom;
and in snow or rain, it keeps at the mouth of the phial.

In the account of animal barometers, this anecdote is re-
markable. A gentleman, some few years since, broughta
pointer dog, from South Carolina, who was a prognosti-

119

eator of bad weather. ‘“ Whenever I observed him, (says
his master,) prick up his ears in a listening posture,
scratching the deck, and rearing himself up, to look over
to the windward, where he would eagerly snuff up the
wind, though it was the finest weather imaginable, I was
sure of a succeeding tempest; and this animal was grown so
useful to us, that whenever we perceived the fit upon him,
we immediately reefed our sails, and took in our spare
canvas, to prepare for the worst.”

It is a sign of rain, when the soot collected round pots
or kettles, takes fire, in the form of small points, like
grains of millet, because this phenomenon denotes, that the
air is cold and moist.

The moon is supposed to have influence on the weather.
The following table ascribed to the illustrious astronomer,
Dr. Herschell, is constructed upon a philosophical consi-
deration of the attraction of the sun and moon in their se-
veral positions, respecting the earth; confirmed by the expe-
rience of many years’ actual observations, and will, without
trouble, and with great truth suggest to the observer, what
kind of weather will follow the moon’s entrance into any
of her quarters.

o _
Alam 2
me A 2.
One 5 os
= a
Zi nD . Blox
: Saraie a 5 -
S 4 = 2 3 = zs
= = <=
& 5 mR eS Se es
i= = TS Sa Sook incr
iS sc | Cs) SK aes es
S ) = we PF aie
3 S 1g e sito GS pes
oS S46 Ge 5 iS
5 Loe So asa eS aa
} fe eidaicsiS im bh Oss fale
=i B'S Semis S = SS Oo
n Eee SORT nando
| an
' . ' : ‘ : men 1 ' i
| si g
' ' ' ‘ 1 ' 1 t ' 1
5
| ( tas go, 7) Sm he gee
2 a
1 1 25 ' ' 1 baa 1 ‘ n
=] ' rtteRies OO, 1 2 oO
S| As, & -. 8
= ' im Ore 1 oO oe 2
= (=o (Jj x ¢
P me 3 pS GP os outs
@ & a oS eo aS
s UCR aie) koh SS BOO
es CO o Lag Ws
B Sizes Ses) ss Reel BLS
o Siac G5 3 2 5 Sea
> ORE EAR OF OREFOE
aa
oo) O° oon Tie
==
HOO
one nO ' oo ' Oo O80
: -Ss 6S
za i= ~~ oon ' nO 1 OC De 0et. 0
) 23s #
3 fide} i S 1 ' 1 ' eae
o ~
3 SEE o' mo4 is C2 0 foo
2 1D 2) So Oo oe dia ns: =
2 CROs 5 BS aioe
a s
Oo 1agghotoO ose . PSA,
2 SSS ey ate: 3 Oe ee OL LGn Got
> Sexnoerd =
B @ Slee JOn) py bayee keg 5
AoBELRNY © OS Eg RAODS
HESS EO = iy
= =

12

In extracting these remarks, it may not be amiss to ob-
serve, that every season has its peculiar characteristic, and
it is asserted by an intelligent observer, that the same
augury which in a fair season foretels fair, will, in a rainy
one, presage wet weather; therefore the characteristic of
the season ought to be pointed out before the quality of
the weather can be prognosticated.

sd ————__

AN EXCURSION TO LAKE GEORGE.

Ir was a beautiful morning in the month of August,
that I set out from Saratoga, in company with a pleasant
little party, on a visit to Lake George. Few who have
read or travelled in any degree, are ignorant how much
classic ground lies between the two places,—and cur inte-
rest and attention were kept much occupied by various
objects along the road, until we reached Glenn’s Falls. This
is decidedly one of the wildest and most romantic cascades
we have ever beheld. The water is broken up and thrown
about from rock to rock in the most picturesque and fan-
ciful manner. Cooper has given a very lively and faith-
ful description of this beautiful fall, in his ‘¢ Last of the
Mohicans.”? I had the volume with me, and read his
portraiture as I stood on the bridge near the cascade, and
had of course an excellent opportunity of judging of the
truth and justice of the picture. After dining at this place,
we resumed our road, and reached Lake George, about the
middle of the afternoon. It is truly one of the most en-
chanting scenes in the whole country,—presenting a beau-
tiful sheet of pure water, surrounded by mountains, which
are clothed in the richest livery of nature. If a man has
the least ‘¢ music in his soul,”’ such a spot as this is enough
to awaken in him at least the feeling, if not the actual per-
petration of poetry. I pity the being who can look upon
such a scene unmoved or ungratified.

Towards evening we procured a boat, and set out, ladies
and all, ona fishing excursion. Nothing, perhaps, can be
clearer than its waters of this charming lake;—as you
glide gently over its surface, you can distinetly perceive
the bottom, at the distance of many feet, and may observe
the active tenants of the limpid element pursuing their ra-
pid and not ungraceful gambols around and beneath your
boat. We had pretty good sport,—and although none of
us professed anglers, hauled in the perch in considera-
ble numbers. It was not a little amusing to observe the
animated zeal with which the ladies entered into the occu-
pation, and to notice the great eagerness they manifested
for success, and the alarm which its attainment occasioned
them. We found it very necessary, when any one of

20 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

them was so fortunate as to secure an Unwary straggler,
to be on the watch,—for as soon as their rods were suffi-
ciently elevated to raise their prey out of the water, the
little dangler came flying about among our heads, threat-
ening us with no very agreeable salute, until some gentle-
man of the company had secured him, and delivered him
over to the fair captor, who was generally too much afraid
of her prize to take him into actual possession. After two
or three hours employed in fishing, and rowing about the
lake, we returned to a comfortable supper at the hotel,
and in the evening were entertained with an exhibition
of the wonderful echo at this place. On the firing of a
gun, the sound reverberated for a considerable distance
along the opposite shore, then seemed to return, and finally
appeared to run back into the woods immediately across.
In the morning, with the exception of the ladies, we
betook ourselves again to the lake, with our boat and our
rods,—but unaccompanied by the success of the preced-
ing evening. The perch and the trout kept warily out of
the way, and we returned, after a considerable time fruit-
lessly expended, with a very moderate specimen of our
abilities in the meditative art of angling. Highly gratified.
with our short visit to the lake, we again took carriage,
and made our way back to Saratoga. W.

RATTLESNAKES.

Few persons are aware of the existence of Rattlesnakes
near Philadelphia. ‘The writer has in his possession the
rattles taken from a snake about thirty inches in length,
killed by a farmer of New-Jersey, within twelve miles of
this city. This gentleman last year, also killed another on
the same tract of land, which had thirteen rattles. It was
discovered on a private road which crossed his land; the
extremities of the snake reached beyond each rut of the
road, and was supposed to measure six feet in length.

PARTRIDGES.

A short excursion to the country will convince any one,
that there may be anticipated a good fall’s shooting at these
birds. From some districts, I have been told by farmers,
that they have never known a season of so great plenitude
as the present. The writer himself counted no less than
a dozen different male birds in one neighbourhood last
week. This rapid increase is owing altogether to the
care of farmers, and the forbearance of Sportsmen; and it
is to be hoped the approaching fall will pass over, without
marking the destruction of many of these birds.

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AND AMERICAN

BIRDS’ EGGS,

AND DESCRIPTION OF NESTS.

Vol. 2.]

[Plate XI.
1. Black. Skimmer.

Tue nest isa mere hollow, formed in the sand, with-
out any materials. The female lays three eggs, almost
exactly oval, of a dirty white, marked with large spots of
brownish black, and intermixed with others of pale Indian
ink. These eggs measure one inch and three quarters, by
one inch and a quarter. Half a bushel and more of eggs
has sometimes been collected from one sand-bar, within
the compass of half an acre. These eggs have something
of a fishy taste; but are eaten by many people on the
coast. The femalesits on them only during the night, or
in wet and stormy weather. The young remain for seve-
ral weeks before they are able to fly; are fed with great
assiduity by both parents; and seem to delight in lying
with loosened wings, flat on the sand, enjoying its invigo-

rating warmth. They breed but once in the season.

2. Lesser Tern.

About the twenty-fifth of May, or beginning of June,
the female begins to lay. The eggs are dropt on the dry
and warm sand, the heat of which, during the day, is fully
sufficient for the purpose of incubation. This heat is
sometimes so great, that one can scarcely bear the hand
in it for a few mements, without inconvenience. The
wonder would therefore be the greater, should the bird sit
on her eggs during the day, when her warmth is altogether
unnecessary, and perhaps injurious, than that she should
cover them only during the damps of night, and in wet
and stormy weather. They are generally four in number,
and placed on the flat sands, safe beyond the reach of the
highest summer tide. They are of a yellowish brown
colour, blotched with rufous, and measure nearly an inch
and three-quarters in length.

3. Piping Plover.

The nests of these birds are formed with little art;
being merely shallow concavities dug in the sand, in which
the eggs are laid, and, during the day at least, left to the
influence of the syn to hatch them. The parents, how-
ever, always remain near the spot to protect them from in-
jury, and probably, in cold rainy or stermy weather, to

Au

RURAL SPORTS. 121

shelter them with their bodies. The eggs are three, some-
times four, large for the bird, of a dun clay colour, and
marked with numerous small spots of reddish purple. A
flat, dry sandy beach, just beyond the reach of the summer
tides, is their favourite place for breeding.

4, Meadow Lark.

The nest of this species is built generally in, or below,
a thick tuft or tussock of grass; it is composed of dry
grass, and fine bent laid at bottom, and wound all around,
leaving an arched entrance level with the ground; the in-
side is lined with fine stalks of the same materials, disposed
with greatregularity. The eggs are four, sometimes five,
bluish white, marked with specks and several large
blotches of reddish brown, chiefly at the thick end.

5. Brown Thrush.

Early in May, this bird builds its nest, choosing a thorn
bush, low cedar, thicket of briars, dogwood sapling, or
cluster of vines for its situation, generally within a few
feet of the ground, and not unfrequently on the ground, at
the foot of a small bush. Outwardly it is constructed of
small sticks; then layers of dry leaves; and lastly lined
with fine fibrous roots, but without any plaster. The eggs
are five, thickly sprinkled with ferruginous grains. ‘They
generally have two brood in a season.

6. Red-bird, or Cardinal Grosbeak.

Harly in May they begin to prepare their nest, which is
very often fixed in a hollow, cedar, or laurel bush. Out-
wardly it is constructed of small twigs, tops of dry weeds,
and slips of vine bark, and lined with stalks of fine grass.
The female lays four eggs, thickly marked all over with
touches of brownish olive, on a dull white ground; and
they usually raise two brood in the season. ‘

7. Robin.

The Robin builds a large nest, often on apple and cedar
trees, plasters it in the inside with mud, and lines it with
hay or fine grass. The female lays five eggs of a beautiful
sea green.

8. Chipping Sparrow.

The Chipping-bird builds its nest most commonly in
cedar bushes, and apple-trees, and lines it thickly with

122 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

cow-hair. The female lays four or five eggs of a light
blue colour, with a few dots of purplish black near the
great end.

9. Purple Grakle.

On the tallest cedar and pine trees they generally build
their nests in company, about the beginning or middle of
April; sometimes ten or fifteen nests being on the same
tree, and measure five inches in diameter within, and four
in depth; are composed outwardly of mud, mixed with
long stalks and roots of a knotty kind of grass, and lined
with fine bent and horse hair. The eggs are five, of a
bluish olive colour, marked with large spots and straggling
streaks of black and dark brown, also with others of a
fainter tinge. They rarely produce more than one brood
in aseason. The trees where these birds build are often at
no great distance from the farm-house, and overlook the
plantations.

10. King Bird.

The King bird builds his nest very often on the horizon-
tal branch of an apple tree; frequently also, as Catesby ob-
serves, on a sassafras tree, at no great height from the
ground, and on pear trees. The outside consists of small
slender twigs, tops of withered flowers of the plant yar-
row, and others, well wove together with tow and wool;
and is made large, and remarkably firm and compact. It
is usually lined with fine dry fibrous grass, and horse hair.
The eggs are five, of a very pale cream colour, or dull
white, marked with a few large spots of deep purple, and
other smaller ones of light brown, chiefly, though not alto-
gether, towards the great end. They generally build
twice in the season.

11. Cat Bird.

This bird builds its nest about the beginning of May.
The place chosen for this purpose is generally a thicket of
briars or brambles, a thorn bush, thick vine, cedar, or the
fork of a small sapling; no great solicitude is shown for
concealment, though few birds appear more interested for
the safety of their nestand young. The materials are dry
leaves and weeds, small twigs and fine dry grass; the inside
is lined with the fine black fibrous roots of some plant.
The female lays four, sometimes five eggs, of a uniform
greenish blue colour, without any spots. They generally
raise two, and sometimes three brood in a season.

12. Blue Bird.

About the middle of March, the Blue bird is seen, ac-
companied by his mate, visiting the box in the garden, or
the hole in the old apple-tree, the cradle of some genera-

tions of his ancestors; and as soon as the spot is fixed on,»

they begin to clean out the old nest, and the rubbish of
the former year, and to prepare for the reception of their
future offspring.

The female lays five, and sometimes six eggs, of a pale
blue colour; and raises two, and sometimes three broods in
a season; the male taking the youngest under his particu-
lar care while the female is again sitting.

13. Song Sparrow.

The Song Sparrow builds in the ground, under a tuft of
grass; the nest is formed of fine dry grass, and lined with
horse hair; the eggs are four or five, thickly marked with
spots of reddish brown on a bluish white ground; if not in-
terrupted, it raises three broods in the season. Nests with
young have been found as early as the twenty-sixth of April,
and as late as the twelfth of August. What is singular,
the same bird often fixes its nest in a cedar tree, five or
six feet from the ground.

14. Swamp Blackbird.

About the twentieth of March, or earlier if the season
be open, they appear in the middle states, in numerous
though small parties, and frequent the low borders of
creeks, swamps, and ponds, till about the middle of
April, when they separate in pairs to breed; and about
the last week in April, or first in May, begin to con-
struct their nest. The place chosen for this is -gene-
rally within the precincts of a marsh or swamp, meadow,
or other like watery situation. The spot usually a thicket
of alder bushes, at the height of six or seven feet from the
ground; sometimes in a detached bush in a meadow of
high grass; often in a tussock of rushes of coarse rank
grass; and not unfrequently in the ground. In all of which
situations they are found. When in a bush they are gene-
rally composed outwardly of wet rushes picked from the
swamp, and long tough grass in large quantity, and well
lined with very fine bent. The rushes, forming the exterior,
are generally extended to several of the adjoining twigs,
round which they are repeatedly and securely twisted: a
precaution absolutely necessary for its preservation on ac-
count of the flexible nature of the bushes in which it is
placed. The same caution is observed when a tussock is cho-
sen, by fastening the tops together, and intertwining the ma-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

terials of which the nest is formed with the stalks of rushes
around. When placed in the ground, less care and fewer
materials being necessary, the nest is much simpler and
slighter than before. The female lays five eggs, of a very
pale light blue, marked with faint tinges of light purple
and long straggling lines and dashes of black. It is not
uncommon to find several nests in the same thicket, within
a few feet of each other.

15. Cow Bunting.

The most remarkable trait in the character of this species
is the unaccountable practice it has of dropping its eggs
into the nests of other birds, instead of building and hatch-
ing for itself; and thus entirely abandoning its progeny to
the care and mercy of strangers.

About the twenty-fifth of March, or early in April, the
Cow-pen Bird makes his first appearance from the south,
sometimes in cempany with the Red-winged Blackbird,
more frequently in detached parties, resting early in the
morning, an hour at a time, on the tops of trees near
streams of water, appearing solitary, silent and fatigued.
They continue to be occasionally seen, in small solitary
parties, particularly along creeks and banks of rivers, so
late as the middle of June; after which we see no more of
them until about the beginning or middle of October, when
they re-appear in much larger flocks.

Those that pass in May and June, are frequently ob-
served loitering singly about solitary thickets, reconnoiter-
ing, no doubt, for proper nurses, to whose care they may
commit the hatching of their eggs, and the rearing of their
helpless orphans. Among the birds selected for this duty
are the following:—the Blue-bird, the Chipping Sparrow,
the Golden-crowned Thrush, the Red-eyed Flycatcher,
the Yellow-bird, the Maryland Yellow-throat, the White-
eyed Flycatcher, the small Blue Gray Flycatcher, and the
Black and White Creeper; and, no doubt, many others, to
whom the same charge is committed.

There is never but one egg of the Cow Bunting dropped
in the same nest. This egg is somewhat larger than that
of the Blue bird, thickly sprinkled with grains of pale
brown and gray on a dirty white ground. It is of a size
proportionable to that of the bird.

16. Barn Swallow.

Early in May the Barn Swallow builds its nest. From
the size and structure of the nest, it is nearly a week before
it is completely finished. It isin the form of an inverted
cone, with a perpendicular section cut off on that side by
which it adhered to the wood. At the top it has an extension

123

of the edge, or offset, for the male or female to sit on occa-
sionally, as appears by the dung; the upper diameter is
about six inches by five, the height externally seven
inches. Thisshell is formed of mud, mixed with fine hay
as plasterers do their mortar with hair, to make it adhere
the better; the mud seems to be placed in regular strata, or
layers, from side to side; the hollow of this cone, (the
shell of which is about an inch in thickness,) is filled with
fine hay, well stuffed in; above that is laid a handful of
very large downy geese feathers; the eggs are five, white,
specked and spotted all over with reddish brown. Owing
to the semi-transparency of the shell, the eggs have a
slight tinge of flesh colour. The whole weighs about two
pounds. The situation of these nests is generally on the
pin which unites the rafters together.

They have generally two broods in the season. The
first make their appearance about the second week in June;
and the last brood leave the nest about the tenth of August.

19. White-Eyed Flycatcher.

This bird builds a very neat little nest, often in the
figure of an inverted cone; it is suspended by the upper
edge of the two sides, on the circular bend of a prickly
vine, a species of Smilax that generally grows in low
thickets. Outwardly it is constructed of various light
materials, bits of rotten wood, fibres of dry stalks, of weeds,
pieces of paper, commonly newspapers, an article almost
always found about its nest; all these substances are inter-
woven with the silk of caterpillars, and the inside is lined
with fine dry grass and hair. The female lays five eggs,
pure white, marked near the great end with a very few
small dots of deep brown or purple. They generally raise
two brood ina season. They seem particularly attached
to thickets of this species of Smilax, and make a great ado
when any one comes near their nest; approaching within
a few feet, looking down, and scolding with great vehe-
mence.

18. House Wren.

bY

This well known and familiar bird arrives about the
middle of April; and about the eighth or tenth of May
begins to build its nest, sometimes in the wooden cornice
under the eaves, or in a hollow cherry tree, but most
commonly in small boxes, fixed on the top ofa pole, in or
near the garden, to which he is extremely partial, for the
great number of caterpillars and other larva with which
it constantly supplies him. If all these conveniences are
wanting, he will even put up with an old hat, nailed on
the weather-boards, with a small hole for entrance; and

124

if even this be denied him, he will find some hole, corner,
or crevice, about the house, barn, or stable, rather than
abandon the dwellings of man. The twigs with which the
outward parts of the nest are constructed are short and
crooked that they may the better hook in with one ano-
ther, and the hole or entrance is so much shut up to pre-
vent the intrusion of snakes or cats, that it appears almost
impossible the body of the bird could be admitted; within
this is a layer of fine dried stalks of grass, and lastly fea-
thers. The eggs are six or seven, andsometimes nine, of
a red purplish flesh colour, innumerable fine grains of that
tint being thickly sprinkled over the whole egg. They
generally raise two brood in a season; the first about the
beginning of June, the second in July.

19. Quail, or Partridge.

The Quail begins to build early in May. _ The nest is
made on the ground, usually at the bottom of a thick tuft
of grass that shelters and conceals it. The materials and
leaves are fine dry grass, in considerable quantity. It is
well covered above, and an opening left on one side for en-
trance. The female lays from fifteen to twenty-four eggs,
of a pure white without any spots.

20. Sea-Side Finch.

The nest of this species is found along the margins of the
sea and salt water inlets, and is built among the tall grass
and rushes common to these parts; the materials are exter-
nally of coarse salt grass, and inside of the smaller fibres
of the same article; the eggs are four or five in number,
and of a light blue ground, thickly sprinkled with dark
brown spots, more particularly at the great end.

21. Black and White Creeper.

‘This bird completes its nest about the middle of May,
and is generally fixed on the ground, at the root of a bush
or sapling, and is composed externally of leaves, and in-
side of slight layers of cow or horse hair; no other sub-
stances compose its nest. The eggs are five in number, of
a pale flesh colour, sprinkled thickly with light reddish
brown spots. This nest is alsoa receptacle for the eggs of
the Cow Bunting.

22. Black-Capt Titmouse.

About the middle of April, these birds begin to build,
choosing the deserted hole of a squirrel or woodpecker,
and sometimes with incredible labour digging out one for

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

themselves. The female lays six white eggs, marked
with minute specks of red; the first brood appears about
the beginning of June, and the second towards the end of
July.

23. Marsh Wren.

This little bird excels in the art of design, and con-
structs a nest, which, in durability, warmth, and conyeni-
ence, is scarcely inferior to one, and far superior to many
other birds. This is formed outwardly of wet rushes
mixed with mud, well intertwisted, and fashioned into the
form of a cocoa nut. A small hole is left two-thirds up,
for entrance, the upper edge of which projects like a pent
house over the lower, to prevent the admission of rain.
The inside is lined with fine soft grass, and sometimes
feathers; and the outside, when hardened by the sun, re-
sists every kind of weather. This nest is generally sus-
pended among the reeds, above the reach of the highest
tides, and is tied so fast in every part to the surrounding
reeds, as to bid defiance to the winds and the waves. The
eggs are usually six, of adark fawn colour, and very small.
The young leave the nest about the twentieth of June, and
they generally have a second brood in the same season.

POISONOUS SERPENTS.

Or the venomous serpents, the Rattlesnake of Ame-
rica, and the Cobra de Capella of India, are the most formi-
dable out of Europe; while the Viper, which, compared
with the former, Is of little import, is the only Kuropean
serpent which bears a venomous character; and the latter
animal is annually so diminishing in numbers, that its
complete extinction may be calculated on at no very dis-
tant period. Climate, we know, has a great influence in
the production and increase of reptiles of every kind, as
well as in imparting activity to the poison peculiar to ve-
nomous animals; and from this circumstance, we can rea-
dily comprehend, why the most formidable animals are to
be met with in the warmest latitudes. But it is well un-
derstood, if any credit can be given to historians, that
ancient Europe was infested with serpents, both in num-
ber and character, of which we hear nothing at the present
day; and the common Viper, we know, is annually on
the decline. We must, therefore, look for some other
cause independently of climate, for this fortunate change
in the natural history of Europe; and we shall probably

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

find it, in the advance of cultivation and agriculture pecu-
liar to modern Hurope, and to this country in particular;
by which impenetrable forests and woods, that afforded
shelter to, and nurtured such animals, have been cut
down and cleared; extensive swamps, in which they were
also to be found, have been drained; and the haunts of
venomous reptiles have, in every direction, been disturbed
or destroyed by the hands of the cultivator.

Though venomous serpents differ from each other in
magnitude, and in some of their external characters; yet

they all possess in common, certain leading features by —

which they may be distinguished from the other classes
which are not poisonous.

In the yenomous the head is flattened, scaly, and large
in proportion to the body; the snout is rather broad; the
neck is thick; the skin is of a dirty hue, and less varie-
gated in its colour, and the body does not taper towards
the tail inso fine a point. But the leading feature of dis-
crimination is in the formation of the upper jaw; the ve-
nomous serpent having two or more fangs attached to it,
projecting out on each side beyond the other teeth, with
which they inflict their poisonous wounds.

These fangs have, at their base in the upper jaw, avery
small sac or bag immediately attached, which serves as a
receptacle to the poison that has been secreted by a glan-
dular apparatus, situated at the back part of the head, and
behind each ear, and which by means of tubes or canals
running through the roof of the mouth, is conveyed into
the sac to be ready for use. The fang itself to which the
sac is attached, is tubular; having an orifice on its outward
extremity large enough to admit of the fluid being ejected
by the pressure of the surrounding muscles, when the ani-
mal is excited to bite.

The poison contained in the bag, is a yellowish, viscid,
tasteless liquid, very small in quantity, which, injected
into the blood vessels, proves frequently fatal: but which
may be taken into the mouth and stomach without any
danger. Indeed it is a common practice with the Viper
eatchers, to suck the wound when the bite has been in-
flicted, and we have witnessed the same practice in the
West Indies among the negroes when bitten by any ve-
nomous animal.

When the sac is ruptured, (as may be effected by draw-
ing the teeth of the animal,) the power of poisoning is
destroyed; and of this, the Viper catchers avail them-
selves, by irritating the animal to seize a piece of cloth,
which the Viper grasps so closely, as easily to admit of
the tooth being extracted.

In Bingley’s Animal Biography, the name of a gentle-
man is mentioned, who saw a Rattlesnake, in which the
fangs had been extracted, that was so completely tamed,

Magi

125

‘¢that it would turn its back to be scratched with the
same delight, that a cat displays when rubbed before a fire;
and would answer to the calls of the boys, and follow them
like any other domesticated animal.” In the same man-
ner, the Cobra de Capella is tamed in India, and the Viper
in England.

The flesh of all these animals, so far from being poison-
ous, is extremely nutritive; and among savage nations, is
gale on the Rattlesnake, and cook it as others do eels; and
considered a great delicacy. ‘* The American Indians re-
the peccary, the vulture, and other ravenous birds, feed
on its flesh.”? The negroes in the West Indies often make
snakes a part of their diet; and the use of the Viper has
long been well understood in England.

The Crotalus, or Rattlesnake, is peculiar to America,
and is found in almost every part of it, from the Straits of
Magellan to Canada. It reaches its greatest magnitude, how-
ever, and assumes its most violent character, in the warmer
American latitudes, where humidity mostly prevails, and
where cultivation has made the least progress. It is dis-
tinguished from other serpents, by the number of its scales
on the abdomen and the under surface of its tail; in having
a double set of poisonous fangs; and by the tail terminating
in a large sealy appendage, consisting of several articulated
horny processes, which move and make a rattling noise.

The Rattlesnake is divided into five species, each differ-
ing in their external character, size, and malignancy; of
which the Crotalus. Horridus is by far the largest and
most formidable. They are all, like the Viper, vivipa-
rous; that is, they produce their young alive, and com-
pletely formed, generally about twelve in number; and,
like that animal also, they receive them into their mouth,
when alarmed or threatened with danger.

The Crotalus Horridus, or Bandied Rattlesnake, is
from five to eight feet in length, and its body is about the
circumference of the human arm; the back being of an
orange tawny mixed with blue, the belly of an ash co-
lour inclining to the aspect of lead; while the head is dis-
tinguished by a scale, hanging like a pent-house over
each eye. But the most curious part of its external confor-
mation is its tail, from which the animal derives its name.
This consists of a kind of rattle, formed of a certain num-
ber of loosely connected joints or articulations, commenc-
ing when the animal is about three years old, and adding
one each succeeding year; so that they generally judge of
its age by the number of articulations of its tail, which, in
some instances, have amounted to nearly forty.

This apparatus, when taken from the tail, bears a resem-
blance to the curb chain of a bridle, and is composed of a
certain number of thin, hard, hollow bones, loosely con-
nected tc each other; so that when the animal shakes its

126

tail, (which it always does when irritated and alarmed,)
it producesa noise like a rattle. As this is to be heard at
a considerable distance, it affords time for escape to those
animals that otherwise might be in the greatest danger
from its approach. This animal, however, never inflicts
a wound upon man, excepting when trodden upon, or irri-
tated; but, on the contrary, flies from his advance when-
ever he finds the least chance of escaping; and, when we
add to this circumstance, the precautions observed by the
inhabitants, when engaged in the woods where these ani-
mals prevail, it will easily be understood, why wounds
from the bite of a Rattlesnake, are not of very frequent
occurrence.

When, however, the animal is accidentally or inten-
tionally irritated, it immediately throws itself into a cir-
cle, pushes back its head, and with great rapidity and
violence, injects its deadly poison into the object of its
vengeance; and according to the degree of irritation, re-
peats its attack as often as its strength will allow.

The bite, at first, resembles the sting of the wasp or
bee; but the parts rapidly swell, become livid, and extend
to the body and head, followed by delirium, fainting fits,
convulsions, general swelling and discoloration of the
body, and death; which takes place, in some instances, in
three hours after the bite has been inflicted; at other
times, at more distant periods; and if the weather has not
been extremely hot, or the animal much enraged, the
wounded man has a distant chance of recovery.

This tardiness in the operation of the Rattlesnake poi-
son, may be attributed to climate; as we know that the
whole of the snake tribe become torpid as the winter ap-
proaches; and that they increase in power and activity
upon the temperature of the atmosphere advancing, when
their bites become in proportion formidable and danger-
ous. Much may also depend upon a large blood-vessel
being wounded, or only one of its extreme branches; the
poison, in the former instance, being conveyed more ra-
pidly into the system than in the latter, when there may
be time for its being so diluted as considerably to weaken
its efficacy. This observation will apply to the bites of
all venomous animals; and it will serve to explain, why
we sometimes hear of very rapid effects being produced
by treatment, and at other times, why the patient recovers
even without the trial of any remedy. :

A circumstance is related which strongly evinces the
great activity of the Rattlesnake poison.

‘¢An American farmer was one day mowing with his
negroes, when he by chance trod on a Rattlesnake, that
immediately turned upon him and bit his boot. At night,
when he went to bed, he was attacked with sickness; he
swelled, and before a physician could be called in, he died.

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

All his neighbours were surprised at the suddenness of
his death; but the corpse was buried without examination.
A few days after, one of his sons put on his father’s boots,
and at night when he pulled them off, he was seized with
the same symptoms, and died on the following morning.
At the sale of the effects, a neighbour purchased the boots;
and on putting them on, experienced the like dreadful
symptoms with the father and son. A skilful physician,
however, being sent for, who had heard of the preceding
affair, suspected the cause, and by applying proper re-
medies recovered the patient. The fatal boots were
now examined, and the two fangs of the snake were dis-
covered to have been left in the leather, with the poison
bladder adhering to them. They had penetrated entirely
through; and both the father, the son, and the purchaser
of the boots, had imperceptibly scratched themselves with
their points on pulling them off.”

The Cobra de Capello, or Hooded Serpent, to which
are given the different appellations of Coluber Naja,
Spectacle Serpent, and the like, is a native of the East
Indies, and of South America; and is still a more formida-
ble animal than the Rattlesnake, as its bite is stated to be
followed by certain and speedy death. A near relation of
ours, who has passed many years in India, informed us
that he has been witness to three persons being killed in
seven minutes from its bite; and we have other instances
of the rapidity of this most destructive poison when re-
ceived into the human frame—a circumstance not to be
wondered at, when we take into consideration the heat of
the country of which it is a native; though the effects of
the poison, like that of the Rattlesnake, will no doubt be
varied by season, and by the manner in which the bite be
inflicted.

This animal is from three to six feet in length, and
about four inches in circumference. Its head is smaller
in proportion to its body, than either the Rattlesnake or
the Viper; having on its neck a tumour or loose mass of
integument, flat, and covered with scales, and on the top
of it, a very conspicuous patch resembling a pair of spec-
tacles. Its colour is a pale rusty brown, and beneath, a
bluish white tinged with yellow—the tail, unlike the
other serpents described, tapering to a slender, sharply
pointedextremity. Its eyes are peculiarly shining, fierce,
and bright. Its fangs, with which it inflicts its deadly
wound, are placed in the upper jaw, and their mechanism
is the same as that of other venomous serpents. Like
them it retreats before human pursuit; but, when irritated,
itismuch more active in its movements, and more decided
in its attacks. When preparing to assail its enemy, the
body is erected, the head is bent down so as to admit of
the integuments of the neck being extended oyer it in the

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

form of a hood or cloak, from whence it derives its name;
when, opening its mouth, and exhibiting its poisonous
fangs, it springs on its enemy with the greatest agility and
effect. Its bites, we have already stated, have a most
deadly tendency, which has been fully illustrated by Mr.
Boag, in the New Annual Register for 1800; though,
from the causes we have noticed, instances are not want-
ing of persons recovering from them without the aid of
any remedy.

The greatest enemy to this serpent is the ichneumon,
or mangoose weasel, which feeds upon snakes and other
reptiles. When the ichneumon falls in with the Cobra
de Capello, the former takes every opportunity of pro-
voking the first attack; placing himself in an attitude the
most favourable to slip on one side and seize the head of
his antagonist, which most frequently produces instant
death. But if it fail, he bites the animal’s tail to make
him rise again, when the second seizure generally proves
successful. If bitten by the serpent, the weasel sucks the
poison from the wound; and feeds upon an herb which, in
India, is considered to be an antidote, and thus escapes
altogether the mortal effects which other animals uni-
formly experience from the bite of this very formidable
serpent.

The poison both of the Rattlesnake and of the Cobra de
Capello, is collected and preserved by the untutored In-
dians for the purpose of arming their arrows; and the con-
sequences of the wounds they inflict, from an instrument
so destructive, may be easily anticipated. The food of
these snakes is confined to birds, and to small animals.

There are many other poisonous serpents of a very dan-
gerous character to be met with in America, in Africa,
and in the East and West Indies; but as the two we have
noticed may be considered the most formidable, we have
thought it sufficient to confine our observations to them;
more particularly as the symptoms which follow the bites
of all such venomous animals, appear to be much the Senne,
differing only in degree and consequences.

Pain, swelling, dieeolonitnon of the parts affected, an
extension of these symptoms to those parts through which
the poison has to pass on its way to the system, and an
enlargement and discoloration of the whole body; a small
quick pulse, fainting fits, vomiting, jaundice, delirium,
hiccup, and convulsions, close the scene, and mark the
fatal issue in those cases where speedy relief has not been
obtained, or where the natural resources of the constitution
are not sufficient to resist the morbid effects of the poison.

With respect to the treatment of these most formidable
symptoms, when produced by the bite of the Rattlesnake,
the Cobra de Capello, and of other foreign serpents, with-
out experience, we can have little to offer but conjecture.

127

We are told of a variety of remedies, however, that are
used in countries where these animals prevail; but these
are so opposite in their nature and tendency, that we
hardly know how to attach importance to their efficacy.

The serpentaril, or Virginian snake root, and the seneka,
or Rattlesnake root, are each used topically in the form
of poultices, and given internally, and have had the
reputation, in America, of curing the bite of the Rat-
tlesnake and of other American serpents. And the head
of the animal bruised and laid upon the part affected, as
well as the topical application of a paste prepared by the
Indians, to which they have given the appellation of snake-
stone, are also reputed specifics in such cases; but we fear
the efficacy of each is entitled to but little credit. If ap-
plications can be of any avail in casualties so desperate,
assiduous frictions of unctuous substances, but particularly
of olive oil, or of equal parts of laudanum and volatile
alkali, over the parts affected, and full doses of carbonate
of ammonia conjoined with antispasmodics administered
internally and frequently repeated, from their uniform
success in the bite of the viper, appear to be well ealcu-
lated to produce good effects, and are therefore well wor-
thy of trial.

Dr. Orfila, a French author, who has published a valua-
ble treatise on poisons, has recommended the application
of a ligature above the wounded part, so as to check the
returning blood to the heart, without stopping the circu-
lation; and then to apply caustics, so as to destroy deeply
the whole of the surrounding parts. His internal reme-
dies are volatile alkali, wine, and active diaphoretics.

In the second volume of the Medico-Chirurgical Trans-
actions, Mr. Ireland, then surgeon to the 60th regiment,
has given an account of four cases, in which arsenic had
been successfully administered internally for some very
desperate bites from the Coluber Carinatus, a most veno-
mous serpent, peculiar to the island of St. Lucia, in the
West Indies; and from whose bites, an officer and seve-
ral men belonging to the 68th regiment, had some months
before fallen a sacrifice.

Tn the four successful eases to which he has alluded, from
the flesh being much torn by the bites, he removed the
rugged edges of the integuments, and administered two
drachms of Fowler’s solution, (which is equal to one grain
of arsenic,) in a draught composed of peppermint water
and ten drops of laudanum; to which, when taken, half an
ounce of lime juice was added, to produce the efferves-
cent effect; and this was repeated every half hour for four
successive hours; the parts being frequently fomented and
rubbed with a liniment, composed of half an ounce of oil
of turpentine, and an ounce and a half of olive oil. Ina
few days, the patients recovered, and returned to their

128 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

duty. He succeeded on another case at Martinique,
where the patient was bitten by a serpent, reported to be
as venomous and fatal as that of St. Lucia.

Mr. Boag, who has had some experience in the bites of
the Gobra de Capello, recommends a weak solution of the
nitrate of silver to be assiduously applied to the part, and
small doses of it to be given internally. Should, however,
future experience decide upon the inefficacy of all these
remedies; in that case, the only security against the con-
sequences of wounds so alarming, (if security is to be ob-
tained,) would be a very deep extirpation of the surround-
ing parts, or the rapid extinction of the vital principle in
them by the most active caustics.—Lempriere’s Nat. Hist.

INFLUENCE OF MAN IN DOMESTICATING
WILD ANIMALS.

Ir has been well observed by M. F. Cuvier and M.
Dureau de la Malle, that unless some animals had mani-
fested in a wild state an aptitude to second the efforts of
man, their domestication would never have been attempted.
If they had all resembled the wolf, the fox, and the
hyena, the patience of the experimentalist would have
been exhausted by innumerable failures before he at last
succeeded in obtaining some imperfect results; so, if the
first advantages derived from the cultivation of plants had
been elicited by as tedious and costly a process as that by
which we now make some slight additional improvement
in certain races, we should have remained to this day in
ignorance of the greater number of their useful qualities.

It is undoubtedly true, that many new habits and quali-
ties have not only been acquired in recent times by certain
races of dogs, but have been transmitted to their offspring.
But in these cases it will be observed, that the new pecu-
liarities have an intimate relation to the habits of the ani-
mal in a wild state, and therefore do not attest any ten-
dency to departure to an indefinite extent from the original
type of the species. A race of dogs employed for hunting
deer in the platform of Santa Fe, in Mexico, affords a
beautiful illustration of a new hereditary instinct. The
mode of attack, observes M. Roulin, which they employ,
consists in seizing the animal by the belly and overturn-
ing it by a sudden effort, taking advantage of the moment
when the body of the deer rests only upon the fore-legs,
The weight of the animal thus thrown over, is often six
times that of its antagonist. The dog of pure breed inhe-
rits a disposition to this kind of chase, and never attacks a
deer from before while running. Even should the latter,

not perceiving him, come directly upon him, the dog steps
aside and makes his assault on the flank, whereas other
hunting dogs, though of superior strength and general
sagacity, which are brought from Europe, are destitute of
this instinct. For want of similar precautions, they are
often killed by the deer on the spot, the vertebre of their
neck being dislocated by the violence of the shock.

A new instinct also has become hereditary in a mongrel
race of dogs employed by the inhabitants of the banks of
the Magdalena, almost exclusively in hunting the white-
lipped pecari. The address of these dogs consists in re-
straining their ardour, and attaching themselves to no
animal in particular, but keeping the whole herd in check.
Now, among these dogs some are found, which, the very
first time they are taken to the woods, are acquainted with
this mode of attack; whereas, a dog of another breed starts
forward at once, is surrounded by the pecari, and what-
ever may be his strength is destroyed in a moment.

Some of our countrymen, engaged of late in conducting
the principal mining association in Mexico, carried out
with them some English greyhounds of the best breed, to
hunt the hares which abound in that country. The great
platform which is the scene of sport is at an elevation of
about nine thousand feet above the level of the sea, and the
mercury in the barometer stands habitually at the height
of about nineteen inches. It was found that the greyhounds
could not support the fatigues of a long chase in this atte-
nuated atmosphere, and before they could come up with
their prey, they lay down gasping for breath; but these
same animals have produced whelps which have grown up,
and are not in the least degree incommoded by the want
of density in the air, but run down the hares with as
much ease as the fleetest of their race.

The fixed and deliberate stand of the pointer has with
propriety been regarded as a mere modification of a habit,
which may have been useful to a wild race accustomed to
wind game, and steal upon it by surprise, first pausing for
an instant in order to spring with unerring aim. The
faculty of the Retriever, however, may justly be regarded
as more inexplicable and less easily referrible to the in-
stinetive passions of the species. M. Majendie, says a
French writer in a recently published memoir, having
-learnt that there was a race of dogs in England, which
stopped and brought back game of their own accord, pro-
cured a pair, and having obtained a whelp from them, kept
it constantly under his eyes, until he had an opportunity
of assuring himself that, without having received any in-
struction, and on the very first day that it was carried to
the chase, it brought back game with as much steadiness
as dogs which had been schooled into the same manceuvre
by means of the whip and collar. c

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

Such attainments, as well as the habits and dispositions
which the Shepherd’s Dog, and many others inherit, seem
to be of a nature and extent which we can hardly explain
by supposing them to be modifications of instincts neces-
sary for the preservation of the species in a wild state.
When such remarkable habits appear in races of this spe-
cles, we may reasonably conjecture that they were given
with no other view than for the use of man, and the pre-
servation of the dog which thus obtains protection.

Asa general rule, we fully agree with M. F. Cuvier, that,
in studying the habits of animals, we must attempt, as far as
possible, to refer their domestic qualities to modifications of
instincts which are implanted in them ina state of nature;
and that writer has successfully pointed out, in an admira-
ble essay on the domestication of the mammalia, the true
origin of many dispositions which are vulgarly attributed
to the influence of education alone. But we should go too
far if we did not admit that some of the qualities of parti-
cular animals and plants may have been given solely with
a view to the connexion which it was foreseen would ex-
ist between them and man—especially when we see that
connexion to bein many cases so intimate, that the greater
number, and sometimes all the individuals of the species
which exist on the earth, are in subjection to the human race.

Wecan perceive in a multitude of animals, especially in
some of the parasitic tribes, that certain instincts and
organs are conferred for the purpose of defence or attack
against some other species. Now if we are reluctant to
suppose the existence of similar relations between man, and
the instincts of many of the inferior animals, we adopt an
hypothesis no less violent, though in the opposite extreme
to that which has led to imagine the whole animate and
inanimate creation to have been made solely for the sup=
port, gratification, and instruction of mankind.

Many species most hostile to our persons or property
multiply in spite of our efforts to repress them; others, on
the contrary, are intentionally augmented many hundred-
fold in number by our exertions. In such instances we
must imagine the relative resources of man and of species,
friendly or inimical to him, to have been prospectively
calculated and adjusted. To withhold assent to this sup-
position would be to refuse what we must grant in respect
to the economy of Nature in every other part of the or-
ganic creation; for the various species of contemporary
plants and animals have obviously their relative forces
nicely balanced, and their respective tastes, passions, and
instincts so contrived, that they are all in perfect harmony
with each other. In no other manner could it happen,
that each species, surrounded as it is by countless dan-
gers, should be enabled to maintain its ground for periods

of considerable duration.
Kx

129

The docility of the individuals of some of our domestic
species extending, as it does, to attainments foreign to their
natural habits and faculties, may perhaps have been con-
ferred with a view to their association with man. But
lest species should be thereby made to vary indefinitely,
we find that such habits are never transmissible by gene-
ration.

A pig has been trained to hunt and point game with
great activity and steadiness; and other learned individuals
of the same species, have been taught to spell; but such
fortuitous acquirements never become hereditary, for they
have no relation whatever to the exigencies of the animal
in a wild state, and cannot therefore be developments of
any instinctive propensities. é

An animal in domesticity, says M. F. Cuvier, is not
essentially in a different situation in regard to the feeling
of restraint from one left to itself. It lives in society
without constraint, because without doubt it was a social
animal, and it conforms itself to the will of man, because
it hada chief to which in a wild state it would have yielded
obedience. There is nothing in its new situation that is not
conformable to its propensities; it is satisfying its wants
by submission to a master, and makes no sacrifice of its
natural inclinations. All the social animals when left to
themselves form herds more or less numerous, and all the
individuals of the same herd know each other, are mu-
tually attached, and will not allow a strange individual to
join them. Inawild state, moreover, they obey some in-
dividual, which by its superiority has become the chief of
the herd. Our domestic species had originally this socia-
bility of disposition, and no solitary species, however easy
it may be ¢o tame it, has yet afforded true domestic races.
We merely, therefore, develope to our own advantage, pro-
pensities which propel the individuals of certain species to
draw near to their fellows.

The sheep which we have reared is induced to follow
us, as it would be led to follow the flock among which it
was brought up, and when individuals of gregarious spe-
cies have been accustomed to one master, it is he alone
whom they acknowledge as their chief, he only whom they
obey.—*‘ The elephant only allows himself to be led by
the carnae whom he has adopted; the dog itself, reared in
solitude with its master, manifests a hostile disposition to-
wards all others; and every body knows how dangerous
it is to be in the midst of a herd of cows, in pasturages
that are little frequented, when they have not at their head
the keeper who takes care of them.”

«‘Every thing, therefore, tends to convince us, that
formerly men were only, with regard to the domestic ani-
mals, what those who are particularly charged with the
care of them still are, namely, members of the society,

130 THE CABINET OF

which these animals form among themselves, and that they
are only distinguished in the general mass by the autho-
rity which they have been enabled to assume from their
superiority of intellect. Thus, every social animal which
recognizes man as a member, and as the chief of its herd,
is a domestic animal. Jt might even be said that from the
moment when such an animal admits man as a member of
its society, it is domesticated, as man could not enter into
such a society without becoming the chief of it.””

But the ingenious author whose observations we have
here cited, admits that the obedience which the individuals
of many domestic species yield indifferently to every per-
son is without analogy in any state of things which could
exist previously to their subjugation by man. Each troop
of wild horses, it is true, has some stallion for its chief,
who draws after him all the individuals of which the herd
is composed; but when a domesticated horse has passed
from hand to hand, and has served several masters, he
becomes equally docile towards any person, and is sub-
jected to the whole human race. It seems fair to presume,
that the capability in the instinct of the horse to be thus
modified, was given to enable the species to render greater
services to man, and, perhaps, the facility with which
many other acquired characters become hereditary in va-
rious races of the horse, may be explicable only on a like
supposition. The amble, for example, a pace to which
the domestic racers in Spanish America are exclusively
trained, has, in the course of several generations, become
hereditary, and is assumed by all the young colts before
they are broken in.

It seems also reasonable to conclude, that the power be-
stowed on the horse, the dog, the ox, the sheep, the cat,
and many species of domestic fowls, of supporting almost
every climate, was given expressly to enable them to fol-
low man throughout all parts of the globe—in order that
we might obtain their services, and they our protection.
If it be objected that the elephant, which, by the union of
strength, intelligence, and docility, can render the great-
est services to mankind, is ineapable of living in any but
the warmest latitudes, we may observe, that the quantity
of vegetable food required by this quadruped would render
its maintenance, in the temperate zone, too costly, and in
the arctic impossible.

Among the changes superinduced by man, none appear,
at first sight, more remarkable than the perfect tameness
of certain domestic races. It is well known, that at how-
ever early an age we obtain possession of the young of
many unreclaimed races, they will retain, throughout life,
a considerable timidity and apprehensiveness of danger;
whereas, after one or two generations, the descendants of
the same will habitually place the most implicit confidence

NATURAL HISTORY,

inman. There is good reason, however, to suspect that
such changes are not without analogy in a state of nature,
or, to speak more correctly, in situations where man has
not interfered.

Thus Dr. Richardson informs us, in his able history of
the habits of North American animals, that ‘in the re-
tired parts of the mountains, where the hunters had seldom
penetrated, there is no difficulty in approaching the Rocky
Mountain sheep, which there exhibit the simplicity of
character so remarkable in the domestic species, but
where they have been often fired at, they are exceedingly
wild, alarm their companions, on the approach of danger,
by a hissing noise, and scale the rocks with a speed and
agility that baffles pursuit.”

It is probable, therefore, that as man, in diffusing him-
self over the globe, has tamed many wild races, so also he
has made many tame races wild. Had some of the larger
carniverous beasts, capable of scaling the rocks, made their
way into the North American mountains before our hun-
ters, a similar alteration in the instincts of the sheep would
doubtless have been brought about.

No animal affords a more striking illustration of the
principal points we have been endeavouring to establish
than the elephant. For in the first place, the wonderful
sagacity with which he accommodates himself to the so-
ciety of man, and the new habits which he contracts, are
not the result of time nor of modifications produced in the
course of many generations. These animals will breed in
captivity, as is now ascertained, in opposition to the yul-
gar opinion of many modern naturalists, and in confor-
mity to that of the ancients A.lian and Columella. Yet it
has always been the custom, as the least expensive mode
of obtaining them, to capture wild individuals in the
forests, usually when full grown, and in a few years after
they are taken, sometimes, it is said, in the space of a few
months, their education is completed.—Lyell’s Geology.

MAHOGANY TREES.

Tuere are three species of Mahogany:—Common
Mahogany, (Swietenta Mahogani,) Swietenia febrifuga,
and Swietenia chloroxylon; the first being a native of the
West India Islands, and the central parts of America, and
the second and third natives of the East Indies. They all
grow to be trees of considerable magnitude—the first and
second being among the largest trees known.

They are
all excellent timber.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 131

Swietenia Mahagoni is, perhaps, the most majestic of
trees; for though some rise to a greater height, this tree,
like the oak and the cedar, impresses the spectator with
the strongest feelings of its firmness and duration. In the
rich valleys among the mountains of Cuba, and those that
open upon the bay of Honduras, the Mahogany expands
to so giant a trunk, divides into so many massy arms, and
throws the shade of its shining green leaves, spotted with
tufts of pearly flowers, over so vast an extent of surface,
that it is difficult to imagine a vegetable: production com-
bining in such a degree the qualities of elegance and
strength, of beauty and sublimity. The precise period of
its growth is not accurately known; but as, when large, it
changes but little during the life of a man, the time of its
arriving at maturity is probably not less than two hundred
years. Some idea of its size, and also of its commercial
value, may be formed from the fact that a single log, im-
ported at Liverpool, weighed nearly seven tons; was, in
the first instance, sold for £378; resold for £525; and
would, had the dealers been certain of its quality, have
been worth £1000.

As is the case with much other timber, the finest Ma-
hogany trees, both for size and quality, are not in the
most accessible situations, and as it is always imported in
large masses, the transportation of it for any distance over
land is so difficult, that the very best trees, both on the
islands and on the main land—those that grow in the rich
inland vallies—defy the means of removal possessed by
the natives. Masses of from six to eight tons are not
very easily moved in any country; and in the mountain-
ous and rocky one, where much attention is not paid to
mechanical power, to move them isimpossible. In Cuba,
the inhabitants have neither enterprise nor skill adequate
to felling the Mahogany trees, and transporting them to
the shore, and thus the finest timber remains unused.

The discovery of this beautiful timber was accidental,
and its introduction into notice was slow. The first men-
tion of it is, that it was used in the repair of some of Sir
Walter Raleigh’s ships at Trinidad in 1597. The first
that was brought to England was about the beginning of
last century; a few planks having been sent to Dr. Gib-
bons, of London, by a brother, who was a West India
captain. The Doctor was erecting a house in King-street,
Covent Garden, and gave the planks to the workmen, who
rejected it as being too hard. The Doctor’s cabinet-ma-
ker, named Wollaston, was employed to make a candle-
box of it, and as he was sawing up the plank he also com-
plained of the hardness of the timber. But when the
candle-box was finished, it outshone in beauty all the
Doctor’s other furniture, and became an object of curiosity
and exhibition. The wood was then taken into fayour:

Dr. Gibbons had a bureau made of it, and the Dutchess of
Buckingham another; and the despised Mahogany now
became a prominent article of luxury, and at the same
time raised the fortunes of the cabinet-maker by whom it
had been at first so little regarded.

The Mahogany tree is found in great quantities on the
low and woody lands, and even upon the rocks in the
countries on the western shores of the Caribbean sea,
about Honduras and Campeachy. It is also abundant in
the Islands of Cuba and Hayti, and it used to be plentiful
in Jamaica, where it was of excellent quality; but most of
the larger trees have been cut down. It was formerly
abundant on the Bahamas, where it grew, on the rocks, to
a great height, and four feet in diameter. In the earliest
periods it was much used by the Spaniards in ship-build-
ing. When first introduced by them it was very dark and
hard, and without much of that beautiful variety of colour
which now renders it superior to all other timber for cabi-
net work; but it was more durable, and took a higher po-
lish with less labour. Of course it was wholly unknown
to the ancients. It was first introduced in the sixteenth
century, but it was not generally used in England till the
eighteenth.

The Mahogany is a graceful tree, with many branches
that form a very handsome head. The leafets are in pairs,
mostly four, and sometimes three, but very rarely five; the
pair opposite, and without any odd leafet at the point;
they are smooth and shining, lance-shaped, entire at the
edges like those of the laurel, and bent back: each leafet is
about two inches and a half long, and the whole leaf is
about eight inches. The flowers are small and whitish,
and the seed-vessel has some resemblance to that of the
Barbadoes cedar: hence some botanists have given the
name of cedar to the tree.

This tree so far corresponds with the pine tribe, that
the timber is best upon the coldest soils and in the most
exposed situations. When it grows upon moist soils and
warm lands, it is soft, coarse, spongy, and contains sap-
wood, into which some worms will eat. That which is
most accessible at Honduras is of this description; and
therefore it is only used for coarser works, or for a ground
on which to lay veneers of the choicer sorts. For the lat-
ter purpose it is well adapted, as it holds glue better than
deal, and, when properly seasoned, is not so apt to warp
or to be eaten by insects. When it grows in favourable
situations, where it has room to spread, it is of much bet-
ter quality, and puts out large branches, the junction of
which with the stem furnish those beautifully curled
pieces of which the choicest veneers are made. When
among rocks and much exposed, the size is inferior, and
there is not so much breadth or variety of shading; but

132

the timber is far superior, and the colour is more rich.
The last description is by far the strongest, and is there-
fore the best adapted for chairs, the legs of tables, and
other purposes in which a moderate size has to bear a con-
siderable strain. Since the produce of Jamaica has been
nearly exhausted, there are only two kinds known in the
market. Bay wood, or that which is got from the conti-
nent of America, and Spanish wood, or the produce of the
islands chiefly of Cuba and Hayti. Though the Bay wood
is inferior to the other both in value and in price, it is
often very beautiful, and may be obtained in logs as large
as six feet square. It is, however, not nearly so compact
as the other; the grain is apt to rise in polishing, and if it
be not covered by a water-proof varnish, it is very easily
stained. It also gives to the tool in carving, and is not
well adapted for ornaments. Spanish wood cuts well,
takes a fine polish, resists seratches, stains, and fractures
much better, and is generally the only sort upon which
much or delicate workmanship should be expended. The
colours of Mahogany do not come well out without the
application of oil or varnish; and if the best sorts be often
washed with water, or long macerated in it, they lose
their beauty, and become of a dingy brown. The red is
deepened by alkaline applications, especially lime-water;
but strong acids destroy the colour. When the surface is
covered by a colourless varnish, which displays the natu-
ral tints without altering any of them, good Mahogany
appears to the greatest advantage.

The Febrifuga, or East India Mahogany, is a very
large tree. It grows in the mountainous parts of central
Hindostan, rises to a great height with a straight trunk,

which, towards the upper part, throws out many branches.-

The head is spreading, and the leaves have some resem-
blance to those of the American species. The wood is of
a dull red colour, not so beautiful as common Mahogany,
but much harder, heavier, and more durable. The na-
tives of India account it the most lasting timber that their
country produces, and therefore they employ it in their
sacred edifices, and upon every occasion where they wish
to combine strength and durability.

The Chloroxylon is chiefly found in the mountains of
the Sirears, that run parallel to the Bay of Bengal, to the
N. E. of the mouth of the River Godovery. The tree
does not attain the same size as either of the former, and
the appearance of the wood is different. It is of a deep
yellow, nearly of the same colour as box, from which it
does not differ much in durability, and it could be ap-
plied to the same purposes.

[Lib. Ent. Knowl.

THE CABINET OF

NATURAL HISTORY,

THE TARANTULA.

Ture Tarantula, of the fatal effects of whose poison,
and of the influence of music in the cure, so much has been
said, is of the spider tribe, possessing in most particulars,
all the characters peculiar to that species of insect. It is
a native of Italy, Cyprus, Barbary, and the East Indies;
in the two former countries, credulity on the one hand,
and imposition on the other, have given it a quality which
it does not merit, viz. the power of destroying human'life
by its bite, unless timely prevented by the most fascinat-
ing music. Accordingly, travellers in those countries
have furnished us with a number of amusing anecdotes,
strongly illustrative of the effects of superstition on the
human mind, when unenlightened by the beams of sci-
ence, or where tradition has closed the door to reason and
the most obvious conviction. These anecdotes, which
must be familiar to every reading person, we do not deem
necessary here to detail; but shall merely observe, that
the bite of the Tarantula is never inflicted but when acci-
dentally irritated; and though it always produces most
severe pain, swelling, and discolouration of the part, and
in constitutions of particular irritability, fainting fits, spas-
modic affections, and even convulsions; yet it has in no
instance, within our experience, (founded upon a four
years’ residence in the south part of Europe and in Bar-
bary,) proved fatal; nor could we learn from others, that
such an effect was ever produced; the symptoms being
readily removed by the remedies which are efficacious in
the bites or stings of other venomous insects.

This animal, which like other spiders, is made up of
two divisions united by a slender thread, the one consist-
ing of the head and breast, the other of the belly, rather
exceeds an inch in length, and is of an ash colour on its
breast, belly, and legs, and underneath is distinguished by
blackish rings. It has eight legs united like that of a
lobster; and eight eyes, two of which are red, are larger
than the others, and are placed in front; four others are
placed transversely towards the mouth; the other two are
nearer the back. This number of eyes seems necessary in
an animal whose existence depends upon its activity and
vigilance; and particularly as the eyes are immoyeable in
the socket, and therefore cannot, when required, turn in
different directions.

Its poisonous mechanism consists of two nippers or
fangs on the fore part of the head with strong points, toothed
like a saw, and terminating in claws like those of a cat.
A little below the point of the claw, there is a small hole
through which the animal emits the poison; and from this
apparatus, its means of attack and defence are derived.

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AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

it is stated to prefer the bare fields for its haunts, where
the lands are fallow; but we have seen it near houses, and
within the yards, and sometimes even in the adjoining
apartments.

According to Bingley, it lays between seven and eight
hundred eggs, which are hatched in the spring; the pa-
rents being very short-lived, and seldom one iting the
winter. Like other spiders, it makes a net or wall round

its dwelling, which is generally about four inches deep in

the ground, and half an inch wide.
[Lempriere’s Nat. Hist.

BLUE-EYED YELLOW WARBLER.
SVLVIA CITRINELLA.

[Plate XII. Vol. Size of life. ]
Yellow-poll Warbler, Lara. Syn. v. 1. p. 515, No. 148.—
“rct. Zool. p. 402, No. 292.—Le Figuier tachete,
Burr. Otis. v. p. 285.—Motacilla xstiva, Turtron’s
Syst. p. 615.—Parus luteus, Summer Yellow-bird,
Bartram, p. 292.—Motacilla estiva, Guur. Syst. 1.
p. 996.—Sylviz xestiva, Lara. Ind. Orn. 1. p. 551.—
Virrtt. Otis. de? Am. Sept. pl. 95.—Motacilla albicol-
lis, Gur. Syst. 1. p. 983, young.—Sylvia albicollis,
Laru. Ind. Orn. 11. p. 535, young.—Ficedula Cana-
densis, Briss. 11. p. 492, 51, ¢. 26, jig. 3, male adult. —
Ficedula dominicensis, Briss. 111. p. 494, 52, ¢. 26, f.
5.—Figuier de Canada, Burr. Pl. Enl. 58, f. 2, adult
male.—J. Doveury’s Collection.

Tuis is a very common summer species, and appears
almost always actively employed among the leaves and blos-
soms of the willows, snow-ball shrub, and poplars, search-
ing after small green caterpillars, which are its principal
food. It has a few shrill notes, uttered with emphasis, but
not deserving the name of song. It arrives in Pennsylva-
nia about the beginning of May, and departs again for the
south about the middle of September. According to
Latham, it is numerous in Guiana, and is also found in
Canada. It is a very sprightly, unsuspicious, and familiar
little bird; is often seen in and about gardens, among the
blossoms of fruit trees and shrubberies; and, on account of
its colour, is very noticeable. Its nest is built with great
neatness, generally in the triangular fork of a small shrub,
near, or among briar bushes. Outwardly it is composed
of flax or tow, in thick circular layers, strongly twisted

Mya

135

round the twigs that rise through its sides, and lined within
with hair, and the soft downy substances from the stalks
of fern. Theeggsare four or five, of a dull white, thickly
sprinkled near the great end, with specks of pale brown.
They raise two broods in the season. This little bird,
like many others, will feign lameness to draw you away
from its nest, stretching out his neck, spreading and bend-
ing down his tail until it trails along the branch, and flut-
tering feebly along to draw you after him; sometimes look-
ing back to see if you are following him, and returning
back to repeat the same manceuvres, in order to attract
your attention. The male is most remarkable for this
practice.

The Blue-eyed Warbler is five inches long and seven
broad; hind head and back greenish yellow; crown, front,
and whole lower parts, rich golden yellow; breast and sides
streaked laterally with dark red; wings and tail deep
brown, except the edges of the former, and the inner
vanes of the latter, which are yellow; the tail is also
slightly forked; legs a pale clay colour; bill and eye-lids,
light blue. The female is of a less brilliant yellow, and
the streaks of red on the breast are fewer and more obscure.
Buffon is mistaken in supposing No. 1, of Pl. Enl. Plate
lyii. to be the female of this species. —W1tson.

SCARLET TANAGER.
TANAGRA RUBRA.

[Plate XII. Vol. 2. Size of life. ]

Tanagra rubra, Linn. Syst. 1. p 314, 3.—Cardinal de
Canada, Briss. Orn. 11. p. 48, Pl. 2, fig. 5.—Latu.
1. p. 217, No. 3.—Scarlet Sparrow, Enw. Pl. 343.—
Canada Tanager, and Olive Tanager, Arct. Zool. p.
369, No. 237-238.—J. Doueury’s Collection.

Turs is one of the gaudy foreigners, (and perhaps the
most showy,) that regularly visit us from the torrid regions
of the south. He is drest in the richest scarlet, set off
with the most jetty black, and comes, over extensive
countries, to sojourn for a time among us. While we
consider him entitled to the rights of hospitality, we may
be permitted to examine a little into his character, and
endeavour to discover, whether he has any thing else to
recommend him besides that of having a fine coat, and
being a great traveller.

On or about the first of May this bird makes his appear-

134

ance in Pennsylvania. Hespreads over the United States,
and is found even in Canada. He rarely approaches the
habitations of man, unless perhaps to the orchard, where he
sometimes builds; or to the cherry trees in search of fruit.
The depth of the woods is his favourite abode. There,
among the thick foliage of the tallest trees, his simple and
almost monotonous notes chip, churr, repeated at short
intervals, in a pensive tone, may be occasionally heard;
which appear to proceed from a considerable distance
though the bird be immediately above you; a faculty be-
stowed on him by the beneficent Author of Nature, no
doubt for his protection, to compensate in a degree for the
danger to which his glowing colour would often expose
him. Besides thisusual note, he has, at times,a more musical
chant, something resembling in mellowness that of the Bal-
timore Oriole. His food consists of large, winged insects,
such as wasps, hornets, and humble-bees, and also of fruit,
particularly those of that species of Vaccinium usually
called huckle-berries, which in their season form almost
his whole fare. His nest is built about the middle of May,
on the horizontal branch of a tree, sometimes an apple
tree, and is but slightly put together; stalks of broken
flax, and dry grass, so thinly wove together, that the light
is easily perceivable through it, form the repository of
his young. The eggs are three, of a dull blue, spotted
with brown or purple. They rarely raise more than one
brood in a season, and leave us for the south about the
last week in August.

Among all the birds that inhabit our woods, there is
none that strike the eye of a stranger, or even a native,
with so much brilliancy as this. Seen among the green
leaves, with the light falling strongly on his plumage,
he really appears beautiful. If he has little of melody
in his notes to charm us, he has nothing in them to dis-
gust. His manners are modest, easy, and inoffensive.
He commits no depredations on the property of the hus-
bandman; but rather benefits him by the daily destruction
in spring of many noxious insects; and when winter ap-
proaches he is no plundering dependant, but seeks in a
distant country for that sustenance which the severity of
the season denies to his industry in this. He is a striking
ornament to ourrural scenery, and none of the meanest of
our rural songsters. Such being the true traits of his cha-
racter, we shall always with pleasure welcome this beau-
tiful, inoffensive stranger, to our orchards, groves, and
forests.

The male of this species, when arrived at his full size
and colours, is six inches and a half in length, and ten and
a half broad. The whole plumage is of a most brilliant
scarlet, except the wings and tail, which are of a deep
black; the latter handsomely forked, sometimes minutely

low.

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

tipt with white, and the interior edges of the wing fea-
thers nearly white; the bill is strong, considerably inflated
like those of his tribe, the edge of the upper mandible
somewhat irregular, as if toothed, and the whole of a dirty
gamboge or yellowish horn colour; this, however, like that
of most other birds, varies according to the season. About
the first of August he begins to moult; the young feathers
coming out of a greenish yellow colour, until he appears
nearly all dappled with spots of scarlet and greenish yel-
In this state of plumage he leaves us. How long it
is before he recovers his scarlet dress, or whether he con-
tinues of this greenish colour all winter, I am unable to
say. The irisof the eye is of a cream colour, the legs and
feet light blue. The female is green above and yellow
below; the wings and tail brownish black, edged with
green.

The young birds, during their residence here the first
season, continue nearly of the same colour with the female.
In this circumstance, we again recognise the wise provi-
sion of the Deity, in thus clothing the female and the in-
experienced young, in a garb so favourable to concealment
among the foliage; as the weakness of the one, and the
frequent visits of the other to her nest, would greatly en-
danger the safety of all. That the young males do not
receive their red plumage until the early part of the suc-
ceeding spring, I think highly probable, from the circum-
stance of frequently finding their red feathers, at that sea-
son, intermixed with green ones, and the wings also
broadly edged with green. These facts render it also
probable that the old males regularly change their colour,
and have a summer and winter dress; but this, farther ob-
servations must determine.

There is in the Brazils a bird of the same genus with
this, and very much resembling it, so much so as to have
been frequently confounded with it by European writers.
Itis the Tanagra Brazilia of Turton; and though so like,
is a yet very distinct species from the present, as I haye
myself had the opportunity of ascertaining, by examining
two very perfect specimens from Brazil, now in the pos-
session of Mr. Peale, and comparing them with this. The
principal differences are these: the plumage of the Brazi-
lian is almost black at bottom, a very deep scarlet at the
surface, and of an orange tint between; ours is ash coloured
at bottom, white in the middle, and bright scarlet at top.
The tail of ours is forked, that of the other cuneiform, or
rounded. ‘The bill of our species is more inflated, and of
a greenish yellow colour—the others is black above, and
whitish below towards the base. The whole plumage of
the southern species is of a coarser, stiffer quality, particu-
larly on the head. The wings and tail, in both, are black.

In the account which Buffon gives of the Scarlet Tana-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

ger, and Cardinal Grosbeak, there appears to be very
great confusion, and many mistakes; to explain which it
is necessary to observe, that Mr. Edwards, in his figure of
the Scarlet Tanager, or Scarlet Sparrow, as he calls it,
has given it a hanging crest, owing no doubtto the loose, dis-
ordered state of plumage of the stuffed or dried skin from
which he made his drawing. Buffon has afterwards con-
founded the two together by applying many stories origi-
nally related of the Cardinal Grosbeak, to the Scarlet
Tanager; and the following he gravely gives as his reason
for so doing. ‘*Wemay presume,” says he, ‘ that when
travellers talk of the warble of the Cardinal they mean the
Scarlet Cardinal, for the other Cardinal is of the genus of
the Grosbeaks, consequently a silent bird.”? This silent
bird, however, has been declared by an eminent English
naturalist, to be almost equal to their own nightingale!
The count also quotes the following passage from Charle-
voix to prove the same point, which, if his translator has
done him justice, evidently proves the reverse. ‘It is
searcely more than a hundred leagues,”’ says this traveller,
“¢ south of Canada, that the Cardinal begins to be seen.
Their song is sweet, their plumage beautiful, and their
head wears a crest.”” But the Scarlet Tanager is found
even in Canada, as well as an hundred leagues to the
south, while the Cardinal Grosbeak is not found in any
great numbers north of Maryland. The latter, therefore,
it is highly probable, was the bird meant by Charlevoix,
and not the Scarlet Tanager. Buffon also quotes an ex-
tract of a letter from Cuba, which, if the circumstance it
relates be true, is a singular proof of the estimation in
which the Spaniards hold the Cardinal Grosbeak. «On
Wednesday arrived at the port of Havana, a bark from
Florida, loaded with Cardinal birds, skins, and fruit. The
Spaniards bought the Cardinal birds at so high a price as
ten dollars a piece; and notwithstanding the public distress,
spent on them the sum of 18,000 dollars!”

With a few facts more, I shall conclude the history of
the Searlet Tanager. When you approach the nest, the
male keeps cautiously at a distance, as if fearful of being
seen; while the female hovers around in the greatest agi-
tation and distress. When the young leave the nest, the
male parent takes a most active part in feeding and attend-
ing them, and is then altogether indifferent of concealment.

Passing through an orchard one morning, I caught one
of these young birds that had but lately left the nest. I
carried it with me about half a mile, to show it to my
friend, Mr. William Bartram; and having procured a cage,
hung it up on one of the large pine trees in the Bo-
tanic garden, within a few feet of the nest of an Orchard
Oriole, which also contained young; hoping that the charity
or tenderness of the Orioles, would induce them to supply

135

the cravings of the stranger. But charity with them, as
with too many of the human race, began and ended at
home. The poor orphan was altogether neglected, not-
withstanding its plaintive cries; and, as it refused to be
fed by me, I was about to return it back to the place where
I found it; when, towards the afternoon, a Scarlet Tanager,
no doubt its own parent, was seen fluttering round the cage,
endeavouring to get in. Finding this impracticable he
flew off, and soon returned with food in his bill; and con-
tinued to feed it till after sunset, taking up his lodgings
on the higher branches of the same tree. In the morning,
almost as soon as day broke, he was again seen most ac-
tively engaged in the same affectionate manner; and, not-
withstanding the insolence of the Orioles, continued his
benevolent offices the whole day, roosting at night as be-
fore. On the third or fourth day, he appeared extremely
solicitous for the liberation of his charge, using every ex-
pression of distressful anxiety, and every call and invita-
tion that nature had put in his power for him to come out.
This was too much for the feelings of my venerable friend;
he procured a ladder, and mounting to the spot where the
bird was suspended, opened the cage, took out the prisoner,
and restored him to liberty and to his parent, who with
notes of great exultation accompanied his flight to the
woods. The happiness of my good friend was scarcely
less complete, and showed itself in his benevolent counte-
nance; and I could not refrain saying to myself—If such
sweet sensations can be derived from a simple circum-
stance of this kind, how exquisite, how unspeakably rap-
turous must the delight of those individuals have been,
who have rescued their fellow beings from death, chains,
and imprisonment, and restored them to the arms of their
friends and relations! Surely in such godlike actions
virtue is its own most abundant reward. —/d.

A METHOD OF FORCING FRUIT TREES TO
BEAR.

Wirn a sharp knife make a cut in the bark of the
branch, which you mean to force to bear, and not far from
the place where it is connected with the stem; or if it be
a small branch, or shoot, near to where it is joined to the
larger bough: the cut is to go round the branch, or to en-
circle it, and to penetrate to the wood. A quarter of an
inch from this cut, you make a second cut, like the first,
round the branch, so that by both encircling the branch,
you have marked a ring upon the branch, a quarter of an
inch broad between the two cuts. The bark between

136

these two cuts you take clean away with the knife, down
to the wood, removing even the fine inner bark, which
immediately lies upon the wood; so that no connection
whatever remains between the two parts of the bark,
but the bare and naked wood appears white and smooth.
But this bark-ring, which is to compel the tree to bear,
must be made at the right time, that is, when in all nature
the buds are strongly swelling or are breaking out into
blossom. In the same yeara callus is formed ai the edges
of the ring, on both sides, and the connection of the bark,
that had been interrupted, is restored again without any
detriment to the tree, or the branch operated upon, in
which the artificial wound soon again grows over.

By this simple though artificial means of forcing every
fruit tree, with certainty, to bear, you obtain the follow-
ing important advantages:

1, You may compel every young tree of which you do
not know the sort, to show its fruit, and decide sooner,
whether, being of a good quality, it may remain in its first
state, or requires to be grafted.

2. You may, thereby, with certainty, get fruit of every
good sort, of which you wish to see the produce, in the
next year.

3. This method may probably serve to increase consi-
derably the quantity of fruit in the country.

The branches so operated upon are hung full of fruit,
while the others, that are not ringed, often have nothing,
or very little on them. This effect is easy to be ex-
plained from the theory of the motion of the sap. For
when the sap moves slowly in a tree, it produces fruit-
buds, which isthe case in old trees; when it moves vigor-
ously, the tree forms wood, or runs into shoots, as hap-
pens with young trees— Trans. Hort. Soc. Lon.

PIGEON-SHOOTING NEAR BOSTON.

Mr. Epiror:

Axoor fifteen miles from the metropolis of New-Eng-
land, stands a quiet little village, which is more known—
I will not say celebrated—by its local traditions as the last
resting-place of one of the Indian tribes, than from any
bustling importance or remarkable scenery.

It contains, however, all the necessary attributes of a
country town, viz: decayed old trees—gadding old wo-
men—a little white gothic church—and a little dirty vil-
lage inn—with its usual incumbrances of the idle hangers-
on—inveterate dram-drinkers, and furious politicians, who
are continually promulgating the most heterogeneous of

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

doctrines and theories, much wilder than ever addled the
erazy noddles of Hobbes and Mandeville.

In this place—or at least half a mile this side of it—I
have been passing a few weeks, following the general
fashion of flying from the Cholera. My mornings I gene- -
rally give to reading and study. But in these long sum-
mer afternoons, I have a most itching propensity for wan-
dering.

From reading old Isaac Walton, I instantly, like many
other unlucky wights, was seized with a terrible fishing
mania. There was no brook or river ten miles round that
I did not ransack with unparalleled ill luck. I hooked
every thing but a fish—friend or foe, it made little differ-
ence—they all suffered alike from my infuriate zeal. I
was continually losing my bait, or breaking my patent
rod, in my endeavours to land a stick or bush, which my
unlucky eye-sight deemed a perch or salmon trout.

Fishing I soon gave up as a bad job, and easily con-
vinced myself I was not designed for an angler, but a
shooter.

This no sooner popped into my brain than I purchased
a first rate Joe Manton, with plenty of Dupont’s superfine
powder,—and shot enough to sink a seventy-four.

But here, again, I was soon let into a most important
secret. It is this—anear-sighted man is never intended for
either a sportsman or angler,—for after watching and toil-
ing, and creeping about all day—staring over stone walls
into cow-yards after peeps, and throwing stones into corn-
fields to start woodcocks, I gave this up also.

By the by, I recommend throwing stones into corn-
fields to all Sportsmen, who, if they lay their gun down,
can find it again time enough to shoot,—a thing I never
could do; or, if like me, they are troubled with a dog,
who, because he was ‘‘ fetched up” in a ¢ genteel family,”’
has an inveterate habit of keeping in the background. I
presume he was early inculeated with the principle of
giving way to his betters; neither blows, nor caresses,
nor intreaties, could induce him to precede me; he always
coolly, but firmly, insisted upon my going first. There
was, of course, no moving a dog’s obstinacy, when founded
upon early inculcated principles—so I threw aside my Joe
Manton, resolving to give up shooting till nature should
give me eyes.

But, thus far, I have wandered with a vengeance. [
commenced with the intention of giving you a history of
Pigeon-shooting,—instead of it, I have been giving you
my own abortive attempt at all kinds of shooting. I beg
you to recollect the old adage, ‘‘ Better late than never,’’
and pardon me.

The course of my walks was frequently crossed by a
veteran of a fellow, whose clothes were so variously and

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

extensively patched, that it would have puzzled the ma-
ker to tell the original colour.

His face, though it bore the marks of the storms of many
years, and was deeply furrowed, yet was good-humoured
and honest. He had but one eye,—but there was a wag-
gery about it, that insensibly caused a smile. His hair had
originally been brown, but time had both grizzled and
thinned it,—and as a few straggling locks peeped out from
under his outlandish head gear, he looked, for all the
world, like some rugged philosopher, who felt convinced
of the truth of his own theories, and. never troubled him-
self about other people’s.

He was accompanied by a ragged urchin; who carried a
basket, containing four or five wild pigeons, which he
called flyers.

The old man had with him three or four birch trees,
about ten feet long, which had just been cut. I soon fell
into conversation with him, and learned he was what is
called a Pigeon-shooter, and had subsisted entirely by this
employment for nearly forty-five years.

As the Pigeon season was now coming.on, he was pre-
paring his apparatus, which was as follows:—He selected,
in the first place, a very high spot of ground, perfectly
elear from wood or under-brush; upon this he built a hut
of branches, large enough to contain one or two persons,
with a very small entrance, through which you were
obliged to creep upon your hands and knees. Opposite the
hut, and at the distance of about four feet, was a pole, six
inches in diameter, and about twenty feet long, inclined a
little upwards. A little to the rear of the hut, and on each
side, were erected four or five poles, twelve feet high—
the summits of these were crowned by the flutterers,
(wild Pigeons, ) caught in a trap, with their eyes sewed up,
and which were prevented from escaping, by a string of
about five feet long. The tops of the poles also commu-
nicated with the hut by means of strings. Here the old
man would take his stand, with his pipe and grandson, and
provisions for the day, before sun-rise—keeping a sharp
look-out all round the horizon for the pigeons, which,
about the latter end of August, make their appearance in
great numbers. The moment his lynx eye had detected
a flock, and long before my inexperienced vision had seen a
speck in the cloudless sky, he instantly pulled the strings—
up went the flutterers—cock went his gun—(an old king’s
arm, ) loaded to the muzzle with powder and shot,—and the
old fellow fell to prating, i. e. imitating the ery of a wild
Pigeon, which experience had taught him to do to perfec-
tion: in a few moments, the whole flock, which, perhaps,
being headed the other way, would instantly wheel round,
attracted by the old man’s prating, and the fluttering of
the decoys—and, in a vast swoop, would settle upon the

M mw

137

whole length of the pole, two or three deep. He would
then fire the moment they alighted, and sweep the whole
off.

His little boy would rush out, and bag the whole, some-
times amounting to twelve dozen, and lug them home
—the old fellow, then, without moving from his lair,
would load again, and prepare for another flock, which
sometimes would not appear for hours, and perhaps not
again the whole day.

His perseverance was indomitable,—for he would sit
from sun-rise to sun-set, through the hottest days, without
stirring from his seat,—and puffing out large columns of
smoke from his broken pipe; his quick and restless eye
piercing around inevery direction. The least speck in the
horizon—down would go the pipe—up go the flutterers—
prate, prate, would echo through the forest, —again sound
the gun—again the fluttering of the dying and wounded—
and again all silent. At sun-set, he would go home, pick
his Pigeons, which would sell for fifty cents a dozen, and
the feathers for twelve and a half cents per pound. The
Pigeon season lasted about six weeks, during which he
averaged four dollars a day, which, together with the fea-
thers, and the ducks which he would occasionally shoot on
the lake, during the fall and winter, and the muskrats
which his boy caught in traps, and whose skins sold pretty
well, he told me he contrived to support himself through
the year. He fought, he said, at the battle of Bunker-
Hill, and was wounded there. ‘ But,” said he, with a
sigh, ‘‘they forget what little good I have done—it is
always the way with the world. I have no family to
provide for, thank God, save my grandson, and he, when
I die, shall have my blessing, my bible, and my gun—as
long as there are Pigeons in the world, we shan’t starve.”

ONE oF YoUR SUBSCRIBERS.

Boston, August 23d, 1832.

INTERESTING STORY OF A LOST CHILD.

On Thursday last, Jenison Alkire took with him his
sister Elizabeth, and proceeded about three miles from
home, for the purpose of watching adeer lick. They staid
all night at the lick, and Jenison killed a deer. In the
morning, finding his horse had left him, he prevailed on
Elizabeth to stay at the camp with the deer, until he should
go home and return with the horse. Jenison went home,
returned with a horse, but found that his sister had left the
camp. He called her in vain; he endeavoured to find her
trace through the weeds, but without success. He then has-

138 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

tened home, and gave the alarm; the nearest neighbours
were immediately convened, and proceeded in search of the
child. Wm. Loudon, David Alkire, and Joseph Bennett,
(all good woodsmen,) ascertained which way she had
started, pursued the frail through laurel thickets, over
mountains that were almost impassable. She had pursued
a pretty straight course until she got within a short dis-
tance of the settlement on Holly, a branch of Big Elk
river; from thence she fell back on a branch of the Little
Kanawha, descended to its mouth, continued down the
Kanawha river eight or ten miles, through thickets that
bears can scarcely penetrate, crossed the river upwards of
sixty times, got within a very short distance of Thomas
M. Haymond’s, when night overtook her. With a toma-
hawk, which she carried with her, she peeled the bark
from a birch tree, scraped off the inside of the bark, and
ate it. She then broke off the branches from some bushes,
laid them in the bark for a bed; collected some more, of
which she made a covering; peeled the bark off a hickory
withe, tied one end round the neck of a dog which ac-
companied her, and the other end round her wrist, and in
this manner laid down in her couch of bark, and slept all
night. Those in pursuit followed her trail all day (Friday)
until dark, then lighted pine torches, and continued in
_ pursuit until daylight Saturday morning, at which time
they first disturbed the slumbers of the lost child. When
they found her, she seemed to be perfectly composed, and
showed no signs of alarm.

The girl is eight or nine years old, and must have tra-
velled twenty miles through a wilderness, rough and
dreary enough to dishearten and alarm the most robust
and resolute.

She satisfactorily explained the cause of having left the
deer, by stating, that while Jenison was absent, a panther
came and laid hold of it. Notwithstanding the hideous
appearance of this unexpected visitant, she had the cou-
rage and presence of mind to advance and untie the dog
before she took to flight.— Western Enquirer.

NATURAL HISTORY OF THE BASSE.

Tue Basse belongs to the third order of fishes, Thora-
cici; genus, Perca. The generic character is, teeth
sharp, incurvate, numerous; gill covers, tryphyllous,
scaly, serrated; first dorsal fin, spiny; scales hard and
rough.

Perca Fluviabilis Flavus, the ‘‘ Yellow River Basse,”
or, the Yellow Basse of the River, is distinguished by

having about nine spiny rays to the first dorsal fin, and
fifteen soft ones to the second; these fins joined so closely
as to appear like one: colour of the dorsal and pectoral
fins, bright olive, with a blueish east; ventral, a dirty
white; anal and candal, light olive, tipt with red; tail,
forked; body broad and tapering, rather thick, but of fair
proportions, the large fish become thick and “ hog-backed.”’
Head, tolerably large, flattened towards the nose—the un-
der lip longest, and protruded; mouth large; teeth small,
sharp, and numerous; eye large, iris of a greenish yellow;
gill, membranous, three rayed, and spiny. Colour, dark
olive on the back; sides, a greenish yellow; at some sea-
sons of a bright yellow; belly, white, shaded with black
towards the ventral fin. The body is marked by broad,
dark, transverse shades, or bars, which are very apparent
shortly after being taken from the water. Scales, rather
small, of an oval shape towards the outward part. Weight,
generally, from twelve ounces to six pounds; some have
been reported to weigh sixteen pounds; but this is consi-
dered fabulous.

The shape of the common sized Basse, is of the most
beautiful proportions; of a fine oblong form, neither too
thick nor too flat, which gives to it the appearance of
great strength and activity. Their astonishing bounds from
the water when hooked, is well known to all anglers; and
their desperate struggles to escape, requires the utmost
skill of the disciple of «* honest Isaac’? to secure his finny
prey. It cannot be said of the Basse, however, that it is
as active as some of its genus in Asia, where a species of
perch are said to climb trees, and repose in the water col-
lected in the hollow of the palm leaf, where it joins the
trunk of the tree; but it is a fact to be attested by many
an ‘‘ honest angler,”’ that Basse will spring four or five
feet out of water when hooked—and jump over seines
like a flock of sheep over a fence, to the mortification of
the disappointed fisherman.

This fine fish is found in abundance in all the rivers and
lakes west of the Allegheny mountains, and in some of the
eastern waters, though there not so abundant. It is es-
teemed a delicious fish for the table—by some even pre-
ferred to the River Salmon and Pike. As a pan fish, it
is superior to either. In the clear waters that run into the
northern lakes, the Basse is found in immense numbers.
In the Sciota, the Miamies, and the tributaries of the Ohio,
it also abounds, but not so plentiful. The shape and colour
of the Basse varies somewhat with its location. In the
northern streams, where they are generally called the
‘¢ Black Basse,’’ the body is rounder, and the colour
darker than in the Ohio. The colour also varies with
the season, being brighter in autumn than in the spring.
The shape of the smaller sized fish is also of a more oblong

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

or tapering form, than the older or larger fish, which ap-
pear to acquire breadth with age, and assume a “‘ hog-
backed”’ appearance, when they get to be over four pounds
in weight.

The Basse spawns in this latitude about the latter end of
May. The female makes her bed in the sand, under a
bluff bank, or, in preference, under a steep, rocky shore,
where the fall of the water cannot leave it exposed. She
is attended by the male, and both watch with great care
and vigilance until the young fry are able to shift for them-
selves.

No other fish are suffered to approach them at this sea-
son, that they can master; and sometimes, but very sel-
dom, they will take the bait, while watching their spawn,
but not unless it is placed very near to them.

The food of the Basse is principally minnows; but they
feed on worms, crawfish, and many kinds of water insects.
The angler generally uses the live minnow bait, at which
this fish bites eagerly, and affords such sport in landing, as
to be called an ‘‘ exceedingly game fish.”? In the morn-
ing and evening, they come out into the shallow water
around bars, and along the shore, in search of food; but
during the day, they retire to the deep parts of the rivers,
and generally take shelter under roots, logs, or rocks, or
in the holes at the foot of mill-dams. Here they are
sought for by the angler with great success.

This fish is of a social disposition, and generally found
in small parties of six to twelve, sometimes fifty to one
hundred, or more; and in the lakes and northern streams,
in immense numbers.

In autumn they may be seen in shallow water, swim-
ming along in small parties, stopping occasionally as if to
listen, or reconnoitre; and then darting off suddenly with
great rapidity. They are shy fish, and at the least noise
take alarm; but so exceedingly voracious that they imme-
diately return to their prey, darting after it a considerable
distance, and frequently jumping out of the water in pur-
suit; this trait in their character is very favourable to the
angler.

The Basse is of rather slow growth, and by some thought
to attain a great age.

In the Ohio and its tributaries, there is a fish called the
‘¢Rock Basse;’’ broad and flat, somewhat resembling the
White Perch in shape, but of a brilliant yellow, shaded
with green.

There is also the Bank-Lick Basse, peculiar to a small
stream opposite Cincinnati, that I have never noticed else-
where. A small fish, weighing from one quarter to one
and a half pounds, of a pale greenish olive—shaped like
the White Perch—mouth remarkably thin and tender.

139

These, with other fishes that inhabit the western waters,
I may have occasion to notice hereafter.
PIscaTor.
Cincinnati, August, 1832.

THE PERILOUS SHOT.
BY C. W. THOMSON.

Tue following ballad is founded on an incident which
is said to have occurred, some years ago, at the Cape of
Good Hope.

The hunter went forth at break of day,
And he left his babes behind ;

He turned to look where his cottage lay
On the hill’s green breast defined ;

And thoughts, like the mist of the morning gray,
Came thronging across his mind.

The past and the future were mingled there,
With a crowd of hopes and fears,

And he breathed a soft but fervent prayer,
While his eyes were filled with tears,

That God would their innocent beauty spare
Through the lapse of coming years.

But most of all that his guardian arm
Would bless them through the day—
And keep them from the grasp of harm,
"While he was far away—
Nor let one feeling of alarm
Upon their bosoms prey.

The hunter let his bright glance run
O’er the land where his cottage stood,—

The hunter turned to the glorious sun,
And he felt that God was good ;

Then over his shoulder he threw his gun,
And he hied away to the wood.

*T were vain to tell how the roe-buck fell
Before the hunter’s aim—

*T' were vain to recount from meadow to mount,
How he tracked the wild and tame;

But the sun when low, saw a gallant show
Of the forest’s choicest game.

*T was a long day’s hunt, and the hills were gray
When he reached his lowly cot:

It stood ’mid nature’s wild array,
Though luxury owned it not.

But peace, like a mantle around it lay,
And he blessed his humble lot.

140 THE CABINET

The sun had gone down, and the earth was still,
And the lake was as clear as the sky,

And a single star above the hill,
Looked down with its beaming eye;

And no sound was heard but the voice of the rill
That went in laughter by.

The hunter blessed his humble lot,
As he stood by his cottage-door,

And glad was he to reach the spot,
And rest in his home once more ;

For his cares and his toils were all forgot
’Mid the mirth of his children’s roar.

He entered his hut; but each mouth was shut,
Whence mirth was wont to flow;

For a sight was there that made him stare
With a terror that few can know;

A lion of India’s fiercest breed
On his threshold was crouching low!

His wife was sitting in silent dread,
With a sad, desponding air ;

While hid in her lap, each little head
Sought hope and safety there—

The eldest boy, with fear half dead
Stood close by his mother’s chair.

*T was not a time for long delay ;
The hunter stole aside

To the back of his hut, where the lingering day
Crept in thro’ a casement wide—

And he charged his gun for a deadly play,
And asked heaven his aim to guide.

The beast arose !—his heart’s blood froze,
But despair did his purpose meet ;

He sent the ball thro’ his cottage hall,
On its errand stern and fleet-—

It grazed the hair of his youthful heir,
As he stood by his mother’s seat—

Then came a moan ’twixt a howl and a groan,
And the lion lay dead at her feet.

INSTRUCTIONS TO YOUNG SPORTSMEN.
No. IV.

Tue most interesting and important part of your ex-
cursion is now open to you. Having sprung the first
covey of Partridges, and perhaps marked them to a favour-
able cover, and well scattered,—now is the time for you
to deliberate,—and if ever you are to receive benefit by a
favourable opportunity, this is the time also to embrace it.

OF NATURAL HISTORY,

There is nothing to hurry you,—and you may exercise as
much coolness as you choose, and suppress every rising
emotion which tends to disconcert the mind. At this pe-
riod, to most learners, the nerves are much affected, and
the agitation, at the sudden flight and whirring sound of
the flying game, is considerable,—eagerness, anxiety, and
timidity, all take their part; and between these, and the
judgment and philosophy of the young Sportsman, a con-
flict rages, which can only be favourably terminated by
proper deliberation. Now, should this be your experience,
permit me to say, that you are unprepared to encounter
the game with any degree of success; and you had better
take the accoutrements from your shoulders, and sit in the
shade, and calm your feelings for half an hour at least; and ~
if within your reach, take a draught of cold water. Do
not fear the game will escape,—it will assuredly do so if
you attempt to spring it,—butif it is in good cover, it will
await your approach more than double the time sufficient
to calm yourself. When, therefore, prepared to pursue
your way, and your dogs come on the scattered birds,—
act towards them as on previous cases, and walk direct to
the game and flush it,—and so soon as you have fired,
bring your dogs in to you as usual, and without removing
from the spot, reload your gun. Whether you have killed,
wounded, or missed the bird,—still do not leave the spot,
as but a few steps more may alarm another bird, and this
a third, and so on until, one by one, the remainder may
rise, as is frequently the case, especially if better cover
for them be near, until every bird escapes you.

This more particularly occurs, if on winging a bird
you attempt to recover it. A wounded bird will always
seek the company of its fellows, and if you or your dog
chases it, there are nine chances out of ten that you will
encounter the remnant of the flock, and thus for the sake
of securing one bird, you will lose perhaps six or eight fine
shots;—besides, I have seen persons so excited by shooting
down and only winging a Partridge, as to drop their guns
and give chase, and several minutes have elapsed before
recovering it, after the most violent exertion, through
bushes, thickets, and over fences, and many times all this
labour has been fruitless, thus losing the bird, alarming
the others, and rendering themselves unfit to pursue
their excursion successfully for some time. A person
thus situated is not fit to hunt for at least one hour.
He has unnerved and heated himself, and done more in-
jury to his dog, than a whole week of cautious hunting
will repair. Should you wing your bird, you have a bet-
ter chance of finding it, by letting your dog hunt it lei-
surely after you are ready again, as the bird will run its
course, and leave a strong scent in the grass, and should
you be training a young dog, this will be the most desira-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

able opportunity to prove the quality of his nose, as well
as derive a mostuseful lesson. Many persons train young
dogs with birds loosed from the hands, which at best is
buta poor plan, as the prisoner bird retains the scent of the
hand, and makes it more easily found—and a young dog
would stop at the scent of his master, when he would not
at that of the bird—but in the former case, the wiles and
dexterity of the wounded bird will certainly put the quali-
ties of your dog to the test, and should he find and point
this bird in a handsome style, it will be worth a dozen
birds found and hunted in the usual manner.

The most favourable places to get your game scattered,
are high grass and low bushes—and to be successful even
here, you must exercise your best judgment in regard to
the government of yourself and dogs—and this too with-
out noise, as much of your sport will depend on silence;
being careful in these respects, you will stand a good
chance of getting the larger portion of the flock. In
December, 1828, I recollect flushing a covey of partridges
on high ground, which was covered with rye stubble, and,
as is commonly the case, the flock divided into two parties,
one division containing seven, and the other thirteen or
fourteen birds; the former sought refuge in a low spot of
ground covered with Indian grass, and low alder bushes,
while the latter portion of the flock made a long flight to
a tall wood, and by their course formed a right angle. It
was late in the afternoon, and I felt convinced that the
first party, owing to the good cover they were in, would
remain motionless until the time approached for them to
call together, to feed and roost. I therefore sought the
more distant party first, and found them well scattered
among the leaves on a hill side, out of which I got nine.
I then proceeded to the small division, and by observing
much caution and quietness, I shot the whole, making to-
gether sixteen out of a covey of not more than twenty-
one birds.

I have known other sportsmen to meet with like suc-
cess; and it is only mentioned here to show that you must
exercise good judgment, and when you are thus situated,
you had better always leave that portion or covey which
are well covered, and proceed after those which are the
most distant, especially if you are ignorant of the nature
of the ground they have flown to. Not only young, but
also experienced sportsmen, are anxious to secure the
nearest birds, and cannot withstand the temptation of birds
being within their almost certain grasp, and pass on toa
more distant part of the same covey—but experience often
proves, that in stopping to shoot at near birds, the others
have completely eseaped—for it is reasonable to suppose,
that the part of a covey which flies to a distant spot, is
gone to a strange neighbourhood, and this being the case,

Nw

141

they feel insecure, and will only remain but a short time
till their first fears are allayed, and hearing no one ap-
proach, will congregate, and move off with great rapidity.

There is scarcely a bird so tenacious of its hiding
place as the partridge when alarmed, which will remain un-
moved until the very fibres of the grass on which it rests
are disturbed; and most sportsmen know how frequently
these birds have been brushed out of the leaves from im-
mediately under the dog’s nose:—therefore leave no bush,
tussock, briar, or likely spot untried, in the region where
you have birds scattered—and after having tried once, do
not be discouraged at trying again, until you can flush no
more birds. There is a circumstance attending the par-
tridge which puzzles philosophy, and often discomfits
the keenest sportsman, and his wily and sagacious dog;
and this is the fact, that at one time you may pass by, and
indeed within a few inches of a hidden bird, and the best
dog in the world will not discover it—and perhaps within
half an hour in repassing this spot your dog may discover
and point the bird before he approaches within twenty
feet. I have often pondered on this fact, but never could
deduce reasons sufficiently good to insert here, or that
would prove satisfactory—but of this, every experienced
sportsman is aware, and he also knows, that he has en-
countered birds in an hour or two after he has flushed them,
that completely baffled his pursuit at that time. It is an
old saying, ‘‘that a bird in the hand is worth two in the
bush??—and it is equally as true that a bird which you
know to be in the bush is worth two yet to be hunted,
and you should never leave a spot where you have scat-
tered birds, until success no longer attends your pursuit.
Show me a man who is traversing field after field in search
of fresh coveys, and leaving the scattered birds behind,
and I will tell you that he is no sportsman. The most
important thing to a good shot, is to get the birds well
scattered in ground favourable to shooting, and here pick
them up one by one; nor does he leave the spot until he
has flushed nearly, if not quite every bird—this is what
may be styled clean hunting, and such an one will bag
twofold more than him who is so slovenly in his hunting
as only to flush a covey, kill his bird or two, and then
seek others. The pleasure of a sportsman arises chiefly
from the sagacity and faithfulness of his dog in hunting
the scattered birds, for here depends his chief success,
He also saves himself and dogs much unnecessary labour.

While beating ground for scattered birds, proceed at a
very slow gait, and frequently pause, for this interruption
to motion will sometimes cause a bird to spring, which
otherwise would remain quiet until you passed by. Never
strike a bush or cover with your gun, for I have known
the wadding started from the shot, by a sudden blow, and

142 THE CABINET OF

sometimes the gun discharged—avoid every thing likely
to produce accident.

On entering tall cover with a companion, you cannot
be too cautious of shooting each other; many a gentleman
has to lament the loss of an eye, or some other injury, by
the carelessness and indiscretion of his friend. If your
companion is of an impetuous and heedless disposition, the
sooner you drop his company the better, for you are cer-
tainly in danger from him, and in shooting in high co-
ver, you have as many chances of being shot, as the
bird, and this feeling so occupies your mind, that it unfits
you to shoot. It is certainly advisable to hunt in compa-
ny; but only choose one friend, and endeavour to modify
your actions alike, especially the rate of walking, and then,
when you are obscured from each other by thickets, there
is less probability of one getting ahead of the other, and
thus unconsciously rush into danger. When thus situated,
and game before you, it is highly important to know each
other’s distance and direction—a low whistle, or a cough,
will be heard sufficiently distant for this purpose, and it
should be immediately responded to by your companion.
Do not call violently to your dogs, nor talk, as in all pro-
bability there may be Pheasants near you, and a very
trifling noise will make them take flight.

When a bird springs in cover of this kind, you will at
first, no doubt, experience much difficulty in killing it,
owing to the many objects which interpose between your
sight and the game; but if you have founded your shoot-
ing on my early instructions of sighting, viz. ‘‘to fix
your eyes intensely on the object to be shot at,” these
various objects will not affect you, and so long as an open-
ing between the shrubbery presents itself through which
you can see the game, and this having monopolized your
attention, that you will find no more difficulty in killing
your bird here, than in open ground, if your trigger obeys
its impulse. Let me advise you particularly in this case,
not to shoot too soon; this you may be induced to do in
consequence of the apparent great distance of the bird
from you, but this delusion is only occasioned by the
multitude of things which, being between you and the
game, have the tendency of throwing it in the distance,
and should you have thrown one charge unsuccessfully at
the bird, do not hesitate to try the second, and you will
find the result will be more fayourable—let the object be
fairly on the wing, for the longer the angle of aim, the
easier it will be to cover the bird.

It is a difficult thing to follow our game successfully in
thickets or other woodland—the great velocity of the birds
and density of the shrubbery make it perhaps as meritori-
ous in destroying much game as any feats connected with
the sporting world; this is placing art and science against

NATURAL HISTORY,

nature, and nature, too, in the wildest and most rugged
sense. There are perhaps no game birds on earth which
fly with the same amazing rapidity as Partridges, Phea-
sants, and Grouse, when matured, and yet I have seen
sportsmen who shot so well that two out of three of all
the shots they made in ground covered with trees and
underbrush, were about a fair proportion of what they
killed. This under any circumstances is not bad shoot-
ing, but in cases like the above, it is superlatively good.
It is not often however you can find a man competent to
this task, and many gentlemen who have earned great
reputation as first rate shots, on the shooting manors of
Europe, have cut but odd figures in our forests, after
American game.

IT advise no young sportsman to relinquish a piece of
ground from the prospective difficulties he has to encoun-
ter on it—if you enter the sporting world, you must
take it rough, as well as even, and if success does not at-
tend a single shot which you make in ground of the above
cast, never mind, load and fire away, until you have shot
all difficulty from before you. Conquer the rough places,
and all others will be easy enough, and if after you have
been practising in difficult places from time to time, you
should now and then kill a bird, you will find the aecom-
plishment of the same object in open ground not half so
hard as at first. Before you return to your home, or even
to the tavern, or carriage, discharge your gun of its con-
tents. Let the many melancholy accidents so often oc-
curring, be sufficient warning that no loaded gun should
ever appear, except in the field;—you know not the con-
sequences of your carelessness, after your gun may pass
from under your notice; and the most certain method of
feeling comfortable yourself, and preventing injury to
others, is to shoot off your gun. Do not attempt to draw
the load for the sake of saving the shot; the risk is ten
thousand times greater than the value of the article you
would secure. Many aman has sacrificed his future comfort
at the shrine of avarice. i

RAIL SHOOTING.

OF all the seasons for shooting, none are hailed with a
more hearty welcome by the gunners of the city and
county of Philadelphia, than that for shooting Rail. About
the first of September this campaign opens, and although
these birds are but little else than skin and bones, yet such
is the impatience of some shooters, that the war of exter-
mination is carried on without intermission from that period
until their final departure from our rivers. They are not
found in great numbers, however, until toward the latter

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

end of September, at which time they may for the first
be accounted fit for the table. From the 20th of Septem-
ber to the 10th of October is the season of the greatest
plenitude and fatness, and is therefore considered the pro-
per period for shooting, and the havoc made during the
lapse of these few weeks amongst these feathered visitants,
is astounding and almost incredible.

To those who are unacquainted with the bird, (as is the
ease almost wholly to the north,) the quantity killed during
the shooting season, would seem entirely fabulous; but
those who are accustomed to shooting them, will rate
the quantity enumerated below as moderate. The writer
had the curiosity, a few years since, to take the aggregate
of some shooters on several successive days at one of the
favourite places of resort near the city; and as these days
were considered at the time a fair average for the season,
it was computed that not less than 24,000 Rail were
slaughtered in twenty days, by the gunners which came
to this place. Although this is considered the most pub-
lic place of resort at this season, still there are several
others, to which numbers of persons concentrate, and
should I say that one hundred thousand Rail are killed
and brought to Philadelphia during the short lapse of one
month, it would be within bounds.

This sport is followed, not altogether for the value of
the birds, but the amusement it affords, and the little la-
bour required on the part of the shooter. The Rail shoot-
er enjoys a satisfaction peculiar to this sport, which is not
likened to shooting of any other description—it is unattend-
ed with fatigue, and was it not for the heat of the sun to
which you sometimes become exposed, it would be for the
time it lasts, one of the most agreeable pastimes known.
The shooter mounts his buggy, drives a few miles, enters
his boat, and is rowed gently along the margin of the reeds
until the tide is sufficiently high to bear the batteau over
the flats, when he stations himself in the forepart of the
boat, and shoots as the disturbed Rail rises to eseape—he
has no other work than to load his gun, and discharge it
again at the flying birds, and it is not even necessary for
him to mark where they have fallen, or attempt to pick
them up. All of this requires so little labour and exposure
to dirt, that a change of clothing is scarcely necessary;
and, indeed, the suit usually worn by experienced shoot-
ers, is spotless white. It is not so, however, with the men
who push you over the flats; on them all the fatigue rests;
and it is work of the hardest kind, but the compensation
is equivalent for all the labour, during so short a period,
and these men enter into the spirit of the work with the
utmost cheerfulness, and are exceedingly ambitious to ex-
cel their competitors, not only in speed, but in the number
of birds slain—it is therefore all important to their interests

143

to serve those shooters who can kill nearly every bird
which is shot at, as well as be expert in loading. The
labour of the pusher consists chiefly in directing the boat
through the reedsby means of along pole. With this instru-
ment, (which is usually about twelve to fifteen feet in
length) he stations himself in the hinder part of the boat,
and applying the pole to the mud, he drives along at a
steady, sometimes a rapid rate; his duty is to push through
the thickest reeds, and keep constantly in motion, and
whenever a bird rises, to give the signal to the shooter,
by saying ‘‘ mark,” and when the bird falls, to mark the
spot and push up in order to recover the shot bird; and
it is really astonishing with how much precision this is
done, which to an inexperienced eye would be lost, and
perhaps not one-half the birds recovered, when some of
the best pushers collect on an average ninety-five out of
every hundred birds killed. The merit of the pushers
consists chiefly in the three following items, viz. judgment
as to the ground, strength and nerve to keep the boat in
motion, and success in recovering the shot birds—accord-
ing as a man possesses these, so is he esteemed, and a good
pusher has engagements nearly always a week or ten days
in advance.

It is a difficult matter for an inferior shot to secure the
services of a first rate pusher; they hate to labour in vain,
although paid as much by a bad asa good shot; yet, as they
say, ‘‘their duty is hard, and to be pushing hour after
hour after live birds is dull work,”’ they work hard, and
are anxious to show something for their labours, and avoid
that teasing and low criticism directed against them by
their more fortunate fellow pushers, whenever they return
unsuccessful.

There is no spot in this country where this amusement
is followed to so great extent as on the Delaware river,
and it is really an interesting sight, while passing up and
down the river in steam boats, to let the eye wander over
the almost endless flats of reeds, which line both sides of
this river, and see multitudes of boats as far as vision can
avail, each armed and braving the density of the reeds,
like a miniature fleet, ready for action, while the sharp
cracking of the more neighbouring guns are constantly as-
sailing the ear, and then those more distant, scarcely audi-
ble, until again sound can no longer be heard, and the
small volume of smoke, like the puff of a segar, tells the
work of destruction is going on.

So rapid is the firing necessary, during the short inter-
val allotted to this purpose, that the gun oftentimes be-
comes so heated, as not only to render it insupportable to
the hand, but dangerous; and it is quite a common occur-
rence for a shooter to kill, in a couple of hours, as many
as an hundred to an hundred and fifty birds, and some-

144

times a score beyond that number, and these too, shot
singly and on the wing.

These birds are sometimes in such numbers, especially
when a high tide uncovers them, that you may see some
running rapidly before the boat, others looking at you and
wagging their tails, and frequently within a few feet of
the boat, while the more timid are endeavouring to escape
by their awkward and ludicrous flight.

The feat of shooting Rail on the wing may be performed
by the most inexperienced shot who can sight a gun at all,
and the opportunities of exercising the skill of these tyros
are embraced with much eagerness, as the fact of seeing a
bird fall before the shot of such, excites them to much
perseverance, and gives them occasion to boast of their
abilities for the balance of the year. The flight of the Rail
is so regular and slow, that a good shot may kill fifty birds
without scarcely or ever missing a shot—this has often
been done.

There is no kind of shooting which draws in its train
such a variety of gunners as this sport. At the great
places of resort, may be seen characters of all kinds; from
the most motley group of horrid looking ragamuffins that
would disgrace even a work-house tread-mill, to gentle-
men of wealth and fashion, carried thither in their most
splendid equipages—the former, who, unable to incur the
expense of boats, wander along the shores and wade waist
deep in mud and water, to secure a few birds, whose value
would not be equal to one-fourth of what a day’s industry
would obtain at honourable employment—but idleness and
intemperance must have their votaries, and no occasion
offers better inducement to such than the season of Rail
shooting.

The preparations made by Rail shooters differ much;—
the experienced have their charges made into cartridges,
so as to afford facility in loading, as on this greatly depends
suecess as to numbers; while others have their materials in
an open box, in front of them, at the bow of the boat. Some
are supplied with a requisite quantity of powder, and not
over eight or ten pounds of shot; and again, others fearful
of falling short, will not take less than a whole bag (25 lbs. )
for one tide; the former is generally successful in obtaining
a large quantity of birds, while the latter not unfrequently
have to put up with less than a dozen.

It is always necessary to take a cold collation in the
boat, as appetite is much awakened by the strengthening
breezes on the water, and the exercise occasioned by shoot-
ing; of this the pusher always shares, and unless there
should also be signs of something stimulating in the cha-
rvacter of brandy, you are not very favourably regarded by
these pushers on other occasions.

There is not perhaps in all the feathered tribe, an indi-

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

vidual so difficult to arouse from its cover as the Rail; no
noise, labour, or violence, will make this bird take wing,
when a sufficiency of covering enables it to employ its
wiles in eluding pursuit—and even when driven by the
approach of a boat, on the rise of the tide from one spot
by flight to another, you stand a better chance of starting
a dozen fresh birds than this one again—and when shot,
unless immediately killed, or its energies destroyed so as
to prevent it from diving, it is seldom worth your while
to seek it, as the time spent in fruitless search would per-
haps be sufficient to get half a score of other birds. Owing
to the difficult manner in which this bird takes wing, its
short and laborious flight, the power of diving and remain-
ing under water for a long time, and at times its very sud-
den disappearance from our shores, many persons erro-
neously suppose that they remain with us the whole win-
ter, and as they cannot find their hiding places, take it for
granted they lie buried in the mud. The absurdity of this
opinion I shall not attempt to show, but will refer the
reader to the history of the Rail, page 206, Vol. I. of the
‘Cabinet of Natural History,”? where the folly of this
doctrine is fully treated, and a more particular account given
of this singular bird.

Rail shooting is condemned by many, as unworthy of the
notice or skill of sportsmen, as not ranking among game, or
requiring science to shoot them; but, as it occurs only
during that season when game cannot be shot, without
violating the law and rules of sporting, it is sought by
many who are good sportsmen, as a prelude to the shoot-
ing season, and to satisfy in a measure an appetite, which
a long interval of idleness creates; it is a fascinating amuse-
ment, and he who goes once, if at all successful, will
scarcely be able to refrain from going a second or third
time. Nos. 9 and 10 shot should be used for shooting
these birds, which, on trial, will be found not only suf-
ficiently large to kill the bird at a clever distance, but not
to do injury when necessity compels the shooter to kill
his bird close at hand, as is too often the case.

The Rail shooter is often rewarded with better kind of
game. Ducks, teal, plover, and frequently snipe are met
with and killed, and it is no uncommon circumstance for
some individuals to carry duck guns, by which means a few
of these birds are added to the list.

Rail sell well in market, although such numbers are
killed, as most families desire a taste of this popular bird,
and was it not for their thick skins, and the intolerable dif-
ficulty of divesting them of feathers, they would be re-
garded as equal to any bird of game. These circumstances
make many good housewives flinch from the task of pre-
paring them for the table; and when any thing grows un-
popular with the ladies, it is ‘* nullified’? atonee. _D,

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“OT AWUS

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

GRAY FOX.
CANIS CINEREO-ARGENTATUS.
[Plate XIII. Vol. 2.]

Renard Gris: Briss. quad. p. 41.—A@gourachay: AZARA,
quad due Paraguay, i. p. 317. Canis Cenereo ar-
gentatus. Gitet. Sasinz, Zool. app. p. 657. Gov-
MAN, vol. 1. p. 280.—Fulvous-necked Fox. SHaw,
Zool. Miscel. :

Tuer Gray Fox is an inhabitant of all parts of the

United States, from Louisiana to Canada, and as far west
asthe Rocky Mountains—its chief abode, however, is about
human habitations, where it is more destructive than the other
species. They are more numcrous in the Southern States,
more particularly Virginia, and form the chief source of
amusement to the sportsmen of that state.

The Gray differs from the Red Fox in many particulars,
although some writers make it only a variety of the latter,
and indeed confound the whole race together, attributing
the difference only to changes of climate and circum-
stances. The Gray Fox is different in colour and in many of
its habits, and possesses more cunning and less disposition
to wander than the Red Fox. The latter is more active and
savage in its disposition, and although exceedingly car-
nivorous, is not so destructive to domestic animals as the
Gray Fox, and emits an odour extremely offensive, which
does not belong to the latter.

The Fox appears to be spread over the whole earth, and
is known by most of the inhabitants of every country,
and in every country differs in colour, varying as Gray,
Brown, Red, Blue, Black, Silver, and in the severe climes
of the arctic regions, purely white. He is one of those ani-
mals of which we have the earliest notice in sacred
writ; his cunning is proverbial, and his wiles have earned
for him a reputation, which would imply more than mere
instinct. A writer remarks, that ‘‘in Japan, where the
Fox is very common, the natives believe him to be ani-
mated with the devil; and their histories and sacred
writings are filled with strange accounts respecting him.”’
It is not, however, necessary to have recourse to heathen-
ish traditions respecting the artfulness of this common
enemy; we have him at our very doors, and his frequent
depredations are convincing enough, that he possesses
more than ordinary share of sagacity and mischief. He
indeed appears to dwell in enmity with all animals, and
unhesitatingly makes war against them, who, in return,
hold him as an outlaw, and show no mercy where mercy
is not to be found. Man pursues him with untiring per-

Oo

145

severance unto death; the dog, his most formidable foe,
hunts him with savage acrimony, and yelling without in-
termission, the death-notes of revenge. The wolf is as
destructive, buta more necessitousenemy thanthedog. The
eagle, the crow, the jay,and many smaller birds, attend him
as their mortal enemy, with signals of hatred and revenge.
He appears to be an isolated being, and did he not pos-
sess that energy and cunning which nature has so bounti-
fully given him, his race would have long since been anni-
hilated.

The Fox is not only very voracious, but also most
unmerciful in his destructive habits, and there is scarcely
a living creature that he encounters, and isable to master,
but he will destroy. No domestic fowl can escape his
pursuit; young rabbits are his chief delight; he will draw
the old ones from their seats, and pheasants and par-
tridges from their nests, and devour them; geese, ducks,
and all species of winged game, fall beneath his voracity;
and when such food fails him, he will destroy rats, mice,
snakes, frogs, lizzards, and insects: he is an expert fisher,
and where these abound, he never fails to get a plen-—
tiful supply of food.

Of all animals, none seem so well adapted for the sport-
ing world as the Fox, and, as the subject of our present
notice possesses a larger share of cunning than the other
species, he seems to be pursued by hunters in preference.
The very craftiness of his nature fits him well for the
ingenious and persecuting spirit of man.

The Fox prepares a den or burrow under ground, mostly
beside a bank, or hill, to which he retreats in case of dan-
ger or necessity, but is very fond of reposing above
ground, and basking in the sun. It is said they continue
to grow for eighteen months, and will live in freedom
fourteen or fifteen years, but pine away and die in a much
shorter period if in a state of confinement. The follow-
ing description of the Gray Fox, is from Godman’s Natu-
ral History. ‘‘The length of the head and body is about
twenty-four, and of the tail fifteen inches. The general
colour of the animal is grizzly, becoming gradually darker
from the fore shoulders, to the posterior parts of the
back, produced by the intermixture of fulvous hairs
with those constituting the mass of the pelage, which
are thus coloured; near the body the hair is rather plum-
beous, then yellowish, then white, and then uniformly
tipped with lustrous black. The front, from the top of
the head to the edge of the orbits is gray, while the rest
of the face, from the internal angle of the eye to within
half an inch of the extremity of the snout, is blackish; at
the extremity on each side of the granalated black tip
of the nose it isof a yellowish white. A fine line of black
tipped hairs extendsupwardsand outwards, from halfan inch

146

below the internal angle of the eyes, until it is intersected
by a similar black line about half an inch beyond the ex-
ternal angle of the eye, thus forming a very acute trian-
gle, whose basis is on the side of the face. This blackish
gray triangle, joined tothe peculiar sharpness of the face,
and the line produced by the black whiskers on the sides
of the nose, singularly increase the appearance of slyness
and cunning expressed in the physiognomy of this animal.
The face below this triangle is white, and the latter colour
is continued semicircularly upon the upper part of the
throat. The under jaw is blackish, this colour extending
along the line of the mouth, and passing about half an
inch beyond the junction of the lips at the angle. The
inner surface of the ears is clothed with short light yellow-
ish hair; their lips on the outside are blackish gray. And
the whole of their posterior surface is yellow, which colour
descends, encircling the neck, and is the only colour on
the anterior parts with the exception of a white spot on the
breast. The inferior parts of the body are white, tinted
slightly in some individuals with faint reddish brown. The
tail is thick and bushy, and the fur on the upper side is
pale yellow, slightly tipped with black; the under part is
rust coloured; and the end entirely black.”

DISPERSION OF SEEDS OVER THE EARTH.

Tue principal of the inanimate agents, provided by na-
ture for scattering the seeds of plants over the globe, are
the movements of the atmosphere and of the ocean, and the
constant flow of water from the mountains to the sea. To
begin with the winds: a greatnumber of seeds are furnished
with downy and feathery appendages, enabling them,
when ripe, to float in the air, and to be wafted easily to
great distances by the most gentle breeze. Other plants
are fitted for dispersion by means of an attached wing, as
in the case of the fir-tree, so that they are caught up by
the wind as they fall from the cone, and are earried to a
distance. Amongst the comparatively small number of
plants known to Linnzus, no less than one hundred and
thirty-eight genera are enumerated as having winged
seeds.

As winds often prevail for days, weeks, or even months
together, in the same direction, these means of transporta-
tion may sometimes be without limits; and even the
heavier grains may be borne through considerable spaces,
in a very short time, during ordinary tempests; for strong
gales, which can sweep along grains of sand, often move
at the rate of about forty miles an hour, and if the storm

be very violent, at the rate of fifty-six miles. The hurri-

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

canes of tropical regions, which root up trees and throw
down buildings, sweep along at the rate of ninety miles an
hour, so that, for however short a time they prevail, they
may carry even the heavier fruits and seeds over friths
and seas of considerable width, and, doubtless, are often
the means of introducing into islands the vegetation of ad-
jeining continents. Whirlwinds are also instrumental in
bearing along heavy vegetable substances to considerable
distances. Slight ones may frequently bé observed in our
fields, in summer, carrying up haycocks into the air, and
then letting fall small tufts of hay far and wide over the
country; but they are sometimes so powerful as to dry up
lakes and ponds, and to break off the boughs of trees, and
carry them up in a whirling column of air.

Franklin tells us, in one of his letters, that he saw, in
Maryland, a whirlwind which began by taking up the
dust which lay in the road, in the form of a sugar-loaf with
the pointed end downwards, and soon after grew to the
height of forty or fifty feet, being twenty or thirty in
diameter. It advanced in a direction contrary to the wind,
and although the rotatory motion of the column was sur-
prisingly rapid, its onward progress was sufficiently slow
to allow a man to keep pace with it on foot. Franklin
followed it on horseback, accompanied by his son, for
three-quarters of a mile, and saw it enter a wood, where
it twisted and turned round large trees with surprising
force. These were carried up in a spiral line, and were
seen flying in the air, together with boughs and innume-
rable leaves, which, from their height, appeared reduced
to the apparent size of flies. As this cause operates at
different intervals of time throughout a great portion of
the earth’s surface, it may be the means of bearing not
only plants but insects, land-testacea and their eggs, with
many other species of animals, to points which they
could never otherwise have reached, and from which they
may then begin to propagate themselves again as from a
new centre.

The seeds of some aquatic fresh-water plants are of the
form of shells, or small canoes, and on this account they
swim on the surface, and are carried along by the wind
and stream. Others are furnished with fibres, which serve
the purpose of masts and sails, so that they are impelled
along by the winds, even where there is no current. They
cannot take root until the water stagnates, or till they
reach some sheltered corner, where they may live without
being exposed to too much agitation from winds and cur-
rents. The above-mentioned contrivances may enable
aquatic plants to diffuse themselves gradually to conside-
rable distances wherever there is a great chain of lakes,
or a river which traverses a large continent. It has been
found that a great numerical proportion of the exceptions

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

to the limitation of species to certain quarters of the globe,
occur in the various tribes of cryptogamic plants. Lin-
nus observed, that as the germs of plants of this class,
such as mosses, fungi, and lichens, consist of an impalpa-
ble powder, the particles of which are scarcely visible to
the naked eye, there is no difficulty to account for their
being dispersed throughout the atmosphere, and carried
to every point of the globe, where there is a station fitted
for them. Lichens in particular ascend to great eleva-
tions, sometimes growing two thousand feet above the
line of perpetual snow, at the utmost limits of vegetation,
and where the mean temperature is nearly at the freezing
point. This elevated position must contribute greatly to
facilitate the dispersion of those buoyant particles of which
their fructification consists.

Some have inferred, from the springing up of mush-
rooms whenever particular soils and decomposed organic
matter are mixed together, that the production of fungi is
accidental, and not analogous to that of perfect plants.
But Fries, whose authority on these questions is entitled
to the highest respect, has shown the fallacy of this argu-
ment in favour of the old doctrine of equivocal genera-
tion. ‘¢ The sporules of fungi,”’ says this naturalist, ‘‘ are
so infinite, that in a single individual of Reticularia maxi-
ma, I have counted above ten millions, and so subtile as
to be scarcely visible, often resembling thin smoke; so
light that they may be raised perhaps by evaporation into
the atmosphere, and dispersed in so many ways by the
attraction of the sun, by insects, wind, elasticity, adhe-
sion, &c., that it is difficult to conceive a place from which
they may be excluded.”’

In turning our attention, in the next place, to the in-
strumentality of the aqueous agents of dispersion, we can-
not do better than cite the words of one of our ablest bo-
tanical writers. “The mountain-stream or torrent,”’ ob-
serves Keith, ‘washes down to the valley the seeds
which may accidentally fall into it, or which it may hap-
pen to sweep from its banks when it suddenly overflows
them. The broad and majestic river, winding along the
extensive plain, and traversing the continents of the world,
conveys to the distance of many hundreds of miles the
seeds that may have vegetated at its source. Thus the
southern shores of the Baltic are visited by seeds which
grew in the interior of Germany; and the western shores
of the Atlantic by seeds that have been generated in the
interior of America.”? Fruits, moreover, indigenous to
America and the West-Indies, such as that of the Mimosa
scandens, the cashew-nut, and others, have been known
to be drifted across the Atlantic by the Gulf-stream, on
the western coasts of Europe, in such a state that they might
have vegetated had the climate and soil been favourable.

147

Among these the Guilandina Bonduc, a leguminous plant,
is particularly mentioned, as having been raised from a
seed found on the west coast of Ireland. Sir Hans Sloane
informs us that the lenticula marina, or sargasso, a bean

which is frequently cast ashore on the Orkney isles, and
coast of Ireland, grows on the rocks about Jamaica, where

the surface of the sea is sometimes strewed with it, and
from whence it is known to be carried by the winds and
currents towards the coast of Florida.

The absence of liquid matter in the composition of seeds
renders them comparatively insensible to heat and cold,
so that they may be carried, without detriment, through
climates where the plants themselves would instantly
perish. Such is their power of resisting the effects of heat,
that Spallanzani mentions some seeds that germinated
after having been boiled in water. When, therefore, a
strong gale, after blowing violently off the land for a time,
dies away, and the seeds alight upon the surface of the
waters, or wherever the ocean, by eating away the sea-
cliffs, throws down into its waves plants which would
never otherwise approach the shores, the tides and cur-
rents become active instruments in assisting the dissemina-
tion of almost all classes of the vegetable kingdom.

In a collection of six hundred plants from the neigh-
bourhood of the river Zaire, in Africa, Mr. Brown found
that thirteen species were also met with on the opposite
shores of Guiana and Brazil. He remarked, that most of
these plants were only found on the lower parts of the
river Zaire, and were chiefly such as produced seeds capa-
ble of retaining their vitality a long time in the currents
of the ocean.

Islands, moreover, and even the smallest rocks, play
an important part in aiding such migrations, for when
seeds alight upon them from the atmosphere, or are thrown
up by the surf, they often vegetate and supply the winds
and waves with a repetition of new and uninjured crops
of fruits and seeds, which may afterwards pursue their
course through the atmosphere, or along the surface of
the sea, in the same direction. The number of plants
found at any given time on an islet affords no test what-
ever of the extent to which it may have co-operated to-
wards this end, since a variety of species may first thrive
there and then perish, and be followed by other chance-
comers like themselves.

Currents and winds, in the arctic regions, drift along
icebergs covered with an alluvial soil on which herbs and
pine saplings are seen growing, which often continue to
vegetate on some distant shore where the ice-island is
stranded.

With respect to marine vegetation, the seeds being in
their native element, may remain immersed in water

148

without injury for indefinite periods, so that there is no
difficulty in conceiving the diffusion of species wherever
uncongenial climates, contrary currents, and other causes,
do not interfere. All are familiar with the sight of the
floating sea-weed

‘“‘ Flung from the rock on ocean’s foam to sail,
Where’er the surge may sweep, the tempest’s breath prevail.”

Remarkable accumulations of drift weed occur on each
side of the equator in the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian
Oceans. Columbus and other navigators who first en-
countered these banks of alge in the Northern Atlantic,
compared them to vast inundated meadows, and state that
they retarded the progress of their vessels. The most
extensive bank is a little west of the meridian of Fayal,
one of the Azores, between latitude 25° and 36°; violent
north winds sometimes prevail in this space, and drive
the sea-weed to low latitudes, as far as the 24th or even
the 20th degree.

The hollow pod-like receptacles in which the seeds of.
many algz are lodged, and the filaments attached to the
seed-vessels of others, seem intended to give buoyancy,
and we may observe that these hydrophytes are in gene-
ral proliferous, so that the smallest fragment of a branch
ean be developed into a perfect plant. The seeds, more-
over, of the greater number of species are enveloped witha
mucous matter like that which surrounds the eggs of some
fish, and which not only protects them from injury, but
serves to attach them to floating bodies or to rocks.

But we have as yet considered part only of the fertile
resources of nature for conveying seeds to a distance from
their place of growth. The various tribes of animals are
busily engaged in furthering an object whence they de-
rive such important advantages. Sometimes an express
provision is found in the structure of seeds to enable them
to adhere firmly by prickles, hooks, and hairs, to the
coats of animals, or feathers of the winged tribe, to which
they remain attached for weeks, or even months, and are
borne along into every region whither birds or quadru-
peds may migrate. Linneus enumerates fifty genera of
plants, and the number now known to botanists is much
greater, which are armed by hooks, by which, when ripe,
they adhere to the coats of animals. Most of these vege-
tables, he remarks, require a soil enriched with dung.
Few have failed to mark the locks of wool hanging on the
thorn-bushes, wherever the sheep pass, and it is probable
that the wolf or lion never give chace to herbivorous ani-
mals without being unconsciously subservient to this part
of the vegetable economy.

A deer has strayed from the herd, when browsing on

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

some rich pasture, when he is suddenly alarmed by the
approach of his foe. He instantly plunges through many
a thicket, and swims through many a river and lake. The
seeds of the herbs and shrubs adhere to his smoking flanks,
and are washed off again by the streams. The thorny
spray is torn off and fixes itself in his hairy coat, until
brushed off again in other thickets and copses. Even on
the spot where the victim is devoured, many of the seeds
which he had swallowed immediately before the pursuit
may be left on the ground uninjured.

The passage, indeed, of undigested seeds through the
stomachs of animals is one of the most efficient causes of
the dissemination of plants, and is of all others, perhaps,
the most likely to be overlooked. Few are ignorant that
a portion of the oats eaten by a horse preserve their ger-
minating faculty in the dung. The fact of their being
still nutritious is not lost on the sagacious rook. To many,
says Linnzus, it seems extraordinary, and something of
a prodigy, that when a field is well tilled and sown with
the best wheat, it frequently produces darnel or the wild
oat, especially if it be manured with new dung: they do
not consider that the fertility of the smaller seeds is not
destroyed in the ventricles of animals.

Some of the order of the Passeres, says Ekmarck, de-
vour the seeds of plants in great quantities, which they
eject again in very distant places, without destroying its
faculty of vegetation; thus a flight of larks will fill the
cleanest field with a great quantity of various kinds of
plants, as the melilot trefoil (Medicago lupulina,) and
others whose seeds are so heavy that the wind is not able
to scatter them to any distance. In like manner, the
blackbird and missel-thrush, when they devour berries in
too great quantities, are known to consign them to the
earth undigested in their excrement.

Pulpy fruits serve quadrupeds and birds as food, while
their seeds, often hard and indigestible, pass uninjured
through the intestines, and are deposited far from their
original place of growth in a condition peculiarly fit for
vegetation. So well are our farmers, in some parts of
England, aware of this fact, that when they desire to raise
a quick-set hedge in the shortest possible time, they feed
turkeys with the haws of the common white-thorn (Cra-
txgus oxyacantha,) and then sow the stones which are
ejected in their excrement, whereby they gain an entire
year in the growth of the plant. Birds, when they pluck
cherries, sloes, and haws, fly away with them to some
convenient place, and when they have devoured the fruit,
drop the stone into the ground. Captain Cook, in his
account of the volcanic island of Tanna, one of the New
Hebrides, which he visited in his second voyage, makes
the following interesting observation. ¢¢ Mr. Foster, in

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

his botanical excursion this day, shot a pigeon, in the craw
of which was a wild nutmeg. He took some pains to
find the tree on this island, but his endeavours were with-
out success.”? It is easy, therefore, to perceive, that
birds in their migrations to great distances, and even
across seas, may transport seeds to new isles and conti-
nents.

The sudden deaths to which great numbers of frugive-
rous birds are annually exposed, must not be omitted as
auxiliary to the transportation of seeds to new habitations.
When the sea retires from the shore, and leaves fruits and
seeds on the beach, or in the mud of estuaries, it might,
by the returning tide, wash them away again, or destroy
them by long immersion; but when they are gathered by
land birds which frequent the sea-side, or by waders and
water-fowl, they are often borne inland, and if the bird
to whose crop they have been consigned is killed, they
may be left to grow up far from the sea. Let such an
accident happen but once in a century, or a thousand
years, it will be sufficient to spread many of the plants
from one continent to another; for, in estimating the ac-
tivity of these causes, we must not consider whether they
act slowly in relation to the period of our observation, but
in reference to the duration of species in general.

Let us trace the operation of this cause in connexion
with others. A tempestuous wind bears the seeds of a
plant many miles through the air, and then delivers them
to the ocean; the oceanic current drifts them to a
distant continent; by the fall of the tide they become the
food of numerous birds, and one of these is seized by a
hawk or eagle, which, soaring across hill and dale to a
place of retreat, leaves, after devouring its prey, the un-
palatable seeds to spring up and flourish in a new soil.

The machinery before adverted to is so capable of dis-
seminating seeds over almost unbounded spaces, that
were we more intimately acquainted with the economy of
nature, we might probably explain all the instances which
occur of the aberration of plants to great distances from
their native countries. —Lyell’s Geology.

AMERICAN PINE TREES.

TueEReE appears to be fourteen species of Pine found
in the extensive forests of North America. The most
valuable of these are, the ‘é Long-leaved Pine” (Pinus
ustralis,) from which the turpentine and tar of Ame-
rica are principally produced; the <‘*White Pine,”
much used in ship-building; the ‘Hemlock Spruce’’
(Abies Canadensis,) the timber of which is not good,

Pp

149

but which affords bark nearly as excellent for tanning as
that of the oak; and the “‘ American Silver Fir” (dies
balsamifera,) from which is procured the resinous sub-
stance known as Canada balsam.

The principal exportation of deals from America not
only to Europe, but to the West Indies, is of the timber of
the White Pine. Extensive as are the woods of the United
States, this species of timber has been almost entirely
consumed in the thickly-peopled districts; so that those
who are engaged in the business of cutting down the trees
have to pass the greater part of their time in remote forests,
where the White Pine is still found. United in small
bands, they penetrate into the woods in the depth of win-
ter, having previously in the summer visited the same
places to prepare a stock of hay for their oxen. They
build themselves huts, roofed with bark; and though the
ground is covered five or six feet deep with snow, and the
mercury in the thermometer is sometimes eighteen or
twenty degrees below the freezing point, they apply them-
selves with the utmost courage and perseverance to fell-
ing the trees. Cutting them into logs about eighteen
feet long, they convey them, in the district of Maine, by
means of their oxen, which are admirably trained, to the
bank of the Kennebeck river, where they roll them upon
the ice. Before the spring, when the frost breaks up,
many thousands of these logs are thus eollected. They
are then carried down the current to Wenslow, about one
hundred miles from the sea, at which place, the logs being
previously marked, the owners are enabled to select the
produce of their respective labours. The timber is here
sold to the proprietors of numerous saw-mills established
on the Kennebeck, between Wenslow and the coast; and
from this point comes most of the American white deal
which is shipped to foreign parts.

The * lumberers’”’ of New Brunswick, and those who
cut down the timber of the woods of the United States,
select the firs of proper girth and quality with especial
care. It is stated, that not one tree in ten thousand is
fit for purposes of commerce. These thinnings, there-
fore, of the woods of North America do not produce the
destruction of timber which now forms a subject of com-
plaint in that country of forest-trees. The indiscriminate
clearings of the agricultural settlers, and the conflagra-
tions which occasionally take place, are the causes, which,
in a few centuries, may render North America no longer
an exporting country for timber. Sometimes the forests
are injudiciously set on fire by the settlers, to save the
labour of cutting and partially burning; but by such indis-
criminate conflagration, the land is not properly cleared,
and a very strong and noxious plant, called the fire-weed,
instantly springs up, exhausting all the fertility of the

150

ground. Sometimes these conflagrations extend over
the whole face of the country, producing the most
fearful destruction of life and property. The specta-
cle of a burning forest, according to the accounts of those
who have witnessed it, is most sublime. The flames leap
from tree to tree, and rushing up to their tops, throw out
immense volumes of fire from the thick clouds of smoke
that hang over the burning mass, while the falling trees
come down with the most tremendous crash.

In October, 1825, upwards of a hundred miles of the
country, on the north side of Miramichi river, became a
scene of the most dreadful conflagration that has perhaps
ever occurred in the history of the world. In Europe,
we can scarcely form a conception of the fury and ra-
pidity with which the fires rage through the American
forests during a dry hot season; at which time the under-
wood, decayed vegetable substances, fallen branches, bark,
and withered trees, are as inflammable asa total absence
of moisture can render them. When these tremendous
fires are once in motion, or at least when the flames ex-
tend a few miles of the forest, the surrounding air be-
comes highly rarefied, and the wind naturally increases to
a hurricane. It appears that the woods had been, on both
sides of the north-west branch, partially on fire for some
time, but not to an alarming extent, until the 7th of Octo-
ber, when it came on to blow furiously from the north-
west, and the inhabitants on the banks of the river were
suddenly alarmed by a tremendous roaring in the woods,
resembling the incessant rolling of thunder; while, at the
same time, the atmosphere became thickly darkened with
smoke. They had scarcely time to ascertain the cause of
this phenomenon, before all the surrounding woods ap-
peared in one vast blaze, the flames ascending more than
a hundred feet above the tops of the loftiest trees, and the
fire, like a gulph in flames, rolling forward with incon-
ceivable celerity. In less than an hour, Douglastown and
Neweastle were enveloped in one vast blaze, and many of
the wretched inhabitants, unable to escape, perished in the
midst of this terrible fire.

A Miramichi paper, published on the 11th of October,
at the scene of this fearful conflagration, contains some
interesting particulars, from which it appears that several
hundred lives were lost in Neweastle, Douglastown, and
Fredericton; that nearly all the ‘¢ lumberers”’ in the woods
perished; that in many parts of the country the cattle
were all destroyed; and that the loss of property in the
towns was immense, as the fire rushed upon the inhabi-
tants with such inconceivable rapidity, that the preserva-
tion of their lives could be their only care.

Two new species of Pine, of more gigantic dimensions

tomo
than any that have hitherto been described in Europe or

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

America, have been found by Dr. David Douglas, a most
enterprising botanist, who was sent out by the Hor-
ticultural Scciety of London in 1825, to explore the west
coast of North America. He returned from that country
in the autumn of 1827, bringing with him a rich addi-
tion to the known catalogue of plants. These Pines are:—

1, Pinus Douglasii.—This Pine grows to the height
of two hundred and thirty feet, and is upwards of fifty
feet circumference at the base. It has arough corky bark,
from an inch to twelve inches thick. The leaves resem-
ble those of the spruce, and the conesare small. The tim-
ber is of good quality and very heavy. This Pine was
found by Mr. Douglas on the banks of the Columbia,
where it forms extensive forests, extending from the
shores of the Pacific to the Stony Mountains.

2. Pinus Lambertiana.—This species of Pine was dis-
covered in Northern California, where it is dispersed
over large tracts of country, but does not form dense
forests like most of the other Pines. It is a very majes-
tic tree; and one specimen, which, in consequence of its
having been blown down, Mr. Douglas was enabled to
measure, was two hundred and fifteen feet in length, fifty-
seven feet nine inches in circumference at three feet from
the root, and seventeen feet five inches at one hundred
and thirty-four feet. It is probably the largest single
mass of timber that ever was measured by man, though
some of the growing specimens of the same Pine were eyi-
dently of greater elevation. The trunk of the Laméer-
tiana is straight, and clear of branches for about two-thirds
of the height. The bark is uncommonly smooth, and the
whole tree has a most graceful appearance. The cones
resemble those of the Weymouth Pine, but are much larger,
being on an average at least sixteen inches in length.
The seeds are eaten roasted, or pounded into cakes. The
tree bears a considerable resemblance to the spruces; and,
as is the case with them, its turpentine is of a pure amber
colour, and the timber soft, white, and light. One sin-
gular property of this tree is, that when the timber is
partly burned, the turpentine loses its peculiar flavour,
and acquires a sweetish taste. It is used by the natives
as a substitute for sugar.—Lib. Ent. Know.

THE CHAMOIS.

Tue Chamois is a wild animal, but easily tamed, and
very docile. It is about the size of a domestic goat,
and resembles one in many respects. It is most agreea-
bly lively, and active beyond expression. Its hair is
short, like that of the doe; in spring it is of an ash colour,

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

and in winter of a blackish brown. The large males keep
themselves apart from the rest, except in their rutting
time. The time of their coupling is from the beginning
of October to the end of November; and they bring forth
in April and March. The young follows the dam for
about five months, and sometimes longer, if the hunters,
or the wolves, do not separate them. It is asserted that
they live between twenty and thirty years. The flesh of
the Chamois is good to eat; and some of the fattest afford
ten or twelve pounds of suet, which far surpasses that of
the goat in solidity and goodness.

The ery of the Chamois is not distinctly known; if it
has any, it is but faint, and resembling that of a hoarse
goat; it is by this ery it calls its young; but, when they
are frightened, or are in danger of any enemy, or some
other object not perfectly known to them, they warn the
rest of the flock by a kind of hissing noise. It is observa-
ble, that the Chamois has a very penetrating eye, and its
hearing and smell are not less distinguishing. When it
finds an enemy near, it stops for a moment, and then in
an instant flies off with the utmost speed. When the wind
is in its favour, it can smell a human creature for more
than half a mile distance. When this happens, therefore,
and it cannot see its enemy, but only discovers his ap-
proach by the scent, it begins the hissing noise with such
force, that the rocks and the forests re-echo with the sound.
This hissing continues as long as the breath will permit.
In the beginning it is very shrill, and deeper towards the
close. This animal then rests a moment, after this alarm,
to inspect farther into its danger: and, having confirmed
the reality of its suspicion, it commences to hiss by inter-
vals, till it has spread the alarm to a great distance. During
this time, it is in the most violent agitation, strikes the
ground forcibly with its fore foot, and sometimes with
both; it bounds from rock to rock; it turns, and looks
round; it turns to the edge of the precipice, and when it
has obtained a sight of the enemy, flies from it with all
its speed. The hissing of the male is much more acute
than that of the female; it is performed through the nos-
trils, and is, properly, no more thana very strong breath,
forced through the nostrils by fixing the tongue to the
palate, keeping the teeth nearly shut, the lips open, and a
little lengthened. Their agility is wonderful, as they
will throw themselves down, across arock, which is nearly
perpendicular, and twenty or thirty feet in height, with-
out a single prop to support their feet. Their motion has,
indeed, rather the appearance of flying than of leaping.
The Chamois feeds upon the best herbage, and chooses
the most delicate parts of plants, flowers, and the most
tender buds. It is not less delicate with regard to several
aromatic herbs, which grow upon the sides of the Alps.

151

It drinks but very little, while it feeds upon the succulent
herbage, and ruminates, like the goat, in the intervals of
feeding. Its head is crowned with two small horns, of
about half a foot long, of a beautiful black, and rising from
the forehead, almost betwixt the eyes. These horns are
often made use of for the heads of canes. The hides of
these animals are very strong and supple, and good warm
waistcoats and gloves are made of them.

The hunting of the Chamois is very laborious, and ex-
tremely difficult and perilous. It is thus admirably de-
scribed by Saussure: —“ The Chamois hunter sets out upon
his expedition of fatigue and danger generally in the night.
His object is to find himself at the break of day in the
most elevated pastures, where the Chamois comes to feed
before the flocks shall have arrived there. The Chamois
feeds only at morning and evening. When the hunter
has nearly reached the spot where he expects to find his
prey, he reconnoitres with a telescope. If he finds not
the Chamois, he mounts still higher; but if he discovers
him, he endeavours to climb above him and to get nearer,
by passing round some ravine, or gliding behind some
eminence or rock. When he is near enough to dis-
tinguish the horns of the animal (which are small,
round, pointed, and bent backward like a hook,) he
rests his rifle upon a rock, and takes his aim with
great coolness. He rarely misses. This rifle is often
double-barrelled. If the Chamois falls, the hunter runs
to his prey—makes sure of him by cutting the hamstrings—
and applies himself to consider by what way he may best
regain his village. Ifthe route is very difficult, he con-
tents himself with skinning the Chamois; but if the way
is at all practicable witha load, he throws the animal over
his shoulder, and bears it home to his family, undaunted
by the distance he has to go, and the precipices he has to
cross.

«¢ But when, as is more frequently the case, the vigi-
lant animal perceives the hunter, he flies with the greatest
swiftness into the glaziers, leaping with incredible speed
over the frozen snows and pointed rocks. It is particularly
difficult to approach the Chamois when there are many to-
gether. The sentinel, who is placed on the point of some
rock which commands all the avenues of their pasturage,
makes the sharp hissing sound already mentioned, at the
sound of which all the rest run towards him, to judge for
themselves of the nature of the danger. If they discover
a beast of prey or a hunter, the most experienced puts him-
self at their head; and they bound along, one after the
other, into the most inaccessible places.

‘¢ It is then that the labours of the hunter commence;
for then, carried away by the excitement, he knows no

danger. He crosses the snows, without thinking of the

152 THE CABINET OF

abysses which they may cover; he plunges into the most
dangerous passes of the mountains; he climbsup, he leaps from
rock to rock, without considering how he canreturn. The
night often finds him in the heat of the pursuit; but he does
not give it up for this obstacle. He considers that the
Chamois will stop during the darkness, as well as himself,
and that on the morrow he may again reach them. He
passes then the night—not at the foot of a tree, nor in a
cave covered with verdure, as does the hunter of the plain—
but upon a naked rock, or upon a heap of rough stones,
without any sort of shelter. He is alone, without fire,
without light; but he takes from his bag a bit of cheese
and some of the barley bread, which is his ordinary food—
bread so hard that he is obliged to break it between two
stones, or to cleave it with the axe which he always car-
ries with him to cut steps which shall serve for his ladder
up the rocks of ice. His frugal meal being soon ended,
he puts a stone under his head, and is presently asleep,
dreaming of the way the Chamois has taken. He is
awakened by the freshness of the morning air; he rises,
pierced through with cold; he measures with his eye the
precipices he must yet climb to reach the Chamois; he
drinks a little brandy (of which he always carries a small
provision,) throws his bag across his shoulder, and again
rushes forward to encounter new dangers. These daring
and persevering hunters often remain whole days in the
dreariest solitudes of the glaciers of Ghamouni; and, during
this time, their families, and, above all, their unhappy
wives, feel the keenest alarm for their safety.

“<The very few individuals of those who grow old in
this trade bear on their countenances the traces of the
life which they have led. They have a wild, and some-
what haggard and desperate air, by which they may be re-
cognized in the midst of a crowd. Many of the super-
stitious peasants believe that they are sorcerers; that they
have commerce with the evil spirit; and that it is he that
throws them over the precipices.””—Buffon’s Nat. Hist.

THE GREYHOUND.

lr we are to regard external appearances only, the
Greyhound may be placed at the head of the dog tribe, as
there is an elegance in his form which will be vainly sought
in any other variety of the canine race. At what pre-
cise period the Greyhound first made his appearance in
Great Britain is not known; but it must have been many
centuries ago—all trace, in fact, of the origin of this ani-
mal is completely buried in the oblivion of antiquity.
In ancient times, the Greyhound was considered as a

NATURAL HISTORY,

valuable present, especially by the ladies, with whom it
appears to have been a particular favourite; as, for in-
stance, the wife of Robert Bruce, when a prisoner to
Edward I. in the year 1304, had three men and three
women servants, three Greyhounds, plenty of game and
fish, and the fairest house in the manor.

Ina manuscript of Froissart, quoted by Montfaucon,
there is an illuminated view of Isabcita’s splendid en-
trance into Paris in 1324;a Greyhound attends her, with
a flag powdered with Fleur de dys about his neck.

In the 10th and 11th centuries, the price of a Grey-
hound and also of a hawk appears to have been the same
as that ofa man. During the reign of King John, Grey-
hounds were frequently received by him as payment in
lieu of money, for the renewal of grants, fines, and for-
feitures belonging to the crown. The following extracts
show this monarch’s attachment to Greyhounds. A fine
paid in the year 1203 mentions five hundred marks, ten
horses, and ten leashes of Greyhounds; another in 1210,
enumerates, one swift running horse, and six Greyhounds.

We make the following interesting extract from Carr’s
‘Stranger in Ireland:’’—‘‘In the morning (says the
author, who was then on his journey to Ireland,) I wan-
dered to a little church, which owed its elevation to this
interesting circumstance: Lewelyn the Great, who re-
sided near the base of Snowden, had a beautiful Grey-
hound, named Gelert, which had been presented to him
by King John. One day, in consequence of the faithful
animal, who at night always sentinelled his master’s bed,
not making his appearance in the chase, Lewelyn return-
ed home very angry, and met the dog, covered with blobd,
at the door of the chamber of his child: upon entering it,
he found the bed overturned, and the coverlit stained with
gore: he called to his boy, but receiving no answer, he
too rashly concluded that he had been killed by Gelert,
and in his anguish, instantly thrust his sword through the
poor animal’s body. The honourable Mr. Spencer has
beautifully commemorated the above event:—

His suppliant looks, as prone he fell,
No pity could impart ;

But still his Gelert’s dying yell
Hung heavy at his heart.

Aroused by Gelert’s dying yell,
Some slumberer waked nigh:

What words the parent’s joy could tell,
To hear his infant ery.

Nor scathe had he, nor harm, nor dread ;
But the same couch beneath,

Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead,
Tremendous still in death.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

Ah! what was then Llewelyn’s pain,
For now the truth was clear;

His gallant hound the wolf had slain,
To save Llewelyn’s heir. é

To mitigate his offence, Llewelyn built this chapel, and
raised a tomb to poor Gelert; and the spot to this day is
called Beth Gelert; or, the Grave of Gelert, “‘ where
never could the spearmen pass or forester unmoved.””

A further instance of the attachment of the Greyhound
is to be found among the specimens of early English Me-
trical Romance, by George Ellis, Esq., under the article
Sir Friamous;

“The good Greyhound, for weal ne wo,
Would not fro the knight go;

But lay and licked his wound:
He weened to have heald him again,
And thereto he did his pain ;

Lo! such love is in a hound!

“He even scraped a pit for the dead body, covered it

with moss and leaves, and guarded it with constant atten-
tion, except during the times when he was employed in
securing his own subsistence.

‘¢ As his prey diminished, the length of his chase gra-
dually increased; and at the close of the seventh year, at
the festival of Christmas, he suddenly appeared, gaunt
with hunger, an unexpected visitor in the hall of King
Arragon. Such an apparition excited general surprise,
and particularly attracted the attention of Aradas; but the
animal, with a gentleness of demeanour, which belied his
savage appearance, made the round of the tables and dis-
appeared. He returned on the second day, again survey-
ed the company, received his pittance, and retreated. The
king now recollected the dog, and gave orders to his at-
tendants, that, if he should return, they should follow
without loss of time, in the confidence that he would lead
them to the place where Sir Roger and the Queen were
secreted. On the third day of the festival, the hall was
filled at an early hour, and Sir Marrack for the first time
took his seat amongst the guests. The Greyhound did not
fail to repeat his visits, and with the rapidity of lightning,
instantly sprung upon the murderer of his master:—

“He took the steward by the throat,
And asunder he it bote;
But then he would not ’bide:
For to his grave he ran.
Then followed him many a man,
Some on horse, and some beside,
And when he came where his master was,
He laid him down upon the grass,
And barked at the man again,

Qe

153

«<The crowd who had followed him, being unable to
drive him from the spot, returned with the tidings to the
king, who instantly comprehended the whole mystery.
He directed them to dig for the body, which they readily
found, and which had been miraculously preserved in
such a state of preservation as to be easily recognized. It
was then buried in holy ground with all due solemnity,
and the faithful dog shortly after expired on the tomb
which was raised in memory of his master.”’

The Greyhounds, however, of these early days, were,
in all probability, something similar to the Irish wolf dog,
or large rough Greyhound, from which the modern Grey-
hound was bred no doubt, but, in the progress of what was
considered improvement, very much altered in appear-
ance, and became less powerful and less courageous. The
modern Greyhound exhibits a striking instance of what
may be accomplished by attention in the way of speed and
beauty; but this has been obtained at the expense of
strength, of courage, and of sagacity. We have many re-
corded instances of the striking sagacity of the Greyhound
of old; but it is an incontrovertible fact, that the modern
high-bred Greyhound, on the score of sagacity, is inferior
to every other variety of the dog tribe. But to pro-
ceed—

In former days, such was the esteem in which Grey-
hounds were held, that even their collars were composed
of the most valuable materials. In Hawes’ Pastime of
Pleasure, written in the time of Henry VII. Fame is at-
tended with two Greyhounds; in whose golden collars,
Grace and Governance are inscribed in golden letters.
These ornaments are often mentioned in the inventory of
furniture, in the royal palaces of Henry VIII. In the
Castle of Windsor, under the article Collars, may be
found the following entries:—

“Two Greyhounds’ coliars of crimson velvet and cloth
of gold, lacking torretes.””

‘¢Two other collars with the king’s arms, and at the
ende portcullis and rose.”

“‘Item.—A collar, embrowdered with pomegranates
and roses, with torretes of silver and gilte.”—‘* A collar
garnished with stole work, with one shallop shelle of silver
and gilte.”’

In Henry the Eighth’s reign, the Greyhound was dis-
tinguished as one of the king’s beasts:—we read that at
the siege of Tournay, in the year of 1513, instead of a tent,
Henry had a timber house with an iron chimney, and
several pavilions, on the top of which stood ‘the king’s
beastes, viz. the lion, the dragon, the antelope, the Grey-
hound, and the dun cow.”’

The old couplets that describe the Greyhound are very

154

exact in the points they recommend as necessary to form
a complete Greyhound.

‘“ Head like a snake,
Neck’d like a drake,
Back’d like a beam,
Sided like a bream,
Tailed like a rat,

And footed like a cat.”

In choosing a whelp, the choice was formerly governed
by the weight, and that which was the lightest, it was
supposed, would prove the nimblest and best. The raw-
boned, lean, loose-made, and unseemly whelps, grew up
well-shaped dogs; whereas, those that after three or four
months appeared round, close trussed, and well built in
every part, were not worth the rearing, seldom proving
swift or comely. It was also an observation formerly,
that bitches were commonly more speedy than the dogs.

The ¢ime to first try and train them to their game was
at twelve months old, and there is little variation in this
respect at the present day.

At two years old, the Greyhound is full-grown, and the
choice of one at that age was to be directed by his having
a fine skin, with soft thin hair, a long lean head, with a
nose sharp from the eye downwards; a full clear eye, with
large eye-lids, little ears, a long neck bending likea drake,
with a loose hanging weasand, broad breast, his body
neither too long, nor too great, a back straight and square,
having a rising in the middle, a small belly, broad shoul-
ders, round ribs, with a long space between his hips, a
strong stern, a round foot with large clefts, and his fore-
legs straighter than his hinder.

The breeding of the Greyhound was recommended to
be from the well-tried and best bitches, as an indifferent
dog was supposed from such a cross to get better whelps
than if the excellence was inverted, and the bitch but tole-
rable; the surest way to have the whelps excellent was to
have both sire and dam good, and not to exceed four
years old; if any inequality in their age, it was deemed
better to be on the bitch’s side, so that the dog was
young.

The art of keeping a Greyhound formerly, as well as
entering him properly at his game, is thus described:—
The keeping of a Greyhound properly did not consist
solely in the meat given him, but also in kenneling ">
ing and exercise. When he was full in flesh, he was *o
have the chippings of bread in fresh broth. Milk and
bread, butter-milk and soft bones, morning and evening,
which was understood to keep him healthy. When he
was low in condition or unwell, sheep’s heads or feet with
the wool on, chopped into small pieces and made into

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

broth, with oatmeal and sweet herbs, was to be his daily
food until he recovered his flesh and health.

The kennel was to be commodious, airy, the door to-
wards the south, and the sleeping benches two feet and
a half high, perforated with holes for the purpose of carry-
ing off the urine: (a dog of any kind, will rarely eject
either his urine or excrements on his bed; on the contrary,
if closely confined, he will frequently howl for hours, and
even days, sooner than be guilty of what appears repug-
nant to his nature:) the straw on the bench was to be fre-
quently changed, and the kennel kept extremely clean.

For Greyhounds that were going to run, the following
diet was recommmended:—a peck of wheat, half a peck of
oatmeal, ground and forced through a sieve; aniseeds
bruised and liquorice were to be scattered amongst it; and
it was then to be kneaded up with the whites of eggs and
new ale, into small loaves, which were to be well baked.
This was to be soaked in beef or other broth, and given to
them immediately after their airings, morning and eyen-
ing.

Previously to airing, the dog was to be brushed or rub-
bed with a hair cloth; he was then to be led out in a leash
half an hour after sun-rising, to some plain where there
were neither cattle nor sheep, there to be suffered to frisk
about and empty himself, when he was to be led back. In
the evening, all this was to be repeated; and in winter,
he was allowed once a day the indulgence of the fire. It
was recommended to keep him always in kennel, as it
was thought his spirit and activity were thereby in-
creased.

The- exercise recommended for the Greyhound was
coursing; if the courses were long, twice a week was
deemed suflicient; otherwise, every other day, and they
were to be rewarded and encouraged with the 4/ood of the
hare. When they were first entered, it was allowable to
give them every advantage—such as finding a young hare
and giving her no law; but this was not allowable after he
had once got blood.

A toast and butter, upon coursing days, was given early
in the morning; if the dog killed the hare, he was not
allowed to break her; the hare was taken from him, his
mouth cleared of the fur; and he had afterwards the heart,
liver, and lights given him.

After a very hard run, his feet were to be washed with
salt and water; and after remaining in the kennel for half
an hour, he was to be fed.

In regard to the modern feeding and training of the
Greyhound, opinions are by no means unanimous. Some
insist that they should go through a regular course in these
respects, something like arace horse. It is asserted, that
a dog which has long courses to run should never be over-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

burthened with flesh, and that a Greyhound too fat should
have two doses of physic, allowing an interval of six days,
and to be moderately blooded between the doses; his food
afterwards to be dry boiled meat, occasionally changed
to fine oatmeal, reduced to a proper consistency with
boiled milk. If with this preparative food, he be allowed
to run two or three courses a week, and be regularly rub-
bed with a hair cloth all over until the flesh upon his loins
becomes elastic and hard, so far as preparation goes, he is
complete. Yet it is admitted that all this nicety, all this
systematic training and preparation, have frequently been
thrown away, and the same dog that has failed in running,
when thus artificially prepared, has showed itself far
superior in its performances, when no course of training
has been: previously adopted.

One thing, however, the writer will venture to state,
that the Greyhound should, if possible, always be suffered
to go at large. Nothing so much promotes health and
activity as a state of perfect freedom.

[ Sporitsman’s Cyclopedia.

NOTES OF A NATURALIST.
By Jacos Gren, M. D.

Iw a deep valley on the bank of a small creek, about
two miles from the village of Canonsburg, in Washing-
ton County, Pennsylvania, there is a spring of salt water,
from which a quantity of inflammable air is constantly
escaping.

Twelve years since a well was excavated in this place
about 200 feet deep, by the ordinary process of boring for
water, for the purpose of manufacturing salt, as the brine
springs in this neighbourhood appeared very promising.

A considerable quantity of salt was here manufactured,
but as the brine began to grow gradually weaker, it was
thought that by tubing the well, to keep out the fresh water
which oozed through the sides, and by boring it deeper,
that the strength of the brine would greatly increase. This
plan was therefore put into execution; the well was tubed
with copper, and excavated 200 feet more; so that its
whole depth was nearly 400 feet.

When these operations were almost completed, there
was a sudden and violent rush of inflammable gas from the
sides of the well, about 100 feet below the surface; which
not only produced a collapse or flattening of the copper
tubes, but projected the water, and large volumes of the
gas, between 40 and 50 feet above the surface of the
ground, in the form of a magnificent fountain. In the

155

night, when a torch was applied to this jet of water and
air, it was ignited, and then exhibited a most sublime and
magnificent spectacle. Its blaze illuminated the whole
valley, and the trees on the summits of the surrounding
hills were silvered with the light. This vast column of
water by day and of fire by night, continued pouring and
blazing to the attitude of about 20 feet, for a number of
weeks.

When the tube, which extended a few feet above the sur-
face, and by which the jet was produced, was removed,
so that the gas passed freely through a large body of water
in the curb of the well, the whole presented the appear-
ance of violent ebullition. It seemed as if an intense fire
beneath this natural chaldron kept the water perpetually
boiling in the most furious manner, not unlike the Guisers
in Iceland. The noise occasioned by the escape of the gas
could be heard at the distance of many yards, so that
strangers on their approach, were often not a little terrified
at the sound, and imagined that the earth trembled be-
neath their feet.

The quantity of inflammable gas in this vicinity was so
abundant, that small tubes of elder or tin thrust into the
ground near the creek, so as to form little jet pipes, the
gas escaping from them could be kindled; and it would then
burn for a long time with the steady light of a lamp.

The water of the creek and the fire of the ignited gas
were for some time used by the ingenious persons in the
neighbourhood for washing and boiling their clothes. A
kettle of water, suspended on cross sticks, over a hole dug
in the ground, from which the burning vapour issued,
were the economical substitute for the implements and
fire of the kitchen hearth.

The above account is the substance of what I heard re-
specting the ‘“‘ Burning Salt-well,’’? which induced me
to visit it in 1827, some years after its first irruption.
I found it situated as just described, in a deep valley near
the road-side. The apparent ebullition of the water, and
the consequent escape of the gas, was still very considera-
ble. A hole in the ground, about four feet square and
deep, cased with timber, forms the curb of the well. The
bottom is covered with water to a small depth, and near
the middle boils and sparkles from the escape of the gas,
which issues from the deep narrow cavity beneath. The
water is muddy, and pretty strongly impregnated with
salt. It is, however, not sufficiently saturated to make the
extraction of the salt from it, by the ordinary process of
boiling, a lucrative operation. I nowattempted to kindle
the gas near the surface of the ground, but being unable
to do this, I sprung into the curb of the well, and while
lighting a chloric match, the gas took fire all round me,
producing a slight explosion, which of course extinguish-

156

ed the blaze. I repeatedly kindled and exploded the gas
in this manner, but never succeeded in obtaining a steady
blaze for any length of time, on account of the smallness
of the quantity which issued ina stream, from the water.
I caught a quantity of it in a number of vessels, and
from various experiments, I have little doubt that it is
as pure hydrogen gas as is obtained in the common pro-
cesses of the laboratory. It is lighter than any of the well-
ascertained hydro-carburets, and it burns with nearly the
same pale lambent flame as common hydrogen. There is,
however, a distinct sulphurous odour which always ac-
companies it. My situation, however, was not favoura-
ble for making any accurate experiments.

The hills which surround the burning spring are strata-
fied with beds of bituminous coal, which repose on thick
horizontal strata of clay slate. The salt spring appears to
be far below the clay slate. In boring the well, they were
obliged to cut through thick strata of compact carbonate
of lime, which alternated with strata of clay slate. No
fossils have been found in the neighbourhood.

In 1831, four years after my first visit to the burning
well, when the above observations were made, I again ex-
amined the spot; but the inflammable gas could no longer
be detected, and the water had not the slightest saline
taste.

In 1832, I again examined this Burning Salt-well, and
again found the water a little brackish, and a considerable
quantity of inflammable air escaping from its surface, so
that I filled a number of vessels with the gas, and amused
myself with igniting and exploding it, several times.

SARGASSO, OR SEA WEEDS.

In the North Atlantic Ocean, coming from the South
you fall in about the tropic, with the Sargasso Weeds,
collected in narrow lines extending in the direction in
which the trade wind blows, that is, EK. N. E. and W. S.
W., and the eye cannot see the end of them on either
side of the vessel. These linesrun constantly parallel to
each other, and the nearer you come to the middle of the
Sargasso sea, the thicker it is strewed with weeds, and
the closer the lines approach to one another, being in some
places but fifteen feet asunder. Home-bound ships have
a better opportunity of observing these lines, as they cross
nearly at right angles, and can trace their continuation
more conveniently on both sides, observing one line after
another in rapid succession.

These weeds occupy the zone from about 20° to 35°
north latitude, which may, however, differ according to

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

the longitude in which you cross it. Towards the zone’s
northern extremes, the weeds are less regularly formed in
lines, which may arise from their being less methodically
acted upon by the trade winds that seem to occasion their
order. They have been termed gulf weeds by sailors, who
believed them to be driven out of the gulf by the Florida
stream; nor is this opinion entirely refuted by the expe-
rience that they are rarely met with in the gulf. For the
weed swimming on the surface of the Atlantic is withered,
decayed, and incrusted with salt, which proves the time
it has been exposed to the sun, and is of a brownish yellow
colour, whilst you rarely meet with a green bunch; that,
being heavier, on account of its high state of vegetation,
swims several feet below the surface. It is true that not
with certainty can any roots, thicker branches, or stems
be perceived, wherewith they might have adhered to the
rocks or the ground: nevertheless, as these weeds abound
with animals that do not live upon the surface, but inhabit
the bottom of the sea, such as crabs, shrimps, barnacles,
conchilias of all descriptions, and serpents, I have no
doubt that they originated in a shallow basin of water,
out of which they were swept by the force of a current
along the bottom, until the heavier vegetable fluid being
exhausted, they rose to the surface. Moreover, they are
never seen near the European or African coasts, but most
plentifully found about the entrance of the gulf.
[ Phil. Mag.

EXTRAORDINARY SAGACITY OF A DOG.

On Saturday night, a boy 12 or 14 years of age, who
was climbing on the face of a rock in the Grange quarry,
Edinburgh, in search of birds’ nests, fell into the deep pool
below. His companion ran away, calling for help, and a
crowd soon collected. A housecarpenter who was pre-
sent, ran off to the Grange House, for Sir Thomas Lan-
der’s Newfoundland dog. The animal immediately sprang
in the pool, and made for the place, where the body,
though under water, was still visible. He dived once or
twice, and, seizing the boy’s head, which chanced to he
uppermost, he in vain attempted to bring the body ashore;
for, as if aware of the necessity of using the most gentle
treatment to so vulnerable a part, he took so gentle a hold,
that the head slipped from him, and the body sunk deeper
and deeper at every successive attempt. Again he dived,
and appeared on the surface raising the head gently be-
tween his two forepaws, but again it slipped from his
grasp, and sunk deeper than ever. The dog now seemed
to take council with himself; he made one or two circles

YOUT SUDIMLY AIG) PUGL UDG OLMROU Ueey

“CTON P93 Pd

“LIMGO9N NVINOSCOH

“GNVYO GANTa

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

© over the place where the body had disappeared, and then
dived. He remained under water so long, that the by-
standers began to entertain considerable fears for his safety.
At length, to the great satisfaction of those present, he ap-
peared holding the corpse by the arm, and with his head
thrown aside, so as to keep the head of his burthen clear
above the water, and in this way he bore it to the bank.
The body was immediately taken to a house, and all ex-
ertions and means were used to restore the body to anima-
tion, but in vain. The dog would not leave the body,
but stand by it, licking the face, and exhibiting his full
share of the sympathy excited by this melancholy catas-
trophe. There was not the slightest scratch on the boy’s
head or face.—Scotsman.

BLUE CRANE, OR HERON.

[Plate XIV. Vol. 2.]

Arct. Zool. No. 351.—Carzssy, 1, 76.—Le Crabier
bleu Burr. vit. 398.—Stoan. Jam. 1, 315.—Lara.
Syn. v. 3 p. 78, No 45,—p. 79, var. .—/Ardea
cerulescens, Turr. Syst. p. 379.—Heron bluatre de
Cayenne, Burr. Pl. Enl. 349, adult—PuiLaprL-
pHa Museum.

In mentioning this species in his translation of the
Systema Naturzx, Turton has introduced what he calls
two varieties, one from New Zealand, the other from
Brazil; both of which, if we may judge by their size and
colour, appear to be entirely different and distinct species;
the first being green, with yellow legs, the last nearly one
half less than the present. By this loose mode of discrimi-
nation, the precision of science being altogether dispensed
with, the whole tribe of Cranes, Herons, and Bitterns,
may be styled mere varieties of the genus Zrdea. The
same writer has still farther increased this confusion, by
designating as a different species his Blwish Heron (1.
cerulescens,) which agrees almost exactly with the present.
Some of these mistakes may probably have originated
from the figure of this bird given by Catesby, which ap-
pears to have been drawn and coloured, not from nature,
but from the glimmering recollections of memory, and is
extremely erroneous. These remarks are due to truth,
and necessary to the elucidation of the history of his spe-
cies, which seems to be but imperfectly known in Europe.

The Blue Heron is properly a native of the warmer cli-
mates of the United States, migrating thence, at the ap-
proach of winter, to the tropical regions; being found in

Rr

P 157

Cayenne, Jamaica, and Mexico. On the muddy shores of
the Mississippi, from Baton Rouge downwards to New
Orleans, these birds are frequently met with. In spring
they extend their migrations as far north as New England,
chiefly in the vicinity of the sea; becoming more rare as
they advance to the north. On the sea-beach of Cape May,
I found a few of them breeding among the cedars, in com-
pany with the Snowy Heron, Night Heron, and Green
Bittern. Their nests were composed of small sticks, built
in the tops of the red cedars, and contained five eggs of a
light blue colour, and of somewhat a deeper tint than those
of the Night Heron. Little or no difference could be
perceived between the colours and markings of the male
and female. This remark is applicable to almost the
whole genus; though from the circumstance of many of
the yearling birds differing in plumage, they have been
mistaken for females.

The Blue Heron, though in the northern states it is
found chiefly in the neighbourhood of the ocean, probably
on account of the greater temperature of the climate, is
yet particularly fond of fresh water bogs, on the edges of
the salt marsh. These it often frequents, wading about
in search of tadpoles, lizards, various larvee of winged
insects and mud worms. It moves actively about in search
of these, sometimes making a run at its prey; andis often
seen in company with the Snowy Heron. Like this last,
it is also very silent, intent and watchful.

The genus Ardea is the most numerous of all the wading
tribes, there being no less than ninety-six different species
enumerated by late writers. These are again subdivided
into particular families, each distinguished by a certain
peculiarity. The Cranes, by having the head bald; the
Storks, with the orbits naked; and the Herons, with the
middle claw pectinated. To this last belong the Bitterns.
Several of these are nocturnal birds, feeding only as the
evening twilight commences, and reposing either among
the long grass and reeds, or on tall trees, in sequestered
places, during the day. What is very remarkable, those
night wanderers often associate, during the breeding
season, with the others; building their nests on the branches
of the same tree; and, though differing so little in external
form, feeding on nearly the same food, living and lodging
in the same place; yet preserve their race, language, and
manners as perfectly distinct from those of their neigh-
bours, as if each inhabited a separate quarter of the globe.

The Blue Heron is twenty-three inches in length, and
three feet in extent; the bill is black, but from the nostril
to the eye, in both mandibles, is of a rich light purplish
blue; iris of the eye grey, pupil black, surrounded by a
narrow silvery ring; eyelid light blue; the whole head,
and greater part of the neck, is of a deep purplish brown;

158

from the crested hind-head shoot three narrow pointed
feathers, that reach nearly six inches beyond the eye;
lower part of the neck, breast, belly and whole body, a
deep slate colour, with lighter reflections; the back is
covered with long, flat, and narrow feathers, some of
which are ten iueiies long, and extend four inches beyond
the tail; the breast is also ornamented with a number of
these long slender feathers; legs blackish green; inner side
of the middle claw pectinated. The breast and sides of
the rump, under the plumage, are clothed with a mass of
yellowish white unelastic eottony down, similar to that in
most of the tribe, the uses of which are not altogether un-
derstood. Male and female alike in colour.

The young birds of the first year are destitute of the
purple plumage on the head and neck. Witson.

HUDSONIAN GODWIT.
SCOLOPAX HUDSONIA.
[Plate XIV. Vol. 2.]

Turis beautiful shore bird, is for the first time pictured
and presented to the public, through the *¢ Cabinet of Na-
tural History and American Rural Sports;’’ and the edi-
tor is much indebted to the Philadelphia Museum for this
valuable acquisition to the ornithology of North Ame-
rica. It is a rare bird, being the only one of that species
in the collection of the Museum, and as represented in the
plate, is clothed in summer plumage. The only notice
of this bird by former writers, is found in the supplemen-
tary part of Pennant’s Arctic Zoology, and appears to have
been communicated for publication there by the celebrated
ornithologist Latham. The editor of this work has
accordingly adopted the name for the bird supplied by
that author.

The Hudsonian Godwit is nearly seventeen inches in
length, and twenty-eight in extent; bill three, bending a
little upwards; the base half palish brown, the rest black;
crown blackish, spotted, and streaked with dusky white;
sides of the head and back part of the neck nearly the
same, but paler; lore dusky; over the eye a whitish streak;
chin of same colour; back and seapulars dusky brown, spot-
ted with rufous; lesser wing coverts brown; in the mid-
dle paler, and marked with a few spots of white; larger
coverts, plain ash colour; quills black, with white shafts,
the bases of them, from the fourth, white for one-third of
their length; ramp white; the whole under parts, from the
throat to the vent, fine rufous bay, waved across, with

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

dusky lines; under tail coverts, waved with white, bay
and black; tail feathers white at base, and dusky the rest
of their length to within a quarter of an inch of the end,
which is dirty white; the inner vanes, of the outer tail
feathers, white; legs black.

The chief abode and places of incubation for this bird
appear to be Hudson’s Bay and other northerly regions;
as we have no notice of its being met with further south
than Cape May, where the bird from which the present
drawing is made was shot, in May, 1828, by Mr. Titian
R. Peale. From thence north it is sometimes, though not
frequently seen, and if seen, not known, and appears as
fond of wandering along the shores of fresh water ponds
as the sea side; it is social in its disposition; being met
with in company with the Golden Plover. They
usually appear in small parties of four or five; are not
shy at first, but unsuspicious and easily shot, but it
is seldom met with in the above plumage, which so
differs from its fall or winter dress, that none but an expe-
rienced eye could identify the bird as the same when
found in the latter plumage. From this circum-
stance I am inclined to think it much more common
than is supposed; but not having appeared south, it has been
unnoticed by Wilson and others, and thus omitted in the
respective works on American Ornithology.

Mr. I. F. Ward, a naturalist of New York, who
collects quantities of birds from different parts of the
United States, for public and private cabinets, informs me,
that he scarcely ever met with the Hudsonian Godwit, ex-
cept on Hempstead Plains on Long Island, and then
rarely dressed in the above plumage.

SPORTING IN THE WILDS OF CANADA.

In deer stalking, and, indeed, all kinds of sporting in
this country, it is often necessary to camp out,—that is
bivouac in the woods. This would appear to a man who
is curious in well-aired sheets, as the next way to the
other world; but in reality there is nothing either danger-
ous or unpleasant in the proceeding. Every man carries
with him in the woods, punk, that is, German tinder, a
fungous excrescence of the maple, and a flint. With this
and the back of his knife, a light is struck, and the ignited
piece cut off from the mass. This is put into dry moss,
and blown or swung round the head until it blazes, awd
thus a large fire of ea is kindled. Spruce and hemlock
are sete and moss gathered to make a bed; and if it
be dry overhead nothing further is necessary, the party all
sleeping with their feet turned towards the fire. If, how-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

s... it threatens rain, a tent or wigwam of bark can soon
be erected, perfectly weather tight. And in winter this
may be rendered more comfortable by shoveling the snow
up on the walls so as to exclude the wind.

When a bear runs away with one of your pigs, there is
no use in going after him, hallooing, without a gun. You
may scare him away from the mutilated carcase, but it will
make indifferentpork. But trace to where hehasdragged it,
and near sunset letselfand friend hide themselves within easy
distance, and he willbe certain to come for hissupper, which,
like all sensible animals, he prefersto any other meal. Nay,
it is highly probable, if he possesses the gallantry which a
well bred bear had ought to have, he will bring Mrs.
Bruin and all the children along with him, and you can
transact business with the whole family at once.

In hunting the bear, take all the curs in the village
along with you. Game dogs are «seless for this purpose;
for unless properly trained, they fly at the throat, and get
torn to pieces or hugged to death for their pains. The
curs yelp after him, bite his rump, and make him tree,
where he can be shot. The bear of Canada is seldom dan-
gerous. He is always ready to enter intoa treaty, “let be
for let be’—but if wounded, he is dangerous in the ex-
treme. You should always, therefore, hunt him in
couples, and have a shot in reserve, or a goodly cud-
gel, ready to apply to the root of his nose, where
he is as invulnerable as Achilles was in the heel. Some
ludicrous stories are told of bear hunting; for Bruin
is rather a humorist in his way. A friend of mine with
his surveying party, ten men in all, once treed a very
large one; they immediately cut clubs, and set to work to
fell the tree. Bruin seemed inclined to maintain his posi-
tion, till the tree began to lean, when he slid down to
about fifteen feet from the ground, and then clasped his
fore paws over his head and let himself tumble amongst
them. Every club was raised, but Bruin was on the alert;
he made a charge upon the man immediately in front, and
escaped with two or three thumps on the rump, which he
valued not one pin.

When once they have killed a pig, if you do not manage
to kill the bear, you will never keep one hog; for they
will come back till they have taken the last of them;—
they will even invade the sacred precincts of the pig stye.
An Irishman in the Newcastle district once caught a bear
Jlagrante delicto, dragging a hog over the walls of a pew.
Pat instead of assailing the bear, thought only of securing
his property; so he jumped into the stye, and seized the
pig by the tait Bruin having hold of the ears, they had
a dead pull for possession, till the whilli-looing of Pat,
joined to the plaintive notes of his protege, brought a
neighbour to his assistance, who decided the contest in

159

Pat’s favour, by knocking the assailant on the head. A
worthy friend of mine, of legal profession, and now high
in office in the colony, once, when a young man, lost his
way in the woods, and seeing a high stump, clambered up
it with the hope of looking around him. While standing
on the top of it for this purpose, his foot slipped, and he
was precipitated into the hollow of the tree, beyond the
power of extricating himself. While bemoaning there
his hard fate, and seeing no prospect before him, save that
of a lingering death by starvation, the light above his head
was suddenly excluded, and his view of the sky, his only
prospect, shut out by the intervention of a dense medium,
and by and by he felt the hairy posteriors of a bear descend
upon him. With the courage of despair he seized fast
hold of Bruin behind, and by this means was dragged once
into upper day. Nothing, surely, but the instinct of con-
sanguinity could have induced Bruin thus to extricate his
distressed brother.—S¢. ndrew’s Current.

From the New England Galaxy.

SOME PASSAGES FROM THE DIARY OF A
SPORTSMAN.

[Concluded from page 116.]

Frew birds are more generally known than the wild
goose. In its migrations it traverses an immense extent
of country; and it is common in the spring and fall of the
year to see vast flocks of these birds passing continually
over our heads. They sometimes fly so near the earth
that hundreds of these winged armies are cut off by the
guns of the villagers. On such occasions when the ap-
proach of the wild geese is announced, it creates as much
excitement as if a hostile foree were marching upon the
town, with drums beating and banners flying. At these
times there is no desire of exemption from service, but
each man with a hearty zeal that would avail much in cases
of human evasion, seizes his gun, and blazes away like ven-
geance. They alight along the borders of our sea-shore,
or more commonly within our vast bays, where they are
shot down by myriads. J remember a singular mode of
carrying on the war against them on one occasion, prac-
ticed in a certain place, (that shall be nameless,) in the
state of Maine. A party of hardy old wild fowl] shooters,
impatient of cutting off the flocks in detail, with the com-
mon gun, succeeded in dragging a six-pound field piece
to the sea-shore, which they loaded with several pounds
of swan shot and pistol bullets, and opened a battery upon
the enemy. But they soon were satisfied that this novel

160 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

weapon would not answer their purpose. It made a vast
deal of noise, and discharged a very large volume of flame

and smoke, but did no damage to the enemy. In fact the
attempt was as vain and fruitless as it would be to detach
a strong train of heavy artillery, to act against a horde of
flying Tartars, or roving Cossacks.

But it is rare that they allow themselves when on the
wing to approach within gun shot of the fowler. Their
flight is not a little remarkable for its extreme regularity.
The following is a description of the mode by which, in
certain places, which at ebb tide consist of vast muddy flats
covered with green sea-weed, “ the shooter with his gun,
as evening draws on, runs up in his boat among the little
ereeks which the tide leaves in the mud lands, and lies in
patient expectation of his prey. Sea fowl usually feed by
night, when in all their multitudes they come down to
graze on the savannahs of the shore. As the sonorous cloud
advances, (for their noise in the air resembles a pack of
hounds in full ery,) the attentive fowler listens which way
they bend their course; perhaps he has the mortification to
hear them at too great a distance for his gun to reach
them; and if he cannot edge his boat round some wind-
ing ereek, which it is not always in his power to do, he
despairs of success that night. Perhaps, however, he is
more fortunate, and has the satisfaction to hear the airy
noise approach nearer, till at length the host settles in some
plain upon the edge of which his boat is moored. He now,
as silently as possible, primes both his pieces anew, (for
he is generally double armed,) and listens with all his at-
tention: it is so dark that he can take no aim; for if he
could discern the birds, they would also see him; and being
extremely timorous, would seek some other pasture.
Though they march with noise, they feed with silence;
some indistinct noises, however, if the night be still, issue
from so vast a concourse; he directs his piece therefore to-
wards the sound, fires at a venture, and instantly catching
up his other gun, discharges it where he supposes the flock
to rise on the wing. His gains for the night are now de-
cided, and he has only to gather his harvest. He imme-
diately puts on his mud pattens, (flat, square pieces of
board which the fowler ties to his feet, that he may not
sink into the ooze,) ignorant yet of his success, and goes
groping about in the dark in quest of his booty, picking
up sometimes many, and perhaps not one! But this is a
very hazardous and uncertain sport; for the boat is liable
to become fixed immoyeably in the mud; and the wounded
birds, which cannot be collected, are swept away by the
returning tide. I have heard of these shooters, who,
when once traversing one of these oozy plains in search of
ducks, and being intent only on his game, suddenly found
the water, which had been accelerated by some peculiar

circumstances affecting the tide, had made an alarming
progress around him. In a short time he was completely
encircled, and miraculously saved his life by thrusting the
barrel of his long gun into the mud, to which he continued
to cling until the waters had subsided. It is not a little
hazardous to venture forth on rough waters in one of these
little “‘ punts,’’ usually employed by water fowl shooters.
In this little egg-shell of a skiff he drops down with the
tide, or cautiously uses the paddle, and knowing their
haunis, takes every advantage of wind, tide, &c. His
gun, of great calibre, is laid with the muzzle over the
stern of the boat, in a hitch, which regulates the line of
aim. In the bottom of the little egg-shell the sportsman
deposits his limbs and body as comfortably as possible; and
avery moderate inclination to either side will endanger a
total shipwreck. It is customary to paint those little
skiffs with a green colour, or, what is better, to cover the
sides with sea weed; adeception which enables you to ap-
proach within shooting distance, without giving alarm.
But these slight boats are so easily upset, that it is abso-
lutely essential that the fowler should be an expert swim-
mer. Indeed it is a species of foolhardiness for any per-
son who is in the habit of shooting along the sea-shore to
venture into exposed places, without the ability in case of
need, to escape by swimming. A friend of the writer not
long since, when shooting on the sandy flats of Sandwich,
owed his life to his skill as a swimmer. The game on
the occasion alluded to chanced to be abundant, and in his
ardour, he suffered the tide to rise unobserved and com-
pletely environ him, When he became first aware of his
peril, he perceived that a strong and rapid current was
furiously racing between himself and the shore, and he
saw that his only safety consisted in attempting without a
moment’s delay to stem it, and reach the opposite shore.
But upon wading into the current, he soon ascertained
that there was no resting place for his foot, as the quick-
sands beneath him yielded to his pressure, and unless he
could manage to keep above them by swimming, he must
be swallowed up. He was encumbered with a heavy game
bag, (overflowing with slaughtered plovers,) and a flask
and shot belt in addition to his gun. He contrived, in the
water, to disencumber himself of the former, and was soon
compelled, though unwillingly, to relinquish the latter,
which sank to rise no more, and with great exertion he
reached the shore when completely exhausted. The gun
was, (I fear,) irretrievably lost; yet if any of my sporting
friends should ever happen to unearth it, I would thank
them to leave it at the Galaxy office, till celled for, ** and
they shall be suitably rewarded.”

Duck shooting is perhaps more practiced by the sports-

men in this neighbourhood, than any other species of shoot-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

ing. These birds are numerous, and we have great facili-
ties for taking them. At this season of the year, and in
autumn, all the surrounding shores and bays are lined
with gunners in pursuit of them. At this period, they
may be seen swimming among the very wharves of the
city, with as much unconcern as if paddling about in the
remotest northern ocean. At Nantasket, at Cohasset, or
Nahant, or Sandwich, we dare say they may now be
found in abundance. In some places they are taken in
decoys, into which they are enticed by decoy-ducks.
These consist of reeds planted in water, and bent over in
the form of a tunnel, and covered with a net. The man-
ner of managing a decoy isas follows: As soon as the even-
ing is set in, the decoy rises, as they term it, and the
wild fowl feed during the night. If the evening be still,
the noise of their wings, during their flight, is heard at a
very great distance, and produces no unpleasant sensation.
The fowler when he finds a fit opportunity, and sees his
decoy covered with fowl, walks about the pool, and ob-
serves into what pipe or tunnel, the birds gathered in the
pool may be enticed or driven. Then casting hemp-seed
or some such seed as will float on the surface of the water,
at the entrance and up along the pipe, he whistles to his
decoy-ducks, who instantly obey the summons, and come
to the entrance of the pipe, in hopes of being fed as usual.
Thither also they are followed by a whole flock of wild
ones, who little suspect the danger preparing against them.
The wild ducks, therefore, pursuing the decoy-ducks, are
led into the broad mouth of the channel or pipe, nor have
the least suspicion of the man, who is there concealed.
When they have got up the pipe, however, finding it
grows more and more narrow, they begin to suspect dan-
ger, and would return back, but they are now prevented
by the man, who shows himself at the broad end below.
Thither, therefore, they dare not return; and rise they
may not, as they are kept by the net above from ascend-
ing. The only way left them, therefore, is the narrow-
funneled net at the bottom; into this they fly and there
they are taken.

It often happens, however, that the wild fowl are in
such a state of sleepiness or dozing, that they will not fol-
low the decoy-ducks. Use is then generally made of a
dog who is taught his lesson. He passes backward and
forward among the reed-hedges, in which there are little
holes both for the decoy-man to see, and for the little dog
to pass through. ‘This.attracts the eye of the wild fowl,
who, prompted by curiosity, advance towards this little
animal, while he all the time keeps playing among the
reeds, nearer and nearer the funnel, till they follow him
too far to recede. Sometimes the dog will not attract
their attention till a red handkerchief or something very

Ss

161

striking be put about him. In China, such numbers of
gourds are at all times floating down their rivers, or on
the surface of the pool, that the ducks from habit, are not
startled by them; John Chinaman taking advantage of this
circumstance, has hit upon a very ingenious device for
taking them. He hollows out one of these gourds, large
enough to enclose his head, and with his whimsical head-
gear, wades into the water, taking care that his body is
concealed beneath the water. By this method, he manages
to jerk the whole flock, one after another under the sur-
face, where strangulation soon deprives them of the power
to sound the alarm to their comrades. M.

For the Cabinet.
UNITED BOWMEN OF PHILADELPHIA.

“ All by the shady green-wood tree,
The merry, merry archers roam ;
Jovial and bold, and ever free,
They tread their woodland home.
Roving beneath the moon’s soft light,
Or in the thick embowering shade,
List’ning the tale with dear delight,
Ofa wand’ring Sylvan Maid.”
[Archers’ Glee in the Maid of Judah.

Sucu in the olden time was the occupation of the gal-
lant Bowmen and Forresters gay, when the heart expand-
ed in the joys of the chase, the limbs grew strong, and
the pulse beat high in its exulting clamour; or perchance,
its fatigues were forgotten ‘‘in the thick embowering
shade,”’ telling <‘ the tale’”’ to some “¢ Sylvan Maid,’? who,
‘cin dear delight” “list’ning,”’ scarce knows that a figu-
rative shaft from that sly archer, the son of Cypria’s
Queen, has pierced the very ved of her heart. But oh!
these degenerate days, a bare common, the refuge of the
sheep-boy and his shorn flock, is the melancholy con-
trast, without a vestige of ‘* embowering shade.”

Well, so let it be, there is still enjoyment enough, and
more than ordinary in the drawing of the bow, and the
twang of the string, when we remember that our embow-
ering shade is the west side of the street, five in every
seven afternoons, through the broiling summer, and our
‘¢jovial, bold, and free,’’ is developed in the right to
elbow, wedge, and work our way, at the expense of sun-
dry contusions upon our ribs, and a heavy discount for
perspiration up to the polls, as we all most feelingly expe-
rienced on the second Tuesday last.

We live now in anage so artificial, that rural sports and
the anecdotes of their followers, are listened to as ro-

162

mances of times that are passed; and as for ‘‘ Sylvan
Maids,”’ “bless you child,””? as aunty Dina used to say,
there has not such a thing been heard of for the three last
centuries; and what have we in their place? I would tell if
I could: they are ladies, for that is the only polite way of
speaking their titles; but as to what they are, their “ form
and pressure,”’ thatisa hidden mystery, composed, we timid-
ly guess, of puffs, stiffenings, and nameless things, supported
on a frame work, that I have been told is real flesh, and
all the other matters that constitute the ‘‘ noblest work,”’
but differing in that inconsiderable item the heart, that
obsolete member being, (as the naturalists say,) ‘‘ wanting
in this specimen.”’ I know not, it may be, that my old
limbs are gouty, my blood cold, and my temper soured
by the cares and anxieties, not to say the ingratitude of
life, such as I have experienced, but I do not look upon
the ‘‘gay beings,”’ the butterfly beauties of the present
day, with the same feelings that I once loved so well to
indulge. I could tell you, that in bygone youth I wandered
where the melody of the brook in broken murmurs stole
upon my ear, where the song of the wood robin, in its
loveliest wood notes wild, were heard in the mellow twi-
light, and the native honeysuckle shed its richest fragrance
round, fanned by the fairy wing of the humming-bird; in
that lone place, and in that sweet hour, I heard the gentle
breathing of her, who is still so dear to memory, more
musical than that soft brook, whose voice was far more
melodious than that tuneful bird’s whose eyes, in the rap-
ture of my gaze, seemed like stars from the firmament
above us, in their own mild radiance steeped; that hour
has passed, those eyes and that sweet voice have returned
to the heaven, from whence I thought them, in my fond
devotion, stolen; and methinks even at this late day, when
the fall of life is fast closing upon me, shedding its sere
and yellow leaf upon my path, that I still see those eyes
in the firmament, and hear that sweet voice in the gentle
wind of summer: but no, it is the memory, that busy tat-
tler, who, upon the cold and dreary reality of present ex-
istence, of’t intrudes with her phantom smiles, to cheer
for a moment, but to leave too soon the same cold surface
it had for a moment broken, like the still lake of the
woods, whose placid bosom is ruffled for a moment into
lights and shadows by the falling of a decayed limb from
the enamoured tree that had so long hung over it in fond-
ness.

I have been betrayed by reckless memory into forget-
fulness of the business of the hour, and must before I re-
sume it, make an apology to the ladies for what has been
penned in this, to them, dull scrawl; for some one may
perchance, ona rainy day, try to beguile the hour, by
looking over the pages of the Cabinet. Now what apology

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

can I make? Why truly none, save this: they need not
heed me, for I am old, and like the oak upon the hill, my
head has been scathed by the lightnings of many storms,
my arms like its boughs are withered, and the canker isin
my heart. ‘* Logan is the last of his name;”’ that fragrant
rose bush that stood at my side has died in its young love-
liness; its pale leaves scented the air at my feet for a few
short seasons, and now I am alone. Can we who have
lived so long, see with eyes that youth and its young hopes
tinge all on which they rest with their own celestial azure?
No, it is the green of the goggles with which we shade
our dull vision, that lends its predominant colouring of
yellow melancholy to all that in youthful fancy is so bright
and glowing: with this as my apology, let me depart in
peace.

“The merry merry archers” meet often, and well we
know the pleasures of the bow, and of’t regret that its
use is not more general; how many and how agreeable are
the topics that it affords for discussion, reflection, arrange-
ment and fancy; let us begin with the bow, and give you
in it, a sample of the variety of matter that it affords for
agreeable occupation, even before it is bent.

<¢ Tell me, S**, what wood is your bow made of?

‘¢ Which do you mean, the body or the back?

‘<It’s made of two pieces, is it?

“Yes, the body is Lemon, a fine elastic wood, but too brit-
tle to bear the strain without a back; this of mine is back-
ed with lance wood, the toughness of which prevents the
body from breaking, and you see when the bow is un-
strung that it has a back-set, which is given it in the
making.

“<Ts it strong? Let me try it.

‘No, you don’t, we never allow a bow to be handled
by the uninitiated, for this reason; you see the back-set,
and take it for granted, that the proper mode is to bend
it in that direction; the effort is made, and in one instant
the bow isin two pieces. Your apology is, (after being very
sorry and all that,) that you had no idea that it would
break so easy; but I had, and so chose torun norisk. So
particular are practised archers in this respect, that a rule
is adopted never to draw a bow unless an arrow is nocked.
Another reason for care is, that the upper and lower
limbs of the bow are of different strength and length, the
handle being below the centre, so that the arrow may be
discharged from the middle of the string.”’

This conversation is supposed to pass between the adept
and the uninitiated; the practised archer inquires of his
companion,

«¢ What is the strength of your bow?

“ About fifty-five pounds; I wish it wasnot quiteso strong,
for I think I could shoot better if it were weaker, especially

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

at eighty yards distance, for I have always observed, that
if the left arm trembles while you are drawing up, you
cannot depend on your shooting. The wind is against
us at this target, and I have not yet made sufficient allow-
ance for it.

<¢ Do you draw with two fingers or three?

‘¢T pursue a different plan from usual in drawing, using
shooting gloves upon the second and third fingers only,
and of course drawing principally with those two, and
using the first but slightly. I think that the brace being
sewed fast to the sleeve is more convenient than the usual
method of fastening it with straps and buckles; the trian-
gular pocket that we have attached to our belts, is an im-
provement on the strap and pouch of the English equip-
ment, sent to us by Waring of London,* if that equip-
ment is the same that is in common use. It may look
as if egotism misleads us, but in some of the minor mat-
ters of convenience, we think we have made improve-
ments; for instance, besides the matters just mentioned,
look at the backs of our targets, made of Carolina moss,
quilted between strong linen. No arrow has ever passed
through, and there is no symptom of wear from use; it
appears to me that they will endure as long as our associa-
tion, and heaven grant that that may be, until we are as
aged as our venerated ancestor of the bow, Sir William
Wood, ‘ who his long life to that alone did owe.’

«¢ Let me look at your arrows—how well they are made,
and how neatly painted; you have chosen a beautiful cclour
—light blue; but your mark is not so easily made as
mine. An anchor is, however, very appropriate.

‘¢ What do you think the best weight for arrows?

‘<A bout three-fourths of an ounce; (you observe that I
have abandoned the old terms of 2 and 4 and 2 and
6, because they convey no decided impression to the
mind.) I think one ounce too heavy, unless you shoot
with a very strong bow, or in windy weather.

«<7 was unfortunately absent from the city on the 12th of
September, the day of our annual prize shooting, and had
no opportunity of hearing the particulars. Will you tell
me how you made out?

<¢ With pleasure, particularly from the circumstance of my
having no personal interest in the contest, further than
the esprit de corps; that is so remarkable in the members
of our club, you may remember, that good luck has been
my portion for a prize shooting or two; and as there were
several young archers, new associates, who stood in need

* Pp. S. We have been much delighted since the above notice was
sent to you, by the reception of a fine parcel of bows and arrows from
Scotland, being from the celebrated manufactory at Kilwinen. The
bows are of Scotch yew, and the arrows the neatest I have ever seen.
Our new members are now elegantly equiped, and we haye a spare
stock in reserves

163

of encouragement, I determined not to take a part in the
competition. Our worthy associate A had drawn by lot
the duties of captain of the target, at the same time that
he took the first chance in the order of shooting. I there-
fore volunteered to act as captain and register, and relieve
the competitors from all duties save that of making the
best display of skill they could. Ihad a good opportunity
of observing the men, and although some of them had
been put through the archer’s drill, as given in our manual,
but a few days in anticipation of this contest, they took
their places upon the stand, nocked their arrows, and
drew to the ear, with the steadiness of veterans. The
time of shooting was two hours, from three to five; and
as there were nine persons shooting at one pair of targets,
the number of rounds were few; they shot as usual in
pairs, in order to save as much time as possible. There
were lots of muslin, (as our nicknaming associate, ,
calls the ladies,) and a high wind, both unfavourable cir-
cumstances to composure and good shooting. This gen-
tleman, like myself, has seldom had good luck in a
contest of this kind, where the excitement usually pro-
duces a bad effect upon the nervous system; but notwith-
standing these disadvantageous circumstances, he acquitted
himself nobly, having fourteen hits, the value of which
was 60, twoin the gold, one of which was nearest the
centre, and would have entitled him to the secondary
prize, if he had not gained the first; therefore took the
secondary, a piece of luck that shows the utility of the
secondary prize; for the hit nearest the centre, this being
the second if not the first time that this gentleman had
drawn a bow at the target.

“‘The first prize for the value of hits, is inevitably the
property of the best archer, provided he can command
his nerves, and say, with effect to his heart, ‘ peace, be
still? There is the card, you see that.

has 14 hits, value 60
e6 9 73 ce 31

ce 16 (73 (a4 52

oe 3 (43 (73 15

ce 9 ce ce 29

cc 5 13 ce 19
‘<No greatshooting, you will say; granted, butas good as
prize shootings usually are: we can tell in looking over
our target book, when we have a prize register before
us, by the fewness of the hits, except there is this note in
the margin, in the angular, or best printing hand, of the
‘Knocked off on account of rain, time of

99) )\

SRIF Oa

Secretary.
shooting twenty-five minutes.
October 15th, 1832.

164

RURAL SPORTS,
OR RECOLLECTIONS OF A SPORTSMAN.—NO. I,

“Tis not that rural sports alone invite,

But all the grateful country beams delight ;
Here blooming health exerts her gentle reign,
And strings the sinews of the industrious swain.”

Rurat sports have been admitted in every age. The
good, the great and the wise, have in their turn freely en-
joyed them, and while those which are gentlemanly and
recreative in their tendency are to be desired and cherish-
ed, there are others injurious to the morals of a community
which are to be deprecated and rejected. Happily, our
country does not sanction those sports of cruelty, which,
in some countries, are considered national, and the pa-
tronage of which very properly illustrates the dispositions
of the people who encourage them.

Without resorting to the combats of wild animals, bull
fights, pugilism, &c., nature has abundantly supplied us
with other means of enjoyment. Our numerous hills, and
almost endless forests; our fertile valleys and extensive
plains; our brooks, rivers and sea-side, teem with un-
numbered subjects for the hunter, sportsman and angler.
But

“There are who think these pastimes scarce humane,
Yet in my mind, (and not relentless I,)
His life is pure that wears no fouler stain.”

To these enjoyments the natural feelings of mankind
incline. The force of habit and education has no control
when the individual is relieved from the restraint of
civilized life, and placed in circumstances in which he may
exert this principle of nature. That man inclines to the
‘¢ hunter state,” is contended for by many eminent writers,
who also labour to prove, that the scattered population of
the earth, both of manand beast, has been effected chiefly by
this principle. The truth of this position we can in a great
measure assent to, from what we constantly see, and what
most feel, viz. that there is in our natures an instinctive dis-
position towards pastural amusements, that displays its
energies in the very spring-time of life, as well in chris-
tian as in savage infancy; which matures and strengthens
with age through successive years, commencing as soon
as the infantile mind is alive to the beauties of rural things,
and ending only in the days of second childhood.

My fondness for rural sports was acquired at a very
early age, and during that period when the city of Phila-
delphia was scourged by the desolating influence of the
yellow fever. My parents, like a multitude of other in-
habitants, fled the city and located themselves on an an-

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

cient, but beautiful and romantic farm, about nine miles
distant, where, for the first time in my life, I roam-
ed the woods and fields, while all around me appeared
strange and invitingly beautiful; and I felt as though I had
begun life anew. I had not then reached my seventh year,
yet the ever changing varieties which unfolded themselves
to my youthful mind, added new energies to a disposition
already vivid, and being free from the restraint so neces-
sary ina city, I was permitted to wander wherever my
disposition led me. It was not long before the variety of
pleasures there to be enjoyed, were eagerly sought and
entered into with all the animation consequent to a play-
ful child.

The old stone mansion stood on a hill whose base was
washed by a beautiful and rapid stream which meandered
through woods and meadows for many miles, until it
finally deposited its troubled waters into the bosom of the
Delaware river. This stream gave occasion for me to ex-
ercise my first disposition for sportiveness along its fra-
grant banks.

I well remember the first hour when I was led by the
parental hand in search of the finny treasure which this
creek contained. My father was fond of fishing and gun-
ning, although he claimed notthe title of sportsman ineither,
butit was only when idleness was forced upon him, and the
dull monotony of a country life made his hours tedious
and insupportable, that he would take the rod or gun, and
go in pursuit of fish or fowl. On this first essay my im-
plements consisted of a rod cut from an alder bush, a line
of homespun thread, a crooked pin for a hook, and a com-
mon cork float. Thus equipped, I no doubt felt as satisfied,
and anticipated as much enjoyment from the resources
before me, as any devout follower of ‘‘ honest old Isaac,”’
with the most approved and complete apparatus of modern
times, and my bosom throbbed with as much intensity of
feeling at the “first nibble,’ as does that of an expe-
rienced fisherman when exerting his science to land the
‘monarch of the brook.’? Such, reader, may have been
your experience; and you will readily forgive any extrava-
gance of feeling which a recurrence to those days of child-
hood may excite. But I love to dwell on the scenes of
boyhood; these were days of comparative innocency, un-
mingled with the turmoil and disappointment consequent
to human life. Then I wandered unconscious of future
trouble in search of pleasure through fields and flowery
meadows, and beside that ever murmuring brook—
whose waters, every day, I visited, until at length
novelty subsided, and fishing gave place to fondness for
the gun.

In those days shooting on the wing was of rare occur-
rence, and the individual who could accomplish this, was,

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

in the view of the rustics, considered as a being of supe-
rior order; the chief objects of game were rabbits and
squirrels; and it was only when the unsuspicious covey of
partridges was huddled together from the cold or the in-
clemency of a snow storm, beneath a holly bush or group
of cedars, that these birds were ever shot, and the slaughter
thus effected was made an occasion for boasting in propor-
tion to the number slain at a single shot, which sometimes
amounted to ten or fifteen. The guns in use at that period
were mostly single-barrelled, and would measure from
five to seven feet in length, and were more valued in pro-
portion to their length; the settled opinion being, that the
longer the gun, the further and more powerful would it
throw the shot, and have an established character for be-
ing a “good squirrel gun.’”? Other important items to
establish in their characters were, that they should be
good ‘‘turkey guns’?—that is, capable of winning at
turkey matches. It was a custom then, (and is in a mea-
sure followed to this day,) for both old and young men to
assemble at the different inns through the country, during
the holydays, to shoot at targets for turkeys, geese, and
other poultry; consequently, it was all important that the
different rivals or competitors should possess good shoot-
ing guns; and the most successful at these matches were
enhanced in value in proportion to the quantity of fowls
won. Some of these guns were of very ancient date, and
had in many instances descended from generation to gene-
ration for nearly a century; while these old family pieces
were regarded as sacred relics of ancestral renown with as
much piety and care as if a moral obligation was involved
in their good or bad treatment. Not quite such a gun did
my father possess, and although not so superannuated, it
bore abundant marks of antiquity, and gave good evidence
of its capability by dropping squirrels from the tallest
hickories.

To me the sound of a gun was more musical than any
thing else, and no weather was too inclement; no hardship
toosevere, but I would sustain it to follow my father; through
sleet and snow, over craggy precipices, intensely suffering
from fatigue, cold and laceration from thorns and briars,
without a murmuring word or disposition to return home.
Attached as I was to a gun, however, and as much as I
loved its report, I was still fearful to shoot one; and it was
not until a considerable length of time that I could be in-
duced to make the attempt. At that time it was more
customary among the country folks to ‘‘ fire away the old
year,”’ than at present; and it was on an occasion of this
kind, that I, for the first, shot off a gun; this I accom-
plished by resting the muzzle on a fence and pulling the
trigger; but the moment I fired I relinquished my hold
and sprung backwards as from a poisonous reptile, to the

Tr

165

amusement of many lookers on; whose mirth and teasing
on that occasion for ever afterwards prevented a like oc-
currence.

Thus I overcame the first difficulty, and my leisure mo-
ments or holydays for some years were always employed
with the gun in shooting sparrows, snowbirds and the
like; and if by chance I shot a lark or robin, I concluded
my enterprise by returning hastily to my home, to pre-
sent my trophy as evidence of my proficiency. «But
there is a tide in the affairs of men,” and so there was in
mine, for the funds which I would now and then accumu-
late by the pennies given to me by friends and strangers,
were insufficient to procure as much powder and shot as
my disposition for gunning required, and I had to adopt
in lieu thereof other pastimes and amusements. Now, a
very favourite sport among my school fellows was that of
catching squirrels, that is, the ground and flying squirrels;
the former it is well known dwell in burrows or holes
under ground, to which they betake themselves when pur-
sued by an enemy, and from which it is a difficult matter
to dislodge them; boys, however, are never at a loss for
stratagem, and the plan we most successfully followed
was, by pouring their holes full of water obtained from a
neighbouring brook, which would bring forth the tenants
generally half drowned, and render them easy objects of
capture. The vessels employed usually to effect this were
our hats; these we would unhesitatingly dip into the water,

and rather suffer the unpleasantness of wet hats to cover

our heads, and the risk of flogging from our parents,
than forego the satisfaction of catching a single ground
squirrel.

The flying squirrel was captured as efficacious, but with
more difficulty. When these are driven from their nests,
(which usually are composed of leaves and fixed in the
large fork of a tree some height from the ground,) they
will immediately ascend to the very topmost branches of
the same tree, in order, when danger presses them, to
escape by making a descent by flight, as it is called, to the
butt of some neighbouring tree. When, therefore, they
would reach the extremity of a branch, one of the party
would clamber the tree with a Jong slim pole swung to his
wrist, on the end of which was a noose made of horse-
hair, and, as this species is less shy and more innocent
than most others, they would generally suffer themselves
to be approached within ten or twelve feet, and by much
care and quietness, the noose could without difficulty be
placed over the head of the little victim and thus make it
prisoner. In this way we caught many old squirrels, and
then by securing the nests, which frequently contained
several of their young, it not only was a source of
amusement, but profit. Rusricvs.

168

was stabbed by my directions in the spinal marrow, with
a large knife, which appeared to be the most humane man-
ner of killing him, and I then ordered all the signals, with
the sky-scrapers, to be hoisted; and the whoop re-echoed
through the whole range of the Grampians. On opening
his jaws, to endeavour to take the hooks from him, which
were both fast in his gorge, so dreadful a forest of teeth,
or tushes, I think I never beheld: if [had not had a double
link of gimp with two swivels, the depth between his sto-
mach and mouth would have made the former quite use-
less. His measurement, accurately taken, was five feet
four inches, from eye to fork.

On examining him attentively, I perceived that a very
large bag hung deep below his belly, and, thinking it was
lower than usual with other Pike, I concluded that this
had been deeply fed but a short time before he was taken.
After exhibiting him, therefore, to several gentlemen, I
ordered that my housekeeper, on whom I could depend,
should have him carefully opened the next day, and the
contents of his stomach be reserved for inspection; and
now ordering the servants to proceed with their burden,
we rettirned to Avemore, drank tea, and afterwards went
on to the Raits, where we produced our monster for in-
spection, to the no small gratification of the spectators,
whose curiosity had been strongly excited to view a fish
of such magnitude.

Agreeable to the orders of the preceding day, Mrs. C.
opened the Pike, and sent to us the contents of his sto-
mach, which, to our surprise, consisted of part of another
Pike half digested. The tumour, or bag, arose from his
having, no doubt many years since, gorged a hook, which
seemed to us better calculated for sea than for fresh-water
fishing. It was wonderfully honey-combed, but free from
rust, so that I cannot doubt of its having been at least ten
years in his belly. His head and back bone I ordered to
be preserved in the best manner I could devise, and the
rest to be salted down.

The weight of this fish, judging by the trones we had
with us, which would only weigh twenty-nine pounds,
made us, according to our best opinions, estimate him at
between forty-seven and forty-eight pounds. I had before
this seen Pike of thirty-six pounds, and have had them at
Thornville of above thirty; but the addition of seventeen
pounds and a half made this quite a different fish. There
may be larger Pike, but I cannot readily credit the ac-
counts of such until [receive more authentic information.
This extraordinary fish was taken in Loch Alva, in the
Highlands of Scotland.

[ Sportsman’s Cyclopedia.

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

MANNER OF PRESERVING GAME, BY POISON-
ING GROUNDS, AS ADOPTED IN ENGLAND
AND IRELAND.

Tue best mode for preserving grouse, is by poison,
nux vomica, and yellow arsenic, of each, half an ounce,
mixed with a quarter of a pound of wheaten flour, and
divided into pills of an ounce each. These pills must be
dipped in rendered tallow, as candles are, until they have
a thick coat of the same, which preserves them, not only
from being destroyed by the wet, but it induces the dog to
take it; for a dog must be made use of to poach grouse.
The poison should be laid round the borders of the pro-
perty, and a second line inside of the first, so that if the
dogs miss the first, they will by chance take the second;
it should be put on a slate, or a small stone should be put
under it, or a short stick drove in the ground, with the
poison secured to the top of it; but not so as to project
over the heath, which should be drawn round it, in order
to keep it from the sight of the poacher. In Ireland, this
is always practised, and those who value their dogs, never
attempt to approach the poisoned grounds; by the law
there, it is necessary to give a month’s notice in the news-
paper, printed in the county wherein the property is, and
those who wish to poison, are often debarred the pleasure
of shooting on their own mountains for the season; but if
the poison is marked as it should be, it can be taken up by
the keepers, the day before the owner wishes to shoot, and
laid again at night, without the smallest risk, if the
keeper is a steady person.

A gentleman in the west of Ireland, who was remarka-
bly tenacious of his game, poisoned his mountains one
season, and having it marked, used to have it taken up
when he thought proper. Some sportsmen who happen-
ed to come on it one day to shoot, had three brace of
beautiful setters poisoned: in revenge they made up a couple
of thousand pills, and in the night, thickly poisoned all
these mountains, unknown to the proprietor, who, on
taking up his own poison, and going out to shoot, was
greatly surprised to find all his fine dogs dead, in the

course of three hours after he began to shoot, never sus-

pecting the trap that was laid for him. It is inconceiva-
ble to think how immediate the death of every dog is after
taking this poison; he seldom outlives seven minutes, ex-
cept some assistance is given, which a sportsman seldom
can come at on a mountain, unless he is aware of poison
being laid, and then it is to be hoped, he would not be so
imprudent as to risk the life of a valuable dog.
[Shooting Directory.

GOWAN NVOTHOING

Bs Yygayevunfunng 73H D ron y 1 um

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

AMERICAN BUFFALO OR BISON.
BOS AMERICANUS.

[Plate XV. Vol. 2.]

Bos Americanus: GMev. Taurus Mexicanus: HERNAND.
Mex. 587. Tauri Vacceque, Ibid. Anim. p.10. The
Buffalo: Carressy, Carol. 28 tab.20. Beuf Sauvage:
Dourrarz, Louisiane, 1.66. wmerican Bull: Penn.
Quad. pl. u. fig. 2.

From other species of the ox kind, the Bison is well
distinguished by the following peculiarities. A long
shaggy hair clothes the fore part of the body, forming a
well marked beard beneath the lower jaw, and descending
behind the knee in a tuft. This hair rises on the top of
the head in a dense mass, nearly as high as the extremities
of the horns. Over the forehead it is closely curled, and
matted so thickly as to deaden the force of a rifle ball,
which either rebounds, or lodges in the hair, merely caus-
ing the animal to shake his head as he heavily bounds along.

The head of the Bison is large and ponderous, compared
with the size of the body; so that the muscles for its sup-
port, necessarily of great size, give great thickness to the
neck, and by their origin from the prolonged dorsal ver-
tebral proeesses form the peculiar projection called the
hump. This hump is of an oblong form, diminishing in
height as it recedes, so as to give considerable obliquity to
the line of the back.

The eye of the Bison is small, black, and brilliant; the
horns are black and very thick near the head, whence they
curve upwards and outwards, rapidly tapering towards
their points. The outline of the face is somewhat conyex-
ly curved, and the upper lip, on each side being papillous
within, dilates and extends downwards, giving a very ob-
lique appearance to the lateral gape of the mouth, in this
particular resembling the ancient architectural bas-reliefs
representing the heads of oxen.

The physiognomy of the Bison is menacing and fero-
cious, and no one can see this formidable animal in his
native wilds, for the first time, without feeling inclined to
attend immediately to his personal safety. The summer
coat of the Bison differs from his winter dress, rather by
difference of length than by other particulars. In sum-
mer, from the shoulders backwards, the hinder parts of
the animal are all covered with a very short fine hair, that
is as smooth and as soft to the touch as velvet. The tail
is quite short and tufted at the end, and its utility asa fly-
brush is necessarily very limited. The colour of the hair
is uniformly dun, but the long hair on the anterior parts

Ut

169

of the body is to a certain extent tinged with yellowish
or rust colour. These animals, however, present so lit-
tle variety in regard to colour, that the natives consider
any remarkable difference from the common appearance
as resulting from the immediate interference of the Great
Spirit.

Some varieties of colour have been observed, although
the instances are rare. A Missouri trader informed the
members of Long’s exploring party, that he had seen a
greyish white Bison and a yearling calf, that was distin-
guished by several white spots on the side, a star or blaze
in the forehead, and white fore feet. Mr. J. Dougherty, an
interpreter to the expedition, saw in an Indian hut a very
well prepared Bison head with a star on the front. This
was highly prized by the proprietor, who called it his
great medicine, for, said he, ‘‘the herds come every
season to the vicinity to seek their white-faced compan-
ion.”

In appearance the Bison cow bears the same relation to
the bull that is borne by the domestic cow to her mate.
Her size is much smaller, and she has much less hair on
the fore part of her body. The horns of the cow are much
less than those of the bull, nor are they so much concealed
by the hair. The cow is by no means destitute of beard,
but though she possesses this conspicuous appendage, it
is quite short when compared with that of her com-
panion.

From July to the latter part of December the Bison cow
continues fat. Their breeding season begins towards the
latter part of July and continues until the beginning of
September, and after this month the cows separate from
the bulls in distinct herds and bring forth their calves in
April. The calves rarely separate from the mother before
they are one year old, and cows are frequently seen ac-
companied by calves of three seasons.

The flesh of the Bison is somewhat coarser in its fibre
than that of the domestic ox, yet travellers are unanimous.
in considering it equally savoury as an article of food; we
must, however, receive the opinions of travellers on this
subject, with some allowance for their peculiar situations,
being frequently at a distance from all other food, and
haying their relish improved by the best of all possible re-
commendations in fayour of the present viands—hunger.
It is with reason, however, that the flesh is stated to be
more agreeably sapid, as the grass upon which these ani-
mals feed is short, firm and nutritious, being very different
from the luxuriant and less saline grass produced on a more
fertile soil. The fat of the Bison is said to be far sweeter
and richer, and generally preferable to that of the common
ox. The observations made in relation to the Bison’s
flesh, when compared with the flesh of the domestic ox,

170

may be extended to almost all wild meat, which has a
peculiar flavour and raciness that renders it decidedly
more agreeable than that of tame animals, although the
texture of the flesh may be much coarser and the fibre by
no means as delicate.

Of all the parts of the Bison that are eaten, the hump is
the most famed for its peculiar richness and delicacy; be-
cause when cooked it is said very much to resemble mar-
row. The Indian mode of cooking the hump is to cut it
out from the vertebra, after which the spines of bone are
taken out, the denuded portion is then covered with skin,
which is finally sewed to the skin covering the hump. The
hair is then singed and pulled off, and the whole mass is
put in ahole dug in the earth for its reception, which has
been previously heated by a strong fire in and over it the
evening previous to the day on which it is to be eaten. It
is then covered with cinders and earth about a foot deep,
and a strong fire made over it. By the next day at noon
it is fit for use. The tongues and marrow bones are also
highly esteemed by the hunters. ‘To preserve the flesh
for future use the hunters and Indians cut it into thin slices
and dry it in the open air, which is called jerking; this
process is speedily finished, and a large stock of meat may
thus be kept for a considerable length of time.

From the dried flesh of the Bison the fur traders of the
north-west prepare a food which is very valuable on ac-
count of the time it may be preserved without spoiling,
though it will not appear very alluring to those who re-
side where provisions are obtained without difficulty. The
dried Bison’s flesh is placed on skins and pounded with
stones until sufficiently pulverized. It is then separated
as much as possible from impurities, and one-third of its
weight of the melted tallow of the animal is poured over
it. This substance is called pemmican, and being packed
firmly in bags of skin of a convenient size for transporta-
tion, may be kept for one year without much difficulty,
and with great care, perhaps two years.

During the months of August and September the flesh
of the Bison bull is poor and disagreeably flavoured; they
are, howeVer, much more easily killed, as they are not so
vigilant as the cows, and sometimes allow the hunter to
come up with them without much difficulty. Lewis &
Clarke relate that once approaching a large herd, the
bulls would searcely move out of their way, and as they
came near, the animals would merely look at them for a
moment, as at something new, and then quietly resume
their grazing.

The general appearance of the Bison is by no means at-
tractive or prepossessing, his huge and shapeless form be-
ing altogether devoid of grace and beauty. His gait is
awkward and cumbrous, although his great strength en-

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

ables him to run with very considerable speed over plains
in summer, or in winter to plunge expeditiously through
the snow.

The sense of smelling is remarkably acute in this ani-
mal, and it is remarked by hunters that the odour of the
white man is far more terrifying to them than that of the
Indian. From the neighbourhood of white settlements
they speedily disappear: this, however, is very justly
accounted for by Mr. Say, who attributes it to the im-
politic and exterminating warfare, which the white man
wages against all unsubdued animals within his reach.

As an exemplification of the peculiar strength of their
sense of smelling, we may here relate a circumstance men-
tioned by Mr. Say, in that valuable and highly interest-
ing work, Long’s Expedition to the Rocky Mountains, to
which we are under continual obligations. These we are
the more happy to acknowledge, because we are well ac-
quainted with the solicitude of the gentlemen composing
that expedition, to diffuse, as widely as possible, the know-
ledge of American Natural History.

The exploring party were riding through a dreary and
uninteresting country, which at that time was enlivened
by vast numbers of Bisons, who were moving in count-
less thousands in every direction. As the wind was blow-
ing fresh from the south, the scent of the party was wafted
directly across the river Platte, and through a distance of
eight or ten miles, every step of its progress was distinctly
marked by the terror and consternation it produced
among the Bisons. The instant their atmosphere was in-
fected by the tainted gale, they ran as violently as if close-
ly pursued by mounted hunters, and instead of fleecing
from the danger, they turned their heads towards the wind,
eager to escape this terrifying odour. They dashed ob-
liquely forward towards the party, and, plunging into the
river, swam, waded, and ran with headlong violence, in
several instances breaking through the Expedition’s line
of march, which was immediately along the left branch of
the Platte. Oneof the party, (Mr. Say himself,) per-
eeiving from the direction taken by the bull who led the
extended column, that he would emerge from the low
river bottom at a point where the precipitous bank was
deeply worn by much travelling, urged his horse rapidly
forward, that he might reach this station in order to gain
a nearer view of these interesting animals. He had just
reached the spot when the formidable leader, bounding up
the steep, gained the summit of the bank with-his fore
feet, and in this position, suddenly halted from his full
eareer, and fiercely glared at the horse which stood full
in his path. ‘Phe horse was panic-struck by this sudden —
apparition, trembled violently from fear, and would have
wheeled and taken to flight, had not his rider exerted his

AND AMERICAN

utmost strength to restrain him; he recoiled, however,
a few feet and sunk down upon his hams. The Bison halt-
ed for a moment, but urged forward by the irresistible
pressure of the moving column behind, he rushed onward
by the half-sitting horse. The herd then came swiftly
on, crowding up the narrow defile. The party had
now reached the spot, and extended along a considerable
distance; the Bisons ran in a confused manner, in various
directions, to gain the distant bluffs, and numbers were
compelled to pass through the line of march. Thisscene,
added to the plunging and roaring of those who were yet
erossing the river, produced a grand effect, that was
heightened by the fire opened on them hy the hunters.

To the Indians and visitors of the western regions the
Bison is almost invaluable; we have mentioned that they
supply a large part of the food used by the natives, and
covering to their tents and persons, while in many parts
of the country there is no fuel to be obtained but the dried
dung of this animal. The Indians always associate ideas
of enjoyment with plenty of Bison, and they frequently
constitute the skull of one of them, their “Great Medicine.’
They have dances and ceremonies that are observed pre-
vious to the commencement of their hunting.

The herds of Bison wander over the country in search
of food, usually led by a bull most remarkable for strength
and fiereeness. While feeding, they are often scattered
over a great extent of country, but when they move in
mass they form a dense almost impenetrable column,
which, once in motion, is scarcely to be impeded. Their
line of march is seldom interrupted even by considerable
rivers, across which they swim without fear or hesitation,
nearly in the order that they traverse the plains. When fly-
ing before their pursuers, it would be in yain for the fore-
most to halt, or attempt to obstruct the progress of the
main body, as the throng in the rear stillrushing onward,
the leaders must advance, although destruction awaits the
movement. The Indians take advantage of this circum-
stance to destroy great quantities of this favourite game,
and, certainly, no mode could be resorted to more eftec-
tually destructive, nor could a more terrible devastation
be produced, than that of forcing a numerous herd of these
large animals, to leap together from the brink of a dread-
ful precipice, upon a rocky and broken surface, a hundred
feet below.

When the Indians determine to destroy Bison in this
way, 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

RURAL SPORTS. 171
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 se-
cures himself in some previously ascertained crevice. The
foremost of the herd arrives at the brink—there is no pos-
sibility 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 for-
ward with increasing impetuosity, and the aggregated force
hurls them successively into the gulf, where certain death
awaits them.

It is extremely fortunate that this sanguinary and waste-
ful method of killing Bisons is not very frequently re-
sorted to by the savages, or we might expect these ani-
mals ina few years to become almost entirely extinct.
The waste is not the only unpleasant circumstance conse-
quent on it; the air for a long time after, is filled with
the horrible stench arising from the putrifying carcases
not consumed by the Indians after such an extensive and
indiscriminate slaughter. For a very considerable time
after such an event, the wolves and vultures feast sumptu-
ously and fatten to tameness on the disgusting remains,
becoming so gentle and fearless, as to allow themselves
to be approached by the human species, and even to be
knocked down with a stick, near places where such sacri-
fices of Bison have been made. Lewis & Clarke bestowed
the name of Slaughter River on one of the tributaries of
the Mississippi, in consequence of the precipices along its
sides having been used by the Indians for this mode of
killing the Bison.

A better and more common way of killing Bison is that
of attacking them on horseback. The Indians, mounted
and well armed with bows and arrows, encircle ‘the herd
and gradually drive them into a situation favourable to the
employment of the horse. They then ride in and single
out one, generally a female, and following her as closely
as possible, wound her with arrows until the mortal blow
is given, when they go in pursuit of others until their
quivers are exhausted. Should a wounded Bison attack
the hunter, he escapes by the agility of his horse, which
is usually well trained for the purpose. In some parts of
the country, the hunter is exposed to a considerable danger
of falling, in consequence of the numerous holes made in
the plains by the badger.

When the hunting is ended and a sufficiency of game
killed, the squaws come up from the rear to skin and dress
the meat, a business in which they haye acquired a great
degree of dexterity, as they can, with yery inferior in-

172 THE CABINET OF

struments, butcher a Bison with far more celerity and
precision than the white hunters.

If a Bison is found dead, without an arrow in the body,
or any particular mark attached, it becomes the property
of the finder, so that a hunter may expend his arrows to
no purpose when they fall off, after wounding or fairly
perforating the animal. That the Indians do frequently
send their arrows through the body of this animal is well
attested by a great number of witnesses. In Long’s ex-
pedition to the sources of St. Peter’s River, it is related
that Wahnita, a distinguished chief of the Sioux, has been
seen to drive his arrow through the body of one Bison,
and sufficiently deep into the body of a second to inflict a
deadly wound.

When the ice is breaking up on the rivers in the spring
of the year, the dry grass of the surrounding plains is set
on fire, and the Bison are tempted to cross the river in
search of the young grass that immediately succeeds the
burning of the old. In the attempt to cross, the Bison is
often insulated on a large cake of ice that floats down the
river. The savages select the most favourable points for
attack, and as the Bison approaches, the Indians leap with
wonderful agility over the frozen ice, to attack him, and
as the animal is necessarily unsteady, and his footing very
insecure on the ice, he soon receives his death wound and
is drawn triumphantly to the shore.

The Cree Indians make a Bison-pound, by fencing a
circular space of about a hundred yards in diameter. The
entrance is banked up with snow sufficiently high to pre-
vent the animals from retreating after they have once en-
tered. For about a mile on each side of the road leading
to the pound, stakes are driven into the ground at nearly
equal distances of about twenty yards, which are intended
to look like men, and to deter the animals from endea-
vouring to break through the fence. Within fifty or sixty
yards of the pound, branches of trees are placed between
the stakes to screen the Indians who liedown behind them, to
wait fortheapproach of the Bison. The mounted hunters dis-
play the greatest dexterity in this sort of chase, as they are
obliged to mancever around the herdin the plainssoasto urge
them into the road-way, whichis about a quarter of a mile
broad. When this is effected, the Indians raise loud
shouts, and pressing closely on the animals, terrify them
so much, that they rush heedlessly forward towards the
snare. When they have advanced as far as the men who
are lying in ambush, they also show themselves, increas-
ing the consternation of the Bison by shouting violently
and firing their guns. The affrighted animals have no
alternative but to rush directly into the pound, where they
are quickly despatched by guns or arrows. In the centre
of one of these pounds, there was a tree on which the

NATURAL HISTORY,

Indians had hung strips of Bison flesh and pieces of cloth,
as tributary or grateful offerings to the Great Master of
life. They occasionally place a man in the tree to sing to
the presiding spirit as the Bisons advance. He is obliged
to remain there until all the animals that have entered the
pound are killed. :

The Omawhaw Indians hunt the Bison in the following
manner. The hunters who are in advance of the main
body on the march, employ telegraphic signals from an
elevated position, to convey a knowledge of their disco-
veries to the people. If they see Bisons, they throw up
their robes ina peculiar manner as a signal fora halt. The
hunters then return as speedily as possible to camp, and
are received with some ceremony on their approach. The
chiefs and magicians are seated in front of the people, pufi-
ing smoke from their pipes, and thanking the Master of
life with such expressions as “thanks, Master of life, thank
you Master of life, here is smoke, I am poor, hungry, and
want to eat.”” The hunters then draw near the chiefs and
magicians, and in a low tone of voice inform them ef their
discovery: when questioned as to the number, they reply
by holding up some small sticks in a horizontal direction,
and compare one herd at a certain distance with this stick,
and another with that, &c.

An old man or crier then harangues the people, inform-
ing them of the company, exhorting the women to keep a
good heart, telling them that they have endured many
hardships with fortitude, and that their present difficulties
are ended, as on the morrow the men will go in pursuit of
the Bisons and bring them certainly a plenty of meat.

Four or five resolute warriors are appointed at the coun-
cil of chiefs, held the evening previous, to preserve order
among the hunters on the following day. It is their busi-
ness, with a whip or club, to punish those who misbehave
on the spot, or whose movements tend to frighten the
game before all are ready, or previously to their arrival at
the place whence they are to sally forth.

The next morning all the men, not superannuated, de-
part at an early hour, generally mounted and armed with
bows and arrows. The superintendants or officers above
mentioned accompany the swiftly moving cavalcade, on
foot, armed with war clubs, the whole preceded by a foot-
man bearing a pipe. When they come in sight of the
herd the hunters talk kindly to their horses, using the en-
dearing names of father, brother, uncle, &c., begging them
not to fear the Bisons, but to run well and keep close,
taking care at the same time not to be gored by them.

Having approached the herd as closely as they suppose
the animal will permit without alarm, they halt, that the
pipe bearer may perform the ceremony of smoking, which
is thought necessary to success. The pipe is lighted, and

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

he remains a short time with his head inclined, and the
stem of the pipe extended towards the herd. He then
puffs the smoke towards the Bisons, the heavens, the
earth, and the cardinal points successively. These latter
are distinguished by the terms sun-rise, sun-set, cold
country, and warm country.

This ceremony ended, the chief gives the order for start-
ing. They immediately separate into two bands, which,
wheeling to the right and left, make a considerable cireuit
with a view to enclose the herd at a considerable interval
between them. They then close upon the animals, and
every man endeavours to signalize himself by the number
he can kill.

It is now that the Indian exhibits all his skill in horse-
manship and archery, and when the horse is going at full
speed, the arrow is sent with a deadly aim and great ve-
locity into the body of the animal behind the shoulder,
where, should it not bury itself to a sufficient depth, he
rides up and withdraws it from the side of the wounded
and furious animal. He judges by the direction and depth
of the wound, whether it be mortal, and when the deadly
blow is inflicted, he raises a triumphant shout to prevent
others from engaging in the pursuit, and dashes off to seek
new objects for destruction, until his quiver is exhausted
or the game has fled too far.

Although there is an appearance of much confusion in
this ergagement, and the same animal receives many ar-
rows from different archers before he is mortally wounded
or despatched, yet as every man knows his own arrows,
and can estimate the consequences of the wounds he has
inflicted, few quarrels ever occur as to the right of pro-
perty in the animal. A fleet horse, well trained, runs
parallel with the Bison at the proper distance, with the
reigns thrown on his neck, turns as he turns, and does
not lessen his speed until the shoulder of the animal is pre-
sented, and the mortal wound has been given; then by in-
clining to one side the rider directs him towards another
Bison. Such horses are preserved exclusively for the
chase, and are very rarely subjected to the labour of carry-
ing burdens.

The effect of training, on the Indian horses, is well
shown in a circumstance related by Lewis and Clarke. A
sergeant had been sent forward with a number of horses,
and while on his way, came up with a herd of Bisons.
As soon as the loose horses discovered the herd, they im-
mediately set off in pursuit, and surrounded the Bisons
with almost as much skill as if they had been directed by
riders. At length the sergeant was obliged to send two
men forward to drive the Bisons from the route before
they were able to proceed.

The skins of the Bison furnish the Indians and whites

Xx

173

with excellent robes for bedding, clothing, and various
purposes. These are most usually the skin of cows, as
the hide of the bull is too thick and heavy to be prepared
in the way practised by the squaws, which is both difficult
and tedious. This consists in working the hide, moisten-
ed with the brains of the animal, between the hands, until
it is made perfectly supple, or till the thick texture of the
skin is reduced to a porous and cellular substance. These
robes form an excellent protection from rain, when the
woolly side is opposed to it, and against the cold when
the woolly surface is worn next to the skin. But when
these robes are wet, or for a considerable time exposed to
moisture, they are apt to spoil and become unpleasant, as
the Indian mode of dressing has no other effect than to
give a softness anda pliancy to the leather. On these robes
the Indians frequently make drawings of their great bat-
tles and victories; a great variety of such painted robes are -
to be seen in the Philadelphia Museum. The hair of the
Bison has been used in the manufacture of coarse cloth,
but this fabric has never been extensively employed.

We have already adverted to the great numbers of these
animals which live together. They have been seen in
herds of three, four, and five thousand, blackening the
plains as far as the eye could view. Some travellers are
of opinion that they have seen as many as eight or ten
thousand in the same herd, but this is merely a conjec-
ture. At night it is impossible for persons to sleep near
them who are unaccustomed to their noise, which, from
the incessant lowing and roaring of the bulls, is said
very much to resemble distant thunder., Although fre-
quent battles take place between the bulls, as among do-
mestic cattle, the habits of the Bison are peaceful and in-
offensive, seldom or never offering to attack man or other
animals, unless outraged in the first instance. They some-
times, when wounded, turn on the aggressor, but itis only
in the rutting season that any danger is to be apprehended
from the ferocity and strength of the Bison bull. At all
other times, whether wounded or not, their efforts are ex-
clusively directed towards effecting their escape from their
pursuers, and at this time it does not appear that their rage
is provoked particularly by an attack on themselves, but
their unusual intrepidity is indiseriminately directed against
all suspicious objects.

We shall conclude this account of Bison, by intro-
ducing the remarks of John E. Calhoun, Esq., relative
to the extent of country over which this animal formerly
roved and which it at present inhabits.

The Buffalo was formerly found throughout the whole
territory of the United States, with the exception of that
part which lies east of Hudson’s River and Lake Cham-
plain, and of narrow strips of coast on the Atlantic and

174

the Gulf of Mexico. These were swampy and had pro-
bably low thick woods. That it did not exist on the At-
lantic coast is rended probable, from the circumstance that
all the early writers whom Mr. Calhoun has consulted on
the subject, and they are numerous, do not mention them
as existing then, but further back. Thomas Morton, one
of the first settlers in New England, says, that the Indians
‘¢have also made description of great herds of well growne
beasts, that live about the parts of this lake,’’ Erocoise,
now Lake Ontario, ‘‘such as the christian world, (untile
this discovery,) hath not bin made acquainted with. These
beasts are of the bignesse of a cowe, their flesh being very
good foode, their hides good lether, their fleeces very use-
ful, being a kind of wolle, as fine almost as the wolle of
the beaver, and the salvages do make garments thereof;”’
he adds, <‘it is tenne yeares since first the relation of these
things came to the eares of the English.’? We have intro-
duced this quotation, partly with a view to show that the
fineness of the Buffalo wool, which has caused it within a
few years to become an object of commerce, was known
as far back as Morton’s time; he compares it with that of
the beaver, and with some truth; we were shown lower
down on Red River, hats that appeared to be of a very
good quality; they had been made in London with the
wool of the Buffalo. An acquaintance on the part of
Europeans with the animal itself, can be referred to nearly
a century before that: for in 1532, Guzman met with Buf-
falo in the province of Cinaloa. De Laet says, upon the
authority of Gomara, when speaking of the Buffalo in Qui-
vira, that they are almost black, and seldom diversified
with white spots. In his history written subsequently to
1684, Hubbard does not enumerate this animal among
those of New England. Purchas informs us, thatin 1613
the adventurers discovered in Virginia, ‘‘a slow kinde of
cattell as bigge as kine, which were good meate.”?, From
Lawson, we find that great plenty of Buffaloes, elks, &c.,
existed near Cape Fear river and its tributaries; and we
know that some of those who first settled the Abbeville
district in South Carolina, in 1756, found the Buffalo
there. De Soto’s party, who traversed Kast Florida,
Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas Territory, and
Louisiana, from 1539 to 1543, saw no Buffalo, they were
told that the animal was north of them; however, they
frequently met with Buffalo hides, particularly when west
of the Mississippi; and Du Pratz, who published in 17458,
informs us that at that time the animal did not exist in
lower Louisiana. We know however of one author, Ber-
nard Romans, who wrote in 1774, and who speaks of the
Buffalo as a benefit of nature bestowed upen Florida.
There can be no doubt that the animal approached the
Gulf of Mexico, near the Bay of St. Bernard; for Alvar

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

Nunez, about the year 1535, saw them not far from the
coast; and Joater, one hundred and fifty years afterwards,
saw them at the Bay of St. Bernard. It is probable that
this Bay is the lowest point of latitude at which this ani-
mal has been found east of the Rocky Mountains. There
can be no doubt of their existence west of those moun-
tains, though Father Venegas does not include them among
the animals of California, and although they were not seen
west of the mountains by Lewis and Clarke, nor mention-
ed by Harmon and Mackenzie as existing in New Caledo-
nia, a country of immense extent, which is included be-
tween the Pacific Ocean, the Rocky Mountains, the terri-
tory of the United States, and the Russian possessions, on
the north-west coast of America. Yet their existence at
present on the Columbia, appears to be well ascertained,
and we are told that there isa tradition among the natives,
that shortly before the visit of our enterprising explorers,
destructive fires had raged over the prairies and driven the
Buffalo east of the mountains. Mr. Dougherty, the very
able and intelligent sub-agent, who accompanied the ex-
pedition to the Rocky Mountains, and who communicated
so much valuable matter to Mr. Say, asserted that he had
seen a few of them in the mountains, but not west of them.
It is highly probable that the Buffalo ranged on the western
side of the Rocky Mountains, to as low a latitude as on the
eartern side. De Laet says, on the authority of Henera,
that they grazed as far south as the banks of the river Ya-
quimi. In the same chapter this author states, that Mar-
tin Perez had, in 1591, estimated the province of Cinaloa,
in which this river runs, to be three hundred leagues from
the city of Mexico. This river is supposed to be the
same, which, on Mr. Tanner’s map of North America,
(Philadelphia, 1822,) is named Hiaqui, and situated be-
tween the 27th and 28th degrees of north latitude. Perhaps,
however, it may be the Rio Gila which empties itself in
latitude 52°. Although we may not be able to determine
with precision the southern limit of the roamings of the
Buffalo west of the mountains, the fact of their existence
there in great abundance, is amply settled by the testimony
of De Laet, on the authority of Gomara, I. 6, c. 17, and
of Purchas, p. 778. Its limits to the north are not easier
to determine. In Hakluyts’ collection we have an ex-
tract of a letter from Mr. Anthonie Parkhurst, in 1578,
in which he uses these words: in the Island of Newfound-
land there “are mightie beastes, like to camels in great-
nesse, and their feete cloven. I did see them farre off,
not able to discerne them perfectly, but their steps shewed
that their feete were cloven and bigger than the feete of
camels. I suppose them to be a kind of buffes, which I
read to bee in the country’s adjacent and very many in
the firme land.” In the same collection, p. 689, we find,

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

in the account of Sir Humphrey Gilbert’s voyages, which
commenced in 1583, that there are said to. be in New-
foundland, ‘‘ buttolfles, or a beast, it seemeth by the tract
and foote, very large in the manner of an oxe.””? It may,
however, be questioned whether these were not musk
oxen, instead of the common Buffalo or Bison of our prai-
ries. We have no authority of any weight, which war-
rants us in admitting that the Buffalo existed north of
Lakes Ontario, Erie, &c., and east of Lake Superior.
From what we know of the country between Nelson’s
River, Hudson’s Bay, and the lower lakes, including New
South Wales and Upper Canada, we are inclined to believe
that the Buffalo never abounded there, if indeed any were
ever found north of thelakes. But west of Lake Winne-
peck, we know that they are found as far north as the
62d degree of north latitude. Captain Franklin’s party kill-
ed one on Salt River, about the 60th degree. Probably
they are foundall over the prairies which are bounded on the
north by a line commencing at the point at which the 62d
degree meets the base of the Rocky Mountains, and run-
ning in a southeasterly direction, to the southern ex-
tremity of Lake Winnepeck, which is but very little
north of the 50th degree; on the Sardatchawan, Buffalo
are very abundant. It may be proper to mention here,
that the small white Buffalo, of which Mackenzie makes
frequent mention, on the authority of the Indians, who
told him that they lived in the mountains, is probably not
the Bison; for Lewis and Clarke inform us, that the In-
dians designated by that name the mountain sheep. It is
probable that west of the Rocky Mountains the Buffalo
does not extend far north of the Columbia. At present
it is scarcely seen east of the Mississippi, and south of the
St. Lawrence. Governor Cass’s party found in 1819
Buffalo on the east side of the Mississippi, above the falls
of St. Anthony: every year this animal’s rovings are re-
stricted. In 1822, the limit of its wanderings down the
St. Peter, was Great Swan Lake, (near Camp Crescent. )
[ Godman.

PIKE.

In the whole of the Pike tribe, the head is somewhat
flat, and the upper jaw shorter than the other. The gill-
membrane has from seven to twelve rays. The body is
long, slender, compressed at the sides, and covered with
hard seales. The dorsal fin is situated near the tail, and
generally opposite to the anal fin.

These fish are found in considerable plenty in most of the
Jakesin Europe, Lapland, America, and the northern parts of

175

Persia, where they sometimes measure upwards of eight
feet in length.

There is scarcely any fish of its size in the world that
in voracity can equal the Pike. One of them has been
known to choak itself in attempting to swallow another of
its own species that proved too large a morsel: and it has
been well authenticated, that, in the Marquis of Stafford’s
canal at Trentham, a Pike seized the head of a swan as she
was feeding under water, and gorged so much of it as kill-
ed them both.

“‘T have been assured, (says Walton,) by my friend,
Mr. Seagrave, who keeps tame otters, that he has known
a Pike, in extreme hunger, fight with one of his otters for
a carp that the otter had caught, and was then bringing
out of the water.’’

Boulker, in his Art of Angling, says, that his father
caught a Pike that was an ell long, and weighed thirty-
five pounds, which he presented to Lord Cholmondeley.
His Lordship directed it to be put into a canal in his gar-
den, which at that time contained a great quantity of fish.
Twelve months afterwards the water was drawn off, and
it was discovered that the Pike had devoured all the fish
except a single large carp, that weighed between nine and
ten pounds; and even this had been bitten in several places.
The Pike was again put in, and an entire fresh stock of
fish for him to feed on; all these he devoured in less than
a year. Several times he was observed by workmen, who
were standing near, to draw ducks and other water-fowl
under water. Crows were shot and thrown in, which he
took in the presence of the men. From this time the
slaughter-men had orders to feed him with the garbage of
the slaughter-house; but being afterwards neglected, he
died, as it is supposed, from want of food.

The largest Pike that is supposed to have been ever
seen, was one caught on the draining of a pool at Lillis-
hall lime-works, near Newport, that had not been fish-
ed in the memory of man: it weighed above 170 pounds.

If the accounts of different writers on the subject are to
be credited, the longevity of the Pike is very remarkable.
Gesner goes so far as to mention a Pike whose age was as-
certained to be 267 years.

Pike spawn in March or April. When they are in high
season, their colours are very fine, being green, spotted
with bright yellow, and having the gills of a most vivid
red. When out of season, the green changes to grey, and
the yellow spots become pale. The teeth are very sharp,
and are disposed in the upper jaw, on both sides of the
lower, on the roof of the mouth, and often on the tongue.
They are altogether solitary fish, never congregating like
some of the other tribes.

Ireland is remarkable for abundance of Pike, and for

176

the size to which they arrive in its waters; in the river
Shannon and in Lough Corrib they have been found nearly
seventy pounds weight.

Small fish show a similar uneasiness at the presence of
the Pike, as the little birds do at the sight of the hawk or
owl; and when they le dormant near the surface, (as they
frequently do in sultry weather,) the lesser fish swim
around in vast numbers, and with evident anxiety. Pike
are often taken in the hottest part of the days in summer,
while they are thus asleep, by a noose of wire, fixed to a
strong pole about four yards long; by which the wire with
great slowness is conducted over the Pike’s head and gill
fins, and then hoisted with a jerk to land.

Pike are also frequently shot while thus basking them-
selves: the marksman aims directly under them: from the
deception there is in the water, and its causing the shot to
rise much when fired into, he would otherwise miss his
object.

Pike love a still, shady, unfrequented water, with a
sandy, clayey, or chalky bottom, (arriving at a larger size
in pools than rivers,) and from May to the beginning of
October, they usually place themselves amongst or near
flags, bulrashes, and water-docks, and particularly under
the ranunculus aquaticus when in flower, and which floats
on the surface; they will sometimes be found in the ter-
mination of sharp currents: from March to the end of
May they resort to back waters that have direct commu-
nication with the main stream: as winter approaches they
retire into the deeps, under clay banks, bushes impend-
ing over the water, stumps and roots of trees, piles of
bridges, and flood-gates. They spawn in March or April,
according to the coldness or warmth of the weather, quit-
ting the rivers for the creeks and ditches communicating
with them, and there dropping their ova in the grass and
reeds; in ponds they choose the weeds upon the shallows
for depositing it; ducks and other wild fowl eagerly de-
your the spawn, and by them it is transported to other
waters. The appearance of the Pike in ponds, where
none were ever put, has been deemed as extraordinary as
its asserted longevity; it is, however, easily accounted for,
upon the well-known principles of the generation of fishes:
if a heron has devoured their ova, and afterwards ejected
them, while feeding in one of these ponds, it is highly
probable that they may be produced from this original, in
the same way as the seeds of plants are known to be dis-
seminated.

Pike are in season from May to February, (the female
fish are to be preferreds) are bold biters, afford the angler
good sport, and may pe lige! for all the year; but the
best months, (especially for trolling,) are February, be-
fore the weeds shoot, and October, when they are rotted;

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

the latter is to be preferred, as the Pike are fattened by
their feed during the summer, and from the lowness of
the waters, their harbours are easily discovered.

For trolling, the rod should be twelve or fourteen fect
long; but a strong top for this fishing, with a ring at the
end for the line to run through, may be fitted to a fly or
general rod; there should be one ring upon each joint to
conduct the line, which is better than a greater number,
(and these rings must be set on straight, that it may run
freely, so that no sudden check after the bait is taken pre-
vent the Pike from gorging it:) the’line should be of silk,
with a swivel at the end to receive the armed wire or
gimp, and at least thirty yards long, wound upon a winch
or reel, fixed to the butt end of the rod, hooks for trol-
ling, called dead gorges, and other sorts for trolling, snap,
and trimmer, and fishing needles, are to be bought at
every shop where fishing-tackle is sold; in the choice of
the first, let them not be too large, nor their temper in-
jured by the lead on the shanks, nor the points stand too
proud; and, although usually sold on wire, it is recom-
mended to cut off the wire about an inch from the lead,
and with double silk, well waxed, fasten about a foot of
good gimp to the wire, with a noose at the other end of
the gimp, large enough to admit the bait to pass through,
to hang it upon the line. The best baits are gudgeons or
dace, of a middling size; put the baiting-needle in at the
mouth, and out at the middle of the tail, drawing the
gimp and hook after it, fixing the point of the hook near
the eye of the fish; tie the tail to the gimp, which will
not only keep it in a proper position, but prevent the tail
from catching against weeds and roots in the water: thus
baited, the hook is to be fastened to the line, and dropt
gently in the water, near the sides of the river, across the
water, or where it is likely Pike resort; keep the bait in
constant motion, sometimes letting it sink near the bot-
tom, and gradually raising it; the angler need not make
more than two or three trials in a place, for if a Pike be
there, he will within that time bite, if he means to do so;
when the bait is taken, if at a depth too great to see, it
will easily be ascertained by the line being drawn tight,
and by some resistance: let the Pike have what line he
chooses, it will be soon known when he has reached his
harbour by his not drawing more; allow from five to ten
minutes for his gorging’ the bait; wind up the line gently
until the Pike is seen, (which he will permit, though he
has not gorged:) should the bait be across his mouth, give
more time; but if he has swallowed, manage him with a
gentle hand, keeping him, however, from roots and stumps,
which he will try to fasten the line upon; in clear water
veer out line until he is sufficiently tired, and a landing
net can be used; but by no means, however apparently

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 177

exhausted, attempt to lift him out with the rod and line
only; for the moment he quits the water, he will open his
mouth, and from his own weight, tear the hook from his
stomach; and the fish will be lost to the angler, although
it must inevitably perish.

In trolling, the bait should never be thrown too far: in
small rivers the opposite bank may be fished with ease,
and the violence of its fall upon the water, in extensive
throws, soon spoils the bait, by rubbing off its scales, and
alarms the Pike, instead of enticing him.

The bead hook is used by putting the lead into the
mouth of the live bait and sewing it up; the fish will live
seme time, and, notwithstanding the lead, will swim with
the support he receives from the line, with nearly the
same ease as if at liberty: this is the most successful way
of tempting the Pike.

Pike are to be allured by a large bait, but a small one is
more certain to take them: never suffer weeds to hang
upon the hook or bait when recast into the water, and
which cannot touch the surface too softly. Always prefer
a rough wind, and when the stream is clear for trolling:
Pike never bite in white water after rain, &c. If a Pike
goes slowly up the stream after taking the bait, it is said
to be a signal of a good fish.

The next Pike in size to the foregoing, taken by the
troll, was in December, 1792, by Mr. Bint, in the pool
at Packinton, (the Earl of Aylesford’s,) being from eye to
fork two feet eleven, full length three feet ten and a half;
circumference one foot ten inches, and weighed thirty-
four pounds and three-quarters.

In 1804 a Pike was taken out of the same water, with
a carp, that weighed ten pounds, stuck in his throat, and
which had choked him. The Pike when empty was thirty
pounds weight.

Mr. Wilson caught a Pike by trolling in the Driffield
Canal, near Brigham, which weighed twenty-eight pounds,
measured two feet round the belly, and three feet five
inches in length; and what was singular, five pounds of
solid fat were taken out of his inside.

Sir Cecil Wray’s Pike, caught in June, 1799, at the
draining off the water from the lake at his seat at Sum-
mer Castle, in Lincolnshire, weighed forty-seven pounds
gross, thirty-six pounds, after being cleaned, of eatable
meat; was forty-eight and a half inches long, and two feet
two inches in circumference: this fish must have got into
the lake when very small, and had acquired this enor-
mous size in twenty-two years; for at that time the lake
was laid dry. Sir Cecil computes that he consumed three
fish per diem, progressively larger as his own size in-
ereased, and that he at least destroyed 24,000; all of which,
in the latter years of his growth, must have been valuable

Wax;

fish; so that the cost of his support exceeded, by some
hundred times, his own value. A river Pike grows fast
until he arrives at twenty-four inches; he then ceases to
extend so rapidly in length; (for, in good water, with
plenty of feed, a Pike spawned in March, will, by the
March following, be grown from sixteen to eighteen inches,)
and proportionably thickens; afterwards he will be much
longer arriving at his full bigness, (which is about forty-
six inches) from the length of thirty, than he was in ac-
quiring the first thirty inches.

In May, 1706, Mr. Bishop of Godstow, between Weir
and Wytham Brook, landed the largest Pike ever remem-
bered to be taken in the Isis; it was four feet two inches
long, two feet ten in girth, and, after being disgorged of
a barbel nearly six, and a chub upwards of three pounds,
weighed thirty-one pounds and a half.

In June, 1796, a male Pike was caught in Exton Park
pond, (Lord Gainsborough’s,) the length forty-two and a
half from eye to fork, and from nose to tail forty-nine
inches; the girth twenty-eight inches, and weighed thirty-
seven pounds and a quarter. Neither this, nor the
fish taken in the Isis, was so well grown as Sir Cecil
Wray’s.

In 1797, a Pike, weighing near forty pounds, and mea-
suring in length three feet six, and in girth two feet, was
caught in a pond at Totteridge, in Hertfordshire; a tench
of four pounds, and four pounds and a half of solid fat, were
taken from his inside.

In Munden Hall Fleet, a Pike was found that had been
killed by a very long frost; in its putrid state it weighed
forty-two pounds, but had wasted considerably; was three
feetsixincheslong, and two feetnineinchesin girth; theteeth
were nearly as long, though not so stout, as those of a
greyhound: the head of this fish was dried with the skin
on, and long preserved at the hall as a great curiosity, not
only on account of its immense size, but from a peculiarity
in the lower jaw, which had bristles like those growing
on the breast of a turkeycock, proceeding from the under
part of it. This head was given to the Rev. Mr. Kay, of
South Bemfleet, in Essex, by Mr. Lugar; and from Mr.
K.’s house some friendly collector of natural curiosities
took the opportunity of marching off with it, during a
very severe illness with which that gentleman was afflict-
ed in the year 1792.

In some places Pike are taken by what is termed dip-
ping; the hook used is a large sized gorge hook, very
slightly leaded on the shank, and_ baited as in trolling,
only the mouth of the fish is to be sewed up, and the back
fin cut away, and then looped to the swivel; the line is
let out from the reel to a convenient length, and the bait
is dropped in any small openings where the water is not

178 THE CABINET OF

very deep, and overspread with docks and weeds. The
fish hanging with his head downwards, will, when gently
moved, (and all baits, especially dead ones, should be kept
in constant motion,) shoot and play about among the weeds
so naturally, that the Pike will be eager in taking it this
way, even from the surface: when the bait is seized, the
line is to be slackened, and the Pike allowed like to run;
in a short time it will be perceived to shake, which is a
signal to strike; when hooked, he must be cautiously
managed, winding up the line gradually: in getting the
Pike through the weeds, endeavour to keep his nose
above them, and use the landing-net in taking him from
the water. In this method the baits must be as fresh as
possible.

For snap-fishing, (which is best used in March, the
Pike being then very shy of gorging, although with seem-
ing eagerness they seize the bait,) should the rod be pur-
posely made for it, the length should be about twelve
feet; if a common rod is employed, the top should be
stouter than that used in trolling, with a strong loop to
fasten the line upon, which must be a foot shorter than
the rod: for the live snap, no hook is so proper as the
double spring hook: to bait it, nothing more is requisite
than to hang the fish to the small hook under the back
fin, which may be done with so little hurt to the fish that
it will live for many hours. Gudgeons, (which, in all
modes of Pike-fishing, are superior to any other,) and
dace are the best baits; they must be kept alive in a tin
kettle, with holes in the lid, and which in hot weather
should be placed in the water.

The other live snap-hook is baited by the small hook
being thrust through the fish beneath the back fin; and some
use a piece of silk or thread doubled, hung on the point
of the small hook, and brought under the belly of the bait,
and tied on the other side to the shanks of the large hooks;
care and expedition are required in doing this, otherwise
the bait will be so injured as to be incapable of swimming
briskly in the water: a cork float, the size of a common
burgamot pear, with a small pistol bullet or two, not only
to poise, but to keep the bait at a proper depth, which is
from two to three feet. Ifa Pike be near where the bait
is put in, it will come to the surface, or inerease the quick-
ness of its motion to avoid him; these signs will put the
angler on his guard: when the float is drawn under, allow
it to be sunk considerably before striking, which, in all
snap-fishing should be with a smart stroke, and directly
contrary to the course the Pike appears to. take; the line
must be kept tight, and the landing-net should be used,
as the throwing out a large Pike by force will certainly
strain the sockets of the rod.

Same use only one large long-shanked hook, whipped

NATURAL HISTORY,

to gimp, with a swivel at the upper end; the hook baited”
with a gudgeon under the back fin, or through the upper
lip, with a float as above, that will swim the gudgeon; fish
at mid-water, and allow a minute after the float is sunk
before striking: by this method perch may be taken, if the
bait be a minnow or very small gudgeon.

A variety of hooks are used for the dead snap; and this
mode of catching Pike is well adapted to both shallow and
deep waters, to the still rapid parts of the river, will take
Pike at all seasons of the year, supposing the water and
weather favourable; and it will be no trifling reeommen-
dation that the idea of cruelty, which the use of a live fish
naturally impresses, is, by this substitute, completely re-
moved. The rod should be longer than that for trolling;
the line fine, strong, and twenty yards in length; the hook
by some most preferred is like that for a common live snap;
the length of the gimp, on which the hook is tied, should be
regulated by the size of the bait, and should be rather
longer than the distance from the back fin to the mouth;
that the looped end may be hung on a strong swivel, tied
neatly to about a foot more of gimp, with a noose at the
other end, to hang it upon the line, fastening a piece of
lead, of the shape of a barley-corn, and weighing about
an ounce, with a hole through it, about two inches above
the swivel. The bait should be a middle sized dace: in-
sert the baiting needle close behind the back fin, letting
it come out of the mouth; draw the gimp to which the
hook is tied after it; the short hook must stand with the
point upright behind the back fin; the others will conse-
quently be on each side; then hang it upon the swivel,
and try if it will spin: if it does not, move the bait a little
to the right or left, which may be done without moving
it from the hook: the whole: success depends on its quick
turning when drawn against the stream; and when it does,
it appears like a fish unable to escape, and becomes too
tempting a morsel for the Pike to resist: this method will
not only enable the angler to fish a greater extent of water
than the others, but is more certain to secure the Pike. The
large ones, though bold in seizing the bait, are very cau-
tious. in gorging it: most trollers have experienced, that,
after running out a considerable length of line, the bait
has been mumbled to pieces and deserted; a disappoint-
ment here remedied, for a Pike has but to seize the bait,
and he is caught.

At both troll and snap, some persons have two or more:
swivels to their line; by which means its twisting is pre~
vented, the bait plays more freely, and to the dead bait
in rivers it certainly is an improvement: in ponds or still
waters one will answer the purpose.

Another way of taking the Pike is withan artificial fly:
many haveasserted that they are notto be caught at all with a

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

"fly; but, as a convincing proof to the contrary, a Pike
the largest taken by aline, or perhaps ever known in this
country, was caught in Lock Ken, near New Galloway,
in Scotland, with a common fly, made of the peacock
feather; it weighed seventy-two pounds; the skeleton of
the head is at Kenmore Castle; the jaw at the top is that
of a Pike, weighing twenty-five pounds: a scale is annex-
ed by which the respective proportions of the two may
be ascertained, and which will convey some idea of the
largest Pike ever seen in Great Britain.

The Pike fly must be made upon a double hook, fasten-
ed to a good link of gimp, and composed of very gaudy
materials; such as pheasant’s, peacock’s, or mallard’s fea-
thers; the brown and softest part of bear’s fur; the red-
dish part of that of a squirrel, with some yellow mohair
for the body. The head is formed of a little fur, some
gold twist, and two small black or blue beads for the eye;
the body must be framed rough, full, and round; the
wings not parted, but to stand upright on the back, and
some smaller feathers continued thence all down the back,
to the end of the tail; so that, when finished, they may
be left a little longer than the hook, and the whole to be
about the size of a wren. A fly thus made will often take
Pike, when other baits are of no ayail, especially in dark
windy days; the fly must be moved quick when in the
water, and kept on the surface if possible. Several sorts
of these flies are to be had at all the fishing-tackle shops.

Pike are also taken with a live bait, fixed to a certain
place, termed a ledger bait: if a fish is to be used, the
hook is to be run through the upper lip or back fin; if a
frog, (of which the yellowest are the best,) the arming
wire is to be put in at the mouth, and out at the gill, and
tie the leg above the upper joint to the wire; fasten the
wire to a strong line, about twelve or fourteen yards long;
the other end being made fast toa stake or stump of a tree,
a forked stick is to be placed near the surface, through
which the line is to pass, and suspend the bait about a
yard in the water, by a notch made in the fork; but which,
when the bait is taken, will easily slip out; but the best
way is to have a wheel, or an iron spindle, to stick into
the ground.

Huxing Pike is, with large bladders, blown up and tied
close; at the mouth of each fasten a line, (longer or shorter
according to the water’s depth,) with an armed hook
baited; launch them with the advantage of the wind to
move up and down the pool: a boat will be necessary in
this diversion.

Huxing Pike is also done by fixing an armed hook bait-
ed, at such a length as to swim about mid-water, to the
leg of a goose or duck, and then driving the birds into
the water. It was thus formerly practised in the Loch of

179

Monteith, in Scotland, which abounds with very iarge
perch and pike. ‘“* Upon these islands a number of geese
were collected by the farmers, who occupied the surround-
ing banks of the loch: after baited lines of two or three
feet long had been tied to the legs of their geese, they
were driven into the water; steering naturally homewards,
in different directions, the baits were soon swallowed: a
violent and often tedious struggle ensued; in which, how-
ever, the geese at length prevailed, though they were fre-
quently much exhausted before they reached the shore.”
This method has not been so long relinquished, but there
are old persons upon the spot who were active promoters
of the amusement.

Trimmers of two sorts may be described; the one is
made of flat cork, or any light wood, painted, to be seven
or eight inches diameter, turned round with a groove in
the edge, large enough to receive a fine whipcord or silk
line, twelve or fourteen yards, or at least five yards longer
than the depth of the water: a small peg, two inches long,
is fixed in the centre, with the end slit; and a small double
hook fixed to a brass wire link is to be used. Insert the
baiting needle under the side fin of the bait, (for which
large gudgeons are superior to all others,) and keep it just
within the skin of the side; bring it out beyond the back
fin, drawing the wire after it, and the hook, when drawn
home, will be partly covered by the side fin. This me-
thod, performed carefully, will preserve the fish alive for
many hours longer than any other; one end of the line is
of course fixed to the cork, the other to the loop in the
wire; the line is then slightly put into the slit of the peg,
to keep the bait at a proper depth, (from three to four
feet, which is more likely to attract the Pike’s notice
than if laid deeper, or nearer the surface,) and to prevent
its untwisting the line out of the groove. The trimmer
should always be started on the windward side of the pond,
and the rougher the water the better sport; if not seiz-
ed in one trip, it must be taken up and re-started from the
windward side again.

The other trimmers are also of cork, and are to be bait-
ed and used as above; their form is adapted to go easily
through weeds when taken by the Pike; after the line is
run off, they will follow in the shape of a wedge, and
will not long be kept from appearing on the surface in the
weediest places: a hole is burnt through one corner of the
cork, by which, with a cord, it may be made stationary
to-the side of any water; and which method is sometimes
preferred where a boat cannot be readily commanded. No
species of fishing does more execution than this: in windy
weather, at all seasons of the year, and both day and night,
the trimmer presents itself as to the most deadly foe the
Pike can encounter.

180

Pike, in clear water and a gentle gale, from the middle
of summer to the latter end of autumn, bite best about
three in the afternoon; in the winter, during the whole
day; and in thespring, most eagerly in the morn, and late
at eve.—Sportsman’s Cyclopedia.

THE LEECH,

From its uses in medicine, is one of those insects that
man has taken care to propagate; but, of a great variety,
one kind only is considered as serviceable. The Horsz
Lercu, which is the largest of all, and grows to four
inches in length, with a glossy black surface, is of no use,
as it will not stick to the skin; the Snaiz Lercnu is but
an inch in length; and though it will stick, is not large
enough to extract a sufficient quantity of blood from the
patient; the Broap-rairep Lrxcu, which grows to an
inch and a half in length, with the back raised into a sort
of a ridge, will stick but on very few occasions; it is the
large Brown Lrxzcu with a whitish belly, that is made
use of in medicine, and whose history best merits our
curiosity.

The Leech has the general figure of a worm, and is
about as long as one’s middle finger. Its skin is com-
posed of rings, by means of which it is possessed of its
agility, and swims in water. It contracts itself when out
of water, in such a manner, that, when touched, it is not
above an inch long. It has a small head, and a black skin,
edged with a yellow line on each side, with some yellow-
ish spots on the back. The belly, also, whichis of a red-
dish colour, is marked with whitish yellow spots. But
the most remarkable part of this animal is the mouth,
which is composed of two lips, that take whatever form
the insect finds convenient. When at rest, the opening
is usually triangular; and within it are placed three very
sharp teeth, capable of piercing not only the human skin,
but also that of a horse or anox. Still deeper in the head
is discovered the tongue, which is composed of a strong
fleshy substance, and which serves to assist the animal in
sucking, when it has inflicted its triple wound; for no
sooner is this voracious creature applied to the skin, than
it buries its teeth therein, then closes its lips round the
wound which it has made; and thus, in the manner of a
cupping-glass, extracts the blood as it flows to the different
orifices.

In examining this animal’s form farther towards the
tail, it is seen to have a gullet, and an intestinal canal,
into which the blood flows in great abundance. On each

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

side of this are seen running along several little bladders,

which, when the animal is empty, seem to be filled with
nothing but water; but when it is gorging blood, they
seem to communicate with the intestines, and receive a
large portion of the blood which flows into the body. If
these bladders should be considered as so many stomachs,
then every Leech will be found to have twenty-four.
But what is most extraordinary of all in this animal’s for-
mation is, that, though it takes so large a quantity of food,
it has no anus or passage to eject it from the body when
it has been digested. On the contrary, the blood which
the Leech has thus sucked remains for several months
clotted within its body, blackened a little by the change,
but no way putrefied, and very little altered in its texture
or consistence. In what manner it passes through the
animal’s body, or how it contributes to its nourishment, is
not easily accounted for. The water in which they are
kept is very little discoloured by their continuance; they
cannot be supposed to return the blood by the same pas-
sage through which it was taken in; it only remains,
therefore, that it goes off through the pores of the body,
and that these are sufficiently large to permit its exclu-
sion.

But it is not in this instance alone that the Leech dif-
fers from all other insects. It was remarked in a former
section, that the whole insect tribe had the opening into
their lungs placed in their sides; and that they breathed
through those apertures as otheranimals through the mouth.
A drop of oil poured on the sides of a wasp, a bee, or a
worm, would quickly suffocate them, by stopping up the
passages through which they breathe; but it is otherwise
with the Leech, for this animal may be immersed in oil
without injury; nay, it will live therein; and the only
damage it will sustain is, that when taken out, it will be
seen to cast a fine pellucid skin, exactly of the shape of
the animal, after which it is as alert and vigorous as be-
fore. It appears from this, that the Leech breathes through
the mouth; and, in fact, it has a motion that seems to re-
semble the act of respiration in more perfect animals; but
concerning all this we are very much in the dark.

This Leech is viviparous, and produces its young one
after the other, to the number of forty or fifty at a birth.
It is probable, that, like the snail, each insect contains the
two sexes, and that it impregnates, and is impregnated,
in the same manner. The young ones are chiefly found
in the month of July, in shallow running waters, and par-
ticularly where they are tepified by the rays of the sun.
The large ones are chiefly sought after; and, being put
into a glass vessel filled with water, they remain for
months, nay, for years, without taking any other subsist-
ence. But they never breed in this confinement; and con-

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AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

sequently, what regards that part of their history still re-
mains obscure.

In America and the east they are found from six to
‘seven inches in length. Their pools there abound with
them in such numbers, that it would be dangerous bathing
there, if from no other consideration. Even in some
parts of Europe they increase so as to become formidable.
Sedelius, a German physician, relates, that a girl of nine
years old, who was keeping sheep near the city of Bomst,
in Poland, perceiving a soldier making up to her, went to
hide herself in a neighbouring marsh, among some bushes;
but the number of Leeches was so great in that place, and
they stuck to her so close, that the poor creature expired
from the quantity of blood which she lost by their united
efforts. Nor is this much to be wondered at, since one of
these insects of a large size, will draw about an ounce of
blood.

When Leeches are to be applied, the best way is to take
them from the water in which they are contained, about
an hour before, for they thus become more voracious, and
fasten more readily. When saturated with blood, they
generally fall off of themselves; but if it be thought ne-
cessary to take them from the wound, care should be used
to pull them very gently, or even to sprinkle them with
salt, if they continue to adhere; for if they be plucked
rudely away, it most frequently happens that they leave
their teeth in the wound, which makes a very trouble-
some inflammation, and is often attended with danger.
If they be slow in fixing to the part, they are often en-
ticed by rubbing it with milk, or blood, or water mixed
with sugar. As salt is poison to most insects, many people
throw it upon the Leech when it has dropped from the
wound, which causes it to disgorge the blood it has swal-
lowed, and it is'then kept for repeated application. They
seldom, however, stick after this operation; and, as the
price is but small, fresh Leeches should always be applied
whenever such an application is thought necessary.

Burron.

FLICKER,
OR GOLDEN-WINGED WOODPECKER.

PICUS AURATUS.
[Plate XVI. Vol. 2. on a branch of Sour Gum. ]
Le Pic aux ailes dorées, Burron, vit. 39. Pl. Enl.
693.—Picus auratus, Linn. Syst. 174.—Cuculus

alis de auratis, Kuri, p. 30.—Caressy, 1. 18.—La-
Zz

181

THAM, It. 597.—BaARTRAM, p. 289.—Cuculus auratus,
Linn. Sysé. ed. 10, 1, 112.—Gmeu. Syst. 1. 430.—
Lats. Ind. Orn. p. 242.—Picus Canadensis striatus,
Briss. tv. 72.—Perwnn. “rct. Zool. No. 158—J. Dovex-
tTy’s Collection.

Tuts elegant bird is well known to our farmers and ju-
nior sportsmen, who take every opportunity of destroy-
ing him; the former for the supposed trespasses he com-
mits on their Indian corn, or the trifle he will bring in
market, and the latter for the mere pleasure of destruc-
tion, and perhaps for the flavour of his flesh, which is in
general esteem. In the State of Pennsylvania he can
scarcely be called a bird of passage, as even in severe
winters they may be found within a few miles of the city
of Philadelphia; and I have known them exposed for sale
in market every week during the months of November,
December, and January, and that too in more than com-
monly rigorous weather. They, no doubt, partially mi-
grate, even here; being much more numerous in spring
and fall than in winter. Early in the month of April
they begin to prepare their nest, which is built in the
hollow body or branch of a tree, sometimes, though not
always, at a considerable height from the ground; for I
have frequently known them fix on the trunk of an old
apple tree, at not more than six feet from the root. The
sagacity of this bird in discovering, under a sound bark,
a hollow limb or trunk of a tree, and its perseverance in
perforating it for the purpose of incubation, are truly sur-
prising; the male and female alternately relieving and en-
couraging each other by mutual’ caresses, renewing their
labours for several days, till the object is attained, and
the place rendered sufficiently capacious, convenient and
secure. At this employment they are so extremely intent,
that they may be heard till a very late hour in the even-
ing, thumping like carpenters. I have seen an instance
where they had dug first five inches straight forwards,
and then downwards more than twice that distance, through
a solid black oak. They carry in no materials for their
nest, the soft chips, and dust of the wood, serving for
this purpose. The female lays six white eggs, almost
transparent. The young early leave the nest, and, climb-
ing to the higher branches, are there fed by their pa-
rents.

The food of this bird varies with the season. As the
common cherries, bird-cherries, and berries of the sour
gum, successively ripen, he regales plentifully on them,
particularly on the latter; but the chief food of this spe-
cies, or that which is most usually found in his stomach,
is wood-lice, and the young and larve of ants, of which
he is so immoderately fond, that I have frequently found

182

his stomach distended with a mass of these, and these only,
as large nearly asa plum. For the procuring of these in-
sects, nature has remarkably fitted him. The bills of
Woodpeckers, in general, are straight, grooved or chan-
nelled, wedge-shaped, and compressed to a thin edge at
the end, that they may the easier penetrate the hardest
wood; that of the Golden-winged Woodpecker is long,
slightly bent, ridged only on the top, and tapering almost
toa point, yet still retaining a little of the wedge form
there. Both, however, are admirably adapted to the pe-
culiar manner each has of procuring its food. The for-
mer, like a powerful wedge, to penetrate the dead and de-
caying branches, after worms and insects; the latter, like
a long and sharp pick-axe, to dig up the hillocks of pis-
mires, that inhabit old stumps in prodigious multitudes.
These beneficial services would entitle him to some re-
gard from the husbandman, were he not accused, and
perhaps not without just cause, of being too partial to the
Indian corn, when in that state which is usually called
roasting-ears. His visits are indeed rather frequent
about this time; and the farmer, suspecting what is going
on, steals through among the rows with his gun, bent on
vengeance, and forgetful of the benevolent sentiment of
the poet;—that

«—____. Just as wide of justice he must fall
Who thinks all made for One, not one for all.”

But farmers, in general, are not much versed in poetry,
and pretty well acquainted with the value of corn, from
the hard labour requisite in raising it.

In rambling through the woods one day, I happened to
shoot at one of these birds, and wounded him slightly in
the wing. Finding him ‘in full feathers and seemingly
but little hurt, I took him home, and put him into a large
cage, made of willows, intending to keep him in my own
room, that we might become better acquainted. As soon
as he found himself inclosed on all sides, he lost no time
in idle fluttering, but throwing himself against the bars of
the cage, began instantly to demolish the willows, batter-
ing them with great vehemence, and uttering a loud pite-

us kind of cackling, similar to that of a hen when she is
Bacmed, and takes to wing. Poor Baron Trenck never
laboured with more eager diligence at the walls of his
prison, than this son of the forest in his exertions for
liberty; and he exercised his powerful bill with such force,
digging into. the sticks, seizing and shaking them so from
side to side, that he soon opened for himself a passage;
and though I repeatedly repaired the breach, and_barri-
eadoed every opening in the best manner I could, yet on
my return into the room, I always found him at large,

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

climbing up the chairs, or running about the floor, where,
from the dexterity of his motions, moving backwards,
forwards, and sideways, with the same facility, it became
difficult to get hold of him again. Having placed him in
a strong wire cage, he seemed to give up all hopes of
making his escape, and soon became very tame; fed on
young ears of Indian corn; refused apples, but ate the
berries of the sour gum greedily, small winter grapes, and
several other kinds of berries; exercised himself frequent-
ly in climbing, or rather hopping perpendicularly along
the sides of the cage; and as evening drew on, fixed him-
self in a high hanging or perpendicular position, and slept
with his head in his wing. As soon as dawn appeared,
even before it was light enough to perceive him distinet-
ly across the room, he descended to the bottom of the
cage, and began his attack on the ears of Indian corn, rap-
ping so loud as to be heard from every room in the house.
After this he would sometimes resume his former position,
and take another nap. He was beginning to become very
amusing, and even sociable, when, after a lapse of several
weeks, he became drooping, and died, as I conceived, from
the effects of his wound.

Some European naturalists, (and among the rest Lin-
nzus himself, in his tenth edition of the Systema Nature,)
have classed this bird with the genus. Cuculus, or Cuckoo,
informing their readers that it possesses many of the habits
of the Cuckoo; that it is almost always on the ground; is
never seen to climb trees like the other Woodpeckers, and
that its bill is altogether unlike theirs; every one of which
assertions I must say is incorrect, and could have only
proceeded from an entire unacquaintance with the manners
of the bird. Except in the article of the bill, and that, as
has been before observed, is still a little wedge-formed at
the point, it differs in no one characteristic from the rest
of its genus. Its nostrils are covered with tufts of recum-
bent hairs or small feathers; its tongue is round, worm-
shaped, flattened towards the tip, pointed, and furnished
with minute barbs; it is also long, missile, and ean be in-
stantaneously protruded to an uncommon distance. The
os hyoides, or internal parts of the tongue, like those of
its tribe, is a substance for strength and elasticity, resem-
bling whalebone, divided into two branches, each the thick-
ness of a knitting-needle, that pass, one on each side of
the neck, to the hind-head, where they unite, and run up
along the scull in a groove, covered with a thin mem-
brane or sheath; descend into the upper mandible by the
right side of the right nostril, and reach to within half an
inch of the point of the bill, to which they are attached
by another extremely elastic membrane, that yields whea
the tongue is thrown out, and contracts as it is retracted.
In the other Woodpeckers we behold the same apparatus,

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 183

differing a little in different species. In some these carti-
laginous substances reach only to the top of the cranium;
in others they reach to the nostril; and in one species
they are wound round the bone of the right eye, which
projects considerably more than the left for its aceommo-
dation.

The tongue of the Golden-winged Woodpecker, like
the others, is also supplied witha viscid fluid, secreted by
two glands, that lie under the ear on each side, and are at
least five times larger in this species than in any other of
its size; with this the tongue is continually moistened, so
that every small insect it touches instantly adheres to it.
The tail, in its strength and pointedness, as well as the
feet and claws, prove that the bird was designed for climb-
ing; and in fact I have scarcely ever seen it on a tree five
minutes at a time without climbing; hopping not only up-
wards and downwards, but spirally; pursuing and playing
with its fellow, in this manner, round the body of the
tree. I have also seen them a hundred times alight on the
trunk of the tree; though they more frequently alight on
the branches; but that they climb, construct like nests,
lay the same number, and the like coloured eggs, and have
the manners and habits of the Wookpeckers, is notorious
to every American naturalist; while neither in the form
of their body, nor any other part, except in the bill being
somewhat bent, and the toes placed two before, and two
behind, have they the smallest resemblance whatever to
the Cuckoo.

It may not be improper, however, to observe, that there
is another species of Woodpeckers, called also Golden-
winged, which inhabits the country near the Cape of Good
Hope, and resembles the present, it is said, almost exactly
in the colour and form of its bill, and in the tint and
markings of its plumage; with this difference, that the
mustaches are red instead of black, and the lower side of
the wings, as well as their shafts, are also-red, where the
other is golden yellow. It is also considerably less. With
respect to the habits of this new species, we have no par-
ticular account; but there is little doubt that they will
be found to correspond with the one we are now describ-
ing.

The abject and degraded character which the count de
Buffon, with equal eloquence and absurdity, has drawn of
the whole tribe of Woodpeckers, belongs not to the ele-
gant and sprightly bird now before us. How far it is ap-
plicable to any of them will be examined hereafter. Heis
not ‘‘ constrained to drag out an insipid existence in boring
the bark and hard fibres of trees to extract his prey,” for
he frequently finds in the loose mouldering ruins of an old
stump, (the capital of a nation of pismires,) more than is
sufficient for the wants of a whole week. He cannot be

said to “‘lead a mean and gloomy life, without an inter-
mission of labour,”” who usually feasts by the first peep of
dawn, and spends the early, and sweetest hours of morn-
ing, on the highest peaks of the tallest trees, calling on his
mate or companions; or pursuing and gamboling with
them round the larger limbs, and body of the tree, for
hours together; for such are really his habits. Can it be
said that *¢ necessity never grants an interval of sound re-
pose”? to that bird, who, while other tribes are exposed to
all the peltings of the midnight storm, lodges dry and se-
cure in a snug chamber of his own constructing? or that
*‘the narrow circumference of a tree circumscribes his
dull round of life,’? who, as seasons and inclination in-
spire, roams from the frigid to the torrid zone, feasting on
the abundance of various regions? Or is it a proof that
‘his appetite is never softened by delicacy of taste,’’ be-
eause he so often varies his bill of fare, occasionally pre-
ferring to animal food the rich milkiness of young Indian
corn, and the wholesome and nourishing berries of the
Wild Cherry, Sour Gum, and Red Cedar? Let the reader
turn to the faithful representation of him given in the
plate, and say whether his looks be ‘“¢ sad and melancho-
ly!’? It is truly ridiculous and astonishing that such ab-
surdities should escape the lips or pen of one so able to do
justice to the respective merits of every species; but Buf-
fon had too often a favourite theory to prop up, that led
him insensibly astray; and so, forsooth, the whole family
of Woodpeckers must look sad, sour, and be miserable,
to satisfy the caprice of a whimsical philosopher, whe
takes it into his head that they are, and ought to be so.

But the count is not the only European who has misre-
presented and traduced this beautiful bird. Onehas giver
him brown legs, another a yellow neck; a third has de-
clared him a Cuckoo, and in an English translation of
Linneus’ System of Nature, lately published, he is cha-
racterized as follows: ‘‘transversely striate with black and
gray; chin and breast black; does not climb trees;”” which
is just as correct as if, in describing the human species,
we should say—skin striped with black and green; cheeks
blue; chin orange; never walks on foot, &c. The pages
of natural history should resemble a faithful mirror, in
which mankind may recognize the true images of the liv-
ing originals; instead of which we find this department of
them, too often, like the hazy and rough medium of wretch-
ed window glass, through whose crooked protuberances
every thing appears so strangely distorted, that one
scarcely knows their most intimate neighbours and ac~
quaintance.

The Golden-winged Woodpecker has the back and
wings above of a dark umber, transversely marked with
equidistant streaks of black; upper part of the head an

184 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

iron gray; cheeks and parts surrounding the eyes, a fine
cinnamon colour; from the lower mandible a strip of black,
an inch in length, passes down each side of the throat,
and a lunated spot, of a vivid blood red, covers the hind-
head, its two points reaching within half an inch of each
eye; the sides of the neck, below this, incline to a bluish
gray; throat and chin a very light cinnamon or fawn co-
lour; the breast is ornamented with a broad crescent of
deep black; the belly and vent white, tinged with yellow,
and scattered with innumerable round spots of black,
every feather having a distinct central spot, those on the
thighs and vent being heart-shaped and largest; the lower
and inner side of the wingand tail, shafts of all the larger
feathers, and indeed of almost every feather, are ofa beauti-
ful golden yellow—that on the shafts of the primaries be-
ing very distinguishable, even. when the wings are shut;
the rump is white, and remarkably prominent; the tail-
coverts white, and curiously serrated with black; upper
side of the tail, and the tip below, black, edged with light
loose filaments of a cream colour, the two exterior feathers
serrated with whitish; shafts black towards the tips, the
two middle ones nearly wholly so; bill an inch and a half
long, of a dusky horn colour, somewhat bent, rigdid only
on the top, tapering, but not to a point, that being a little
wedge-formed; legs and feet light blue; iris of the eye
hazel; length twelve inches; extent twenty. The female
differs from the male chiefly in the greater obscurity of
the fine colours, and in wanting the black mustaches on
each side of the throat. Thisdescription, as wellas the draw-
ing, was taken from a very beautiful and perfect specimen,
Though this species, generally speaking, is migratory,
yet they often remain with us in Pennsylvania during the
whole winter. They also inhabit the continent of North
America, from Hudson’s Bay to Georgia; and have been
found, by voyagers, on the north-west coast of America.
They arrive at Hudson’s Bay in April, and leave it in
September. Mr. Hearne, however, informs us, that
“the Golden-winged Woodpecker is almost the only
species of Woodpecker that winters near Hudson’s Bay.”
The natives there call it Ow-thee-quan-nor-ow, from the
golden colour of the shafts and lower side of the wings.
It has numerous provincial appellations in the different
"States of the Union, such as ‘* High-hole,’’ from the situa-
tion of its nest, and ‘‘ Hittock,’’ ‘* Yucker,”’ ‘* Piut,”’
‘<¢ Flicker,”? by which last it is usually known in Pennsyl-
yania. These names have probably originated from a
fancied resemblance of its notes to the sound of the words;
for one of its most common cries consists of two notes or
syllables, frequently repeated, which, by the help of the
hearer’s imagination, may easily be made to resemble any
or all of them.—Wrutson.

From the New-York Commercial Advertiser.

SCENES ON THE UPPER MISSOURI.

Since I wrote you my last letter, I have been so much
engaged in the amusements of the country, and in the use
of my pencil, that I have been unable to drop you a line
until the present moment. Before I let you into the plea-
sures and amusements of this delightful country, however,
I must hastily travel with you over the tedious journey of
2000 miles, from St. Louis, over which distance one is
obliged to pass before he reaches this place. The Mis-
souri is, perhaps, different from all other rivers in the
world. There isa ¢ervor in its waters which we sensibly
feel the moment we enter into it from the Mississippi.
From the mouth of the Yellow Stone to the mouth of the
Missouri, it sweeps off in one unceasing current, and in
the whole distance there is scarcely a resting place. Owing
to the continual falling of its alluvial banks, its water is
always turbid and opaque, having more the appearance,
(in colour,) of a cup of chocolate than any thing else I can
think of. I have made experiments with a piece of silver,
and also with a shell, which is a much whiter substance,
and have ascertained that they cannot be discovered
through the sixteenth part of an inch of the water. For
the distance of about 1000 miles from St. Louis, the shores
of the river, and in many places the whole bed of the
stream are filled with snags, trees of the largest size, which
have been undermined by the falling banks, their roots
becoming fastened in the bottom of the river, and tops
pointing down the stream, form a most frightful and dis-
couraging prospect for the adventurous yoyagers. Almost
every island and sand bar is covered with huge piles of
these floating trees; and when the river is high it is almost
impossible for the boat to proceed, in consequence of the
continued rafts of this material, which almost literally
cover the surface of the water. With what propriety we
might call it the «‘ River Styx,’’ I will not undertake to
say, but nothing could be more appropriate than to de-
nominate it the «* River of Sticks.’’ The scene is not all
so dreary, for the eye is delightfully relieved the moment
you glance it over the beautiful prairie, most of the way
gracefully sloping down to the water’s edge, carpeted
with the deepest green, and in distance softening into
velvet of the richest hues, entirely beyond the reach of
the artist’s pencil. It has heretofore been very erroneous-
ly represented in the world, that the scenery on this river
was monotonous, and wanting in picturesque beauty. This
intelligence, I find, has come altogether from a set of men,
who, if they had been capable of relishing the beauties of
nature, would have passed them in this place without no-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

ticing them, for every moment they are trembling for the
safety of their peltries, &c., or for their lives, which are at
the mercy of the yelling savages who inhabit this delight-
ful country.

One thousand miles or more of the upper part of the
river was to my eye like ‘fairy land.”? I was the whole
time riveted to the deck of the boat, from whichI beheld
with rapture the changing scenes of every moment. I
cannot so well describe with pen as with my pencil, and
have therefore filled my Port Folio with sketches, which
it may eventually amuse you to look over. The whole
face of the country, from St. Louis to the Falls of the Mis-
souri, (six hundred miles above the mouth of Yellow
Stone,) is one continued prairie, except the bottoms form-
ed along the river, and the streams which empty into it,
which are covered with the most luxuriant growth of forest
timber. ‘The surface-level of the prairie is from 200 to
300 feet above the level of the river, forming a valley the
whole way for the river, varying in width from two to
twenty miles. The river is alternately running from one
bluff to another, which present themselves to its shores in
all the most picturesque and beautiful shapes and colours
imaginable. Some with their green sides gracefully slope
down, in the most beautiful groups, to the water’s edge;
whilst others, divested of their verdure, present them-
selves in many masses of clay of different colours, some
standing in the most perfect forms cf huge domes, cupolas,
turrets, towers, and ruined castles. In distance, some of
those groups have the appearance of ancient cities in ruins,
with solitary standing columns, falling domes, and ruined
edifices. It is amidst these wild haunts that the moun-
tain sheep and the fleet-bounding antelope sport in herds, se-
cure in these rude places, which are inaccessible to their
enemies.

If any thing did ever literally ‘‘astonish the natives,” it
was the approach of the steamboat alongside of their vil-
lages. They were astonished, and thousands of them
dropped themselves upon the shore, viewing it with won-
der and astonishment. Some called it the ‘Fire Boat,’
others called it the ‘* Medicine Boat, with eyes,”’ for they
declared it saw its own way, and went along without
help. At this place, from which I am writing, the Ame-
rican Fur Company have a very strong fort, well piquet-
ted, and protected with bastions mounting cannon. This
fort was built by, and isnowin charge of Mr. McKenzie,
who receives all the trades of the northern and western
Missouri Indians. This post, and the posts and Indian
villages which I shall visit on my way down the river,
will enable me to get my sketches of the most interesting
tribes of Indians in North America, inasmuch as they are
less known to the world, and more cleanly in their persons,

Aaa

i85

and more richly dressed than any other Indians on the con-
tinent. This tour up the Mississippi presents to me the
Sioux, Ricarees, Mandans, Gros-ventres or Miniaterees,
Assinnaboins, Creeks, Ojibeways, Crows, Blackfeet,
Snakes, Delawares, and Shawanoes. All these nations of
Indians speak different languages, and most of them differ
in their dress, domestic habits, amusements, &c.; and if
my life is spared for a few years, my unwearied exertions
will enable me to lay a pretty fair representation of them,
together with the other tribes of North America, before
the world.

The splendid costume and elegant taste with which the
Crows and Blackfeet dress and ornament themselves, can
only be appreciated or realized by those who can see them.
I shall devote a future letter entirely to the costume and
domestic habits peculiar to each nation, where you will be
able to get a detailed account, and form a correct idea of
the beauty of their dress and deportment.

As far as my travels have yet led me into the Indian
country, I have more than realized my former predic-
tions, ‘that those Indians who could be found most en-
tirely in a state of nature, without the least knowledge of
civilized society, would be found to be the most cleanly
in their persons—elegant in their dress and manners, and
enjoying life to the greatest perfection.”’

Every one of these red sons of the forest, (or rather the
prairie,) is a knight, and a lord; his squaws are his slaves.
The only thing which he deems worthy of his exertions,
is to mount his snorting steed with his bow and quiver
slung, his arrow shield upon his arm, and his long lance
glistening in the war parade—or, divested of all his plumes
and trappings, armed with his simple bow and quiver, to
plunge his steed amongst the flying herds of buffaloes, and
with his sinewy bow, which he never bends in vain, to
dive deep in life’s fountain the whizzing arrow. The buf-
falo herds which always graze upon these beautiful prairies
in countless numbers, afford them abundance of meat; and
so much is it preferred to all other, that the deer, the elk,
and the antelope, sport upon the prairies in herds in the
greatest security, as the Indians never kill them unless they
want their skin for a dress.

Whenever Mr. McKenzie’s ice-house is nearly empty
of beef, he starts with three or four men on horseback,
with two or three carts following at a distance, and often-
times within view of the fort, if not withina mile or two,
they will ride amongst a band of them, and in a few
minutes kill ten or twelve of them, selecting the fattest of
the herd. These scenes are exceedingly spirited and beau-
tiful, furnishing decidedly the finest subjects for the pen-
cil of any sporting scenes in the world. The horses in
this country are all trained to it, and know exactly how

186

to approach the animal, without being guided by the bit.
A short light gun is used for the purpose; the rider guides
his horse at full speed, until he has selected the object of
his prey; he directs his horse to it, then drops his bridle,
and the horse at full speed approaches the animal on the
right side, within eight or ten feet, when the shot is gene-
rally given with such precision through the vital parts of
the body, that he seldom runs more than a hundred yards
before he falls.

I rode in the midst of several of these scenes rather to
study than to slay. In one of them, however, finding my
horse had brought me so fairly alongside of a bull of the
ee size, I caught, as my horse had the enthusiasm of

e chase, and with my double-barrelled piece so disabled
him that he was immediately left by the band. I halted,
and saw my comrades sweeping over the prairies, mingled
in the midst of the herd, and leaving at every few rods
the dying victims on the plains. I was willing to stop the
pursuit, for I found that I had luckily so disabled my bull
that he could make none, or but little advance upon me,
although he was continually rising and swelling himself
with the most frightful rage, and endeavouring to pitch
upon me. He was a scene for the painter or the statuary,
one worthy of the sublime ideas of Michael Angelo. Not
the tiger nor the black maned lion of Africa could have
looked half so furious or frightful. I defy the world to
produce an animal in his looks so furious and frightful as
the buffalo bull, when he is roused in a rage, with his long
shaggy mane covering his shoulders and falling to the
ground. In this condition I drew my sketch book from
my pocket, and by riding towards and around him, and
exciting his fury, I was enabled to catch the very attitudes
and expressions that I wanted. The party returning, at
length, with some anxiety for my safety, and finding me
dismounted and busily engaged with the infuriated gen-
tleman before me, standing for his likeness, were not a
little surprised and amused. When my series of atti-
tudes and expressions were finished, a shot through the
head ended the scene.

The health and amusements of this delightful country
render it almost painful for me to leave it. The atmos-
phere is so light and pure that nothing like fevers or epi-
demics has ever been known to prevail here—indeed it is
proverbial here that a man cannot die unless he is killed
by the Indians. If the cholera should ever cross the At-
lantic, what a secure, and at the same time, delightful
refuge this country would be for those who would be able
to reach it. I shall commence descending the river in a
few days in a small boat, and shall stop some time at the
Mandans and Gros-vyentres or Minataree villages, 400
miles below this, which are probably the most interesting

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

villages of Indians which I shall see on the river. From
those villages I shall be able to give yousome more inter-
esting and amusing details of manners and customs of
these uncivilized and unchristianized sons of the west.
Until then adieu. Your friend and servant,

GrorGe Cariin.
Mouth of Yellow Stone, July 15th, 1832.

INSTRUCTIONS TO YOUNG SPORTSMEN.
No. V.

In most of my former communications, I have con-
fined my remarks to the use of the gun, and the manner
in which the learner should conduct himself in the field.
In the present, and perhaps one or two future numbers, I
will endeavour to point out the proper mode of finding
the various game, and the most likely parts they inhabit;
this is of much importance to the young sportsman, in
order to afford him facilities in his excursions. The first
bird I shall notice is the partridge, it being the primary
and most common object of pursuit, and more accessible
than others.

The most favourable season for hunting partridges is a
cloudy, damp day, with the wind moderately stirring from
the east; for, as this weather presages rain, the birds will
always be found in the fields, feeding; and owing to the
density of the atmosphere, the effluyium emitted by them,
instead of ascending, is wafted by the breeze over the sur-
face of the ground, and enables the dog to wind the birds
at a very great distance, and the variety of objects which
cover the ground, such as grass, leaves, stubble, &e. be-
ing softened by the dampness, less noise is created, and
the birds consequently not so easily alarmed. It appears
hardly necessary to remind you, that you should at all
times enter the field against the wind, as the advantages
for your dogs are too obvious to require comment.

Rainy and windy days are alike unfavourable for hunt-
ing; both having the tendency to drive the birds into
cover for protection from the weather, but, as it is acom-
mon onclWties that a favourable morning is often fol-
lowed by winds and rain, it is proper the young sports-
man should know how to act in regard to either of the
two days. I would prefer a moderate rain to a blustering
north-westerly wind, and would choose rather a wet skin,
than the ill effeets of hunting through the latter; the for-
mer is only unpleasant for the time, and if you exercise
constantly you need not fear taking cold; but the latter is
painfully unpleasant (especially to the eyes,) for the pre-
sent and the bad effect does not wear off for days; besides,

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

rain will quiet a covey of partridges, and make the scat-
tered birds lie well; but a blustering wind will excite them
constantly to motion, and drive them into the depth of
swamps and thickets, when, during the former, they will
only perhaps remain on the edges of bush-land, and
under the most convenient cover: therefore,

On a favourable day, such as I have described, you must
seek the birds at all hours in wheat or rye stubble fields,
or those covered with high weeds or Indian grass, should
feeding ground be near; but should the sun shine, and the
day prove warm, it is more than probable towards noon
the coveys may seek some neighbouring cover until feed-
ing time in the afternoon; of this, however, you must
judge for yourself.

On a windy day it is useless to hunt the fields, unless,
indeed, these should be covered with high grass, and other
cover not be at hand, as you will more certainly find the
birds in some copse, thicket, swamp or hedge row, and
nearly always to the leeward side.

I do not, however, advocate wet days for hunting, but
would advise you not to depart in a rain, unless indeed it
should be near the close of a protracted storm, which, if
you intend an excursion for several days, will be perhaps
the most propitious period for starting, as fine weather
will certainly succeed. But should a moderate rain over-
take you while in the fields, and your prospect of game
be flattering, I certainly, (if your constitution is good,)
would favour the prosecution of your enterprise, rather
than you should return home.

A ~an who contemplates pursuing field sports, must
nu. be frightened at a little bad weather, nor a wet skin,
neither must he be chicken-hearted if he should now and
then sink waist deep in water or mire, or have his gar-
ments torn from his person; these are consequences always
attending a sportsman, and he must make up his mind
to suffer patiently from hunger and thirst, wet and
cold.

If, on beating for game in a district where you know
these birds exist, you should be unsuccessful, you must
endeavour to ascertain the reasons; these may be from the
following: first, the foregoing causes of wind and rain may
have effected this change; secondly, birds shot at and
worried repeatedly, will frequently move off to other
places to avoid persecution; thirdly, hawks are very de-
structive to partridges, and their appearance will drive a
covey of birds into thestrongest fastness, where they willre-
main from morning until calling time at sunset; and fourth-
ly, asthey approach maturity, and cover for them is lessened
in consequence of the departure of vegetation, they are
inclined to wander over a greater extent of feeding ground,
and a covey which may be found in a particular field to-

187

day, may not visit this spot again for a week, from these
variety of causes: the young sportsman must make his
calculations, and see the necessity of hunting faithfully
every inch of ground without being discouraged. If you
are on high ground and find no birds, take a survey of
the country around you, and then depart for the most
likely places; the most indubitable evidence of the pre-
sence of these birds, (next to ocular proof,) is the heaps
of newly-made dung, which abound through their favour-
ite feeding grounds; for hither at night they will always
return, let their wanderings be what they may through the
day time, and no spot must be left untried when this
evidence is before you, as the birds, rest assured, are not
far distant.

Should you commence your campaign early in the
season, (that is, in October,) you will very likely encoun-
ter coveys of unfledged birds and others not half grown;
these of course you must avoid destroying, and pass on in
search of others; but the danger here is, that you may un-
heedfully shoot the old birds, and thus by leaving their
progeny destitute of parental care, destroy the whole brood.
It is to be regretted that there are those who feel no qualm-
ishness on the subject, and will indiscriminately destroy
every partridge they meet with, whether in full grown
coveys, or during incubation, or at the most interesting
period of fostering their young; but is this manlike?
nay, humanity knows no such feelings as would deprive
the unfledged and helpless young of the protection na-
ture has provided; with care, however, you may avoid
this, for so soon as the parents of a young brood take
wing, they will give evidence of the fact by the manner
of their flight; if the brood is very young, and hatched but
a day or two, the mother will suffer you to approach with-
in a few feet before she will move, and her flight will be
only a short distance, while the male bird will evince his
solicitude by running through the grass around you, and
making a chuckling ery of distress; at this time the mother
generally has the whole brood under cover of her wings.
Should the young birds have been produced a week or two,
the old birds will rise much sooner than in the former
case, but will fly only a short distance and settle again on
the ground; and in each case the flight mostly will be ae-
companied by a twittering cry, and the flight irregular and
slow, and with but little of that whirring sound which
usually accompanies the motion of their wings; in these in-
stances the parents are leading their young, and scratching
about to instruct them how to feed.

When the young are nearly half grown, and able to shift
for themselves, the parent birds will always rise first,
after which the whole brood will accompany them, utter-
ing their feeble cries for a considerable time.

188 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

Now should yeu be tempted to make a shot in the lat-
ter case, there is some excuse for you; but in the two
former, should you destroy the parent birds, you
deserve to be severely censured, and a repetition of this
act ought to be branded with disgrace.

It is not uncommon during the month of October to see
immense coveys of partridges, consisting of several dis-
tinet broods, which is evidenced by their difference of
size; this occurs more particularly when their period of
partial migration arrives. The writer has often sprung
coveys of this description, which, on a moderate calcula-
tion, contained from one hundred to one hundred and fifty
birds; some matured, others half grown, and again those
‘searcely able to soar above the stubble; and this large num-
ber, no doubt, was caused by the junction of several com-
munities, during their migratory movements, and while
led by the parent birds; later in the season this seldom
occurs, and when it is the case, it is always from the ac-
cidental meeting of two or more coveys. In November,
and until the division of the parties into pairs again in the
spring, it is rare to meet with a single covey containing
over thirty birds, and the average number may generally
be placed at twenty.

The shooting season for partridges should not com-
mence before November; formerly, in some places, it was
established, by law and custom, on the Ist of September,
and afterwards altered to October. But, if sportsmen
would control their eagerness one month later, and not
commence until the 1st of November, the birds would be
full grown, and the shooting more pleasant, in consequence
of this circumstance, and of the denuded state of the trees
and other shrubbery. The shooting season then would
consist of three months, November, December, and Janu-
ary, which should suffice. No bird is fit to eat out of
season, and the partridge is not good food until that pe-
riod when its food consists of grain. During the summer
and early fall months, this bird will feed on insects with
as much avidity as those which are not granivorous, but
this is more of necessity than choice, as insects are then
in abundance, and grass seeds and grain scarce, being un-
ripe and not within their reach; but so soon as frosts appear,
insects are destroyed, seed are ripened and cast to the
ground, and the partridge finds food more suitable to its
nature, andits flesh becomes firm and of good flavour. Most
carnivorous animals are rejected as unfit for food, and the
partridge out of season is of this description, consequently
the shooting season should be regulated accordingly. You
should not hunt when the ground is covered with snow;
this generally is the signal for all true sportsmen to give
up partridge shooting for that season; the birds then, in-
stead of being persecuted by you, should receive protec-

tion from your hands against their other enemies; these
you know are hawks of all kinds, and vermin, such as
foxes, minks, weasels and skunks. The farmers’ boys,
also, are the most formidable at this time, by trapping
numbers, and bringing them to market; of these you should
always purchase a portion, and sustain them through the
winter, so that you may release them again in the coming
spring.

In preserving partridges through the winter, permit me
to remark, that several things are requisite which are not
always observed, even by those who pretend to sustain
quantities of these birds; and for want of these precautions
we sometimes see out of a number of cage birds, many,
perhaps more than half, become sick and die. To
prevent this, you should in the first place provide a room
with a southern exposure, (into which the sun will shine)
sufficiently large for them to run about and get exercise,
for you must recollect, the chief exercise of the partridge
when at liberty is on foot; in this room you should put
some sand and gravel mixed, not a handful or shovel full,
but a wheelbarrow load; this will not be too much; this
article is used by the partridge both internally and exter-
nally; internally to assist the mechanical operations of its
gizzard, and externally, for the same purposes which
we use water, namely, to cleanse ourselves from im-
purity; what would be the consequences to us were we
deprived of ablution from water? should we not be cover-
ed with filth and vermin, and these generate disease,
and death of course would certainly follow? The
partridge, therefore, as well as all birds of the gallina-
ceous order, wallow in the dirt to cleanse their bodies
and preserye them from vermin;* and it hence follows,
that if this natural supply is withheld, the consequences
to these interesting birds will be the same as to us if we
were deprived of the use of water. I am thus particular,
in order to show the necessity of placing a larger quantity
of sand and gravel within their reach than is usually done,
so that they may be enabled to wallow deeply into it. The
room should also be in a situation where the birds cannot
be disturbed, for this frets and frightens them, and will
prevent their feeding; you should feed them but once a
day, and then just before sunset, and with food sufficient
for two meals, consisting of the following varicties, wheat,
rye, broken corn, buckwheat, and stale bread; a little
water should of course be placed in the room if some shal-
low vessel, which should be replenished by means of a

* The writer has often observed, that when a sick partridge was con-
fined with others whi~h were well, the latter would frequently search
the plumage of the former for vermin, with much industry and appa-
rent commiseration, while the sickly bird would evidence by its pas-
siveness, much relief from the kind offices of its friend.

.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

tunnel from without. The room should never be entered,
but the feed thrown to them through a hole in the door or
window.

These birds never have recourse to water, except for
drink, and but little of this will suffice, as they will satiate
their thirst in preference, from the drops of rain and dew,
which adhere to the leaves and grass; but every sports-
man has noticed, during August, September, and Oc-
tober, the number of wallowing places in the earth, in
stubble fields and small bush land, especially on the south
side of hills, and this habit continues always until severe
frosty weather. When any animal is taken from its
native state, and placed in captivity, many things should
be taken into consideration, so that confinement may
not affect its health; and, as the partridge uses exercise
mostly on foot, is fond of the sun, and cannot live with-
out sand and gravel, it proves the necessity of conforming
as much as possible to its habits in these respects.

Should many more seasons be experienced like those of
1829, SO and 31, the preservation of the partridge will
be an object of primary consequence with the sportsman;
and when it is considered that this bird is a great source
of his enjoyments, and all of his preparation subsidiary to
it, is it not a matter of moment, that the cawse should be
preserved, if he wishes to experience its effects? Ie

POISONOUS FISH.

Clupea Thryssa, or Yellow-billed Sprat.
Conger Murena, a Conger Eel.
Coracinus Fuscns, os Grey Snapper.
Coropheena Splendens, “ Dolphin.

Cyprinus Barbus, ce Barbel, (of Europe.)
Opah, G King Fish.
OstracionGlabellum, “ Smooth Bottle Fish.
Perca Major, se Barracuta.

Perca Marina, a Rock Fish.
Scomber Thynnus, Bonetta.

Tetrodon Scleratus, a Tunny.

Tur cancer menas, or common crab, and the cancer
gammarius, or lobster, are the principal varieties in the
insect tribe employed as food, and capable of exercising
deliterious effects. The mytilus edulis, or muscle, is, per-
haps, the only edible species of vermes, or worms. The
ill effects sometimes attributed to the muscle of Europe,
are generally supposed to be occasioned, when a small tuft
of moss, attached to the body of the worm, is swallowed
through carelessness; and the symptoms produced, may
rather be referred to those of oppression, in consequence
of the indigestible nature of the substance, than to any
poisonous qualities it possesses; there are, however, some

Bebb

189

muscles, particularly in the East and West Indies, that,
in common with some other marine animals, exercise an
unfavourable influence upon the animal economy, produce
the same symptoms, and terminate in the same result as
the most poisonous of the fish tribe.

This list, then, comprises the common yarieties of poi-
sonous animals, but many could probably be added to the
number: the exact nature of their qualities is but little un-
derstood; whether they reside in the whole carcase, or in
some particular part of it, areintroduced into the animal in the
form of food, or are constantly retained, are occasioned by the
spawning season, by any peculiar habits of the animal, or
by its sickness; and whether they depend upon the idio-
syncrasy of the individual eating them for their operation,
are all circumstances of remark, and of uncertainty in de-
termination.

Fish and muscles of the most poisonous description ap-
pear to the eye as healthy and agreeable as the most whole-
some varieties: chemistry will not lend any assistance in
discovering their noxious properties, and out of a number
of persons who may occasionally have eaten of the same
dish, a few are found violently, some slightly, and others
not at all affected. The process of carefully cleaning and
salting, appears to abate the danger of eating some of the
varieties above mentioned; but even this precaution will
not always ensure escape: it is then certain, that whatever
poisonous qualities exist, they are greatly increased or
diminished by the peculiar condition of the system gene-
rally, and of the digestive organs in particular, of those
who partake of them. Crabs and lobsters, especially, will
affect some persons at one time, and prove innocuous at
another, even in the same season, and under similar cir-:
cumstances in every respect. Zhe tmmediale symptoms
of disorder occasioned are, great nausea, constriction of
the throat, thirst, a sense of suffocation, and a burning
heat on the whole surface of the body; to these succeed
diarrheea, cold sweats, faintness, and spasmodic affections
of the muscles; efflorescence of the skin, and sometimes a
miliary eruption; in the worst cases the eyes become in-
flamed; the wrist, ancle, and knee joints, are visited with
acute pains; tenesmus and stranguary ensue; and the suf-
ferer is almost beyond the power of art: these symptoms,
of course, apply to the worst cases; to such as are record-
ed in the annals of West Indian practice, in general the
milder symptoms alone prevail, and are under the control
of medicine. When death ensues, it would appear to be
occasioned by an absorption of the poison through the cir-
culation, and how actively it exerts itself through that me-
dium is apparent from the symptoms occasioned; an ex-
amination of the body after death displays the stomach
and intestines in an inflamed state, with occasional patches

190

of ulceration of the mucous membrane; generally a quantity
of dark, foetid fluid in the stomach; while the vessels and
membranes of the brain present appearances, sometimes
of intensely, but generally of slightly, increased vascula-
rity. The most valuable remedies are, first, evacuants of
the stomach and bowels, and then cordials and stimulants;
the use of ether, in drachm doses, frequently given in some
simple fluid, may, perhaps, be preferred.

The Rationale of this treatment is appparent.

There are no Tests by which this mode of poisoning can
be detected.—Coley on Poisons and sphyxia.

EXTRAORDINARY PIGEON MATCH.

Two persons arrived in London the 10th of July, 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 birds belong to the Cansdel Tavern
Club, Antwerp; and eighteen prizes were to be competed
for in this flight; the first a gold medal of considerable
value, and the others sums of money. Sunday had been
fixed at Antwerp for their departure, but the weather was
too hazy. On Monday morning, at a quarter to nine, a
favourable glimpse of sunshine broke through, which fix-
ed their determination. The pigeons were contained in
eight inclosures, constructed of wire and canvass, and capa-
ble of admitting a sufficiency of air to the birds, and on
the top of each inclosure was a trap-door of tin. The bas-
kets were all placed side by side, and after the means of
opening the traps were so adjusted as to be opened at the
same time, at a given signal the doors were all lifted up,
and out rushed the pigeons at the same instant. They rose
in a flock, and never hovered the least, but bent their way
as straight as possible in the direction they were most
likely to reach home. They were all pigeons of a cross
breed unknown to the English fanciers, having traces of
the carrier, tumbler, and dragon pigeon, but all having
one distinguished peculiarity, in what is designated the
<< pearl eye.”? The men set off on foot shortly after for
Dover, with a proper certificate of the hour of depar-
ture. A letter from Brussels, dated July 23, says—‘‘ The
pigeons, 110 in number, to be let fly on Sunday in Lon-
don, were not despatched till the next day at three-quar-
ters past eight in the morning, with a strong W. S. W.
breeze. At eighteen minutes past two the gold medal
was gained; the second pigeon arrived thirty seconds later;
by twenty-three minutes past two, six had arrived, and
all the prizes, eighteen in number, were gained by 5

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

o’elock, when the nineteenth arrived; twenty-six others
had reached home before day-break the next morning.
Thus, the swiftest pigeon flew to Antwerp in five hours
and a half—the distance in a straight line sixty-two com-
mon leagues.—Lon. Sport. Mag.

RIFLE SHOOTING.
Mr. Eprror:

A few days since, while travelling through Schuylkill
county, my attention was drawn to a collection of ** Lea-
ther Stockings,”’ at a place called St. Clair, who had as-
sembled for the purpose of shooting for an ox. Th@»in-
terest I felt in witnessing an exhibition of the kind, as
well as the grotesque appearance of some of the party, in-
duced me to remain for the day, and I accordingly took my
station where I should be free from accident and best wit-
ness the performance. Some difficulty, however, occur-
red between the shooters and the owner of the ox, which
prevented the match from going on. The reasons on both
sides I could not understand, as the discussions were in
German; but in the afternoon, one of your citizens, well
known and respected, and whose fame as a shooter had
preceded him, arrived with a hunting party, and imme-
diately the whole appeared upon the ground for a trial of
skill. The annexed cut shows the size of the paper
shot at, and the precise manner it was perforated by
the different balls.

Those who shot with a rest took their station at
one hundred yards, while those who shot off-hand,
or without a rest, advanced to within sixty yards of
the target: the forty yards being allowed as an equiva-
lent for shooting without a rest. The ‘city feller,’’ as
he was called, being an off-hand shot, and a stranger

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

among them, was requested to take his stand first, which
he complied with, and with the report of his gun the pa-
per dropped. “ Drove the nail,”’ cried the judges, or the
persons stationed at the target. ‘* Altogether an accident,”
replied the shooter, and the paper wasrestored again. A
Mr. Lucas, a Blue Mountain yankee, took the stand next.
‘This gentleman is considered the best shot in the
county,’’ said one of his companions, and the result shows
that he is no ‘* §Zowch.’?? He fired, and buried the ball
in the upper edge of the paper, which I send you. The
others took their turn, but although all came within an
inch of the paper, no one struck it; and the stranger again
entered the stand for a second shot. The result you will
find in the lower edge of the paper. When this shot was
announced, an old gentleman, (a German,) standing near
méfleried out to his companion, who was at the hundred
yard station—“Jake! Jake! by hoky that city feller
shoots like tamnation.’’ The others fired, and the “ city
feller’’ took the stand for the third time; the mark of this
ball you will find in the centre of the paper, a little to the
left of the first shot. Lucas followed and put his balla
little to the left of those in the centre. The whole shoot-
ing was good. The entire space did not occupy more
than four inches in diameter.

The generous hospitality that was offered to the stran-
ger is also deserving of notice. When the wind blew they
would call to him to hold up, and carefully pointed out
every thing that was calculated to operate against him.
Such other marks of kindness were exhibited, as clearly
showed to me, that those people, though rough in exterior,
and uncouth in speech and habit, knew and cultivated those
feelings which entitle them to our veneration and respect;
without envy they saw a competitor who rivalled and as-
tonished them; without prejudice they acknowledged and
proclaimed it. M! J:

November 27, 1832.

From the American Turf Register.

HUNTING THE WILD CAT IN NORTH CARO-
LINA.

Mr. Eprror:

We have a species of game with us, which I believe is
peculiar to this section of country—at least I see no men-
tion made of it in your excellent magazine, where I have
met with descriptions of every other variety of hunting.
And yet, the Wild Cat will afford the huntsman as much

191

sport, and the hounds as much work, as any other animal
that I ever followed. Indeed it requires a staunch and
numerous pack to take them, for even when run toastand
still—no easy work by the by—they are enabled from
their great strength and ferocity, to keep five or six dogs
at bay, without difficulty.

The Wild Cat is much larger, and infinitely stronger
than the grey fox, (the red not being an inhabitant of our
woods, I know nothing of.) It is about as fleet as the
common fox, but as it confines its run to very strong and
thick covers, the chase lasts much longer than that of the
fox. And being, in addition to all this, a terrible enemy
to the farm-yard, taking off pigs, poultry, lambs, and some-
times even grown sheep, our sportsmen, who are all far-
mers, pursue them with inveterate industry. Invited by
the flattering appearance of the weather last week, Mr.
W. and myself determined to give our dogs a trial. We
accordingly rode to cover on Saturday morning, with six
couple of as fine dogs as ever followed deer, fox, or Wild
Cat. It was our first turn out this season—the whole pack
was, consequently, full of riot, and the young dogs in par-
ticular, were perfectly frantic. The morning was as auspi-
cious as we could wish—the dog fennel and pine bushes
hung droopingly, overloaded with dew. It was quite cool,
clear as a bell, and so perfectly calm, that the joyous notes
of the dogs, as they gambolled in wild excitement before
us, or leaped up fawningly upon our horses, were heard
to re-echo over the distant Neuse. After leaving the
river a little to the right, we threw off the hounds into a
very promising cover, on the north side of Smith’s Creek.
Here we had not proceeded very long, when old Drum-
mer told us, that some prowler had been passing, during
the night. The scent was very cold, and we worked it
slowly and with difficulty, along the windings of the creek;
frequently interrupted by the outbursts of the young dogs,
after rabbits, &e. By dint of whipping and scolding, we
succeeded in bringing these last under some subjection.
The trail still appearing very cold, we made a east on the
opposite bank of the creek, but with no better success.
The game had been there, but it must have been very
early, on the previous evening. In the mean time, old
Drummer had got back to his old trail, and continued to
work it with untiring perseverance. The drag appearing
to grow warmer, we concluded to hark the other dogs to
him. Echo and Rover soon gave tongue, Macduff and
Nimrod joined in. Still our best fox dog, old Milton,
refused to recognize the trial as legitimate; we were now
sure of the nature of our game; it must be a Wild Cat.
Wecontinued to encourage the dogs with increased anxiety.
At last, all of them, young and old, acknowledged the
trail, and growing into a confirmed drag, it proceeds

®

192

through the river swamp, deep into the marsh, far along
the margin of the river, and then—what a crash! you
might have heard them down the wind, three miles off.
And now, swelling into a louder and still a louder strain,
the quarry makes directly for the spot where we had taken
our stand, upon the verge of the swamp, as far in as we
could well make our way. We had raised our voices in
one exulting shout, when that wild burst had told us, the
game wasup. But in the tumultuous roar behind him,
every other sound was hushed, and the Cat made straight
for us, either not hearing or heeding our halloo. We were
now still as statues—and the pack came rushing on—the
erashing of the reeds, the rending of the undergrowth, the
splashing of the mud and water, and the deep mouthed
roaring of the hounds, uniting together, like the mingling
tumults of a September gale, and seeming to give to the
terrified animal, the wings of the wind. He must have
passed within ten steps of us, but owing to the thick cover,
we could not catch a view. The pack, however, were
close upon him, for they passed us, running breast high,
all together—no running dog, or in line, but each emu-
lously dashing for the lead. The Cat seemed determined
to try their mettle, and beat them by downright game.
Contrary to the usual practice of the animal, he made a
straight stretch over the highland, along the border of
Smith’s old field, and at such a slashing rate, that, to lie
by them, made Madge blow like a blacksmith’s bellows
on a frosty morning. She’s a little too fat at present, and
not long from grass. Finding this game could never last
long, the Cat endeavoured to throw them out, by a rapid
succession of ugly dodges, which bothered the young dogs
excessively. But old Milton was wide awake—he had
followed too many foxes in his day, to be out-generalled
even by a Wild Cat. He followed him cautiously, but
unerringly, through all his circles and angles, and the
whole pack winding after him, with such close and unre-
mitting assiduity, that they only made two losses, and
then, for only two minutes. After circling for about half
an hour, in a very thick gum swamp, where he had a great
advantage over the dogs, “ Monsieur le Chat,” finding
himself considerably in advance of the hounds, thought
he might try them again at long taw; so hoisting out all
canvass, he made sale for Bachelor’s Creek. This was
just what the pack wanted; the young dogs were terribly
pestered in the swamp, but here again, all was plain sail-
ing; and so the Cat seemed to think too, for, finding that
he could not make good his retreat to Bachelor, he tacked
ship, and stood back on his old track—but he was done
up. He did not indeed contrive to get back to his old
place of refuge, the swamp; but we knew, by the manner
in which the old dogs were pushing for the lead, that his

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

fate was sealed. He had been now two hours and a half
on the pad, and we could tell, as we saw him mount a
log, his eyes flashing, his hair bristling, his short tail lash-
ing, ‘¢as doubting to return or fly’’—his race of existence
was run. As we raised the view halloo, his tail drooped
again, which he was elevating as a signal for combat, and
he dragged himself from the log, with weak and unsteady
steps; scarcely had he jumped from one end of the log,
when Milton and Echo mounted it at the other, followed
by the rest of the pack. Animated by our cheer, and the
sight of the devoted game, they seemed to gain additional
vigour, and, before we had made our way a hundred yards
further in the swamp, we heard a sharp, angry growl,
then Echo’s shrill yelp, as she leaped upon the prey, and
then a cry from her, as if she had run afoul of a kettle of
hot water. Talleyrand next gave a howl of agony sias he
shrunk from the rude welcome of the Wild Cat. All the
rest as they came up, seemed to acknowledge by their
cries, that they had caught a tartar. But what can one do
against twelye?—most of them, too, young, strong and ae-
tive. Why, Jackson and Beaufort alone, are strong enough
to pull down the strongest buck that ever stood at bay.
Even a Wild Cat el yield to such a fearful odds; so that
when we succeeded in scrambling to them, we found our
enemy, (and a huge one he was,) dead upon the field, and
the dogs limping and baying around, manifesting by their
condition, the severity of the chase and combat,
Yours, respectfully, BAAN lO
Newbern, September 22, 1832.

ANECDOTE.

‘¢ Tue bon-vivans of America, talk of the canvas-back
with an interest that borders on affection, and is some-
times very amusing. ¢ Sir,’ said an old fellow to me, ‘I
wished to give a duck feast, and accordingly I bought
nine couple of them all fresh killed, and all of the right
weight. I stuffed them into every corner of my gig, and
would not suffer the cook to touch them except in my pre-
sence; I dressed them all myself, in different ways, and in
my own parlour, so as to have them all done according to
figure, sir! Well, sir! all my company had arrived, ex-
cept an old German; we could not wait, and sat down
without him, When he came, he exclaimed, What
noshing but duckhs!’ I started up in‘a rage, sir! a violent
rage, sir! ‘noshing but duekhs!? I repeated after him.—
Why, you old scoundrel, said I, your own Emperor of
Austria never had sucha dinner, he could not, sir, though
he gave the best jewel in his crown for it.”

[Vigne’s six months in America.

; “ty

rity
te ad

“MNOMS

Re

a
AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

SKUNK.
MEPHITIS AMERICANA.
[Plate XVII. Vol. 2.]

Mephitis Americana; Drsm. Gopman Vol. 1. p. 213,
Viverra Mephitis; Guru. [L.] Syst. Nat. p. 88, No.
13, Chinche; Burr. Hist. Nat. tom. 33, pl. xx. fig.
2. Enfant du diable; Cuartry. Nowy. France v.
196. Skunk Weesel, Penn. Quad. 2, p. 65, No. 263.

Tuer Skunk is a pretty and at the same time a most
noxious animal, and is ranked among those vermin so de-
structive to the farmers’ interests, and to various descrip-
tions of game.

Most persons are acquainted with this animal by cha-
racter, although but few know it by sight; nor doany seek to
encounter it farther than with feelings of enmity or re-
venge, as it isan unwelcome visiter to any neighbourhood,
in consequence of its destructive and other disagreeable
habits. When its abode is well secured it is a most dif_i-
cult matter to dislodge or drive it from the premises; and
there is perhaps no animal possessing so little energy and
strength, which is so completely protected by other natu-
ral means from its enemies.

The. fetor emitted by the Skunk, when defending itself,
is so exceedingly powerful, as will almost suffocate its an-
tagonist and cause a rapid retreat from so disgusting an
enemy. This stench can be produced or retained at plea-
sure by the animal, and is seldom diffused, except when
violence is committed toward it, or in defending itself
from attack. Of the nature of this liquid many persons dif-
fer; some believing it to be its urine,* and others, more
reasonably, contend that it is entirely distinct, and given
only as its means of protection. Onthishead Dr. Godman re-
marks, that “ A few glands secrete a most noisome and
intolerably stinking fluid, and this scattered with peculiar
force upon the body of its enemies, or even in the air, is
sufficient to disarm the violence of most quadrupeds, and
induce man himself rather to avoid than to seek an en-
counter.

“The organs by which this fluid is formed are placed
near the termination of the digestive tube, and the ducts
from the glands open into the rectum, by the aid of whose

* It has been fora long time the opinion among the country folks
and many others, that the unpleasant perfume discharged by the
Skunk is its urine, and that it is scattered against its enemies by
its tail; this liquid, Dr. Godman says, produces a phosphorescent
light.

Cicer

193

museles the fluid is ejected with astonishing force, and is
aimed with great accuracy, rarely missing the object if dis-
charged while within the proper distance. The faculty
this animal possesses of annoying its enemies by the dis-
charge of the fluid just mentioned, causes it rather to be
shunned than hunted, which the value of its skin would
otherwise be sure to occasion.

<The fetor produced by the Skunk is especially charac-
terized by all who have experienced it as suffocating or
stifling, which is owing to its peculiar concentration. The
predominant odour is that of muskiness, but in so con-
densed and aggravated a form as to render it almost in-
supportable, even at a considerable distance from the spot
where it is first discharged. A very good idea may be
formed of this stench by breaking and smelling a leaf or
stalk of the plant called skunk cabbage, (the Dracontiwm
fetidum, or pothos fetidum, resembling it in every re-
spect except in strength, which perhaps no artificial accu-
mulation of this vile scent could ever equal.

<¢The fluid ejected by the Skunk is not merely offensive
by its stench, but also in consequence of its highly stimu-
lating and acrimonious qualities. When any of itis thrown
into the eyes, it is productive of very violent and danger-
ous inflammation; we must suppose that this peculiar
acrimony, rather than any mere offensiveness of odour, is
the cause of the marked repugnance evinced by dogs, as
these show not the slightest sign of uneasiness from the
presence of the most nauseous and putrid effluvia from ani-
mal or vegetable substances, yet run howling and trying
to thrust their noses into the ground after having been ex-
posed to this pungent perfume from the Skunk.

‘¢In its extreme volatility it bears a considerable resem-
blance to true musk. The smallest drop is sufficient to
render a garment detestable to the weaver and his com-
panions for a great duration of time, and without any per-
ceptible diminution of intensity. Washing, smoking,
baking and burying articles of dress, and in fact every ef-
fort short of destroying the materials of which they are
made, seem to be equally inefficient for its removal. This
scent is not only thus enduring when the fluid is sprinkled
upon clothing, but the spot where the animal is killed, or
where the matter was ejected, retains it for a great lapse
of time. ‘When I was at Cumberland House, (says
Hearne, p. 378,) in the fall of 1774, some Indians that
were tenting on the plantation killed two of these animals,
and made a feast of them, when the spot where they were
singed and gutted was so impregnated with the nauseous
smell which they emit, that after a whole winter had
elapsed, and the snow had thawed away in the spring, tne
smell was still intolerable.’ A friend informed the author
of this work, that he had plainly perceived the odcur of

194

the fluid ejected by this animal from across the Hudson
river, near Albany; we have no doubt of its being possi-
ble to smell it at a much greater distance when the
wind blows from the spot where the effluvium is thrown
out.

“ Howeversingular the fancy may appear, we are assured
by Catesby that he has seen one of these animals tamed as
a pet, and following its owner like a little dog, without
offering to offend any one by its peculiar odour, which it
has the power of dispensing at will. When it is recollect-
ed that on any provocation or threatened injury, the
Skunk immediately fires upon his disturber, it will be con-
ceded that sucha pet must. require a very cautious manage-
ment, for to startle it suddenly, or injure it accident-
ally, would expose both friends and enemies to a shower
of ‘liquid sweets,’ which all ‘the odours from the spicy
shore of Araby the blest’ could not correct.

“If the Skunk be killed while unsuspicious of the ap-
proach of danger, or before time has been allowed for the
discharge of his artillery of perfume, the animal is not in
any way disagreeable, and may be approached closely, or
even eaten without the least unpleasantness, if the glands
be carefully taken out. Its flesh, when the odorous parts
have been carefully removed, is said to be well flavour-
ed, and resembles that of a pig considerably. It is eaten
by the Indians, and occasionally by hunters, with much
relish.

‘¢The Skunk is most generally found in the forests or
their immediate vicinity, having its den either in the hol-
Jow of an old tree or stump, or an excavation in the ground.
It feeds upon the young and eggs of birds, and on small
quadrupeds, wild fruits, &e. Occasionally the Skunk
gains access to the poultry-yard, where it does much mis-
chief by breaking and sucking the eggs, or by killing the
fowls. When resident in the vicinity of farm-houses, it
remains for a long time without giving notice of its pre-
sence by emitting its offensive fluid, which proves how
ridiculous is the notion that the urine of this animal is the
source of its disgusting fetor; for, as Hearne justly ob-
serves, were this the fact, the whole country it inhabits
would be rendered almost insupportable to every other
creature.”

The Skunk, like most predatory animals, seldom travels
in the day time, but so soon as twilight of the evening has
approached, it sallies forth in search of prey, and while
the unsuspicious and innocent objects of its search are
sleeping, they become the easy victims to the rapacity of
this destroyer. The Skunk destroys its prey almost in-
stantly. This is in consequence of the suddenness with
which it strikes the intended victim at the throat, and the
sharpness of its teeth and strength of grasp produces death

*
a

iy

THE CABINET OF NATURAD HISTORY,

so soon, and with so much quietness, that even in a hen-
roost no alarm is given to a neighbouring fowl by the in-
truder, or the unfortunate sufferer. With, however, its
destructive habits, it has some redeeming qualities, as it
is a great enemy to rats, and will utterly destroy these
vermin, as readily as the ferret; and it is said that some
farmers on this account encourage their presence by all
possible protection; and a certain author states, that “he
witnessed an instance where a great number of rats were
found ina stack of wheat, but all of them in the upper
part; for several yards from the ground, not a rat was to
be met with, which excited some surprise; but the cir-
cumstance was fully explained on reaching the bottom,
where it was found an enormous Skunk had taken up its
abode.”

This animal is very common throughout the United
States, but, as it roams only during the night season, it is
seldom seen, except by accident. The writer, during his
residence at the paternal home, a few miles from this city,
frequently encountered the Skunk, and became in a mea-
sure familiarized to its disgusting habits: to a person, how-
ever, ignorant of the animal and the stench it produces,
the scent for the first time is exceedingly offensive and in-
tolerable, and the most credulous would not believe its
power, until it could be sensibly experienced. In one
instance, while hunting woodcock during the month of
August, one of my dogs encountered and killed a Skunk
before I could approach the belligerents, and from the ef-
fects of the fetor received in the battle, he was rendered
entirely useless for a whole year, and did not recover the
goodness of his nose for nearly double that time. Subse-
quently I was hunting with the same dog after partridges,
and while passing through a large wood, he came to a
stand near a pile of cleft wood: thinking a rabbit had
taken shelter beneath it, | endeavoured in vain to dislodge
it; at length, stooping down to take a closer survey, I
discovered a Skunk sitting in a defensive posture, ready
in a moment to discharge its powerful artillery; wishing
to have a joke with a gentleman who was with me, and
who was entirely ignorant of the animal in question, I re-
quested him to approach and examine the stranger, to
which he assented; and after expressing his admiration,
and made some inquiries about it, I told him to stand where
he was until I shot it. Not suspecting my design, he ap-
proached to within five or six feet, while I receded as
many yards and shot the animal. Immediately my friend
was enveloped in this horrible stench, almost to suffoca-
tion, who retreated fifty or sixty yards, coughing and puff-
ing so vehemently, as caused me to regret that I had played
the trick on his ignorance. The volatility of this odour
is wonderful, and ean be scented at a great distance. In

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

the above instance, the animal was killed nearly three-
fourths of a mile from our destined home, and ere we
reached it, the inmates of the house had experienced the
scent, and asked us on our arrival, if we had not killed a
Skunk.”

This animal in some parts is called the Polecat, and in
England the Phillemark or Fitchet. Its form somewhat
resembles the ferret, but much larger; its motion is grace-
ful, but not rapid, and when running, moves in zigzag di-

rections. A full grown Skunk is about eighteen inches
long, and the tail seven, one half of which is caused by

the long hair at its extremity. It generally is of a dark
brown or chocolate colour; this is caused by the arrange-
ment of its pelage, which is of two kinds; the long hair
which is blackish, and the fur which is of a dirty yellow,
and the mixture of the two causes the brownish appear-
ance of the animal. On the forehead is a white spot; the
head is small, broad at the top, and tapers considerably
to the nose; the ears are small, rounded, and sometimes
tipped with white—the end of the tail is purely white;
two white stripes extend along the sides of the back, com-
mencing from the back part of the neck, and terminating
near the hips—the throat, legs, and lower part of the tail,
are the darkest. Thisis the general appearance of the ani-
mal—but they vary so much, that no individual can be
depended on as a representative in description of the race;
as some are lighter, and others darker in colour; some
are without the regular stripes on the back and spots on
the head, and have patches of white over different parts of
their bodies.

The female brings forth her young in the spring, to the
number of four or six.

MANNERS AND HABITS OF THE DOMESTIC
CAT.

I have in my family a Cat, a castrated male, which I
brought up from a kitten. He is a fine, well-shaped ani-
mal, and has a coat of hair of the most perfect, glossy
black, which, with the true characteristic of his species, he
keeps very clean and beautiful. He is one of a litter of five,
the offspring of an old grey Cat, an excellent mouser, who
is since dead. Being the stoutest and handsomest kitten
of his family, he was preserved from the general destruc-
tion, and left in the charge of his old mother, with whom,
in his early days, he had many a rare romp, and from
whom he received many a prudent castigation.

Quin, (as he is ealled,) is now four years old, and though
he has lost some of his youthful vivacity, is still at times

195

exceedingly playful and amusing. He will sometimes fly
about the house as if he had lost his senses, tear up and
down stairs, and throw himself into the air with the most
antic capers. His general deportment, however, is one
of much greater gravity; indeed, a considerable portion of
his day-time is passed in sleep, to which, like a true Cat,
he is deeply addicted. His disposition in the main is
very sociable; and if strangers come into the house, he is
not satisfied until he has walked round them, and made
his examination. Any object, indeed, to which he is un-
accustomed, undergoes his scrutiny; a new article of fur-
niture or clothing immediately attracts his attention, and
he enters at once into a close investigation. He takes
particular delight in inspecting the market basket, and
although he does not venture to meddle too closely with
its contents, he exhibits more or less pleasure according
as they happen to agree with his taste. He is somewhat
of an epicure, and has his fancies in eating as well as other
things. Salt meats he rejects; but fresh fish and oysters,
especially the latter, afford him peculiar pleasure. Almost
any kind of fresh meat will satisfy him, but he prefers
poultry, which he will devour either raw or cooked. He
has also a strange partiality for the batter of buckwheat
cakes; but in the gratification of his palate exhibits an in-
structive lesson of moderation, never eating after his ap-
appetite is satisfied, however dainty may be the food.

Like most of his species, Quin has a great fondness for
heat. In winter his delight is to toast himself on the rug
before the grate, where he will endure its effects to a great
degree; and in summer he will bask in the sun, (frequent-
ly lying on the back of his head, with his nose upward,)
until his black coat has imbibed what appears to me a
most uncomfortable quantum of warmth. The hot days
of this August, however, have driven him to the shade
of certain bushes in the garden, under which he seeks shel-
ter from the noonday sun. Here he receives frequent
visits from divers wasps and humble bees, with which he
sometimes maintains a determined warfare. I do not
know how he manages to prevent them from stinging him;
but when they do not voluntarily abandon the field, he
mostly comes off victorious, and ends the combat by
making a meal, (a light one to be sure,) of the vanquished
enemy.

He has a remarkable aversion to persons of colour; and
if any such are employed about the house, he will gene-
rally betake himself to the garret, and keep in seclusion
as long as they remain. He sometimes requires to be
won from his retreat by the voice of some one to whom
he is attached, calling him by name, to which, in general,
he readily answers. Ido not recollect to have noticed
any other example of this peculiar dislike in the Cat, or

196 4

animals of the Cat kind. From what it may arise in this
instance, I am entirely at a loss to determine.

We have heard a great deal about the treacherous and
unkindly disposition of the Cat, but I am inclined to think
it is most generally the result of illusage. I have been in
the habit of playing with Quin, and often somewhat rough-
ly, more especially when he was younger and more vola-
tile; and though he has sometimes laid violent paws on
me, I believe he never gave me an inéentional scratch,
unless when I happened to hurt him, and frequently not
even then. I have repeatedly suffered him, besides, to take
my hand into his mouth; and although he has often bitten
it playfully with considerable force, yet I think he never
drew blood, nor used his teeth upon me except with the
most harmless motives. To children visiting the house,
he has generally exhibited a peculiar partiality, and has
sometimes played hide and seek with them, almost as
knowingly as the little romps themselves.

This, however, may perhaps be deemed a merely nega-
tive quality; but he has sometimes shown what I arm dis-
posed to call a positive kind of affection. He fre~nently
meets me as I leave my chamber in the morning, and in
his peculiar way, which is to be sure somewhat odd and
uncouth, endeavours to show his pleasure and regard. On
one occasion, when one of the female domestics, for whom
he had a great partiality, was sick, he made his way into
her chamber, and finding her on the bed, raised himself
up at her side by his fore paws, as if to inquire why she
was there. Though not generally fond of being nursed,
he sometimes becomes exceedingly loving, and will insist
on nestling in the lap of some one of his favourites about
the house. From all I have been enabled to observe, I
am therefore inclined to the belief, that, although the Do-
mestic Cat does not afford so decided an exhibition of
fidelity and affection as is frequently observed in the cha-
racter of the dog species, it is not, nevertheless, so entire-
ly devoid of all kindly feeling and attachment as is some-
times uncharitably supposed. I imagine that good and
gentle treatment will in the main be found to produce the
same result of gratitude and regard in both, though most
probably not precisely in an equal degree. The character

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

A FOUNTAIN OF PETROLEUM, CALLED THE
OIL SPRING.

By Prorerssor SIruiman.

Tue Oil Spring, as it is called, is situated in the west-
ern part of the county of Alleghany, in the State of New-
York. This county is the third from Lake Erie, on the
south line of the state—the counties of Cataraugus and
Chatauque lying west and forming the south-western ter-
mination of the State of New-York: the Spring is very
near the line which divides Alleghany and Cataraugus.

Being in the county of Alleghany, I was indebted to
the kindness of a friend, who, on the 6th of September,
took me from Angelica tothe Spring. After crossing the
Genesee River, our ride was to the town of Friendship,
six miles; then to Cuba, eight miles; and thence, into the
township of Hinsdale, three and a half miles; making se-
venteen and a half miles from Belvidere, the seat of Philip
Church, Esq., and twenty-one miles from Angelica vil-
lage. The place will be found, without difficulty, by
taking a guide at Hick’s tavern, which is on the corner
of the road from Cuba, where it is intersected by the
road to Warsaw, two miles west of Cuba. The last half
mile is in the forest; a road is cut, for the greater part of
the way, through the woods, but the path becomes, finally,
an obscure foot track, in which a stranger, without a guide,
might easily lose his way, or at least fail of finding the.
object of his search.

The country is rather mountainous, but the road run-
ning between the ridges is very good, and leads through a
cultivated region, rich in soil and picturesque in its scene-
ry. Its geological character is the same with that which
is known to prevail in this western region; a siliceous
sandstone, with shale and in some places limestone, is the
immediate basis of the country; the sandstone and shale,
(the limestone I did not see,) lie in nearly horizontal
strata; the sandstone is usually of a light gray colour, and
both it and the shale abound with entrocites, encrinites,
corallines, terebratule, and other reliquiz characteristic
of the ancient secondary or transition formation.

of the one animal for fidelity is established, while that of © The Oil Spring or fountain rises ‘n the midst of a marshy

the other is calumniated for the reputed want of it, and
this very circumstance may have considerable effect in
developing the disposition for which they are respectively
praised and censured.

The desultory remarks here thrown together are heartily
at your service, if you think a few occasional observa-
tions of the habits and manners of an individual cal-
culated in any measure to elucidate the character of the
kind. Wi.

ground; it is a muddy and dirty pool, of about eighteen
feet in diameter, and it is nearly circular in form. There
is no outlet above ground—no stream flowing from it, and
it is of course a stagnant water, with no other circulation
than that which springs from changes of temperature, and
from the gas and petroleum which are constantly rising
through the pool.

We were told that the odour of petroleum is perceived,
at a distance, in approaching the Spring; this may, not

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

improbably, be true, in particular states of the wind, but
we did not distinguish any peculiar smell until we arrived
on the edge of the fountain. Here, its peculiar character
becomes very obvious. The water is covered witha thin
layer of the petroleum or mineral oil, giving it a foul ap-
pearance, as if coated with dirty molasses, having a yel-
lowish brown colour. Every part of the water was cover-
ed by this film, but it had no where the iridescence which
I recollect to have observed at St. Catharine’s well, a pe-
troleum fountain near Edinburgh, in Scotland; there the
water was pellucid, and the hues, produced by the oil,
were brilliant, giving the whole a beautiful appearance:
the difference is, however, easily accounted for; St. Catha-
rine’s well is a lively, flowing fountain, and the quantity
of petroleum is only sufficient to cover it partially, while
there is nothing to soil the stream; in the present instance,
the stagnation of the water, the comparative abundance of
the petroleum, and the mixture of leaves and sticks, and
other productions of a dense forest, preclude any beautiful
features. There are, however, upon this water, here and
there, spots of what seems to be a purer petroleum, proba-
bly recently risen, which is free from mixture, and which
has a bright brownish yellow appearance,—lively and
sparkling: were the fountain covered, entirely, with this
purer production, it would be beautiful.

We were informed, that when the fountain is frozen,
there is always some air-holes left open, and that in these
the petroleum collects in unusual abundance and purity,
having, distinctly, the beautiful appearance which has just
been mentioned as now occurring, here and there, upon
the water. The cause of this is easily understood; -the
petroleum being then protected, by the ice, from the im-
purities, which, at other times, fall into it, thus escapes
contamination, and being directed to the air-holes, both
by its levity and by the gas which mixes with it, it there
collects in greater quantity and purity. All the sticks and
leaves, and the ground itself around the fountain, are now
rendered, more or less, adhesive, by the petroleum; and
the rods and paddles which are used in the water, cannot
be touched, without covering the hands with a tar-like
coating.

They collect the petroleum by skimming it, like cream
from a milk pan; for this purpose, they use a broad flat
board, made thin at one edge, like a knife; it is moved
flat upon, and just under the surface of the water, and is
soon covered by a coating of the petroleum, which is so
thick and adhesive that it does not fall off, but is removed
by scraping the instrument upon the lip of a cup. It has
then a very foul appearance, like very dirty tar or molas-
ses, but it is purified by heating it and straining it, while
hot, through flannel or other woolen stuff. It is used, by

Dod

197

the people of the vicinity, for sprains and rheumatism, and
for sores on their horses, it being, in both cases, rubbed
upon the part. It is not monopolized by any one, but is
carried away freely, by all who care to collect it, and for
this purpose the Spring is frequently visited. I could not
ascertain how much is annually obtained; the quantity
must be considerable. It is said to rise more abundantly
in hot weather than in cold. Gas is constantly escaping
through the water, and appears in bubbles upon its
surface; it becomes much more abundant and rises in
large volumes whenever the mud at the bottom is stirred
by a pole. We had no means of collecting or of firing it,
but there can be no doubt that itis the carburetted hydro-
gen—probably the lighter kind, but rendered heavier and
more odorous by holding a portion of the petroleum in
solution; whenever it is examined we should of course ex-
pect to find carbonic acid gas mingled with it and not im-
probably azote or nitrogen. We could not learn that any
one had attempted to fire the gas, as it rises, or to kindle
the film of petroleum upon the water: it might form a
striking night experiment.

We were told that an intoxicated Indian had fallen into
the pool and been drowned, many years ago, and that his
body had never been recovered; others doubted the truth
of the story. Were it true, it would be a curious inquiry
whether the antiseptic properties of the petroleum, (so
well exemplified in the Egpytian mummies,) may not have
preserved this body from putrefaction.

The history of this Spring is not distinctly known: the
Indians were well acquainted with it, and a square mile
around it is still reserved for the Senecas. As to the geo-
logical origin of the Spring, it can scarcely admit of a
doubt, that it rises from beds of bituminous coal, below;
at what depth we know not, but probably far down; the
formation is doubtless connected with the bituminous coal
of the neighbouring counties of Pennsylvania and of the
west, rather than with the anthracite beds of the central
parts of Pennsylvania.

A branch of the Oil Creek, which flows into the Alle-
gany River, a principal tributary of the Ohio, passes near
this Spring, and we crossed the rivulet in going to it; thus
we had the pleasure of seeing water that was on its Way to
New Orleans and the Gulf of Mexico; we had just passed
the Genesee, which flows into Lake Ontario, and is thus
seeking the Atlantic through the St. Lawrence; and alittle
east, rise waters which flow to the Susquehannah and
the Chesapeake Bay, and thus this elevated land, (said to
be one thousand five hundred feet above the ocean level, )
is a grand rain shed, for the supply of rivers, seeking their
exit through very remote and opposite parts of the con-
tinent,

198 THE CABINET OF

I cannot learn that any considerable part of the large
quantities of petroleum used in the eastern states, under
the name of Seneca oil, comes from the Spring now de-
scribed. Iam assured that its source is about one hun-
dred miles from Pittsburgh, on the Oil Creek, which
empties into the Allegany River in the township and
county of Venango. It exists there in great abundance,
and rises in purity to the surface of the water; by dams,
enclosing certain parts of the river or creek, it is prevent-
ed from flowing away, and it is absorbed by blankets,
from which it is wrung. Although I have this statement
from an eye witness,* still it would be an interesting ser-
vice, claiming a grateful acknowledgment, if some gen-
tleman in the vicinity of the petroleum, or at Pittsburgh,
would furnish an account of it for this or some similar
journal; and as there are numerous Springs of this mineral
oil in various regions of the west and south-west, connect-
ed especially with the saline and bituminous coal forma-
tions, it would promote the cause of science, if notices of
any of them were forwarded for publication.

The petroleum, sold in the eastern states, under the
name of Seneca oil, is of a dark brown colour, between
that of tar and molasses, and its degree of consistence is not
dissimilar, according to the temperature; its odour is strong
and too well known to need description.

I have frequently distilled it in a glass retort, and the
naptha which collects in the receiver is of a light straw
colour, and much lighter, more odorous and inflammable
than the petroleum; in the first distillation, a little water
usually rests in the receiver, at the bottom of the naptha;
from this, it is easily decanted, and a second distillation
prepares it perfectly for preserving potassium and sodium,
the object which has led me to distil it, and these metals
{have kept under it (as others have done) for years;
eventually they acquire some oxygen, from or through
the naptha, and the exterior portion of the metal returns,
slowly, to the condition of alkali—more rapidly, if the
stopper is not tight.

The petroleum remaining from the distillation, is thick
like pitch; if the distillation has been pushed far, the re-
siduum will flow only languidly in the retort, and in cold
weather it becomes a soft solid, resembling much the mal-
tha or mineral pitch.

The famous lake of maltha and petroleum, in the island
of Trinidad, is well known: I have specimens from that
place, in all the conditions between fluid, petroleum and
firm pitch. It is unnecessary to repeat, that the English
use it on their ships of war, as a substitute for tar and pitch,

* Mr. Ovid Hard, stage proprietor, of Rochester, N. Y., who mention-
ed Mr. J. L. Chase, residing on the Oil Creek, Venango County, Penn.,
as a gentleman from whom exact information may be obtained.

NATURAL HISTORY,

and that the bituminous mass in the natural lake, (which
covers several square miles,) is sufliciently tenacious to
support a man, during the colder part of the year, but at
the opposite season is too soft to sustain any considerable
weight. '

In alluding to the probable connexion, with bituminous
coal, of the Oil Spring named at the head of this notice, I
did not mean to imply that petroleum and other bitumin-
ous substances necessarily prove, that there is coal beneath;
for it has been ascertained that bitumen exists, in a limit-
ed degree, in many minerals, as appears from some of the
phenomena of volcanos, and was proved experimentally
by the late Hon. George Knox, in an extensive series of
researches, published in the Philosophical Transactions of
London. As regards the probability of finding coal, the
opinion should be thus modified; if the country on whose
waters, or in whose rocks, petroleum or other varieties of
bitumen appear, is such an one as, in its geological struc-
ture, is consistent with the usual associations of coal, then
the existence of bitumen, especially if it be abundant, and
more especially if the rocks themselves are impregnated
with it, affords a strong presumption in favour of the ex-
istence of coal beneath. Such is the fact in this part
of the State of New-York. The shale at Geneseo
is highly bituminous and burns readily, with abundant
flame. I cannot answer for the rocks in the immediate
vicinity of the Oil Spring, as they are not in view. The
people have dug a few feet for coal at the distance of a
few yards from the Spring; the excavation is too shallow
to decide any thing, except that the petroleum rose in this
place also, as the Spring, thus proving, that the bitumin-
ous impregnation is not peculiar to that spot.

If these remarks should excite any interest in the minds
of landed proprietors in that vicinity, I would venture to
suggest to them, that it would not be wise, without more
evidence, to proceed to sink shafts; for they would be very
expensive and might be fruitless. It would be much wiser,
to bore; which would enable them, at a comparatively
moderate expense, to ascertain the existence, depth and
thickness of the coal, should it exist; but, even this should
not be done without a previous diligent examination of
water courses, banks, precipices, excavations for wells,
cellars, roads, &e., which might perhaps materially aid
the inquiry. The well known existence of bituminous
coal beds at the distance of a few miles in Pennsylvania,
renders it highly probable that they may pass under this
region, but perhaps at too great a depth to admit of profit-
able extraction; for the abundance of coal in other parts of
Pennsylvania and the west;—the magnitude and easy ac-
cessibleness of the beds, and the excellence of the coal,
will long render it impossible that thin beds, in other

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

parts of the country, especially if lying deep in the ground,
should be wrought without ruinous expenditure.

It is worthy of remark, that the cattle drink, freely, of
the waters of the Oil Springs, a fact which we should hard-
ly expect, since they are so foul, and since there is abund-
ance of pure water near; and also because we should ex-
pect that the petroleum would render the water very dis-
gusting to animals; perhaps they may find in this fountain,
something of the reputed virtues of tar water; I could not
learn that birds ever light upon or near the Spring; the
mephtic gases might, perhaps, make it a real Avernus, to
them.

The present depth of the Petroleum Spring is but a few
feet. It is searcely necessary to add, that, in accordance
with the usual state of popular impression in similar cases,
it is confidently asserted here, that the Oil Spring, was,
when first known, “éerally a bottomless pit; we may,
however, safely conclude, that it was then much deeper
than at present. When I asked a plain man, in the vici-
nity, how he imagined it was first formed, he replied, that
he believed the gas-air, (as he called it,) blew up the
ground at a time when the fountain first rose, and that the
flow of water and gas had preserved it ever since, although
it had been greatly filled and clogged by earth and other
substances, falling or thrown into the cavity. Ishall not
attempt to substitute any theory of my own, for this indi-
genous hypothesis, of an uninstructed man, who certainly
reasoned ingeniously, if not conclusively. I presume he
had never heard either of Pluto or Neptune, and therefore
drew his conclusions from his own mind and not from any
geological theory.—Silliman’s Journal.

BIG BONE LICK, KENTUCKY.

No place, perhaps, in the western country, is so inter-
esting to the geologist, as Big Bone Lick, in Kentucky.
This wonderful spot is a small valley situated twenty
miles south-west of Cincinnati, and two from the Ohio
river. In a number of places, the ground is so soft for
several rods, that a pole may, with ease, be thrust down
many feet. In these soft places, saline and sulphurous
mineral waters arise.* The earth around these places is

dry and solid.
The ground for several rods around these springs, is en-
tirely without vegetation, owing to the salt with which

* The waters are beneficial to health; but the place is not mtich re-
sorted to.

199

it is impregnated; and a manufactory of salt was formerly
established here, but it is now discontinued.

This was formerly the rendezvous of vast herds of quad-
rupeds. Their trails, when the country was first settled,
extended from the Lick, for miles in several directions,
like the roads from a metropolis. Vast numbers of these
quadrupeds perished in the quagmire; some probably were
slain in battles of emulation and ferocity, and many more
were destroyed by carnivorous animals. Here are now
found the bones of the mastodon, elephant, buffalo, elk,
and of other, and now unknown animals; they are in im-
mense quantities—it is a complete charnel-house. The
bones are generally under ground, and so numerous that
you cannot dig a hole, to the depth at which they are
usually found, without striking them. They are, how-
ever, generally bones of the buffalo.

On the east side of a rivulet that runs near the principal
spring they lie in a horizontal stratum, three feet below
the surface where the ground is lowest, and eleven, where
the ground is eight feet higher. As the ground is dry and
solid over this stratum, it cannot be supposed that the
bones have sunk through to its present level. Their posi-
tion also excludes such a supposition, each bone lying hori-
zontally, and the stratum also being horizontal. If the
bones had descended when the ground was soft, it cannot
be supposed that they would have arranged themselves
into a horizontal stratum irrespective of the unevenness of
the ground, and of the various depths, three and eleven
feet, necessary to attain this horizontalrange. It is there-
fore evident, that this part of the valley was level when
these bones were deposited, that they lay on the surface
and were subsequently covered with earth. As they have
been covered without being displaced, or the horizontal
position of each bone, or of the stratum, disturbed, the
only admissible supposition is, that they have been cover-
ed by an inundation. They must have been long accumu-
lating; for there has been no accumulation since that event,
which bears any comparison for quantity, with those thus
imbedded. The inference also seems warranted, that
quadrupeds have never been equal, either in number or
variety, since that inundation, to what they were previous-
ly to it. As many of these bones are in a good state of
preservation, we are led to conclude that the water has re-
tired from the valley of the Mississippi at a later period,
than it has from the Atlantic States: for although it is ca-
pable of demonstration, that these states have been inun-
dated, yet the facts which constitute that demonstration,
indicate also an earlier period.

The foregoing discussion relates to a part only of this
valley; for the ground on the opposite side of the rivulet,
is higher and presents a different class of phenomena.

200

There the bones lie at promiscuous depths, without any
stratification. We must, therefore, suppose that some
other agent, than an inundation with its deposits, has con-
tributed to the latter phenomena.

It may excite surprise, that these bones, which have
lain here a thousand years, and perhaps thousands of years,
should yet be in a state of entire preservation. But when
it is recollected, that the earth here is strongly impreg-
nated with salt, and when it is stated, that many of these
bones are now entirely petrified, that surprise will be
diminished.

Only a small part of the earth which contains these fos-
sils, has yet been dug over. For centuries to come, these
enormous bones, which have been the wonder of natural-
ists, will still be found.

Captain Phinnel, who keeps the boarding-house in this
watering place, informed the writer, that he found within
a space not more than six feet square, at the depth of
three feet, thirty-two grinder-teeth of the mastodon and
elephant, one of which, he said, weighed fourteen pounds.
They were all at one depth, and were supposed to have
been collected in that spot, as they have never been found
numerous in any other.

In the possession of that gentleman, I saw a large bone,
twenty-six inches in length, and weighing about sixteen
pounds, entirely petrified, which has never belonged to
any of the mastodon or elephant species, but to some ani-
mal now unknown. It has been part of the leg of a quad-
rupid, between the knee and the pastern joints. It re-
sembled in shape the bone of a hare, except being larger
in proportion to its length. The quadruped to which it
belonged was eleven feet high. —J6id.

THE VALLEY OF DEATH, IN THE ISLAND OF
JAVA.

By A. Louvpon, Esq.

My Dear Sir,—The following is an extract from my
journal of a tour through the Islands of Java and Madara
last year:—

«¢ Balor, Sd July, 1830.—This evening, while walking
round the village with the Patteh (native chief,) he told
me that there is a valley three miles from Balor, that no
person could approach without forfeiting their lives, and
that the skeletons of human beings, and all sorts of beasts
and birds, covered the bottom of the valley. I mentioned
this to the Commandant Mr. Van Spreewenberg, and pro-
posed our going to see it; Mr. Daendels, the assistant-

s

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

resident, agreed to go with us. At this time I did not
eredit all that the Javanese Chief told me. I knew that
there was a lake close to this, that it was dangerous to ap-
proach too near, but I had never heard of the Valley of
Death.

“ Balor, 4th July.—Early this morning we made an
excursion to the extraordinary valley, called by the na-
tives Guwo Upas, or Poisoned Valley: it is three miles
from Balor, on the road to the Djiang. Mr. Daendels
had ordered a footpath to be made from the main road to
the valley. We took with us two dogs and some fowls,
to try experiments in this poisonous hollow. On arriving
at the foot of the mountain, we dismounted and scrambled
up the side, about a quarter of a mile, holding on by the
branches of trees, and we were a good deal fatigued before
we got up the path, being very steep and slippery; from
the fall of rain during the night. When within a few
yards of the valley we experienced a strong nauseous suf-
focating smell, but, on coming close to the edge, this disa-
greeable smell left us. We were now all lost in astonish-
ment at the awful scene before us. The valley appeared
to be about half a mile in circumference, oval, and the
depth from 30 to 35 feet, the bottom quite flat-—no vege-
tation,—some very large, in appearance, river-stones, and
the whole covered with the skeletons of human beings,
tigers, pigs, deer, peacocks, and all sorts of birds. We
could not perceive any vapour or any opening in the
ground, which last appeared to be of a hard sandy sub-
stance. The sides of the valley from the top to the bot-
tom are covered with trees, shrubs, &e. It was now pro-
posed by one of the party to enter the valley; but at the
spot where we were, this was difficult, at least for me, as
one false step would have brought us to eternity, as no
assistance could be given. We lighted our cigars, and,
with the assistance of a bamboo, we went down within 18
feet of the bottom. Here we did not experience any diffi-
culty in breathing, but an offensive nauseous smell annoy-
edus. We now fastened a dog to the end of a bamboo, 18
feet long, and sent him in; we had our watches in our
hands, and in 14 seconds he fell on his back, did not move
his limbs or look round, but continned to breathe 18
minutes. We then sent in another, or rather he got loose
from the bamboo, but walked in to where the other dog
was lying: he then stood quite still, and in 10 seconds he
fell on his face, and never moved his limbs afterwards:
he continued to breathe for 7 minutes. We now tried a
fowl, which died in 13 minute. We threw in another,
which died before touching the ground. During these ex-
periments we experienced a heavy shower of rain; but we
were so interested by the awful scene before us, that we
did not care for getting wet. On the opposite side, near

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

a large stone, was the skeleton of a human being, who
must have perished on his back, with the right arm under
the head, from being exposed to the weather, the bones
were bleached as white as ivory. I was anxious to pro-
cure this skeleton, but any attempt to get at it would have
been madness. After remaining two hours in this Valley
of Death, we returned, but found some difficulty in getting
out. From the heavy shower, the sides of the valley were
very slippery, and had it not been for two Javanese be-
hind us, we might have found it no easy matter to escape
from this pestilential spot. On reaching our rendezvous
we had some brandy and water, and left this most extra-
ordinary valley, came down the slippery footpath, some-
times on our hams and hands to the main road, mounted
our horses, and returned to Balor, quite pleased with our

trip. The human skeletons are supposed to have been
rebels, who had been pursued from the main road, and

taken refuge in the different valleys, as a wanderer cannot
know his danger till he is in the valley, and when once
there, one has not the power or presence of mind to return.

«¢ There is a great difference between this valley and the
Grotto del Cano, near Naples, where the air is confined
to a small aperture; while here the circumference is fully
half a mile, and not the least smell of sulphur, nor any
appearance of an eruption ever haying taken place near it,
although I am aware that the whole chain of mountains is
volcanic, as there are two craters at no great distance from
the side of the road at the foot of the Djienz, and they
constantly emit smoke.”"—Fahr. 52°

“In the 8th volume of the proceedings of the Batavian
Society of Arts and Sciences, Dr. Horsefield of the Hast
India House, gives a description of the mineral constitu-
tion of the different mountains of Java. He examined
several parts of the chain of hills, and states that he heard
of this valley, but that he could not prevail on the natives
to show him where it was. I have sent the Doctor a
copy of the above extract.” —Hdin. Phil. Jour.

THE COUGAR.

THERE is an extensive Swamp in the section of the
State of Mississippi, which lies partly in the Choctaw ter-
ritory. It commences at the borders of the Mississippi,
at no great distance from a Chicasaw village, situated near
the mouth of a creek known by the name of Vanconnah,
and partly inundated by the swellings of several large
bayous, the principal of which, crossing the swamp in its
whole extent, discharges its waters not far from the mouth
of the Yazoo River. This famous bayou is called False

Ere

201

River. The swamp of which I am speaking follows the
windings of the Yazoo, until the latter branches off to the
north-east, and at this point forms the stream named Cold
Water River, below which the Yazoo receives the drain-
ing of another bayou inclining towards the north-west,
and intersecting that known by the name of False River,
at a short distance from the place where the latter receives
the waters of the Mississippi. This tedious account of the
situation of the swamp, is given with the view of pointing
it out to all students of nature who may chance to go that
way, and whom I would earnestly urge to visit its interior,
as it abounds in rare and interesting productions: birds,
quadrupeds and reptiles, as well as molluscous animals,
many of which, I am persuaded, have never been de-
seribed.

In the course of one of my rambles, I chanced to meet
with a squatter’s cabin on the banks of the Cold Water
River. In the owner of this hut, like most of those ad-
venturous settlers in the uncultivated tracts of our frontier
districts, I found a person well versed in the chase, and
acquainted with the habits of some of the larger species
of quadrupeds and birds. As he who is desirous of instruc-
tion ought not to disdain listening to any one who has
knowledge to communicate, however humble may be his
lot, or however limited his talents, I entered the squatter’s
cabin, and immediately opened a conversation with him
respecting the situation of the swamp, and its natural pro-
ductions. He told me he thought it the very place I
ought to visit, spoke of the game which it contained, and
pointed to some bear and deer skins, adding that the indi-
viduals to which they had belonged formed but a small por-
tion of the number of those animals which he had shot
within it. My heart swelled with delight, and on asking
if he would accompany me through the great morass, and
allow me to become an inmate of his humble but hospita-
ble mansion, | was gratified to find that he cordially as-
sented to all my proposals. So I immediately unstrapped
my drawing materials, laid up my gun, and sat down to
partake of the homely but wholesome fare intended for
the supper of the squatter, his wife, and his two sons.

The quietness of the evening seemed in perfect accord-
ance with the gentle demeanour of the family. The wife
and children, I more than once thought, seemed to look
upon me as a strange sort of person, going about, as I told
them I was, in search of birds and plants; and were I here
to relate the many questions which they put to me in re-
turn for those which I addressed to them, the catalogue
would occupy several pages. The husband, a native of
Connecticut, had heard of the existence of such men as
myself, both in our own country and abroad, and seemed
greatly pleased to have me under his roof. Supper over,

202

Iasked my kind host what had induced him to remove to
this wild and solitary spot. ‘* The people are growing too
numerous now to thrive in New-England,”’ was his an-
swer. I thought of the state of some parts of Europe, and
calculating the denseness of their population compared
with that of New England, exclaimed to myself, ‘* How
much more difficult must it be for men to thrive in those
populous countries!”” The conversation then changed, and
the squatter, his sons and myself, spoke of hunting and
fishing, until at length tired, we laid ourselves down on
pallets of bear skins, and reposed in peace on the floor of
the only apartment of which the hut consisted.

Day dawned, and the squatter’s call to his hogs, which,
being almost in a wild state, were suffered to seek the
greater portion of their food in the woods, awakened me.
Being ready dressed, I was not long in joining him. The
hogs and their young came grunting at the well known
eall of their owner, who threw them a few ears of corn,
and counted them, but told me that for some weeks their
number had been greatly diminished by the ravages com-
mitted upon them by a large Panther, by which name
the Cougar is designated in America, and that the raven-
ous animal did not content himself with the flesh of his
pigs, but now and then carried off one of his calves, not-
withstanding the many attempts he had made to shoot it.
The Painter, as he sometimes called it, had on several
occasions robbed him of a dead deer; and to these exploits
the squatter added several remarkable feats of audacity
which it had performed, to give me an idea of the formi-
dable character of the beast. Delighted by his description,
I offered to assist him in destroying the enemy, at which
he was highly pleased, but assured me that unless some of
his neighbours should join us with their dogs and his own,
the attempt would prove fruitless. Soon after, mounting
a horse, he went off to his neighbours, several of whom
lived at a distance of some miles, and appointed a day of
meeting.

The hunters, accordingly, made their appearance, one
fine morning, at the door of the cabin, just as the sun was
emerging from beneath the horizon. ‘They were five in
number, and fully equipped for the chase, being mounted
on horses, which in some parts of Europe might appear
sorry nags, but which in strength, speed and bottom, are
better fitted for pursuing a cougar or a bear through woods
and morasses than any in that country. A pack of large
ugly curs were already engaged in making acquaintance
with those of the squatter. He and myself mounted his
two best horses, whilst his sons were bestriding others of
inferior quality.

Few words were uttered by the party until we had
reached the edge of the Swamp, where it was agreed that

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

all should disperse and seek for the fresh track of the
Painter, it being previously settled that the discoverer
should blow his horn, and remain on the spot until the rest
should join him. In less than an hour, the sound of the
horn was clearly heard, and, sticking close to the squatter,
off we went through the thick woods, guided only by the
now and then repeated call of the distant huntsman. We
soon reached the spot, and in a short time the rest of the
party came up. The best dog was sent forward to track
the Cougar, and in a few moments the whole pack were
observed diligently trailing, and bearing in their course
for the interior of the Swamp. ‘The rifles were immedi-
ately put in trim, and the party followed the dogs, at sepa-
rate distances, but in sight of each other, determined to
shoot at no other game than the Panther.

The dogs soon began to mouth, and suddenly quickened
their pace. My companion concluded that the beast was
on the ground, and putting our horses to a gentle gallop,
we followed the curs, guided by their voices. The noise
of the dogs increased, when all of a sudden their mode of
barking became altered, and the squatter, urging me to
push on, told me that the beast was ¢reed, by which he
meant that it had got upon some low branch of a large tree
to rest fora few moments, and that should we not succeed
in shooting him when thus situated, we might expect a
long chase of it. As we approached the spot, we all by a
degrees united into a body, but on seeing the dogs at the
foot of a large tree, separated again and galloped off to
surround it.

Each hunter now moved with caution, holding his gun
ready, and allowing the bridle to dangle on the neck of
his horse, as it advanced slowly towards the dogs. A shot
from one of the party was heard, on which the Cougar
was seen to leap to the ground, and bound off with such
velocity, as to show that he was very unwilling to stand
our fire longer. The dogs set off in pursuit with great
eagerness and a deafening cry. The hunter who had fired
came up and said that his ball had hit the monster, and had
probably broken one of his fore-legs near the shoulder,
the only place at which he could aim. A slight trail of
blood was discovered on the ground, but the curs proceed-
ed at such a rate that we merely noticed this, and put
spurs to our horses, which galloped on towards the centre
of the Swamp. One bayou was crossed, then another still
larger and more muddy; but the dogs were brushing for-
ward, and as the horses began to pant at a furious rate, we
judged it expedient to leave them and advance on foot.
These determined hunters knew that the Cougar being
wounded, would shortly ascend another tree, where in all
probability he would remain for a considerable time, and
that it would be easy to followthe track of the dogs. We

AND AMERICAN

dismounted, took off the saddles and bridles, set the bells
attached to the horses’ necks at liberty to jingle, hoppled
the animals, and left them to shift for themselves.

Now, reader, follow the group marching through the
Swamp, crossing muddy pools, and making the best of
their way over fallen trees and amongst the tangled rushes
that now and then covered acres of ground. If you are
a hunter yourself, all this will appear nothing to you; but
if crowded assemblies of ‘‘ beauty and fashion,” or the
quiet enjoyment of your ‘pleasure-grounds,”’ alone de-
light you, I must mend my pen before I attempt to give
you an idea of the pleasure felt on such an expedition.

After marching for a couple of hours, we again heard
the dogs. Each of us pressed forward, elated at the
thought of terminating the career of the Cougar. Some
of the dogs were heard whining, although the greater
number barked vehemently. We felt assured that the
Cougar was treed, and that he would rest for some time to
recover from his fatigue. As we came up to the dogs,
we discovered the ferocious animal lying across a large
branch, close to the trunk of a cotton-wood tree. His
broad breast lay towards us; his eyes were at one time
bent on us and again on the dogs beneath and around him;
one of his fore-legs hung loosely by his side, and he lay
crouched, with his ears lowered close to his head, as if he
thought he might remain undiscovered. Three balls were
fired at him, at a given signal, on which he sprang a few
feet from the branch, and tumbled headlong to the ground.
Attacked on all sides by the enraged curs, the infuriated
Cougar fought with desperate valour; but the squatter ad-
vancing in front of the party, and almost in the midst of
the dogs, shot him immediately behind and beneath the
left shoulder. The Cougar writhed for a moment in agony,
and in another lay dead.

The sun was now sinking in the west. Two of the
hunters separated from the rest, to procure venison, whilst
the squatter’s sons were ordered to make the best of their
way home, to be ready to feed the hogs in the morning.
The rest of the party agreed to camp on the spot. The
Cougar was despoiled of its skin, and its careass left to the
hungry dogs. Whilst engaged in preparing our camp, we
heard the report of a gun, and soon after one of our hun-
ters returned with a small deer. A fire was lighted, and
each hunter displayed his pone of bread, along with a flask
of whiskey. The deer was skinned in a trice, and slices
placed on sticks before the fire. These materials afforded
us an excellent meal, and as the night grew darker, stories
and songs went round, until my companions, fatigued, laid
themselves down, close under the smoke of the fire, and
soon fell asleep.

I walked for some minutesgound the camp, to contem-

RURAL SPORTS. 203

plate the beauties of that nature, from which I have cer-
tainly derived my greatest pleasures. I thought of the
occurrences of the day, and glancing my eye around, re-
marked the singular effects produced by the phosphorescent
qualities of the large decayed trunks which lay in all di-
rections around me. How easy, I thought, would it be
for the confused and agitated mind of a person bewildered
in a Swamp like this, to imagine in each of these luminous
masses some wondrous and fearful being, the very sight of
which might make the hair stand erect on his head. The
thought of being myself placed in such a predicament burst
over my mind, and I hastened to join my companions,
beside whom I laid me down and slept, assured that no
enemy could approach us without first arousing the dogs,
which were growling in fierce dispute over the remains of
the Cougar. 2

At daybreak we left our camp, the squatter bearing on
his shoulder the skin of the late destroyer of his stock, and
retraced our steps until we found our horses, which had
not strayed far from the place where we had left them.
These we soon saddled, and jogging along, in a direct
course, guided by the sun, congratulating each other on
the destruction of so formidable a neighbour as the Pan-
ther had been, we soon arrived at my host’s cabin. The
five neighbours partook of such refreshments as the house
could afford, and dispersing, returned to their homes, leay-
ing me to follow my favourite pursuits.

*

INDIAN CORN.

Tuis grain, so important to the agricultural interests of
the United States, appears to be of uncertain origin.
Fuchs very early maintained that it came from the east,
and Mathioli affirmed that it was from America. Regmir
and Gregory have presented fresh arguments in favour of
its eastern origin. Among them is the name by which it
has been long known in Hurope, d/é de Turguie, and varie-
ties, itis said, have been brought from the Isle of France, or
from China. Moreau de Jonnes, on the contrary, has re-
cently maintained in a memoir read before the Academy
of Science, that its origin was in America. The name
blé de Turquie no more proves it to be of Turkish origin
than the name of /talian poplar proves that that tree grew
wild in Italy. It can only signify that it spread from
Turkey into the neighbouring countries. Its general cul-
tivation in southern Europe, and the production of some
new varieties, proves nothing with regard to the country
of the species.

In favour of its American origin, is the fact that it was

204

found in a state of cultivation in every place where the
first navigators landed; in Mexico, according to Hernan-
diz, and in Brazil according to Zeri, and that in the vari-
ous countries, it had proper names. Such as Maize,
Flaolli, §:c. while in the old world its names were either
all of American origin, or names of the neighbouring re-
gion whence it was immediately derived, and that imme-
diately after the discovery of America, it spread rapidly
in the old world and soon became common, a fact not re-
concilable with the idea of its former existence there.

To these proofs Aug. de Saint Hilaire has added another.
He has received from M. de Larranhaga of Montevideo,
a new variety of Maize distinguished by the name of Tu-
nicata, because instead of haying the grains naked they are
entirely coed by the glumes. This variety is from
Paraguay, where it is cultivated by the Guaycurus Indians,
a people in the lowest scale of civilization, and where,
according to the direct testimony of one of them, it grows
in the humid forests as a native production.

[Bib. Univ. Jan. 1830,

EFFECT OF CERTAIN MINERAL POISONS ON
LIVING PLANTS.

~ ByDs,, Hare.

In order to destroy the caterpillars which feed upon
them so ravenously, I was desirous of ascertaining how far
certain poisonous solutions could be introduced into the
circulation of plants without injury to them. Having cut
off a few twigs from a Linden tree, I introduced a twig,
with its leaves attached, into different phials of water,
severally impregnated with iron, copper and arsenic; also
one into pure water. That introduced into the ferruginous
solution, died in about twenty-four hours. The twig ex-
posed to the copper lost its proper hue and looked sickly
in about two or three days, and finally appeared dead in
about five days. Nearly five days had elapsed before the
twig in the arsenious acid, although saturated, became sen-
sibly injured, and even then it was only changed in colour.
During the first three days no difference could be perceived
between the leaves of the twig here mentioned and that
sustained by pure water. It would appear from these ex-
“periments that metallic solutions are poisonous to a vege-
table in the inverse order from that in which they affect
animals, and that small portions of arsenic may be intro-
duced into trees, so as to be poisonous to the insects which
destroy their foliage. On macerating a leaf of the twig
in the arsenious solution, only about forty-five hours after

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

it was introduced into it, the water to which it was sub-
jected gave with the ammoniacle nitrate of silver a yellow
precipitate, and after five or six days, this experiment being
repeated, a copious precipitation ensued, indicating arse-
nite of silver. Caterpillars put upon the leaves impreg-
nated with the arsenic died in a day or two, excepting one
which was too far advanced to eat. These observations in
your Journal, so hastily made and described, may need
some indulgence from your readers. —Silliman’s Jour.

QUALITIES OF THE DOG.

Tue dog is not only the friend of man, but the de-
fender of the oppressed. In the wise order of the creation,
this animal seems always to have been designed to be the
friend and companion of man, his fellow-traveller, the fol-
lower of his fortunes, (and he never deserts him as our
fellow man does, ) his watch, and the minister to his wants
and pleasures, inasmuch as he is essential to the hunter in
procuring at once his food and his amusement, and, if al-
lowed to plunder, is no bad caterer in time of necessity.
So many proofs exist to bear us out in this statement—so
many examples of high courage and unshaken fidelity—
that it would be superfluous to enlarge upon this subject.
We are now about to givea farther proof of the high quali-
ties of the dog, by showing him the avenger of wrong
and the defender of the oppressed, and that not towards
man, his lord and master, his patron and benefactor—him
whom he loves and fears, and on whom he depends—but
towards one of the brute creation, not of his own species,
but of one with which no common animal sympathies
could subsist, and which is generally deemed wholly at
variance with the canine race; in a word, the Cat.—Not
to trespass further on our sporting brothers’ time, nor to
ear out the indulgence of our reader, we shall simply
detail a scene that took place at Liverpool some years
back, the proofs of which still exist, together with the liy-
ing animals which furnish the following story.

An ill-fated cat fell into the hands of some juvenile ruf-
fians, commencing the first stage of cruelty, which often
leads to great crimes and to an ignominious end: the little
wretches had passed from cruelty to cruelty, alternately
stoning their victim and dragging it through a dirty pool
of water, then beating and bruising it, and menacing it
with drowning. Bipeds passed by, unheeding the ago-
nised animal’s cries of distress, which were now nearly
coming to a close with its life, when a feeling quadruped
came forward to save it. The Dog, having contemplated
for some time this scene of inhumanity, and barked his

(-utmaav) (-onnox)
LAINNVO LANNVS

YOU fl 22S

ANPUHDB ID LAP PUOZL UO PUD PLIBRA. MlALL

oN Oe

FPA SI Td

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

disapprobation thereof, rushed forward upon the young
assassins, and, driving them one by one furiously off the
spot, sprang to the rescue of the fainting and bleeding ani-
mal, and withdrawing it from the deep ditch, bore it off
in triumph to his quarters. There, extending it upon
straw, and licking it all over, he recalled the vital spark,
and then, laying himself down upon it, restored it to some
degree of ease from the warmth imparted to it. After
this, the kind and feeling Dog fetched provision to his sick
charge, and the people of the house, inspired by the ex-
ample of the minor animal, gave it warm milk. Day after
day did the Dog tend the siek object of his care, until it
was perfectly recovered, and they are both to be seen at
this day, after a long lapse of years, at the Talbot Inn,
Liverpool.—These lessons from the brute creation to him
whe proudly calls himself the effigy of the Divinity, are
humiliating, but may be useful to the many who need
them.—London Sporting Magazine.

THE GANNET.
PELECANUS BASSANUS.
[Plate XVIII. Vol. 2.—Young and adult. ]

Pelecanus Bassanus, Linn. Syst. 217. Anser Bassa-
nus, GrsNeR av. 163. Solan Goose Wit. Orn. 328.
Rau. Syn. av. 122, Martins Voy. St. Kilda, 27,
Descript. West. Isles, 281. Sula Bassana le Fou de
Bassan Brisson av. vi. 508, tab. 44. Jaen. Van
Gent. Martin’s Spitsberg, 97. Sula. Horeri Cluf.
ex 367, Hector Boeth. 6. Norvegis Sule, Hav.—Sul.
Brunnicu, 124, Pennant, British Zool. Vol. 2. p.
518, Pil. 103, White’s Ed.—J. Doueury’s Collec-

tion.

Tue Gannet, although a frequent visiter of our sea-
shore, has thus far been unnoticed in American works on
ornithology. It is now for the first time pictured in the
accompanying plate, and is represented in the young and
adult stages of existence. The young Gannet was for a
long time mistaken, and described by some naturalists as
another species, but lately these errors have been cor-
rected.

The writer has never seen the Gannet in the Philadel-
phia markets, but obtained a very fine specimen from
New-York, to which place they are often brought for
sale, more frequently, however, in the younger state. On
the south side of Long Island, in the month of October,

Frf

205

a

the Gannets appear in numbers, but mostly in company
with the velvetand scoter ducks, and come and depart regu-
larly with these birds to and from their feeding grounds.

The Gannet is strong on the wing, especially in windy
weather, and is seldom seen inside of the surf, but is most-
ly sailing over the waters, in order to discover and strike
its prey. This bird is very awkward on foot, in conse-
quence of the shortness of the legs and their position;
being placed far behind, which necessarily causes the bird
to walk nearly upright, like the corvorant; the tail, which
extends beyond the feet, is always ragged or worn at the
end, by being dragged on the ground by the bird when
walking on the beach. For a more ample history and
description of the Gannet, the following is selected from
Pennant’s British Zoology.

«< This species weighs seven pounds: the length is three
feet one inch; the breadth six feet two inches. The bill is
six inches long, straight almost to the point, where it in-
clines down; and the sides are irregularly jagged, that it
may hold its prey with more security: about an inch from
the base of the upper mandible is a sharp process pointing
forward; it has no nostrils; but in their place a long fur-
row, that reaches almost to the end of the bill: the whole
is of a dirty white, tinged with ash colour. The tongue
is very small, and placed low in the mouth: a naked skin
of a fine blue surrounds the eyes, which are of a pale yel-
low, and are full of vivacity: this bird is remarkable for
the quickness of its sight: Martin tells us that Solan is
derived from an Irish word expressive of that quality.

‘From the corner of the mouth isa narrow slip of black
bare skin, that extends to the hind part of the head: be-
neath the chin is another, that like the pouch of the Pe/e-
can, is dilatable, and of size sufficient to contain five or
six entire herrings; which, in the breeding season, it
carries at once to its mate or young.

“The neck is very long: the body flat, and very full of
feathers: the crown of the head, and a small space on the
hind part of the neck is buff coloured: the rest of the plu-
mage is white, the bastard wing and greater quill-feather
excepted, which are black; the legs and toes are black;
but the fore part of both are marked with a stripe of fine
pea green. The tail consists of twelve sharp pointed
feathers, the middle of which is the longest.

“The young birds, during the first year, differ greatly
in colour from the old ones; being of a dusky hue, speckled
with numerous triangular white spots; and at that time
resemble in colours the speckled Diver. Each bird, if left
undisturbed, would only lay one egg in the year; but if that
be taken away, they will lay another; if that is also taken,
then a third; but never more that season: a wise provi-
sion of nature, to prevent the extinction of the species by

206
°

accidents, and to supply food for the inhabitants of the
places where they breed. Their egg is white, and rather
less than that of the common goose: the nest is large, and
formed of any thing the bird finds floating on the water,
such as grass, sea plants, shavings, &c. These birds fre-
quent the Isle of Ailsa, in the Firth of Clyde; the rocks
adjacent to St. Kilda, the Stack of Souliskery, near the
Orkneys; the Skelig Isles, off the coasts of Kerry Ireland,
and the Bass Isle, in the Firth of Edinburgh: the mul-
titudes that inhabit these places are prodigious. Dr. Har-
vey’s elegant account of the latter, willserve to give some
idea of the numbers of these, and of the other birds that
annually migrate to that little spot.

‘¢There is a small island, called by the Scotch, Bass
Island, not more than a mile in circumference; the surface
is almost wholly covered during the months of May and
June with nests, eggs, and young birds; so that it is searce-
ly possible to walk without treading on them: and the
flocks of birds in flight are so prodigious, as to darken the
air like clouds; and their noise is such, that you cannot,
without difficulty, hear your next neighbour’s voice. If
you look down upon the sea, from the top of the preci-
pice, you will see it on every side covered with infinite
numbers of birds of different kinds, swimming and hunt-
ing for their prey: if in sailing round the island you sur-
vey the hanging cliffs, you may see in every crag or
fissure of the broken rocks, innumerable birds of various
sorts and sizes, more than the stars of heaven when view-
ed in aserene night: if from afar you see the distant flocks,
either flying to or from the island, you would imagine
them to be a vast swarm of bees.

‘< Nor do the rocks of St. Kilda seem to be less fre-
quented by these birds; for Martin assures us, that the in-
habitants of that small island consume annually no less
than 22,600 young birds of this species, besides an amaz-
ing quantity of their eggs; these being their principal sup-
port throughout the year; they preserve both eggs and
fowls in small pyramidal stone buildings, covering them
with turf ashes, to preserve them from moisture. Thisis
a dear bought food, earned at the hazard of their lives,
either by climbing the most difficult and narrow paths,
where (to appearance) they can barely cling, and that too,
at an amazing height over the raging sea: or else being
lowered down from above, they collect their annual pro-
vision, thus hanging in mid way air; placing their whole
dependence on the uncertain footing of one person who
holds the rope, by which they are suspended at the top of
the precipice. The young birds area favourite dish with
the North Britons in general: during the season they are
constantly brought from the Bass Isle to Edinburgh,

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

sold at 20d. a piece, are roasted, and served up a little be-
fore dinner as a whet.

“The Gannets are birds of passage. Their first appear-
ance in those islands is in March; their continuance there
till August or September, according as the inhabitants
take or leave their first egg; but in general, the time of
breeding, and that of their departure, seems to coincide
with the arrival of the herring, and the migration of that
fish, (which is their principal food,) out of those seas. It
is probable that these birds attend the herring and pil-
chard during their whole circuit round the British isl-
ands; the appearance of the former being always esteem-
ed by the fishermen as a sure presage of the approach of
the latter. It migrates in quest of food as far south as the
mouth of the Tagus, being frequently seen off Lisbon
during the month of December, plunging for Sardine,
fish resembling, if not the same with our Pilchard.

“TJ have in the month of August observed in Cathness
their northern migrations: I have seen them passing the
whole day in flocks, from five to fifteen in each: in calm
weather they fly high; in storms they fly low and near
the shore; but never cross over the land, even when a bay
with its promontories intervenes, but follow, at an equal
distance, the course of the bay, and regularly double every
cape. I have seen many of the parties make a sort of halt
for the sake of fishing: they soared to a vast height, then
darting headlong into the sea, made the water foam and
spring up with the violence of their descent; after which
they pursued their route. I inquired whether they ever
were observed to return southward in the spring, but was
answered in the negative; so it appears that they annually
encircle the whole island.

“They are well knownon most of our coasts; but not by
the name of the Soland-Goose. In Cornwal and in Ire-
land they are called Gannets by the Welsh Gan. The
excellent Mr. Ray supposed the Cornish Gannet to be
a species of large Gull; a very excusable mistake, for dur-
ing his six months residence in Cornwal, he never had
an opportunity of seeing that bird, except flying; and in
the air it has the appearance of a gull. On that supposi-
tion he gave our Skua, p. 417, the title of Cataracta, a
name borrowed from Aristotle, and which admirably ex-
presses the rapid descent of this bird on its prey. Mr.
Moyle first detected this mistake; and the Rey. Doctor
William Borlase, by presenting us with a fine specimen
of this bird, confirms the opinion of Mr. Moyle; at the
same time he favoured us with so accurate an account of
some part of the natural history of this bird, that we shall
use the liberty he indulged us with, of adding it to this
description.

AND AMERICAN

‘¢ The Gannet comes on the coasts of Cornwal in the
latter end of summer, or beginning of autumn; hovering
ever the shoals of pilchards that come down to us through
St. George’s Channel from the northern seas. The Gan-
net seldom comes near the land, but is constant to its prey,
a sure sign to the fisherman that the pilchards are on the
coasts; and when the pilchards retire, generally about the
end of November, the Gannets are seen no more. The
bird now sent was killed at Chandour, near Mountsbay,
Sept. 30, 1762, after a long struggle with a water spaniel,
assisted by the boatmen; for it was strong and pugnacious.
The person who took it observed that it had a transparent
membrane under the eye-lid, with which it covered at
pleasure the whole eye, without obscuring the sight or
shutting the eye-lid; a gracious provision fer the security
of the eyes of so weighty a creature, whose method of
taking its prey is by darting headlong on it from a height
of a hundred and fifty feet or more into the water. About
four years ago, one of these birds flying over Penzance,
(a thing that rarely happens,) and seeing some pilchards
lying on a fir-plank, in a cellar used for curing fish, dart-
ed itself down with such violence, that it struck its bill
quite through the board, (about an inch and a quarter
thick,) and broke its neck.

‘¢ These birds are sometimes taken at sea by a decep-
tion of the like kind. The fishermen fasten a pilchard to
a board, and leave it floating; which inviting bait decoys
the unwary Gannet to its own destruction.

‘‘In the Chataracta of Fuba may be found many
characters of this bird: he says, that the bill is toothed:
that its eyes are fiery; and that its colour is white: and in
the very name is expressed its furious descent on its prey.
The rest of his account savours of fable.

«¢ We are uncertain whether the Gannet breeds.in any
other parts of Europe besides our own islands; except (as
Mr. Ray suspects, the Sula, described in Clusius’? Exo-
ties, which breeds in the Ferroe Isles,) be the same bird.
In America there are two species of birds of this genus,
that bear a great resemblance to it in their general form
and their manner of preying. Mr. Catesby has given
the figure of the head of one, which he calls the Greater
Booby; his description suits that of the young Gannet;
but the angle on the lower mandible made us formerly
suspect that it was not the same bird; but from some late
information we have been favoured with, we find it is
common to both countries, and during summer frequents
North America. Like the Penguin, it informs naviga-
tors of the approach of soundings, who on sight of it drop
the plummet. Linnzus classes our bird with the Pele-
ean.”

x
RURAL SPORTS.
MEMOIR OF A CELEBRATED SETTER DOG.

207

Tuts Dog was purchased in June, 1822, when about
six months old; at which age, he showed the predominant
features which distinguished this description of Dogs from
all others in such a remarkable degree, that from the first
moment I saw him I did not rest satisfied until he became
my property; nor was I disappointed.

In detailing some instances of his remarkable sagacity,
I will pass over the more common qualities of bottom, a
good nose, fine ranging, standing and backing, for these
he possessed equal to any of his contemporaries; but those
which I will mention may be considered as extra, and
are not witnessed by many sportsmen.

In the first place, in windy weather when the birds
were restless and would run before him, he would trail
them until he could get the sportsman as nigh as the birds
would suffer him to approach, and if he still found the
birds moving off, would instantly, and with great rapidity
make a half circle to the leeward, and coming up imme-
diately in front, would bring them to a sudden stop. By
this finesse he would enable the sportsman to get to a de-
sirable situation, when nothing else would avail; for birds
when running from their feeding ground to cover in windy
weather, are almost certain to rise at too great a distance,
if the noise which occurs in their wake seems to approach
them very close; on the contrary, a sudden transit from
that to almost any other situation will have the effect of
stopping them; this, the sagacity of this Dog found out,
and he would invariably practice it whenever the occasion
offered, yet I never knew him but once to flush a covey,
and this occurred in miserable cover. It certainly was
interesting to see the manner and spirit with which he
controlled the actions of the birds in order to contribute to
the pleasures of his master.

I have several times known “¢ Thorn’’* to point a live
bird with a dead one in hismouth. On one occasion while
hunting in company with two other gentlemen on the ex-
tensive farm belonging to S. H.,in Evesham, N. J., I had
an excellent opportunity to witness this remarkable trait
in his character. I had just shot a partridge in a small
copse, and while reloading my empty barrel, missed my
favourite Dog, but on looking behind me I discovered him
at a point with the bird in his mouth that I had just shot;
friend 8. H., who before that day had never seen Dogs
point game, was so enamoured with it, that he followed
us nearly the whole day for no other purpose than to see
the Dogs hunt; and thinking perhaps that he never would
have another opportunity of seeing a Dog situated as mine

* This was his name.

os

“>

208 che CABINET OF

was at that moment, I beckoned him to me, and after
showing him the Dog, and explaining to him the cause of
his acting thus, I flushed and shot the bird; thus giving
the most palpable evidence of the fact that was possible to
give; and as the like circumstance very rarely occurs, (and
I know of but two instances on record, the one I believe
is in Daniel’s Rural Sports, and inthe American Turf Re-
gister,) I should like to know how often sportsmen have
witnessed the same action in Dogs of their own or those
belonging to their friends.

This Dog was so perfectly acquainted with his duty, that
he has been known to evince the greatest displeasure when
another Dog in company committed an error.—An instance
of this kind I will mention as related to me by some gen-
tlemen, who had him with them on an excursion in the
neighbourhood of Holmesburg near this city. They were

hunting him in company with another Dog, which was

very headstrong and disobedient, and although he would
find and stand game very well, would not back another
dog that had found it, nor suffer another Dog to back him,
but would in both cases invariably flush the game, having
on this day exercised this disposition in several instances
to the great displeasure of the company. At length he
pointed a covey in some bushes, and my Dog being near
him at the time, backed him without moving from the
spot; but the former Dog hearing the noise of the sports-
men approaching from behind, caused him to turn his
head, when he no sooner discovered that he was backed
by another Dog, than he sprang upon the covey and flushed
them. Thorn, whose patience I suppose was exhausted,
as well as the sportsmen at such conduct, immediately
seized the offender by the throat, with that degree of fero-
city, as not only to punish him severely, but to leave those
impressions upon him, which he remembered the rest of
the day. .

He was a favourite Dog with three very respectable and
experienced sportsmen of this city, Mr. H., Mr. C. and
Mr. L., and perhaps no three gentlemen could be found
of better judgment and greater experience in sporting con-
cerns; and as, Mr. Editor, I lend my dog, and gun also,
(especially to experienced sportsmen, who Iam convinced
will always take care of that which is committed to their
trust,) it was the prime consideration of these gentlemen
(as they always hunted together,) when preparing for a
gunning excursion, to secure the services of this Dog, for
he was their Alpha, and was always rated by them asa
dog of the highest order, andyindeed as possessing some
properties, which their experience had never before wit-
nessed. These gentlemen informed me that on one occa-
sion after partridges, he suffered three shots to be fired over
him, before he broke from his point, and upon another oc-

NATURAL HISTORY,

casion while they were onan excursion after woodcock in the
lower part of New Jersey, one of the party fired at, and sup-
posed wounded a bird, but as the majority were against his
opinion, he made no further research, but gave itup. The
day being warm, and they wishing to change their ground,
thought it advisable first to go to a tavern, about one-fourth
of a mile distant from them for some refreshment, where
they remained about half an hour. On preparing to renew
their hunt, they called their dogs, but Thorn was in de-
fault; this excited much uneasinessamongst them. They
then commenced hallooing and whistling, and using such
other means to find their absent friend as the emergency
of the case required; they were however soon relieved from
all unpleasant feelings on the subject, for they discovered
his approach through a cornfield, with a woodcock in his
mouth, supposed to be the identical bird fired at last and
wounded by one of the party.—It appears, as stated by a
boy who watched the Dog, that after following the party
some distance towards the house, he suddenly turned about
and made directly for the thicket into which the bird had
flown, and where no doubt he had seen it settle, and that
finding the bird, pointed it, and remained so until he heard
them calling at the house, when he sprang upon the bird
and caught it.

Another interesting case occurred with Mr. H. a young
gentleman of this city, who has related it several times,
with a great degree of pleasure. Himself and his father
were desirous of spending a short time in the country,
and although not being sportsmen, were nevertheless desi-
rous of taking with them guns and a Dog, in order to break
in upon the monotony that a stay in the country presents
to a citizen; they accordingly procured my Dog, and the
next morning after having reached their new abode, they
determined to spend in hunting; accordingly all things
prepared they set out on their excursion, but the day wax-
ing warm, the father became tired, and returned. The
son, not yielding to fatigue so soon, and unwilling to re-
turn without some trophy of his perseverance, continued
his pursuit for several hours. During this period, after
flushing a covey of partridges, the Dog found and pointed
several scattered birds, at which our young sportsman
fired without success. The Dog discovering the kind of
master he had to work for, became utterly regardless of
the game, and would run over every bird instead of point-
ing them. Discouraged at his ill success, our young friend
concluded to return home with but one bird, (which the
Dog pointed and caught in the act of rising,) disposed to
impute the blame to the Dog as the cause of his disappoint-
ment; but on relating the circumstance to his father be-
came soon convinced where the error was, by an anecdote
of the same nature being related to him, of two celebrated

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

pointer Dogs, the property of a nobleman in England, hay-
ing left the field and returned home, because the gentle-
man who was hunting with them, being a stranger, and
having missed the three first shots at birds which they had
found and pointed for him. And it is here worthy to re-
mark, that good dogs will uniformly act in concert with
good shots, and become indifferent in performing their
duty, in proportion to the inferiority of the master they
are serving.

There was, perhaps, no Dog superior to this for find-
ing and bringing shot game; he could be directed any
course you wished by simply throwing a stone, and he
seldom returned without the object he was sent for, even
in the most difficult, and, to the sportsman, inaccessible
places; such as swamps, marshes, briers, and swimming
broad streams, &c., and I knew him once to swim into a
mill pond 150 yards and bring to land a duck, from the
midst of an innumerable quantity of stumps and dead tree
tops.

This remarkable Dog was taken from my yard about
two years since by an acquaintance, who was going after
woodcock, whilst I was absent from the city, and was
lost by him the same evening, since which period he has
not been heard of—it is supposed he fell a sacrifice to our
dog laws, then in force, or was stolen—the former, how-
ever, is the most probable. D.

HUNTING BUFFALO.

Ong morning a whole train of elephants, taking up
two lines, entered one of the heaviest jungles in the coun-
try. Hospitius, Cambius, and Shawzada, mounting
their steadiest horses, posted themselves on the outskirts,
prepared to attack those Buffaloes which might take to
the plains; but the spear was resigned for the stout double-
barrelled gun, charged with Zé balls: the remaining sports-
men, placing more dependence on the lofty back of the
elephant than on the velocity and activity of the horse in
the approaching chase, sate secure in their howdars,* en-
circled with guns, and, leading the line, entered the almost
impervious high grass. At a given signal the Mahouts,
or elephant-drivers, urged those sagacious animals through
the opposing thickets: erecting their trunks almost per-
pendicularly, for the purpose, probably, of guarding this
most sensitive member from the sudden attack of some
concealed ferocious animal—the tiger, or the more for-
midable rhinoceros—they urged their way with slow re-
sistless footsteps through the strong jungles, every now

” Howdar, a covered wooden tower, placed on the elephant’s back.

Geg

209

and then raising a shrill trumpeting, which became louder
as difficulties occurred, and in which they strove to outvie
each other. Beneath the feet of a hundred elephants the
stoutest branches crackled; the snapping sounds reverbe-
rated through the hollow woods; and their wild screams
arose above the tumultuous din of horns and the deep
music of the human voice; while every now and then the
animals would playfully strike the high waving tops of
the lofty jungle with their pliant trunks, and besprinkle
the faces of their riders with the early morning dew,
brushed off from the gracefully bent bearded heads of the
silky grass. The constant dropping shots which were
heard at intervals denoted to the skirting and adventurous
horsemen the progress of the party through the deeper
recesses of the forest, till at length one rending shout, and
the quick and incessant firing, announced that they had
come upon a herd of wild Buffaloes.

After the lapse of a few minutes the whole herd rushed
forth in one black, condensed, formidable body, some
bleeding, others, though mortally wounded, yet strug-
gling on in their last agonies till the death-pang overtook
them, and, falling slowly on their knees, they sank ma-
jestically to rise no more. One, with blood-shot eyes and
wrinkled front, stood alone on an elevated knoll, with
lowering head and spreading horns, pawing up furiously
the verdant turf: he was one, who, long the favourite of
the fickle female train, had been lately ejected from the
herd by caprice, or some stronger rival: his spirit brooded
over his wrongs, and he stood reckless, prepared despe-
rately to charge any moving thing which should come
within his reach: he had long been the terror of the sur-
rounding country.

The cheering voice of Cambius urged the attack, and,
circling round in rapid career, he discharged a shot, which
only raised the skin and farther excited the fury of the
Buffalo, who rushed towards the bold horseman with sense-
less rage. The white foam flew over his head, and fell
like snow-flakes upon his black skin; but the speed of
Feridoon upon this occasion, and the prompt assistance of
Hospitius and Shawzada, saved the life of Cambius: for
while the Buffalo, intent upon the destruction of the lat-
ter, continued his desperate course, they rode up and
wounded him severely; and, at the same time, one of the
stoutest elephants came up with Idem and Dubiosus to the
support of their friends. The Buffalo prepared for the en-
counter with determined energy: he lashed his tail, stamp-
ed up the ground, and the plain resounded with his deep
bellowings, which seemed to invite the combat. The
shrill trumpeting of the elephant answered the summons;
while crowds of affrighted ryots, or cultivators, perched
on adjacent trees, watched with alarm the progress of the

210

contest. When the elephant approached within about
fifty yards, the Buffalo rushed on with a force and resolu-
tion which no language can adequately describe. Perfo-
rated with weighty balls, besmeared with blood, fire in
his eye, and ebbing strength in his charge, he came on
with his head down between his knees, struggling onward,
and rushed upon his colossal foe. The shock staggered
him; and, reeling backwards some paces, he stooped,
stumbled forward, and fell dead at the feet of the ele-
phant; who, scorning to insult a fallen enemy, stood un-
moved over the prostrate carcase.—Lond. Sport. Mag.

TIGER HUNTING IN THE EAST INDIES.

On Saturday last, the Potail of Mallegaum sent in to
say a Tiger had been marked down, and three Officers,
McMurdo of the H. A., Craigie, of the 28th, and Brett, of
the 3lst, went out to kill it. On arriving at the ground
they learned there were three Tigers, and their lair was
pointed out by the villagers. After beating for some time,
the Tigers were on foot and Brett mortally wounded one
of them, which, after a short struggle, died in a bush.
They followed the others, and MeMurdo got view of one
of them, about sixty yards from him, which he fired at,
but missed; the villagers from among the hills marked the
brute into a clump of bushes, on the edges of a nullah; the
circumference of these bushes was not more than sixty or
seventy feet, and though they beat all round them, and
thrust in sticks and the muzzles of their guns, the animal
never moved.

They then proposed going on further to look for it, and
poor McM. said, ‘‘ Stop a moment till I put another ball
in my gun.” They were all three close together, and
about a yard from the bush. Craigie and Brett stepped
aside to look at the Tiger’s foot-prints, when suddenly
they heard a tremendous roar, and looked round, saw the
brute with McM. in his grasp; he fell instantly. Craigie
fired both barrels into the animal, which rolled over with
MeM. into the nullah. Brett ran up, missed with one
barrel and hit him on the head with the other. So instan-
taneous was the spring, and so close was McMurdo, that
he had no time to use his gun; in fact, it was all over in a
few seconds. Craigie and Brett had now to re-load. They
saw the poor fellow in the nullah, (which was very shal-
Jow,) making all the resistance that man could make; his
left arm thrust down the brute’s throat, his right having
been mangled in vain attempts to extricate himself.
Whilst his companions were re-loading, a bold fellow, a
native, ran in, picked up McMurdo’s gun, and fired the
barrel that was primed into the animal, which then rolled

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

over a few yards from the poor fellow; presently they
heard him ery out, ‘Oh God! oh God! Craigie, Craigie,
he is coming at me again! Craigie and the villagers then
attacked and despatched the beast with stones: the whole
sad business happened in much less time than the recital
can give youan ideaof. PoorMcM.’sstate was most dread-
ful; his left thigh crushed to atoms, both arms dreadfully
mangled and lacerated, two claw-marks on his face, and
his side much bruised. He was a man of the most im-
moveable nerve, and his courage was beyond every thing
daring. He had killed two Tigers before, on foot; one of
them by a shot which laid the animal at his feet almost
touching him.

When the first Tiger on Saturday was wounded, it was
struggling in a bush, and McM. went up and finished it
with as much coolness, as if it had been a wounded hare,
When it was pulled out, he gave a jump in the air, say-
ing, ‘* By Jove! what capital sport we shall have if we
can get them all three.’? He was constantly out after wild
animals, and meeting with adventures: was a capital and
fearless horseman, and invariably a foremost rider in our
hog hunts. He so entirely retained his presence of mind
in his struggle with the Tiger, that he knew every shot
that was fired, and when he spoke of the stones hitting it,
the poor fellow smiled. He told Craigie to go and ex-
amine the beast, and see if he had not hit him, when he
took the shot at a distance. He said that for a month past
he had an impression that he should meet with some acci-
dent, ‘but I had no idea it would be so bad as this, for I
suppose I must lose my leg.’’ His firmness never forsook
him for a moment; after about two hours he complained of
thirst, and spasms in the stomach, and was evidently sink-
ing fast. He asked Craigie to loosen the silk handker-
chief which had been applied as a tourniquet to stop the
bleeding in the thigh; this, however, could not be done;
he then became insensible, breathed hard for some time,
then more and more faintly, and expired, without a groan
or struggle, before medical aid could reach him. You may
imagine how so fatal an adventure has affected all, though
from his extraordinary daring, he was a man unlikely to
come to a premature end. There was a strength of nerve
in him as if nature had made him without the sense of
fear: for, however critical his situation, he seemed uncon-
scious of danger.

THE CORK OAK-TREE.

Tue Cork Oak (Quercus suber) is not so large a tree

as the common oak. There are several varieties: a broad

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

lJeaved and a narrow leaved, which are evergreens; besides
other varieties which shed their leaves. The broad leaved
evergreen is, however, the most common, and it is the
one from which the cork of commerce is chiefly obtained.
It is mentioned by Theophrastus, Pliny, and some other
ancient naturalists, as being well known in the days of the
Greeks and Romans—the latter of whom used it for a va-
riety of purposes, and among the rest for the stopping of
- bottles. They used it for floats to their nets and fishing
tackle; for buoys to their anchors; and when Camillus was
sent to the Capitol, through the Tiber, during the siege by
the Gauls, he hada life-preserver of cork under his dress.
The Cork Oak is indigenous, or at least abundant, in
Portugal, Spain, part of the south of France, and Italy; on
the opposite coast of the Mediterranean, and the Levant.
Spain and Portugal supply the greater portion of the cork
which is consumed in Europe. The cork is the bark which
the tree pushes outwards, as is common to all trees; but
here the outer bark is of larger quantity, and is more spee-
dily renewed. When removed, there is a Jéder, or inner
bark, below it, and from this the cork is re-produced in
the course of a few years—while the tree is said to live
longer, and grow more vigorously, than if the cork were
not removed. ‘The first time that the cork is taken off, is
when the tree is about fifteen years old. That crop is
thin, hard, full of fissures, and consequently of little value;
and the second, which is removed about ten years after,
is also of an inferior quality. After this, the operation is
repeated once in eight or ten years, the produce being
greater in quantity, and superior in quality, each succes-
sive time. According to Duhamel, a cork tree thus bark-
ed will live a hundred and fifty years. The months of
July and August are those which are chosen for removing
the cork. The bark is cleft longitudinally, at certain in-
tervals, down to the crown of the root, with an axe, of
which the handle terminates in a wedge; and a circular
incision is then made from each extremity of the longitu-
dinal cuts. The bark is then beaten, to detatch it from
the dber; and it is lifted up by introducing the wedged
handle, taking care to leave sufficient of the inner lamine
upon the wood, without which precaution the tree would
certainly die. The bark being thus removed, it is divided
into conyenient lengths; and itis then flattened, and slight-
ly charred, to contract the pores. This substance is the
rough cork of commerce; and it is thus fit to be cut into
floats, stoppers, shoe-soles and other articles of domestic
use, by the manufacturer. The cork of the best quality
is firm, elastic, and of a slightly red colour. Cork burn-
ed in vessels of a particular construction gives the sub-

stance called Spanish black.
[Lib. Ent. Know.

211

ALMOND-TREE.

Tur Almond-Tree has a considerable resemblance to
the peach in the form of its leaves, and of its blossoms,
only the latter are more variable in colour. It is proba-
ble that the almond is a native of the western parts of Asia.
The almond is mentioned in the Scriptures as amongst
the best fruits of the land of Canaan. It is very plentiful
in China, in most of the eastern countries, and also in Bar-
bary. In that country it is the most early bearer of all the
fruit trees. It flowers in January, and gives its fruit in
April. It does not appear that the Almond-tree, (which
is now abundantly cultivated for its fruit in Italy, Spain,
and the south of France,) was so early introduced into
the first of these countries as the peach, or that its native
region was so well known, ‘‘ Greek nuts” being the name
given to almonds at Rome in the time of Cato.

The fruit of the almond is not so attractive as that of the
peach; because, instead of presenting the same delicious
pulp as that, the pericarp of the almond shrivels as the
fruit ripens; and when the ripening is completed, has be-
come a horny kind of husk, which opens of its own ac-
cord. ‘The kernel of some varieties of the almond is not
defended by so tough a shell as that of the peach and nec-
tarine; for it is often so tender that the nuts break when
shaken together.

In the south of Europe, where the almond is cultivated
with as much care as the peach is in this country, its va-
rieties are carefully distinguished. The bitter and the
sweet are permanently distinct varieties; and after this
leading character is observed, the variety is further dis-
tinguished by the form and degree of hardness of the shell.
For instance, the French have, ‘‘ amandier a coque dure”
—‘‘amandier a coque demi-dure’’—‘‘ amandier a coque
tendre.”’

In England, Almond-trees are chiefly cultivated for
the beauty of their early flowers; and for this reason, the
common kind, and the double-flowering dwarfs, are pre-
ferred. There is something very charming in the pecu-
liarity which belongs to this tree, of blossoming on the
bare branches:

“ The hope, in dreams, of a happier hour,
That alights on misery’s brow,
Springs out of the silvery almond-flower,

That blooms on a leafless bough.”

One of the most beautiful tales of the Greek mythology,
(that of the Loves of Phillis and Demophoon,) is founded
on this property of the Almond-tree.

Almond-trees ripen their fruit in England, though the
produce is very inferior to that which is imported. The

212

flowers of the productive almond, both the sweet and the
bitter, are much less showy than those of the unproduc-
tive. Like most of the other nut bearing trees, the
almond yields an oil. Between the expressed oil of bit-
ter, and that of sweet almonds, there is little difference;
but the bitter almond contains an essential oil, while the
sweet almond has none. Owing to the prussic acid which
it contains, this essential oil is found, by experiment, to
be exceedingly poisonous; and therefore the use of bitter
almonds should be carefully avoided in every instance
where there is a chance that the essential oil may be sepa-
rated in the stomach. So very violent is the poison of
this oil, that instances are recorded of persons dying in
consequence of drinking even a very small portion of
spirits flavoured by it; and, in its concentrated state, it is
probably not exceeded, in its hurtful effects, even by the
essential oil of tobacco itself, or by any of the narcotic ve-
getable poisons.

According to Haller, (Hist. Plant.,) bitter almonds are
a poison to birds and quadrupeds.

Almond oil, (the expressed oil,) is principally obtained
from the almonds of Valentia and Barbary; the Syrian
almonds, usually called Jordan almonds, being preferred
for the table.

The Large Fruited Almond, (var. macrocarpa,) is
one of the most beautiful varieties of the almond. The
flowers are twice as large as those of the common sort, and
remain longer in perfection: the fruit also is larger.—Jdid.

DANGEROUS PLANT AMONG WATER-
CRESSES.

Tuer procumbent water parsnip, Sium nodiflorum, is
a dangerous plant of the umbelliferous class, which grows
mixed with water-cresses in springs and streams. When
not in flower, it so much resembles the latter, that it is
with difficulty distinguished except by a botanist. Water-
eresses are of a deeper green, and sometimes spotted with
brown, and the extremities of the leaves are more round,
and especially the last leaves, which are in pairs, larger
than the others, and undulated at their edges. The water
parsnip, on the contrary, is of a uniform green; the ends
of its leaves are longer and narrower, conical at the ex-
tremities, and toothed at the edges. The best method of
knowing them well is to examine them in July, when
their flowers are expanded, and when they may be tho-
roughly distinguished from each other.

[Quarterly Journal of Science.

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

From the Connecticut Mirror.

Tue following lines are full of spirit. The hunters rousing to the
chase, the scene of plaintive indolence which would keep them back,
the magic morning, and the inspiriting emotions which it inspires, are
all beautifully depicted.

THE HUNTER’S MORNING SONG.

Away, away, to the mountains blue,

Where the waving trees the bright clouds woo,
We will fly on the wings of the viewless wind,
And leave the dull, cold earth behind ;

We will wander as wild, as gay and free,

Asa rushing wave on a stormy sea.

Aha, Aha, that wailing cry,

They would charm us back with Love’s Jullaby,
For little they know how the hunter’s horn,

Will thrill through the heart in the merry morn—
Let them shake their dull limbs, and palsied head,
We will leave them to their sluggard’s bed.

Away, away, how the sunbeams glance,

From the burnished steel, and the glittering lance,
How the morning mists are fading away,

From the burning beams of the God of Day ;
They linger yet, o’er the mountains curled,

As if grieving to quit so fair a world.

Away, away, there is joy on Earth,

And the rosy morning laughs for mirth ;
There is joy in the breath of the balmy air,
As if Heaven had showered its odours there—
There is joy on the breast of the dancing wave,
And on the green banks that its waters lave.

No thought of the future shall darken the brow,
That is beaming with hope, and happiness now,
For we leave all grief, and worldly cares,

’ To the gloomy mantle that dotage wears;
We willdrink the light of the new born day,

Till its spirit fills us, away, away. J. LR.

METHOD OF PREVENTING IRON AND STEEL
FROM RUSTING.
-

Tis easy method consists in heating the steel or
iron until it burns the hand; then rub it with virgin or
pure white wax. Warm it a second time so as to melt
and divide off the wax, and rub it with a piece of cloth or
leather until it shines well. This single operation, by
filling all the pores of the metal, defends it completely
from rust, even though it should be exposed to moisture.

[Jour. de Connois. Usuelles, Jan. 1830.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

From the Library of Useful Knowledge.

THE VICES AND DISAGREEABLE OR DAN-
GEROUS HABITS OF THE HORSE.

Tue Horse has many excellent qualities, but he has
likewise defects, and these occasionally amounting to
vices. Some of them may be attributed to natural tem-
per; for the human being scarcely discovers more pecu-
liarities of habit and disposition, than does the Horse.
The majority of them, however, as perhaps in the human
being, are consequences of a faulty education. Their
early instructor has been both ignorant and brutal, and
they have become obstinate and vicious.

RESTIFNESS.

At the head of the vices of the Horse we place RESTIFNESS,
the most annoying, and the most dangerous of all. It is
the produce of bad temper and worse education; and, like
all other habits founded on nature and stamped by educa-
tion, it is inveterate. Whether it appears in the form of
kicking, or rearing, or plunging, or bolting, or in any
way that threatens danger to the rider or the Horse, it
rarely admits of cure. A determined rider may, to a
certain degree, subjugate the animal; or the Horse may
have his favourites, or form his attachments, and with
some particular person he may be comparatively or per-
fectly manageable; but others cannot long depend upon
him, and even his master is not always sure of him. We
will speak of the most likely means of cure, or escaping
from danger, as it regards the principal forms under which
restifness displays itself; but we must premise as a rule
that admits of very few exceptions, that he neither displays
his wisdom, nor consults his safety, who attempts to con-
quer a restiff Horse.

An excellent veterinary surgeon, and a man of great
experience in Horses, Mr. Castley, truly says, in ‘¢ The
Veterinarian: ‘* From whatever cause the vicious habits
of Horses may originate, whether from some mismanage-
ment, or from natural badness of temper, or from what is
ealled in Yorkshire a mzstetch, whenever these animals
acquire one of them, and it becomes in some degree con-
firmed, they very seldom, if ever, altogether forget it. In
reference to driving, it is so true, that it may be taken as
akind of aphorism, that if a Horse kicks once in harness,
no matter from what cause, he will be liable to kick ever
afterwards. A good coachman may drive him, it is true—
and may make him go, but he cannot make him forget his
vice; and so it is inriding. You may conquer a restiff

Huh

213

Horse; you may make him ride quiet for months, nay, almost
for years together, but I affirm, that under other cireum-
stances and at some future opportunity, he will be sure to
return to his old tricks again.”

Mr. Castley gives two singular and conclusive instances
of the truth of this doctrine. ‘‘When avery young man,”’
says he, ‘¢I remember purchasing a Horse at a fair in the
north of England, that was offered very cheap on account
of his being unmanageable. It was said that nobody could
ride him. We found that the animal objected to have any
thing placed upon his back, and that, when made to move
forward with nothing more than a saddle on, he instantly
threw himself down on his side with great violence, and
would then endeavour to roll upon his back.

“There was at that time in Yorkshire, a famous colt-
breaker, known by the name of Jumper, who was almost
as celebrated in that country for taming vicious Horses
into submission, as the famed Whisperer was in Ireland.
We put this animal into Jumper’s hands, who took him
away, and in about ten days brought him home again, cer-
tainly not looking worse in condition, but perfectly sub-
dued and almost as obedient as a dog: for he would lie
down at this man’s bidding, and only rise again at his
command, and carry double or any thing. I took to riding
him myself, and may say, that I was never better carried
for six or eight months, during which time he never show-
ed the least vice whatever. I then sold him to a Lin-
colnshire farmer, who said that he would give him a sum-
mer’s run at grass, and show hima very fine Horse at the
great Horncastle fair.

‘«¢ Happening to meet this gentleman the following year,
I naturally enough inquired after my old friend. ‘Oh,’
said he, ‘ that was a bad business—the Horse turned out a
sad rebel. The first time we attemped to mount him, after
getting him up from grass, he in an instant threw the man
down with the greatest violence, pitching him several
yards over his head; and after that he threw every one
that attempted to get on his back. If he could not throw
his rider, he would throw himself down. We could do
nothing with him, and I was obliged at last to sell him to
go ina stage-coach.’ ”

In the next story, Jumper’s counterpart and superior,
the Irish Whisperer, is brought on the stage, and, although
he performs wonders, he cannot radically cure a restiff
Horse. ‘¢ At the Spring Meeting of 1804, Mr. Whalley’s
King Pippin was brought on the Curragh of Kildare to
run. He was a Horse of the most extraordinary savage
and vicious disposition. His particular propensity was
that of flying at and worrying any person who came with-
in his reach, and if he had an opportunity, he would get
his head round, seize his rider by the leg with his teeth,

214

and drag him down from his back. For this reason he
was always ridden in what is called a@ sword; which is
nothing more than a strong flat stick, having one end
attached to the cheek of the bridle, and the other to the
girth of the saddle, a contrivance to prevent a horse of this
kind from getting at his rider.

‘¢ King Pippin had long been difficult to manage and
dangerous to go near, but on the occasion in question he
could not be got out to run at all. Nobody could put the
bridle upon his head. It being Easter Monday, and con-
sequently a great holyday, there was a large concourse of
people assembled at the Curragh, consisting principally of
the neighbouring peasantry; and one countryman, more
fearless than the rest of the lookers-on, forgetting, or per-
haps never dreaming that the better part of courage is
discretion, volunteered his services to bridle the Horse.
No sooner had he committed himself in this operation,
than King Pippin seized him somewhere about the shoul-
ders or chest, and, says Mr. Watts, (Mr. Castley’s in-
formant,) ‘I know of nothing I can compare it to, so much
as a dog shaking a rat.’ Fortunately for the poor fellow,
his body was very thickly covered with clothes, for on
such occasions an Irishman of this class is fond of display-
ing his wardrobe, and if he has three coats at all in the
world, he is sure to put them all on.

“¢ This circumstance in all probability saved the indivi-
dual who had so gallantly volunteered the forlorn hope.
His person was so deeply enveloped in extra-teguments,
that the Horse never got fairly hold of his skin, and I un-
derstand that he escaped with but little injury, beside
the sadly rent and totally ruined state of his holyday
toggery.

«The Whisperer was sent for, who, having arrived,
was shut up with the Horse all night, and in the morning
he exhibited this hitherto ferocious animal, following him
about the course like a dog—lying down at his com-
mand—suffering his mouth to be opened, and any per-
son’s hand to be introduced into it—in short, as quiet
almost as a sheep.

“He came out the same meeting, and won a race, and
his docility continued satisfactory for a long time; but at
the end of about three years his vice returned, and then
he is said)to have killed a man, for which he was
destroyed.”

It may not be uninteresting in this connexion, to give
some account of this tamer of quadruped vice. However
strange and magical his power may seem to be, there is no
doubt of the truth of the account that is given of him. The
Rey. Mr. Townsend, in his Statistical Survey of Cork,
first introduced him to the notice of the publie generally,
slthough his fame had long spread over that part of Ire-

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

land. We, however, give the following extract from Cro-
ker’s Fairy Legends and Traditions of Ireland, Part II.
p- 200, for the fact seems the work of some elfin sprite,
rather than of a rude and ignorant horse-breaker.

‘¢He was an awkward, ignorant rustic of the lowest
class, of the name of Sullivan, but better known by the
appellation of the Whisperer; his occupation was horse-
breaking. The nickname he acquired from the vulgar
notion of his being able to communicate to the animal
what he wished by means of a whisper, and the singu-
larity of his method seemed in some degree to justify the
attribute. In his own neighbourhood, the notoriety of the
fact made it seem less remarkable, but I doubt if any in-
stance of similar subjugating talent is to be found on record.
As far as the sphere of his control extended, the boast of
vent vidi vict, was more justly claimed by Sullivan than
by Cesar himself.

“ tlow his art was acquired, and in what it consisted, is
likely to be for ever unknown, as he has lately, (about
1810,) left the world without divulging it. Hisson, who
follows the same trade, possesses but a small portion of the
art, having either never learned the true secret, or being
incapable of putting it into practice. The wonder of his
skill consisted in the celerity of the operation, which was
performed in privacy without any apparent means of coer-
cion. Every description of Horse, or even mule, whether
previously broken or unhandled, whatever their peculiar
habits or vices might have been, submitted without show
of resistance to the magical influence of his art, and in the
short space of half an hour became gentle and tractable.
This effect, though instantaneously produced, was gene-
rally durable. Though more submissive to him than
to others, they seemed to have acquired a docility unknown
before.

‘¢When sent for to tame a vicious beast, for which he
was either paid according to the distance, or generally two
or three guineas, he directed the stable, in which he and
the object of the experiment were, to be shut, with orders
not to open the door until a signal was given. After a
téte-a-téte of about half an hour, during which little or no
bustle was heard, the signal was made, and, upon opening
the door, the Horse appeared lying down, and the man by
his side, playing with him like a child with a puppy dog.
From that time he was found perfectly willing to submit
to any discipline—however repugnant to his nature be-
fore. I once,’ continues Mr. Townsend, ‘saw his skill
tried ona Horse, which could never before be brought to
stand for a smith to shoe him. The day after Sullivan’s
half-hour’s lecture, I went, not without some incredulity,
to the smith’s shop, with many other curious spectators,
where we were eye-witnesses of the complete success of

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

his art. This, too, had been a troop Horse, and it was
supposed, not without reason, that after regimental disci-
pline had failed, no other would be found availing. I ob-
served that the animal appeared terrified whenever Sulli-
van either spoke or looked at him; how that extraordinary
ascendancy could have been obtained, is difficult to con-
Jjecture.

«Tn common cases this mysterious preparation was un-
necessary. He seemed to possess an instinctive power of
inspiring awe, the result, perhaps, of natural intrepidity,
in which, I believe, a great part of his art consisted; though
the circumstance of the ¢é¢e-a-téte shows that, on particu-
lar occasions, something more must have been added to
it. A faculty like this would in some hands have made a
fortune, and I understand that great offers were made to
him, for the exercise of his art abroad. But hunting was
his passion. He lived at home in the style most agree-
able tohis disposition, and nothing could induce him to quit
Duhallow and the fox hounds.”

Mr. Castley witnessed the total failure of the younger
Sullivan. He says, ‘¢ We have inthe regiment a remarka-
bly nice Horse, called Lancer, that has always been very
difficult to shoe, but seven or eight years ago, when we
first got him, he was downright vicious in that respect.
When the regiment was stationed at Cork, the farrier-
major sought out the present Sullivan, the son of the cele-
brated Whisperer, and brought him up to the barracks in
order to try his hand upon Lancer, and make him more
peaceable to shoe; but I must say this person did not ap-
pear to possess any particular controlling power over the
animal, more than any other man. Lancer seemed to pay
no attention whatever to his charm, and, at last, fairly beat
him out of the forge. Time, however, and a long perse-
yerance in kind and gentle treatment, have effected what
force could not. The Horse is now pretty reasonable to
shoe.””

BACKING OR GIBBING.

One of the first species of restifness, taking them in
alphabetical order, is BACKING oR GIBBING. These are so
closely allied that we hardly know how to separate them.
Some Horses have the habit of backing at first starting,
and that more from playing than desire of mischief. A
moderate application of the whip will usually be effectual.

Others, even at starting, exhibit considerable obstinacy _

and viciousness. This is frequently the effect of bad
breaking. Hither the shoulder of the Horse had been
wrung when he was first put to the collar, or he had been
foolishly accustomed to start in the break wp-Az//, and
therefore all his work coming upon him at once, when it

215

being much more difficult to draw the break up-hill, than
to back and let it run down-hill, he gradually acquired
this dangerous habit.

A hasty and passionate breaker will often make a really
good-tempered young Horse an inveterate gibber. Every
young Horse is at first shy of the collar. If he be too
quickly forced to it, he will possibly take a dislike to it,
that will occasionally show itself in the form of gibbing as
long as he lives. The judicious horse-breaker will resort
to no severity, even if the colt should go out several times
without touching collar. The example of his companion
will ultimately induce him to take to it voluntarily and
effectually.

A large and heavy stone should be put behind the wheel
before starting, when the Horse, finding it more difficult
to back than to go forward, will gradually forget this
unpleasant trick. It will likewise be of advantage, as
often as it can be managed, so to start that the Horse shall
have to back up-hill. The difficulty of accomplishing this
will soon make him readily go forward at once. A little
coaxing, or leading, or moderate flagellation, will assist in
accomplishing the cure.

When, however, a Horse, thinking that he has had
enough of work, or has been improperly checked or cor-
rected, or beginning to feel the painful pressure of the
collar, swerves, and gibs, and backs, it is a more serious
matter. Persuasion should here first be tried; and, after-
wards, reasonable coercion, but no cruelty: for the bru-
tality which is often exercised in attempting to compel a
gibbing Horse to throw himself habitually into the collar,
never yet accomplished the purpose. The Horse may,
perhaps, be whipped into motion, but if he has once be-
gun to gib, he will have recourse to it again whenever any
circumstance displeases or annoys him; and the habit will
be rapidly, and so completely formed, that he will become
insensible to all severity.

It is useless and most dangerous to contend with a Horse
determined to back, unless there is plenty of room, and,
by tight reining, the driver can make him back in the pre-
cise direction he wishes, and especially up-hill. Such a
Horse should be immediately sold, or turned over to some
other work. Ina stage-coach as a wheeler, and particu-
larly as a near-wheeler; or, in the middle of a team at agri-
cultural work, he may be serviceable. It will be useless
for him io attempt to gib there, for he will be dragged
along by his companions whether he will or no; and, find-
ing the inutility of resistance, he will soon be induced to
work as well as any Horse in the team. This reformation
will last while he is thus employed, but, like restifness
generally, it will be delusive when the Horse returns to
his former occupation. The disposition to annoy will very

zy

216 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

soon follow the power to do it. Some instances of com-
plete reformation have occurred, but they have been rare.

When a Horse, not often accustomed to gib, betrays a
reluctance to work, or a determination not to work, com-
mon sense and humanity will demand that some ronsidera-
tion should be taken, before measures of severity be re-
sorted to. The Horse may be taxed beyond his power.
He soon discovers whether this is the case, and by re-
fusing to proceed, tells his driver that it is so; and the
utmost eruelty will not induce many Horses to make the
slightest effort, when they are conscious that their strength
is inadequate to the task. Sometimes the withers are
wrung, and the shoulders sadly galled; and the pain, which
is intense on level ground and with fair draught, becomes
insupportable when he tugs up a steep acclivity. These
things should be examined into, and, if possible, rectified;
for, under such circumstances, cruelty might produce ob-
stinacy and vice, but not willing obedience.

Those who are accustomed to Horses know what seem-
ingly trivial cireumstances occasionally produce this vice.
A Horse, whose shoulders are raw, or that have frequent-
ly been so, will not start with a cold collar. When the
collar has acquired the warmth of the parts on which it
presses, the animal will go without reluetance. Some de-
termined gibbers have been reformed by constantly wear-
ing a false collar, or strip of cloth round the shoulders,
so that the coldness of the usual collar should never be
felt; and others have been cured of gibbing by keeping the
collar on night and day, although the animal is not able to
lie down so completely at full length, which the tired
Horse is always glad to do. When a Horse gibs, not at
starting, but while doing his work, it has sometimes been
useful to line the collars with cloth instead of leather; the
perspiration is readily absorbed, the substance which
presses on the shoulders is softer, and it may be far more
accurately eased off at a tender place.

BITING.

This is either the consequence of natural ferocity, or a
habit acquired from the foolish and teasing play of grooms
and stable boys. When a Horse is tickled and pinched
by thoughtless and mischievous youths, he will first pre-
tend to bite his tormentors; by degrees he will proceed
farther, and actually bite them, and, very soon after that,
he will be the first to challenge to the combat, and with-
out provocation sieze some opportunity to gripe the in-
cautious groom; and then, as the love of mischief is a pro-
pensity too easily acquired, this war, half playful, and
half in earnest, will become habitual to him, and will de-
generate into absolute viciousness. Nothing can here be

done in the way of cure; kindness would aggravate the
evil, and no degree of severity will correct it. Preven-
tion, however, is in the power of every proprietor of
Horses. While he insists on gentle and humane treat-
ment of his cattle, he should systematically forbid this
horse-play. It is that which can never be considered as
operating as a reward, and thereby rendering the Horse
tractable; nor does it increase the affection of the animal
for his groom, because he is annoyed and irritated by being
thus incessantly teased.

GETTING THE CHEEK OF THE BIT INTO THE MOUTH.

Some Horses that are disposed to be mischievous try to
do this, and are very expert at it. They soon find what
advantage it gives them over their driver, who, by this
manceuvre, loses all command. Harsh treatment is here
completely out of the question. All that can be done is,
by some mechanical contrivance, to render the thing diffi-
eult or impossible, and this may be managed by fastening
around piece of leather on the inside of the cheek of the bit.

KICKING.

This, as @ vice, is another consequence of the culpable
habit of grooms and stable boys of teasing the Horse. That
which is at first an indication of annoyance at the pinch-
ing and tickling of the groom, and without any design to
injure, gradually becomes the expression of anger, and the
effort at mischief. There is no cure for this vice; and he ean-
notbe justified who keepssuch a kicking Horse in his stable.

Some Horses acquire a habit of kicking at the stall or
the bail, and particularly at night, from mere irritability
and fidgettiness. The neighbouring Horses are disturb-
ed, and the kicker gets swelled hocks, or some more
serious injury. This is also a habit very difficult to eor-
rect if suffered to become established. Mares are far more
subject to it than Horses.

Before the habit is inveterately established, a thorn bush
or a piece of furze fastened against the partitition or post
will sometimes effect a cure. When the Horse finds that
he is pretty severely pricked he will not long continue to
punish himself. In confirmed cases it may be necessary
to have recourse to the log, but the legs are often not a
little bruised by it. A rather long and heavy piece of
wood attached to a chain is buckled above the hock, so as to
reach about halfway downthe leg. When the Horseattempts
to kick violently, his leg will receive a severe blow from
this, and the repetition of the blow will soon teach him to
be quiet.

(To be continued.)

eel 7 MDiUaUyS PUY?

“6L'1d'S TOA

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

POLAR BEAR.
CRSUS MARITIMUS.
[Plate XIX.]

Ursus Maritimus, Linn. Ursus Albus. Briss. Régne
Anim. p. 260. sp. 2.. Ours Blanc; Burr. Supp. tom.
3. pl.34. Ours Blane: Dusm. Mam. p. 16. sp. 257.
The Polar Bear: Penn. Syn. quad. p. 192. tab. 20.
Jig. 1. Patuas, spictl. Zool. xiv. tab. 1.—Menagerie
Living Animals, exhibited in Philadelphia, winter of
1832—3.

In the desolate regions of the north, where unrelent-
ing winter reigns in full appanage of horrors during the
greater part of the year, and even the stormy ocean itself
is long imprisoned by ‘‘thick ribbed ice,’ the Polar
Bear finds his most congenial abode. There, prowling
over the frozen wastes, he satiates his hunger on the car-
easses of whales deserted by the adventurous fishermen,
or seizes on such marine animals as come up to bask in
open air; and when occasion calls, he fearlessly plunges
into the sea in pursuit of his prey, as if the deep were his
native and familiar element. To most other animals ex-
treme cold is distressing and injurious; to him it is wel-
come and delightful: to him the glistening ice-bank or
snow-wreathed shore, canopied by louring and tempestu-
ous clouds, are far more inviting and agreeable, than ver-
dant hills or sunny skies.

Being endowed with extremely acute senses, great
strength, and a savagely ferocious disposition withal, it is
not surprising that this animal is dreaded as the most for-
midable quadruped of the region he inhabits. Notwith-
standing his great size and apparent heaviness, he is very
active, and though his ordinary gait may appear clumsy,
when excited by rage or hunger, his speed on the ice far
exceeds that of the swiftest man.

When on an extensive ice-field, the Polar Bear is often
observed to ascend the knobs or hummocks, for the pur-
pose of reconnoitering, or he stands with head erect to
snuff the tainted air, which informs him where to find the
whale carrion at astonishing distances. This substance,
so unpleasant and disgusting to human sense, is a
luxurious banquet to the bear, and a piece of it thrown on
a fire will allure him from a distance of several miles.

A considerable part of the Polar Bear’s food is sup-
plied by seals, but very probably he suffers long fasts and
extreme hunger, owing to the peculiar vigilance of these
creatures; occasionally he is much reduced by being car-
ried out to sea on a small island of ice, where he may be

i aes

217

forced to remain for a week or more without an opportu-
nity of procuring food. In this situation they have been
seen On ice-islands two hundred miles distant from land,
and sometimes they are drifted to the shores of Iceland,
or Norway, where they are so ravenous as to destroy all
the animals they find. Most commonly such invaders
are soon destroyed, as the natives collect in large num-
bers and commence an immediate pursuit, but frequently
do not succeed in killing them, before many of their flocks
are thinned. An individual Polar Bear has occasionally
been carried on theice as far south as Newfoundland, but
this circumstance very rarely occurs.

This animal swims excellently, and advances at the
rate of three miles an hour. During the summer season
he principally resides on the ice-islands, and leaves one
to visit another, however great be the distance. If inter-
rupted while in the water, he dives and changes his course;
but he neither dives very often, nor does he remain under
water for a long time. Captain Ross saw a Polar Bear
swimming midway in Melville Sound, where the shores
were full forty miles apart, and no ice was in sight large
enough for him to have rested on. The best time for
attacking him is when he is in the water; on ice or land
he has so many advantages that the aggressor is always in
danger. Even in the water he has frequently proved a
formidable antagonist, has boarded and taken possession
of a small boat, forcing the occupants to-seek safety by
leaping overboard. Instances are related in which this
animal has climbed up the sides of small vessels, and been
with difficulty repelled from the deck.

Generally the Polar Bear retreats from man; but when
pursued and attacked he always resents the aggression,
and turns furiously on his enemy. When struck at with
a lance, he is very apt to seize and bite the staff in two,
or wrest it from the hands. Shoulda ball be fired at him,
without taking effect in the head.or heart, his rage is in-
creased, and he seeks revenge with augmented fury. It
has been remarked that, when wounded and able to make
his escape, he applies snow to the wound, as if aware that
cold would check the flow of blood.

A great majority of the fatal accidents following en-
gagements with the Polar Bear, have resulted from im-
prudently attacking the animal on the ice. Scoresby, in
his interesting narrative of a voyage to Greenland, relates
an instance of this kind. ‘‘A few years ago, when one
of the Davis’ Strait whalers was closely beset among the
ice at the ‘south west,’ or on the coast of Labrador, a
bear that had been for some time seen near the ship, at
length became so bold as to approach alongside, probably
tempted by the offal of the provision thrown overboard
by the cook. At this time the people were all at dinner,

218

no one being required to keep the deck in the then im-
movable condition of the ship. A hardy fellow who first
looked out, perceiving the bear so near, imprudently
jumped upon the ice, armed only with a handspike, with
a view, it is supposed, of gaining all the honour of the ex-
ploit of securing so fierce a visitor by himself. But the
bear, regardless of such weapons, and sharpened probably
by hunger, disarmed his antagonist, and seizing him by
the back with his powerful jaws, carried him off with such
celerity, that on his dismayed comrades rising from their
meal and looking abroad, he was so far beyond their
reach as to defy their pursuit.”

«¢A circumstance, communicated to me by Captain
Munroe of the Neptune, of rather a humorous nature as
to the result, arose out of an equally imprudent attack
made on a bear, in the Greenland fishery of 1820, by a
seaman employed in one of the Hull whalers. The ship
was moored to a piece of ice, on which, at a considerable
distance, a large bear was observed prowling about for
prey. One of the ship’s company, emboldened by an
artificial courage, derived from the free use of rum, which
in his economy he had stored for special occasions, un-
dertook to pursue and attack the bear that was within
view. Armed only with a whale-lance, he resolutely,
and against all persuasion, set out on his adventurous ex-
ploit. A fatiguing journey of about half a league, over a
yielding surface of snowand rugged hummocks, broughthim
within a few yards of the enemy, which, to his surprise, un-
dauntedly faced him, and seemed to invite him to the com-
bat. His courage being by this time greatly subdued,
partly by evaporation of the stimulus, and partly by the
undismayed and even threatening aspect of the bear, he
levelled his lance, in an attitude suited either for offen-
sive or defensive action, and stopped. The bear also stood
still; in vain the adventurer tried to rally courage to make
the attack; his enemy was too formidable, and his appear-
ance too imposing. In vain also he shouted, advanced
his lance, and made feints of attack; the enemy, either
not understanding or despising such unmanliness, obsti-
nately stood his ground. Already the limbs of the sailor
began to quiver; but the fear of ridicule from his mess-
mates had its influence, and he yet scarcely dared to re-
treat. Bruin, however, possessing less reflection, or being
regardless of consequences, began, with audacious bold-
ness, to advance. His nigh approach and unshaken step
subdued the spark of bravery and that dread of ridicule
that had hitherto upheld our adventurer; he turned and
fled. But now was the time of danger; the sailor’s flight
encouraged the bear in turn to pursue, and being better
practised in snow-travelling, and better provided for it,
he rapidly gained upon the fugitive. The whale-lance,

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

his only defence, encumbered him in his retreat, he threw
it down, and kept on. This fortunately excited the bear’s
attention; he stopped, pawed it, bit it, and then renewed
the chase. Again he was at the heels of the panting sea-
man, who, conscious of the favourable effects of the lance,
dropped one of his mittens; the stratagem succeeded, and
while Bruin again stopped to examine it, the fugitive, im-
proving the interval, made considerable progress a-head.
Still the bear resumed the pursuit with a most provoking
perseverance, except when arrested by another mitten,
and, finally, by a hat, which he tore to shreds between
his fore-teeth and paws, and would, no doubt, soon have
made the incautious adventurer his victim, who was now
rapidly losing strength, but for the prompt and well-timed
assistance of his shipmates—who, observing that the affair
had assumed a dangerous aspect, sallied out to his rescue.
The little phalanx opened him a passage, and then closed
to receive the bold assailant. Though now beyond the
reach of his adversary, the dismayed fugitive continued
onwards, impelled by his fears, and never relaxed his ex-
ertions, until he fairly reached the shelter of his ship.
The bear once more came to a stand, and for a moment
seemed to survey his enemies, with all the consideration
of an experienced general; when, finding them too nume-
rous for a hope of success, he very wisely wheeled
about, and succeeded in making a safe and honourable re-
treat.??*

The Polar Bear is stated to be generally four or five
feet high, from seven to eight feet long, and nearly the
same in circumference. Individuals have frequently been
met with of much greater size; Barentz killed one in
Cherie Island, whose skin measured thirteen feet.t The
weight is generally from six to eight hundred pounds.
The hair of the body is long, and of a yellowish white
colour, and is very shaggy about the inside of the legs.
The paws are seven inches or more in breadth, with claws
two inches long. In some individuals, the canine teeth
have been found an inch and a half long, exclusive of the
portion imbedded in the jaw: the strength of the jaws is
very great, and enables the animal to inflict dreadful in-
jury when he bites.

The following measurements are from an individual,

* Scoresby’s Greenland Voyage.

+ Desmarest states in a note that the largest individuals of this spe-
cies which have been observed, are not more than six feet seven inches
long. This does not agree with the accounts given by many northern
voyagers: we have selected Captain Ross’ measurements, (not be-
cause the individual from which they were taken is the largest that
has been seen,) but because his scientific character is so generally
and advantageously known. It would have been very easy to have
selected measurements of larger specimens, from other sources.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

killed during Captain Ross’ voyage, in the vicinity of
Prince William’s Sound:—

Length, from the snout to the tail, 6 feet 8 inches.

to the shoulder-blade, 2 10
Circumference near the fore-legs, 6
of the neck, - = 3 2
Breadth of the fore-paw, - - 10
of the hind-foot, - - 83
Circumference of the hind-leg, - 1 10
of the fore-leg, - 1 8
of the snout, before
the eyes, - 1 8
Length of the snout to the occiput, 1 6
Height to the fore-shoulder, - 4
Fore-claws, = - - - 23
Hind-claws, - - - - 12
Tail, - - - - - A

Weightof the animal, after losing thirty pounds of blood,
11314 pounds.

We have-stated that the Polar Bear preys on seals, fish,
and the carcasses of whales; it also preys on birds, and
their eggs, and not unfrequently destroys young whales
and walruses: it is also said to disinter human bodies, and
devour them with great greediness. Occasionally they
break into the huts of the Greenlanders, attracted by the
smell of seal’s flesh, on which these people almost exclu-
sively subsist. Yet we are credibly informed, that, when
theiraccustomed food is to be obtained in sufficient quantity,
they neither show much disposition to attack men, nor
cattle, however accessible these may be.

In the morse or walrus, this bear has an enemy of great
power and fierceness, with which he has at times dread-
ful combats, most generally terminating in the defeat of
the bear, as the walrus is armed with long tusks, capable
of giving deadly wounds. The whale is also a perpetual
enemy of the Polar Bear, chasing him from the waters it
frequents, and killing him by blows with its tail. Not-
withstanding, the bear succeeds in catching and feasting
on many of the young whales.

The dwelling place of the Polar Bear on shore, is by
no means well ascertained, but is most probably in caves,
or in some well concealed situation; it has been stated,
that they reside, during winter, in excavations made in
the permanent ice—but Fabricius, from personal observa-
tion, declares the statement to be incorrect. Certainly
this animal does not often go to any great distance from
the sea, on which he is almost exclusively dependent for
food. Hence the flesh of the Polar Bear is generally
fishy and rank, though it is said to be whitish, and simi-
lar to mutton. Captain Cook’s people always preferred it
to the flesh of the walrus or morse, yet they never con-

219

sidered it a very desirable food, except when none other
was to be obtained. The fat resembles tallow, becoming
as clear as whale-oil after liquefaction, and free from disa-
greeable smell; the oil obtained from the feet has been
used medicinally, but except in fineness, has no qualities
which the oil of other parts does not possess.

One of the most singular facts relative to the Polar Bear
is, that its liver is to a great degree poisonous, a circum-
stance unknown in almost every other animal. Three
of Barent’s sailors were very much injured by eating of
it; and Captain Ross, in his late Arctic voyage, verified
the observation by experiment. The principle which im-
parts this noxious quality to the liver, is as yet undis-
covered; we know of no article of diet used by the animal
to which it can be attributed, and even if we did, this
would notaccount for the deleteriousness of the liver, while
all other parts of the body remain free from any injurious
property.

The skin of the Polar Bear, dressed with the hair on,
forms very substantial mats for carriages, or hall floors.
The Greenlanders sometimes take it off without ripping
up, and inverting the skin, forma very warm sack, which
serves the purpose of a bed, the person getting into it
in order to sleep comfortably. It cannot well be dressed
at any other than the winter season, on account of its great
greasiness when freshly removed from the animal. The
nations residing in the vicinity of Hudson’s Bay dress
it in the following manner: they first stretch it out on a
smooth patch of snow, and stake it down, where it soon
becomes stifly frozen. While in this condition the women
scrape off all the fat till they come to the very roots of
the hair. It is occasionally permitted to remain in that
situation for a considerable time, and when taken up it is
suspended in the open air. When the frost is very in-
tense, it dries most perfectly; with a little more scraping
it becomes entirely dry and supple, both skin and hair
being beautifully white. Notwithstanding that this Bear
is so large and powerful, his skin is both light and
spongy.

The time of the year at which the sexes seek each
other is not positively known, but it is most probably in
the month of July, or of August. Hearne, who is an ex-
cellent authority, relates that he has seen them killed
during this season, when the males exhibited an extreme
degree of attachment to their companions. After a female
was killed, the male placed his fore paws over her, and
allowed himself to be shot rather than relinquish her dead
body.

The pregnant females during winter seek shelter near
the skirt of the woods, where they excavate dens in the
deepest snow-drifts, and remain there in a state of torpid

220

inaction, without food, from the latter part of December
or January till about the end of March’; then they relin-
quish their dens to seek food on the sea-shore, accompa-
nied by their cubs, which are usually two in number. The
size of the cubs is very small; when they first leave the
cave with the mother they are not larger than rabbits;
yet we have seen that the weight of the full grown ani-
mal sometimes exceeds a thousand pounds. Hearne states
that he has seen them not larger than a white fox, and
their foot-prints on the snow not larger than a crown
piece, when the impression of their dam’s foot measured
upwards of fourteen inches long by nine in breadth. This
length and breadth appear excessive, and were probably
rather more than the actual size of the foot itself, as the
impression of the hair projecting over the feet would give an
appearance in the snow which might lead to an incorrect
notion of the size of the animal. The enterprising observer
above mentioned is of opinion that these animals breed
when very young, or at least when half grown, as he has
killed young females ‘not larger than a London calf,”
having milk in their teats; ‘‘whereas one of the full
grown ones are heavier than the largest of our common
oxen. Indeed, I was once at the killing of one, when
one of its hind feet, being cut off at the ancle, weighed
fifty-four pounds.

The female Polar Bear is as rugged in her appearance,
and as savagely ferocious in disposition, as her mate; yet
to her offspring she displays a tenderness of affection
which strongly contrasts with her fierce and sanguinary
temper. When her cubs are exposed, danger has no ex-
istence to her, and nothing but death can compel her to
desist from struggling desperately to defend or save them.
The death of her offspring is with great difficulty acknow-
ledged by the parent; when they are shot by her side the
poor beast solicits their attention by every fond artifice,
and endeavours to awaken them from their unnatural
sleep: she offers them food, licks their wounds, caresses
and moans over them in such a manner as to evince a
degree of feeling which could scarcely be anticipated from
so rude and terrible a quadruped.

Numerous instances of this fondness of attachment have
been observed, and some of them attended with most sin-
gular displays of sagacity on the part of the mother. The
following circumstance is related in Scoresby’s account of
the Arctic Regions, and is entitled to the fullest cre-
dence, because coming from so competent and excellent
an observer:

“A she-bear, with her two cubs, were pursued on the
ice by some of the men, and were so closely approached,
as to alarm the mother for the safety of her offspring.
Finding that they could not advance with the desired

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

speed, she used various artifices to urge them forward,
but without success. Determined to save them, if possi-
ble, she ran to one of the cubs, placed her nose under it,
and threw it forward as far as possible; then going to the
other, she performed the same action, and repeated it
frequently until she had thus conveyed them to a conside-
rable distance. The young bears seemed perfectly con-
scious of their mother’s intention, for as soon as they re-
covered their feet, after being thrown forward, they im-
mediately ran on in the proper direction, and when the
mother came up to renew the effort, the little rogues uni-
formly placed themselves across her path, that they might
receive the full advantage of the force exerted for their
safety.”

The most affecting instance on record of the maternal
affection exhibited by this bear, is related in one of the
Polar Voyages; it conveys so excellent an idea of this
creature’s strong feeling of parental love, that we should
deem the history of the animal imperfect, were such an
illustration omitted.

“Early in the morning, the man at the mast-head gave
notice that three bears were making their way very fast
over the ice, and directing their course towards the ship.
They had probably been invited by the blubber of a sea-
horse, which the men had set on fire, and which was
burning on the ice at the time of their approach, They
proved to be a she-bear and her two cubs; but the cubs
were nearly as large as thedam. They ran eagerly to the
fire, and drew out from the flames part of the flesh of the
sea-horse, which remained unconsumed, and ate it vora-
ciously. The crew from the ship threw great pieces of
the flesh, which they had still left, upon the ice, which
the old bear carried away singly, laid every piece before
her cubs, and dividing them, gave each a share, reserving
but a small portion to herself. As she was carrying away
the last piece, they levelled their muskets at the cubs,
and shot them both dead; and in her retreat, they wound-
ed the dam, but not mortally.

<¢It would have drawn tears of pity from any but un-
feeling minds, to have marked the affectionate concern
manifested by this poor beast, in the last moments of her
expiring young. Though she was sorely wounded, and
could but just crawl to the place where they lay, she
carried the lump of flesh she had fetched away, as she had
done the others before, tore it in pieces, and laid it down
before them; and when she saw they refused to eat, she
laid her paws first upon one, and then upon the other, and
endeavoured to raise them up. All this while it was piteous
to hear her moan. When she found she could not stir
them, she went off; and when at some distance, looked
back and moaned; and that not availing to entice them

AND AMERICAN

away, She returned, and smelling around them, began to
lick their wounds. She went off a second time, as be-
fore; and having crawled a few paces looked again behind
her, and for some time stood moaning. SBut still her
cubs not rising to follow her, she returned to them again,
and with signs of inexpressible fondness, went round first
one and then the other, pawing them, and moaning. Find-
ing at last that they were cold and lifeless, she raised her
head towards the ship, and growled her resentment at the
murderers; which they returned with a volley of musket
balls. She fell between her cubs, and died licking their
wounds.”

The sagacity of the Polar Bear is well known to the
whale fishers, who often find all their ingenuity insnffi-
cient to entrap him, as the following instance may serve to
show. A noose, baited with a piece of ‘‘ kreng,”’ or whale
carcass, was placed at a proper distance from the ship,
which soon attracted the attention of a large bear. In
attempting to secure the bait, the animal by some move-
ment drew the noose, so as to catch him by one of his
fore-paws. Apparently unconcerned by this circum-
stance, and conscious of knowing how to free himself from
restraint, he quietly loosened the slip-knot with the other
paw, and leisurely walked off to enjoy his morsel. The
trap was again baited, and the-bear once more approach-
ed to obtain his favourite food, but, grown wise by expe-
rience, he carefully avoided the rope, and carried off the
bait, to the mortification of the captain, who wished to ob-
tain his skin. The whaler, resolved to baffle the address
of the bear, re-arranged his noose once more, carefully
burying the rope at a considerable depth in the snow: but
his precautions were unavailing; the bear cautiously ex-
amined the vicinity, scented the ground with attention,
detected the situation of the rope, dug it up and threw it
out of his way; then securing his prize, he once more
triumphantly withdrew to enjoy it.*

Captain Scoresby shot a she-bear and took her two cubs
alive, as they did not offer to leave the body of their
mother, and he kept them on board of his ship, until they
were tame enough to be allowed to go about the deck.
On one oceasion a cub, tied by the neck with a long rope,
was allowed to go out of the ship, when he immediately
swam to the ice, and as soon as he attained it, made a vio-
lent effort to break the rope by running at full speed until
he put the rope as suddenly on the stretch as possible.
Failing in his first attempt, he went back far enough to
slacken the cord, and again renewed his race, in order, if
possible, to break it. Conyinced by these experiments,

* See Sccresby’s Arctic Regions, vol. 1, whence several of these
anecdotes are sketched.

Kxkrk

RURAL SPORTS. 221

that it was a hopeless attempt, he lay down, sullenly
growling his vexation. Another artifice resorted to by
this animal was still more singular; passing a chasm or fis-
sure in the ice, about eighteen inches or two feet wide,
and three or four feet deep, the slack, (or bight) of his
rope dropped into it; young Bruin returned, and going
down head foremost into the chasm, he hung by the edges,
holding on with one hind-foot on each side of it, and tried
with both his fore-paws to loosen the rope and slip it off
his head, as if he was aware that in this position he would
be assisted by the weight of the portion which had drop-
ped lower into the cavity. :

The Polar Bear, like the other species of this genus, is
able to live exclusively on vegetable food, as has been re-
peatedly proved by experiment on those brought to
Europe. One which was exhibited in France, ate six
pounds of bread a-day, and was altogether fed with this
substance. It appears that the carnivorous habits of this
animal, are greatly dependent on the circumstances of its
situation, for being placed where vegetation is exceeding-
ly scanty, if it even exists at all, and surrounded by seals,
fish, &c., there can be no choice; notwithstanding, the ani-
mal is provided by nature with proper organs for the mas-
tication and digestion of vegetable food.

The Polar Bear in captivity seems to suffer much from
heat, which renders his confinement very uncomfortable,
as is expressed by his restlessness and roaring. Thisis in
some degree quieted by repeatedly throwing buckets of
cold water over his body, which is always grateful and
refreshing.

As far north as navigators have yet advanced, Polar
Bears have been found, but their numbers evidently dimin-
ish where seals are scarce, while they are very numerous
where seals are found in greatest abundance. Near the
east coast of Greenland they have been seen in large
flocks, at a distance resembling sheep more than beasts of
prey. On the shores of the Arctic Ocean, Spitzbergen,
Greenland, and Nova Zembla, from the river Ob in Sibe-
ria, to themouthsof the Jeneseiand Lena, andin the vicinity
of Hudson’s Bay, they are found in various degrees of
abundance.

The Polar Bear is peculiarly distinguished from other
species of this genus by the length of the body, compared
with its height, by the length of the neck, the smallness
of the external ears, and length of the soles of the feet;
which, according to Cuvier, are one-sixth of the whole
length of the animal. In the fineness and length of its
pelage it also differs materially from the other species.
The forehead and muzzle of the Polar Bear are nearly on
the same line, or flat; while in the European or brown
bear, they are separated by a deep depression. In the

222

black, or American bear, the profile is rather an arched
line, and in the grizzly bear it is slightly convex between
the eyes. The forehead of the Polar Bear is flat; the Euro-
pean bear has it rounded. The Polar Bear has the head
narrow and the muzzle large; the brown bear has the head
large and the muzzle narrow. —Godman’s Nat. Hist.

’

¢ SWALLOWS.

Tue house-swallow, or chimney-swallow, is, undoubt-
edly, the first comer of all the British hirundines; and ap-
pears in general on or about the 13th of April, as I have
remarked from many years’ observation. Not but now
and then a straggler is seen much earlier: and, in particu-
lar, when I was a boy I observed a Swallow for a whole
day together on a sunny warm Shrove Tuesday; which
day could not fall out later than the middle of March, and
often happened earlier in February.

It is worth remarking, that these birds are seen first
about lakes and mill-ponds; and it is also very particular,
that if these early visitors happen to find frost and snow,
as was the case of the two dreadful springs of 1770 and 1771,
they immediately withdraw for a time; a circumstance
this, much more in favour of hiding than migration; since
it is much more probable that a bird should retire to its
Hest just at hand, than return for a week or two
only to warmer latitudes.

The Swallow, though called the chimney-swallow, by
no means builds altogether in chimneys, but often within
barns and out-houses against the rafters; and so she did in
Virgil’s time—

“ Ante
Garrula quam tignis nidos suspendat hirundo.”

In Sweden she builds in barns, and is called Jadu swala,
the barn-swallow. Besides, in the warmer parts of Europe
there are no chimneys to houses, except they are English
built; in these countries she constructs her nests in porches,
and gate-ways, and galleries, and open halls.

Here and there a bird may affect some odd, peculiar
place; as we have known a swallow build down the shaft
of an old well, through which chalk had been formerly
drawn up for the purpose of manure; but, in general, with
us this hirundo breeds in chimneys, and loves to haunt
those stacks where there is a constant fire, no doubt for
the sake of warmth. Not that it can subsist in the imme-
diate shaft where there is a fire, but prefers one adjoin-
ing to that of akitchen, and disregards the perpetual smoke

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

of that funnel, as I have often observed with some degree
of wonder.

Five or six, or more feet down the chimney, does this
little bird begin to form her nest about the middle of May,
which consists, like that of the house-martin, of a crust or
shell composed of dirt or mud, mixed with short pieces
of straw, to render it tough and permanent; with this difler-
ence, that whereas the shell of the martin is nearly hemis-
pheric, that of the Swallow is open at the top, and like
half a deep dish: this nest is lined with fine grasses
and feathers, which are often collected as they float in
the air.

Wonderful is the address which this adroit bird shows
all day long in ascending and descending with security
through so narrow a pass. When hovering over the mouth
of the funnel, the vibrations of her wiiigs acting on the
confined air occasion a rumbling like thunder. It is not
improbable that the dam submits to this inconvenient situa-
tion so low in the shaft, in order to secure her broods from
rapacious birds, and particularly from owls, which fre-
quently fall down chimneys, perhaps in attempting to get
at these nestlings.

The Swallow lays from four to six white eggs, dotted
with red specks, and brings out her first brood about the
last week in June, or the first week in July. The pro-
gressive method by which the young are introduced into
life is very amusing: first, they emerge from the shaft
with difficulty enough, and often fall down into the rooms
below: for a day or so they are fed on the chimney top,
and then are conducted to the dead leafless bough of some
tree, where, sitting in arow, they are attended with great
assiduity, and may then be called perchers. In a day or
two more they become fliers, but are still unable to take
their own food; therefore they play about near the place
where the dams are hawking; and when a mouthful is col-
lected, at a certain signal given, the dam and the nestling
advance, rising towards each other, and meeting at an
angle; the young one all the while uttering such a little
quick note of gratitude and complacency, that a person
must have paid very little regard to the wonders of nature
that has not often remarked this feat.

The dam betakes herself immediately to the business
of a second brood, as soon as she is disengaged from her
first; which at once associates with the first broods of
house-martins; and with them congregates, clustering on
sunny roofs, towers, and trees. This hirundo brings
out her second brood towards the middle and end of
August.

All the summer long is the Swallow a most instructive
pattern of unwearied industry and affection; for, from
morning to night, while there is a family to be support-

AND AMERICAN

ed, she spends the whole day in skimming close to the
ground, and exerting the most sudden turns and quick
evolutions. Avenues, and long walks under hedges, and
pasture-fields, and mown meadows where cattle graze, are
her delight, especially if there are trees interspersed; be-
cause in such spots insects most abound. When a fly is
taken a smart snap from her bill is heard, resembling the
noise at the shutting of a watch-case; but the motion of
the mandibles is too quick for the eye.

The Swallow, probably the male bird, is the excubiter
to house-martins, and other little birds, announcing the
approach of birds of prey. For as soon as a hawk ap-
pears, with a shrill alarming note, he calls all the Swal-
lows and martins about him; who pursue in a body, and
buffet and strike their enemy till they have driven him
from the village, @arting down from above on his back,
and rising in a perpendicular line in perfect security.
This bird also will sound the alarm, and strike at cats
when they climb on the roofs of houses, or otherwise ap-
proach the nests. Each species of hirundo drinks as it
flies along, sipping the surface of the water; but the Swal-
low alone, in general, washes on the wing, by dropping
into a pool for many times together: in very hot weather
house-martins and bank-martins dip and wash a little.

The Swallow is a delicate songster, and in soft sunny
weather sings both perching and flying, on treesin a kind
of concert, and on chimney tops; is also a bold flier, rang-
ing to distant downs and commons even in windy wea-
ther, which the other species seem much to dislike; nay,
even frequenting exposed seaport towns, and making little
excursions over the salt water. Horsemen on wide downs
are often closely attended by a little party of Swallows
for miles together, which plays before and behind them,
sweeping around, and collecting all the skulking insects
that are aroused by the trampling of the horses’ feet.
When the wind blows hard, without this expedient,
they are often forced to settle to pick up their lurking
prey.

This species feeds much on little coleoptera, as well as
on gnats and flies, and often settles on dug grounds, or
paths, for gravels to grind and digest its food. Before
they depart, for some weeks, to a bird they forsake houses
and chimneys, and roost in trees, and usually withdraw
about the beginning of October, though some few strag-
glers may appear on at times till the first week in No-
vember.

Some few pairs haunt the new and open streets of Lon-
don next the fields, but do not enter, like the house-mar-
tin, the close and erowded parts of the city.

Both male and female are distinguished from their con-
geners by the length and forkedness of their tails. They

RURAL SPORTS. 223

are undoubtedly the most nimble of all the species; and
when the male pursues the female in amorous chase, they
then go beyond their usual speed, and exert a rapidity al-
most too quick for the eye to follow.

After this circumstantial detail of the life and discern-
ing Sropyx of the Swallow, I shall add, for your farther
amusement, an anecdote or two, not much in favour of
her sagacity:— a

A certain Swallow built for two years together on the
handles of a pair of garden-shears, that were stuck up
against the boards in an out-house, and therefore must
have her nest spoiled whenever that implement was want-
ed. And, what is stranger still, another bird of the same
species built its nest on the wings and body of an owl that
happened by accident to hang dead and dry from the rafter
ofa barn. This owl, with the nest on its wings, and with
eggs in the nest, was brought as a curiosity worthy the
most elegant private museum in Great Britain. The owner,
struck with the oddity of the sight, furnished the bringer
with a large shell, or conch, desiring him to fix it just
where the owl hung. The person did as he was ordered;
and the following year a pair, probably the same pair,
built their nest in the conch, and laid their eggs.

The owl and the conch made a strange, grotesque ap-
pearance, and are not the least curious specimens in that
wonderful collection of art and nature.*

Thus is instinct in animals, taken the least out of its
way, an undistinguishing, limited faculty, and blind to
every circumstance that does not immediately respect self-
preservation, or lead at once to the propagation or support
of their species. —Nat. Hist. of Selborne.

THE LESSER AMERICAN FLYING SQUIRREL.

Ir would be difficult to find in the entire class of quad-
rupeds a more graceful little creature, or one better fitted
for a lady’s pet, than this elegant animal. Its diminutive
size, the singularity of its form, the expression of its phy-
siognomy, the vivacity of its motions, and the gentleness
of its disposition, all combine to render it one of the most
interesting, as well as the most beautiful, of a beautiful
and interesting tribe.

The group to which this attractive little animal be-
longs are principally distinguished from the common
Squirrels by what is usually termed their flying
membrane. This apparatus consists of a folding of
the skin along either side so as to form broad late-

* Sir Ashton Leyer’s Museum.

224

ral expansions, supported anteriorly and posteriorly by the
limbs between which they are extended, and by peculiar
bony processes arising from the feet. These expansions
are not naked and membranous like those of the bats, but
are actual continuations of the skin clothed externally by
a dense fur similar to that which invests every other part
of the body. Neither do they serve, like the flying mem-
branes of many of the bats, the purposes of wings; their
functions being limited to that of a parachute, giving to
the animal a considerable degree of buoyancy, and thus
enabling it to take leaps of almost incredible extent,
through which it passes with the velocity of an arrow.
The name of Flying Squirrels is consequently founded on
an erroneous assumption; but it may nevertheless be admit-
ted as a metaphorical expression of their most distinguish-
ing peculiarity.

The Flying Squirrels were but little known to the earlier
naturalists. Even down to the time of Linnzus no clear
distinction was made between those of America and the
Polatouche of Siberia and northern Europe. It was Pal-
las who first pointed out with precision the actual differ-
ences between the latter and the more common of the Ame-
rican species, which had been figured by Buffon under
the Polish name in the erroneous idea that it was really
the Polatouche. A third species was indicated by Foster
in a brief notice of a collection made in Hudson’s Bay,
published in the Philosophical Transactions. This has
since been more fully characterized by Dr. Richardson,
who, however, appears to be by no means satisfied of the
correctness of its separation from the species found in the
north of the Old Continent. The same distinguished tra-
veller had himself added a fourth to the list from the val-
leys of the Rocky Mountains; but he has subsequently re-
duced it to the rank of a variety only, and offers a guarded
opinion that both it and the last may, without much vio-
lence, be united to the Polatouche. In that case the Fly-
ing Squirrels of the temperate zone would all be still re-
ferable to the two species originally established by Pallas.
They closely agree in general form with the true Squirrels;
but are of a smaller size, have rounder heads, and larger
and more prominent eyes.

The lesser Flying Squirrel is little more than half as
large as the more northern species, from which it also dif-
fers in many particulars of form, colouring, and habits.
Its tail is longer in proportion, measuring three-fourths of
the length of the head and body; and its head issomewhat
more produced in front. On its upper surface the animal
is of a bright mouse-colour, with a tinge of fawn, which is
entirely wanting in the other species; the under surface is
nearly pure white. The lateral expansions have fawn-
coloured margins, bordering a black band; and with only

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

a slight rounded lobe at their anterior extremity on either
side. The tail is of the same colour as the body, but more
dusky beneath; the eyes are surrounded by broad black
circles; the whiskers are long and black; and the ears rather
large, somewhat pointed at the tips, and nearly naked on
the surface. The length of the head and body never ex-
ceeds five inches.

Like the other Squirrels these animals feed on nuts,
acorns, and young shoots. Of the former they store up
a sufficient quantity for their winter subsistence in their
nests, which are built on trees in a very artificial manner,
and are each capable of containing several individuals.
They seldom stir out during the day, but become lively
and active during the night, foraging in parties of ten or
twelve, and bounding from tree to tree with astonishing
agility. <“*They will fly,”’ says Catesby, ‘<fourscore
yards from one tree to another. They cannot rise in their
flight, nor keep in a horizontal line, but descend gradual-
ly, so that in proportion to the distance the tree they de-
sign to fly to is from them, so much the higher they mount
on the tree they fly from, that they may reach some part
of the tree, even the lowest, rather than fall to the ground,
which exposes them to peril. But having once recover-
ed the trunk of a tree, no animal seems nimble enough to
take them.”’ In captivity they seem to be perfectly happy
and contented, and though shy at first, soon become fami-
liar with those who treat them with kindness.

[Gardens of Zoological Society.

EMIGRATION OF BIRDS.

Amoneést the dispensations of an inscrutable Provi-
dence, the migrations of birds is not the least wonderful,
and must be interesting to the sportsman, as wellas to the
philosopher. While we are perfectly aware of the facts,
we are at a loss to account for the manner in which an ani-
mal apparently incapable of a journey even of an ordinary
length, continues to make its way over an amazing extent
of unfathomable ocean. Perhaps the most extraordinary
part of this mysterious circumstance is, that while those
birds, whose superior powers of wing seem in some de-
gree calculated for these extraordinary flights, are not un-
frequently observed in their passage, there are others, that
appear altogether incapable of flying five miles, which
nevertheless make their way over an extent of ocean, per-
haps of five hundred miles!

That sea fowl, adapted either for flying or swimming,
and whose food is always near, should take long journies,
seems reasonable enough, from their evident powers to

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

accomplish such undertakings; further, it is not alto-
gether so wonderful that swallows should be able to
reach distant countries, because they not only fly
with amazing speed, but are able to continue a great
length of time on the wing; but the case is very different
with a variety of other migratory birds, which are ill-cal-
culated for long flights, which are never seen on their
journey, but which, however, reach their places of des-
tination.

The swallow tribe visits us in spring, and, with their
progeny, quit the country on the approach of winter,
when their food is no longer to be found. That they tra-
verse the ocean is an incontestible fact, as many naviga-
tors have been eye witnesses of their flights, and whose
ships have sometimes afforded them resting places on
their toilsome journey. Yet, there are not wanting wri-
ters, who assert that swallows do not quit this country;
but that they lie concealed, and in a torpid state, during
winter, under water; that the martins hide themselves
during the same period in crevices of rocks, and other
lurking places above ground; that the sand martins re-
main in the holes in which they formed their nests; and
that the swifts continue all winter in their holes in churches
and buildings. It is very probable that some of the later
hatches, not able to undertake the long journey, may
have been found in erevices and holes rather later than
the general migration, but that they must shortly perish
is beyond a doubt: while nothing can be more ridiculous
than to suppose the chimney swallow buries itself beneath
the flood, where it continues for six or seven months!
Such opinions, ushered into the world through the me-
dium of the press, induced the late celebrated Mr. John
Hunter to examine the subject anatomically; and on dis-
secting several swallows, he observed in them nothing
differing from other birds in the organs of respiration; and
concluded, without the least hesitation, that nothing could
be more absurd than to suppose they could remain for a
long time under water.

However, from the very formation and habits of the
swallow tribe, it requires little or no stretch of credulity
to believe them capable of crossing the sea from one coun-
try to another. The woodcock also, it must be admitted,
erosses the ocean: this bird certainly does not appear so
admirably calculated for a long flight as the swallow, yet
it possesses a considerable extent of wing; and though ap-
parently so sluggish when flushed by the sportsman, little
doubt can be entertained that it is sufficiently active and
strong in flight to transport itself to very considerable dis-
tances. The woodcock does not see well in the broad
glare of daylight, and at this period reluctantly takes
wing; but every sportsman must be very well aware how

Lul

225

much more active this bird rises in the dusk of the even-
ing. They cross the sea in the night, as the circumstance
of their frequently striking against light-houses sufficiently
testifies; and in stormy weather, it is very well known,
numbers of them perish in the adventurous journey.

The quail is also a bird of passage, though it is not
easy to imagine how a bird so ill calculated for extensive
locomotion is able to effect those long journies which ap-
pear indispensable to its habits. Quails are not gene-
ral in England; but they visit some parts of it in
the month of April, and leave it in September; and
are supposed to winter in Africa. These birds, like the
woodcock, prefer travelling in the night, and arrive at
Alexandria in immense numbers: such prodigious quanti-
ties have also appeared on the western coast of the king-
dom of Naples, that a hundred thousand have been caught
in one day. In some parts of the south of Russia, they
abound so greatly at the time of their migration, that they
are caught by thousands and sent in casks to Moscow and
St. Petersburgh. We are told, that quails assemble at
the approach of autumn, to cross the Black Sea over to the
southern coast: the order of this emigration is invariable:
towards the end of August, the quails, in a body, choose
one of those fine days, when the wind, blowing from the
north at sunset, promises them a fine night. They take
their departure about seven in the evening, and finish a
journey of fifty leagues by break of day—a wonderful dis-
tance for a short winged bird, which is generally fat too,
and sluggish of flight! Pliny says, quails ballast them-
selves in their sea voyages by carrying stones in their
feet, or sand in their craw! If such an absurdity were
swallowed by the ancient Romans, few will be found
weak enough to believe it at the present day.

Now, we may certainly very readily admit the migra-
tion to other countries of the swallow, the woodcock, and
the quail, from the incontestible authority which has been
already recited; while the passage of various other birds,
possessed of great power of wing, is equally placed beyond
a doubt; but, how are we to account for the very extensive
excursions of those birds, which appear by no means cal-
culated for such undertakings, but whose invariable peri-
odical visits, nevertheless, confirm the fact, though per-
haps the means or the mode by which it is accomplished
will remain for ever perhaps buried beneath impenetrable
obscurity: for instance, how are we to suppose the corn
erake, which flies with the utmost difficulty even for a
few hundred yards, is able to cross an extent of ocean,
which, upon the lowest estimate, must be one hundred
times farther than the utmost efforts of its wing can carry
it in this country?

Scarcity of food, and the want of a convenient situation

226 °

for the breeding and rearing their young, are the predo-
minant causes of the migration of birds. The periods
for these excursions are observed with the most astonish-
ing order and punctuality; which has been illustrated as
well as immortalized by Pope, in the following beautiful
lines: —

Who taught the nations of the field and flood

To shun their poison and to choose their food ?
Prescient, tides or tempests to withstand,
Build on the wave, or arch beneath the sand ?
Who bid the stork, Columbus-like, explore
Heavy’ns not his own, and worlds unknown before ?
Who calls the council, states the certain day,
Who forms the phalanx, and who points the way ?
See then the acting and comparing powers—
One in their nature, which are two in ours ;

And reason raise o’er instinct as you can,

In this ’tis God directs, in that ’tis man.

The secrecy of the departure of birds, as well as the
suddenness of their re-appearance, have involved the sub-
ject of migration in great obscurity. Accustomed to mea-
sure distances by the speed of those animals with which
we are well acquainted, we are apt to overlook the supe-
rior velocity with which birds are carried forward in the
air, and the ease with which the generality of them con-
tinue their exertions for a much longer time than the
strongest quadrupeds are able to effect. Suppose a bird
to fly half a mile a minute* for twenty-four hours, in that
space of time it will have gone over an extent of seven
hundred miles, which is sufficient to account for almost
the longest migration; and, if aided with favourable cur-
rents of air, which, when in their highest flights, from
the appearance of the atmosphere, the clouds, direction
of the winds, and other causes, they can apply by that
instinctive knowledge which regulates their movements,
the journey may be still more speedily performed. Hence
I can very easily conceive it possible for strong-winged
birds, like swallows, to reach vast distances across the
ocean, as well as many others, (the cuckoo for instance, )
whose powers of flight are very great, and yet inferior to
those of the swallow. But, in regard to the corn crake,
the case is different; and the only way in which I can
think it possible for these birds to cross the sea, is by sup-
posing that instinct directs them to the straits and narrow-
est parts, which, with the advantage of a strong current
of air, they may be able to cross.

* And birds in general fly much faster. The flight of a crow is at
least equal to half a mile a minute, or perhaps much more, what then
must be the speed of that variety of the swallow, distinguished by the
name of the swift, which I consider as possessing greater speed than
any other animal in the known world.

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

The stracture of birds is most-wisely and curiously con-
trived to assist their aerial motion; in every part of their
form they are active and buoyant, moulded for lightness,
and shaped for celerity. The bones, according to the ob-
servations of the late celebrated anatomist, Mr. John Hunter,
are hollow and containair, which he imagined might be in-
tended to assist theanimal in the act of flying, by increasing
itsbulk and strength, without adding to its weight. The in-
ternal structure of birds is no less wisely adapted. The
lungs are placed close to the backbone and ribs; the air,
entering into them by a canal from the windpipe, passes
through, and is conveyed into a number of membranous
cells, which lie upon the sides of the pericardium, and
communicate with those of the sternum. In some birds,
these cells are continued down the wings, and extend ,
even to the pinions, thigh bones, and other parts of the
body, which ean be filled and distended with air at the
pleasure of the animal. It seems to be evident that this
general diffusion of air through the bodies of birds is of
infinite use in assisting respiration in the rapidity of their
flights. Were it possible for a man to move with the
swiftness of a swallow, the actual resistance of the air, as
he is not provided with internal reservoirs similar to those
of birds, would soon suffocate him.

The plumage of the bird is admirably adapted to pro-
tect it from the inclemency of the atmosphere through
which it passes. The quills of its feathers are firm, yet
very light; and by the firmness of them it is enabled to
cleave the air with proper force; while, by their lightness,
it elevates itself at pleasure. The feathers are placed ge-
nerally according to their length and strength; so that in
flight the longest and strongest feathers have the greatest
share of duty. Nevertheless, the feathers of the bird
would perpetually imbibe the moisture of the atmos-
phere, and in every impetuous shower would absorb so
much wet, as almost, if not wholly, to impede its flight,
had not the wise economy of nature obviated this by a
most effectual expedient. The animal is furnished with
a gland at the extremity of its body, containing a quan-
tity of unctuous matter, which ean be pressed out with
its bill, and with which it lubricates and anoints its fea-
thers at pleasure. However, as birds that share, as it
were, the habitations of man, and live under cover,
require a more slender supply of this fluid, they are not
provided with so large a stock as those that rove and re-
side in the open elements. On this account, therefore,
domestic poultry are soon affected by wet, a circum-
stance too well known to need further illustration in this
place.

[London Sportsman’s Cabinet.

_——

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

THE GOLDEN PHEASANT.

Or all the species of Pheasants which are met with in
our preserves and in our avaries, the Golden Pheasant is
the rarest and the most beautiful. The male bird, when
in perfect plumage, measures nearly three feet in length,
of which the tail alone forms about two-thirds. The fea-
thers of the fore part of the head are very long,
silky, and of a bright yellow; and considerably over-
hang those of the hinder part, which are of a brilliant
orange, marked with transverse black rays. These last
are elongated and extended backwards over the sides of
the neck, and may be raised or depressed at will. A few
minute hairs are scattered over the cheeks, which are of
a livid complexion. The feathers of the back of the neck
are tinged with a mixture of green and gold, and border-
ed with black: those of the back and the upper tail-coverts
are bright yellow, the latter terminating in a crimson
border. Over the base of each wing is a broad patch of
deep blue passing almost into violet; the wing-coverts and
secondary quill-feathers offer various shades of chesnut
and brown; and the primary quill-feathers are marked
with reddish spots upon a brown ground. The tail-fea-
thers are variegated with chesnut and black, the colours
being disposed in oblique rays upon the lateral quills.
Immediately above the base of the tail the feathers are of
a beautiful scarlet. The throat is of a dusky brown; and
all the rest of the under surface, including the neck, the
breast, and the abdomen, is of a bright scarlet. The iris
is bright yellow, as are also the bill and legs, but with a
somewhat lighter tinge: the latter are furnished with mo-
derate-sized spurs.

In the female, as is usual in this tribe of birds, the co-
lours are infinitely less splendid than those of the male.
The upper parts are of a rusty brown varying in intensity;
the under surface is marked with spots of a deep brown
on a lighter ground; the throat is nearly white; the wings
are transversely barred with black; and the tail, which is
considerably shorter than that of the male, is variegated
like the wings.

These magnificent birds are natives of China; and it
was warmly maintained by Buffon, in accordance with
his theory of the degeneration of animals, that they were
merely a variety of the common Pheasant, which had as-
sumed a more splendid plumage in consequence of the
superior fineness of the climate in which they dwelt. Un-
fortunately for this hypothesis the common Pheasant is
also widely spread throughout the same region, in which
it preserves all the characters by which it is distinguish-
ed in Europe, and never produces in its wild state a mixed
breed with its supposed variety. No naturalist since

227

Buffon has imagined such a transformation possible. In
our menageries a mixed breed is sometimes obtained, but
with the greatest difficulty, and the product is absolutely
incapable of continuing the race. It requires indeed no
small degree of care and attention to procure a breed from
the Golden Pheasants themselves. Much of the difficulty,
as well as much of the tenderness of constitution mani-
fested by these birds, is attributed by M. Temminck to
the close confinement in which thee usually kept, and
to the very precautions which are taken to preserve them
from the effects of cold. He advises that they should be
gradually habituated, like the more common race, to the
large pheasantries in which the latter are preserved, and
doubts not, that as they multiplied under such circum-
stances, they would become more and more hardy, until
at last they would be fully capable of supporting the
cold of our northern winters. The experiment, he tells
us, has already been made in Germany, where they have —
been kept at perfect liberty in an open pheasantry, in
company with the common species, and suffered no greater
inconvenience than the latter from the change of seasons.
[Gardens of the Zoological Society.

ON THE INJURY THE FARMER SUSTAINS
FROM GAME.

Ir is generally considered that game is highly inju-
rious to the farmer; and this idea is thoughtlessly conyert-
ed into a sweeping accusation: looking entirely on the
gloomy side of the question, without once considering
that as good is frequently accompanied by evil, so we
ought duly to weigh the matter in all its bearings, and by
no means pronounce a hasty sentence. Hence as evils are
frequently attended with their own correctives, let us care-
fully examine before we denounce, lest our thoughtless im-
petuosity should precipitate us into irksome and perhaps
irremediable error.

With respect to feathered game, and the pheasant and
partridge in particular, it must be allowed that both these
birds will feed, and feed greedily too, upon most, if not
all kinds of grain, as well as pulse; but they seldom pull
down the ears or the stocks for this purpose: it is true,
those ears of corn, on the exterior edges, which, from the
weather or other causes, hang in a declining posture, and
nearly touch the ground, may be deprived of some of
their grains by these birds, and where the crop is thin and
indifferent, they will run much amongst it, and thus make
worse what is already sufficiently bad; but the injury
which a thick full crop sustains from their depredations is

228

scarcely perceptible, nor are they inclined to run amongst
it from any other motives than as a place of protection
and security:—where the crop, however, happens to be
thin, thus enabling them to run with the greatest facility,
affording them greater safety, by enabling them, in some
degree, to watch the motions of their enemy, they are
scarcely ever from amongst it; here, in fact, they may be
said to revel in luxury and security, and in such cases
alone it is, that stan@ing crops of grain sustain any serious
injury from either pheasants or partridges. After the
grain is cut, these birds feed regularly in the stubbles,
and here they continue to feed while any food is to be
met with. When the wheat is sown, (as by this time the
stubbles are well cleared of the shed corn,) they will feed
upon it, and the pheasants, (the cock in particular,) will
not be content with the grains which may be found lying
on the surface of the ground, but will scratch to find those
which are covered with mould. The partridge does not
appear to scratch the earth, though it will pick up the
wheat on the surface. These are the most serious depre-
dations which these birds commit on the labours of the
husbandman; pheasants would seriously injure a newly
sown field if suffered to pursue their inclinations unmo-
lested; but nothing is more easy than to prevent the mis-
chief which might thus ensue—a boy placed in the field
with a rattle would be quite sufficient for the purpose.
When the fields are covered with snow, or in hard wea-
ther, the pheasant will feed upon acorns, and almost any
kind of berries which the hedges produce; while the par-
tridge seeks the leaves of turnips, and will feed upon what-
ever it meets with of a vegetable complexion. On anim-
partial review of the case, therefore, it is abundantly evi-
dent, that the only injury done to the grain by these
birds is at the period of sowing, particularly the wheat
sowing; for as the other kinds of grain are not sown until
spring, when food for these creatures is every where to
be found in abundance, so at this time they are less to be
dreaded.

Thus having stated the baneful qualities or mischievous
propensities of the pheasant and the partridge, I cannot
in justice pass over their useful habits in silence. I know
it is the practice of some ill-tempered surly farmers, to
complain loudly of the depredations of the birds I have
just mentioned; and while they are venting their spleen
in grumbling and complaint, they seem never to think of
the great benefit they derive from the very creatures
which they denounce as mischievous beyond all compari-
Now, if we take a fair and candid review of the
other side of the question, it will be found that the benefit
which is derived from the pheasant and partridge far out-
weighs any injury which can be sustained from even their

son.

’ THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

worst of depredations. The young of either of these birds
is no sooner excluded from the shell than they are led by
the parent bird to the nearest ant hill, the roots of trees,
or other places where insects are to be met with. In-
sects are sought with unwearied industry, as they consti-
tute the entire food of the young for some time, and when
they afterwards crop the grasses or herbage and begin to
eat grain, they seek grubs, caterpillars, flies, and insects
of all kinds as the most dainty fare, and which indeed
seem indispensable to their existence; thus it frequently
happens, that an ignorant farmer, when he sees these
birds amongst his corn, flies into a passion, and swears
he shall be ruined by them, at the very moment, when,
by clearing his crop from the insects which would other-
wise destroy it, they are rendering him the most essential
service imaginable! It is a well known fact, at least to per-
sons who have paid attention to the subject, that in all
those districts where game is to be found in abundance,
little or no injury is ever sustained by insects.

In this review of the evils and benefits arising from
game, I leave red and black grouse out of the question;
for, although they will both feed upon grain, it is only
when the snow has driven the former from the mountains,
that they have been seen to approach the inclosures, and
in fact the same remark will, in a great degree, apply to
the latter. But, if we examine the habits and propensi-
ties of the hare and the rabbit, perhaps the complaints of
the agriculturist will be found entitled to more considera-
tion, as far at least as regards the latter of these animals.
The hare feeds upon clover, and upon all the milky plants,
as well as upon corn, the ears of which she will bite off
and eat before it is ripe; nevertheless, the depredations,
even where hares are numerous, (at least in summer, )
would be almost imperceptible, were it not for the runs
which they make through the fields of standing corn, by
which mischief cannot fail to ensue. When, however,
they are found in something like reasonable numbers,
even this is scarcely worth notice. In winter, hares are
most to be dreaded; as in severe weather they will not
only do considerable mischief amongst turnips and car-
rots, but irreparable injury to young trees also; though there
are various modes of preventing them from gnawing the
bark, and thus the greatest objection to these animals is
effectually overturned. Further, if hares, and also phea-
sants and partridges, are provided with a little food in
hard weather, their greatest injuries can never extend be-
yond a mere trifle. However, the case is widely different
with the rabbit, which, upon a well cultivated estate, be-
come, in a very short period, incalculably destructive.
The rabbit feeds much in the same manner as the hare,
and in this respect, therefore, he may be supposed on a

j

HIRAM CAAT 8.42 19 RY

XX Td 219A

AND AMERICAN

par; but the injury sustained from the rabbit arises much
more from its habit of scratching and burrowing in the
ground, than from the vegetation which it consumes; and
as its fecundity is surprising, so its depredations become
amazingly multiplied; and it is really astonishing in how
short a time these diminutive animals will riddle, as it
were, a very considerable extent of ground: nor indeed
are they always content with burrows for the purpose of
protection, but wherever rabbits are to be met with, num-
bers of superficial hollows or holes will be found, which,
it might appear, these animals had made merely by the
way of exercise. On every view of the case, therefore,
rabbits should be confined to sand hills and the more bar-
ren grounds, where very little mischief can result from
their habits, and where immense advantage may be de-
rived from their astonishing fecundity.

Finally, I must observe, that having paid particular at-
tention to the subject for some years, I feel a perfect con-
viction that much less injury is sustained from game than
is generally imagined. I never feel the least objection to
any of the tribe except rabbits: pheasants I regard as com-
paratively harmless; the good which results from them
more than counterbalances the evil; and as to partridges,
I should scarcely object to a covey on every acre, so con-
vinced am I of the advantages derived from them, to say
nothing of the increased animation and beauty which they
give to the landscape.—Sportsman’s Cabinet.

SNIPE.
SCOLOPAX GALLINAGO.
[Plate XX. J. Doveuty’s Collection. ]

Tuts bird is well known to our sportsmen; and, if not
the same, has a very near resemblance of the common
Snipe of Europe. It is usually known by the name of
the English Snipe, to distinguish it from the woodcock,
and from several others of the same genus. It arrives in
Pennsylvania about the 10th of March, and remains in the
low grounds for several weeks; the greater part then move
off to the north, and to the higher inland districts to breed.
A few are occasionally found, and consequently breed in
our low marshes during the summer. When they first
arrive, they are usually lean; but when in good order are
accounted excellent eating. They are, perhaps, the most
difficult to shoot of all our birds, as they fly in sudden
zig-zag lines, and very rapidly. Great numbers of these
birds winter in the rice grounds of the southern states,

Mum

RURAL SPORTS. 229
where, in the month of February, they appeared to be
much tamer than they are usually here, as I frequently
observed them running about among the springs and
watery thickets. I was told by the inhabitants, that they
generally disappeared early in the spring. On the 20th
of March I found these birds extremely numerous on the
borders of the ponds near Louisville, Kentucky; and also
in the neighbourhood of Lexington, in the same state, as
late as the 10th of April. -I was told by several people,
that they are abundant in the Illinois country, up as far as
Lake Michigan. They are but seldom seen in Pennsyl-
vania during the summer, but are occasionally met with
in considerable numbers on their return in autumn, along
the whole eastern side of the Alleghany, from the sea to
the mountains. They have the same soaring irregular
flight in the air in gloomy weather as the Snipe of Europe;
the same bleating note, and occasional rapid descent;
spring from the marshes with the like feeble sgweak; and
in every respect resemble the common Snipe of Britain,
except in being about an inch less; and in having sixteen
feathers in the tail instead of fourteen, the number said by
Bewick to be in that of Europe. From these circum-
stances, we must either conclude this to be a different
species, or partially changed by difference of climate; the
former appears to me the more probable opinion of the
two.

These birds abound in the meadows, and low grounds,
along our large rivers, particularly those that border the
Schuylkill and Delaware, from the 10th of March to the
middle of April, and sometimes later, and are eagerly
sought after by many of our gunners. The nature of the
grounds, however, which these birds frequent, the cold-
ness of the season, and peculiar shyness and agility of the
game, render this amusement attractive only to the most
dexterous, active, and eager of our sportsmen.

The Snipe is eleven inches long, and seventeen inches
in extent; the billis more than two inches and a half long,
fluted lengthwise, of a brown colour, and black towards
the tip, where it is very smooth while the bird is alive,
but soon after it is killed becomes dimpled like the end
of a thimble; crown black, divided by an irregular line of
pale brown; another broader one of the same tint passes
over each eye; from the bill to the eye there is a narrow
dusky line; neck, and upper part of the breast, pale brown,
variegated with touches of white and dusky; chin, pale;
back and scapulars deep velvetty black, the latter elegant-
ly marbled with waving lines of ferruginous, and broadly
edged exteriorly with white; wings plain dusky, all the
feathers, as well as those of the coverts, tipt with white;
shoulder of the wing deep dusky brown, exterior quill
edged with white; tail-coverts long, reaching within three-

230

quarters of an inch of the tip, and of a pale rust colour
spotted with black; tail rounded, deep black, ending in a
bar of bright ferruginous, crossed with a narrow waving
line of black, and tipt with whitish; belly pure white;
sides barred with dusky; legs and feet a very pale ashy
green; sometimes the whole thighs, and sides of the vent,
are barred with dusky and white, as in the figure in the
plate.

The female differs in being more obscure in her colours;
the white on the back being less pure, and the black not
so deep. ; WILson.

SCENERY OF THE WEST.

Tue following passages are from Flint’s tale of ¢¢ Fran-
cis Berrian,”’ which, though nominally a work of fiction,
contains many fine delineations of natural scenery, by one
who was fully competent to the task. The description of
the drove of wild horses, and the notice of the manners
of several birds in the beautiful sketch of the Commanches
valley, will not, it is thought, be apart from the objects
of this work.

‘¢ We closed our arrangements at Natchitoches, the last
village in Louisiana, towards the Spanish frontier. I had
occasion to experiment the truth of the remark, that in
travelling towards the frontier, the decreasing scale of
civilization and improvement exhibits an accurate illustra-
tion of inverted history. Improvements decrease in the
order of distance, as they have increased in the order of
time. We travelled down six centuries in as many days.
First, we lost sight of handsome and commodious houses,
residences of builders, who often saw good models. We
gradually lost sight of the mansions of the opulent cotton-
planters, who are noted for their hospitality. We lost
sight of men dressed in articles of imported fabric. Then
we traversed the belt of vachers and shepherds, with their
blanket-capotes and their comfortable, but rustic log esta-
blishments. Then we traversed the regions of the half
savage white inhabitants, the intermediate race between
savage and civilized man. On the Kiamesia we passed
the American garrison, and saw the cheering sight of the
spirit-stirring stars and stripes, waving above the rude
fortressand the comfortable quarters, three hundred leagues
from the compact population of the country. We joined
to admire the genius of acountry yet so young, and which
has thus early learned to stretch her maternal arms to
these remote deserts, in token of efficient protection

to the frontier people from the terrors of the ruthless
savages.

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

“It was not far from this garrison that my eye dilated,
and my heart expanded, as we opened upon one of those
boundless grassy plains that stretch beyond the horizon,
and almost beyond the imagination. Such a view presents
to me the image of infinitude and eternity still more strong-
ly, than a distant view of the ocean. We entered with
the rising sun. One part of the disk of that glorious orb
seemed to touch the verdure, and the other the sky. Here
we met a company of Spanish muleteers descending with
a drove of horses and mules to Louisiana. They were a
new and striking variety of the species. They inhabit an
arid soil, a dry climate, elevated table land, a plain, which
is ventilated in its southern extremity by the unchange-
able gales of the tropical sea, and on the north by breezes
brought down from snow-capped mountains. They sub-
sist on flesh and milk, and unfortunately of late, from
their connexion with our country, they have added whis-
key to their beverage. They almost live on horseback.
The training and managing of horses and mules, and the
noosing of them and of cattle by throwing the noosed
rope, at which they acquire an incredible dexterity, con-
stitute their employment. They are simple and timid,
and seem less capable of combination of thought than the
savages. Theirmostdefinite directionsof placesto us were
towards the rising or the setting sun; and their most accurate
measures of distance were grande distancia, or poca dis-
tancia, a great or a little distance. They have a peculiar
physiognomy, repulsive at first sight, but on closer inspec-
tion amiable. I found them in fact, in the general, an ex-
tremely affectionate and amiable people. They are dress-
ed in the tanned skins of their cattle and game, and their
costume differs considerably in appearance from that of
their neighbours, the French and the savages. For boots
they wear a kind of leather leggings, which they cal
‘¢ buccarees,’’ with huge silver spurs. They have a sin-
gular-shaped wooden saddle, covered with some kind of
skins, with a circular and painted elevation of wood in
front, and very large wooden stirrups. The hat is of great
weight, and tapers in the crown like the apex of a cone.
About the horse’s neck they carry a great length of coil-
ed rope of buffalo’s hair, ready for the operation of noosing
any animal that shall come in their way. They have also
appended to the horse’s neck a gourd or bottle, ready to
drop into the stream or branch, through the channel of
which they may pass, and dip up their water for drink-
ing. When the carabine and spear are added to these
equipments, and laid across the saddle at right angles to
the horse’s path, the rider, the horse, and the furnishing,
taken together, afford a most uncouth and ludicrous
figure.

‘¢ On these level plains some of my dreams of the plea-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

sures of wandering were realized. We were all in the
morning of life, full of health and spirits, on horseback,
and breathing a most salubrious air, with a boundless hori-
zon open before us; and shaping our future fortune and
success in the elastic mould of youthful hope and imagina-
tion, we could hardly be other than happy. Sometimes
we saw, scouring away from our path, horses, asses, mules,
buffaloes, and wolves, in countless multitudes, and we
took, almost with too much ease to give pleasure in the
ehase, whatever we needed for luxurious subsistence. The
passage of creeks and brooks across the prairies is mark-
ed, to the utmost extent of vision, by a fringe of wood and
countless flowering shrubs. Sometimes we ascended an
elevation of some height, swelling gently from the plain.
Here the eye traces, as on an immense map, the formation
and gradual enlargement of these rivulets, and sees them
curving their meandering lines to a point of union with
another of the same kind. The broadened fringe of wood
indicates the enlargement of the stream, and the eye takes
in at one glance the gradual formation of rivers. The
night brought us up on the edge of one of these streams.
Our beasts are turned loose to stretch themselves on the
short and tender grass, to feed and repose. The riders
collect round a fire in the centre. Supper is prepared
with bread, coffee, and the tenderest parts of the buffalo,
venison, and othergame. The appetite, sharpened by ex-
ercise on horseback, and by the salubrious air, is devour-
ing. The story circulates. Past adventures are recount-
ed, and if they receive something of the colouring of ro-
mance, it may be traced to feelings that grow out of the
occasion. The projects and the mode of journeying on
the morrow are discussed and settled. The fire flickers
in the midst. The wild horses neigh, and the prairie
wolveshowl, in the distance. Except the weather threatens
storm, the tents are not pitched. The temperature of the
night air is both salutary and delightful. The blankets
are spread upon the tender grass, and under a canopy of
the softest blue, decked with all the visible lights of the
sky. The party sink to a repose, which the exercise of
the preceding day renders as unbroken and dreamless, as
that ofa grave. J awoke more than once unconscious that
a moment had elapsed, between the time of my lying
down and my rising.

“The day before we came in view of the Rocky Moun-
tains, I saw in the greatest perfection that impressive, and,
to me, almost sublime spectacle, an immense drove of
wild horses, for a long time hovering round our path
across the prairie. I had often seen great numbers of them
before, mixed with other animals, apparently quiet, and
grazing like the rest. Here there were thousands un-
mixed, unemployed; their motions, if such a comparison

231

might be allowed, as darting and as wild as those of hum-

ming-birds on the flowers. The tremendous snorts with

which the front columns of the phalanx made known
their approach to us, seemed to be their wild and ener-
getic way of expressing their pity and disdain for the ser-
vile lot of our horses, of which they appeared to be taking
asurvey. They were of all colours, mixed, spotted, and
diversified with every hue, from the brightest white to
clear and shining black; and of every form and structure,

from the long and slender racer, to those of firmer limbs
and heavier mould; and of all ages, from the curvetting
colt to the range of patriarchal steeds, drawn up in aline,
and holding their high heads for a survey of us, in the
rear. Sometimes they curved their necks, and made no
more progress than just enough to keep pace with our ad-
vance. Then there was a kind of slow and walking
minuet, in which they performed various evolutions with
the precision of the figures of a country dance. Then a
rapid movement shifted the front to the rear. But still,
in all their evolutions and movements, like the flight of
sea-fowl, their lines were regular, and free from all indi-
cations of confusion. At times a spontaneous and sudden
movement towards us, almost inspired the apprehension
of an united attack upon us. After a moment’s advance,
a snort and a rapid retrograde movement seemed to testify
their proud estimate of their wild independence. The in-
finite variety of their rapid movements, their tamperings,
and manceuvres, were of such a wild and almost terrific
character, that it required but a moderate stretch of fancy
to suppose them the genii of these grassy plains. At one
period they were formed for an immense depth in front
of us. A wheel, executed almost with the rapidity of
thought, presented them hovering on our flanks. Then,
again, the cloud of dust that enveloped their movements,
cleared away, and presented them in our rear. They evi-
dently operated as a great annoyance to the horses and
mules of our cavalcade. The frighted movements, the in-
creased indications of fatigue, sufficiently evidenced, with
their frequent neighings, what unpleasant neighbours they
considered their wild compatriots to be. So much did our
horses appear to suffer from fatigue and terror in conse-
quence of their vicinity, that we were thinking of some
way in which to drive them off; when on a sudden a pa-
tient and laborious donkey of the establishment, who ap-
peared to have regarded all their movements with philo-
sophie indifference, pricked up his long ears, and gave a

loudand mostsonorousbray from hisvocal shells. Instantly

this prodigious multitude, and there were thousands of
them, took what the Spanish call the ‘‘stompado.”” With

a trampling like the noise of thunder, or still more like

that of an earthquake, a noise that was absolutely appal-

232

ling, they took to their heels, and were all in a few mo-
ments invisible in the verdant depths of the plains, and we
saw them no more.

«¢ Tt was in the first opening of spring, after a slow and
easy journey of five weeks from Natchitoches, that we
arrived at last in view of that immense chain of moun-
tains, commonly denominated ‘the Rocky Mountains,”
at the point where the Arkansas finds its way from among
them to the plain. No time will erase from my mind the
impressions of awe and grandeur, excited by the distant
view and the gradual approach to this sublime chain of moun-
tains. We had been prepared for this impression by an
approach of two hundred leagues, through a level plain of
short and soft grass, seldom able to discover in our whole
horizon, a tree, a shrub, an eminence, or any other object
but herds of animals, to diversify the scene.”

<¢T arose early in the morning to make the circuit of
this lovely vale. At the extremity of the village, the
torrent, whose sources were in the mountains, poured
down, from a prodigious elevation, a white and perpen-
dicular cascade, which seemed a sheet suspended in the
air. It falls into a circular basin, paved with blue lime-
stone of some rods in circuit. The dash near at hand has
a startling effect upon the ear. But at a little distance, it
is just the murmur to inspire repose, and it spreads a deli-
cious coolness all around the place. From the basin the
stream seems to partake of the repose of the valley; for it
broadens into a transparent and quiet water, whose banks
are fringed with pawpaw, persimon, laurel, and catalpa
shrubs and trees, interlaced with vines, under which the
green carpet is rendered gay with flowers of every scent
and hue. The soil is black, tender and exuberantly fer-
tile. The coolness of the vale and the shade, together
with the irrigation of the stream, cover the whole valley
with a vivid verdure. The beautiful red-bird with its
crimson-tufted crest, and the nightingale sparrow, pouring
from a body scarcely larger than an acorn, a continued
stream of sound, a prolonged, plaintive, and sweetly mo-
dulated harmony, that might be heard at the distance of
half a mile, had commenced their morning voluntary.
The mocking-bird, the buffoon of songsters, was parody-
ing the songs of all the rest. Its short and jerking notes,
at times, imitated bursts of laughter. Sometimes, laying
aside its habitual levity, it shows, that it knows the notes
of seriousness, and trills a sweetly melancholy strain.
Above the summits of these frowning mountains, that
mortal foot had never yet trodden, soared the mountain
eagle, drinking the sunbeam in the pride of his native in-
dependence. Other birds of prey, apparently poised on
their wings, swam slowly round in easy curves, and seem-

a

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

ed to look with delight upon the green spot embosomed

in the mountains. They sailed back and forwards, as
though they could not tire of the view. The sun, which
had burnished all the tops of the mountains with gold, and
here and there glistened on banks of snow, would not
shine into the valley, until he had almost gained his me-
ridian height. The natives, fleet as the deer when on ex-
peditions abroad, and at home lazy and yawning, were
just issuing from their cabins, and stretching their limbs
supinely in the cool of the morning. The smoke of their
cabin fires had begun to undulate and whiten in horizon-
tal pillars athwart the valley. The distant roar of the cas-
cade, like the gong in Chinese music, seemed to mingle
and harmonize all other sounds in the valley. It was a
charming assemblage of strong contrasts, rocky and inac-
cessible mountains, the deep and incessant roar of the
stream, a valley that seemed to sleep between these im-
pregnable ramparts of nature, a little region of landscape
surrounded by black and ragged cliffs, on every side dot-
ted thick with brilliant and beautiful vegetation, and fra-
grant with hundreds of acacias and catalpas in full flower,
a spot sequestered like a lonely isle in the midst of the
ocean; in the midst of it a busy, simple, and undescribed
people, whose forefathers had been born and had died here
for uncounted generations: a people, who could record
wars, loves, and all the changes of fortune, if they had
had their historian. Such was the valley of the Comman-
ches.””

DEER HUNTING IN SOUTH CAROLINA.

Our Deer hunting commences on the 1st of August,
and usually terminates about the 1st of November, when
we commence fox hunting. Our party, generally, con-
sists of that veteran and accomplished sportsman, Major
lt: , Captain B. F. T- ; Messrs. J. R J. W. é
and Colonel H ; and our pack, of ten couple of first
rate dogs. Having but few Deer on our side of the river,
we usually hunt eight or ten miles on the other side.
Various causes delayed our sport this season until the 12th
of September, on which day our party rendezvoused at
Platt’s Springs. In the afternoon of the same day, three
couple of stanch dogs were thrown into cover at Muller’s
Drive. The sonorous tongue of Kate, and the deep
challenge of old Clinker, soon announced the presence of
game.

After an intricate drag of more than a mile, a burst,
and then the clear, loud, and protracted halloo, from our
driver, indicated that the game had been roused, and was
taking the proper direction. In breaking from cover, the

rv

-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 238

game, (a doe and fawn,) separated. The former attempt-
ed to pass the stand occupied by Mr. R., and presented
herself within thirty yards of him. He fired one barrel,
and, (wonderful to relate,) missed her. Making thence
to the stand filled by Colonel H., she rushed out at too
great a distance, (at least one hundred yards,) to render
his shot certain; but near enough to draw one barrel from
him also. The fawn, followed by a part of the pack, pass-
ed out of the drive, at a point unoccupied; but too near
our veteran, Major T., to have any chance of escape.
Hastily mounting old Billy, into whose sides he dashed
the rowels, he headed the pack and killed the fawn.

As we occupied an untenanted house, and had brought
our own supplies, the fawn afforded a very seasonable
addition to our larder; and in the hands of our scientific
cook, Paul, was served up in magnificent style. Thenext
morning, at sunrise, having been joined by Colonel A.
and Mr. M., the whole pack were uncoupled, and thrown
off at the Big Marsh. Deep in the swamp, old Clinker
again challenges, and the whole pack rush to his well
known tongue; a short drag, and then, what a tremendous
burst! A large buck was viewed at Hart’s stand; but,
smelling the stander, he dashed into the swamp, where,
making one or two circles, he broke across the creek,
eluding all the party.

In about an hour our boys returned with all the dogs,
having succeeded in whipping them off. They were then
thrown into Red Bank, where two or three starts were
made; but no shootinguntil we reached Rocky Ford, where
a fine doe was killed by Colonel H. Returning to din-
ner, each faux pas was dwelt upon; and the unfortunate
subjects that committed them were reprimanded by our
veteran in the true spirit of a practised sportsman. The
merits of each dog was commented upon over our venison
pastry, with its concomitants; which you may more easily
imaginethanI describe. After ‘cooling off,”’ weagainturn-
ed out, up the Big Creek. Five Deer were soon roused,
one of which was shot by Mr. B., and another by Mr. M.;
but the principal part of the dogs following the remaining
three to the hills, we pursued until dusk, but were unable
to shoot again. The next morning, having as much veni-
son as we could dispose of amongst our friends, we re-
turned home.

Our last hunt occurred about three weeks since. Having
been invited to join some friends, in the neighbourhood
of Lexington court-house, to hunt “a tremendous buck,”’
who had frequently eluded their pursuit, we all assem-
bled at the house of Mr. D. Early the next morning the
party divided, to flank Twelve Mile Creek, leaving the
big buck for the afternoon. So soon as the light blast of
our horn was answered by the opposite party, our dogs

Nwno

were uncoupled and thrown into cover—Blue Cap chal-
lenged. Two bucks speedily broke cover, for the hills.
Being hard pressed by the dogs, they doubled for the mill
pond. Soon after they separated, the whole pack adher-
ing to the larger, (a four snagged buck,) who was headed
and killed by Colonel H. After a short delay, the dogs
were thrown off againin the swamp. A doe soon roused,
and, in breaking cover, was killed by Mr. D., our worthy
host. The party now formed a junction, and found that
Mr. B. F. T. and Mr. W. had killed another fine buck,
which they had caught sneaking from cover. Returning
to Mr. D.’s, we were, after dinner, prevailed on, (‘‘ no-
thing loth,’”’) to make one more drive for the “big one.”
Mr. F., (an amateur,) volunteered to drive; and, aided
by Mr. D. and the boys, the dogs were turned into cover,
close to our rendezvous. At it they went, in gallant
style; Clinker, Blue Cap, Jasper, Ebony, and Boxer, soon
challenged—a short drag was the prelude of a tremen-
dous crash. The old fellow attempted his old tricks of
doubling like a fox, and effectually deceived Mr. F., who
raised the view halloo; but, being cautioned by Mr. D. to
stand fast, we all remained at our posts, whilst the whole
pack settled down upon him, close at his haunches. Ina
short time Mr. F. discovered his mistake, by viewing the
“old Monarch,” accompanied by another buck. He fired
from a restive horse—hit the old one with a single shot
in the thigh. The Deer then separated. The principal
part of the pack, after the wounded one, making directly
to Mr. D., who shot at, but missed him. He then
turned to Mr. R.’s stand, who, with one barrel, sealed his
fate.

Boxer, Buncomb, Ebony, and Sting, pursued the other
buck; and, in less than an hour and a half, ran into him
at a mill pond, where he was taken from them by the
miller, having never been fired at. Thus closed this
brilliant hunt, Alling every Deer unharboured; and the
highest encomiums were elicited from ‘our veteran,”’
who was almost tempted to challenge, to hunt his party
and their dogs against the universe.

[American Turf Register.

THE MELON.

Tue Melon is the richest and most highly flavoured
of all the fleshy fruits. It is often said to be a native of
the central parts of Asia, and to have been first brought
into Europe from Persia; but the date of its first culture
is so remote, that there is no certain knowledge on the
subject. Pliny and Columella describe the fondness of

234

the Emperor Tiberius for Melons, and detail the contri-
vances by which they were procured for him at all seasons.
Stoves appear to have been used in this process; so that
forcing-houses were not unknown to the Romans. The
Melon has certainly been generally cultivated in England
since about the middle of the sixteenth century; how much
earlier is not known. It is highly probable that those
ecclesiastics who paid such attention to the other fruits
grown in Italy and France, would not neglect one so de-
licious as the Melon; and it is distinetly said by a writer
on British Topography, Gough, that the cultivation of the
Melon in England preceded the wars of York and Lan-
caster, but that it was destroyed in the times of civil
trouble that succeeded. It is probable, however, that the
Melon was confounded with the pumpkin by the earlier
writers whom Gough consulted. While in France, and
in England, Melons are grown as an article of luxury, in
some parts of the east they are used as a chief necessary
of life. Niebuhr, the celebrated traveller, says, ‘¢Of
pumpkins and Melons, several sorts grow naturally in the
woods, and serve for feeding camels; but the proper
Melons are planted in the fields, where a great variety
of them is to be found, and in such abundance, that the
Arabians of all ranks use them, for some part of the year,
as their principal article of food. They afford a very
agreeable liquor. When its fruit is nearly ripe, a hole is
pierced into the pulp; this hole is then stopped with wax,
and the Melon left upon the stalk. Within a few days the
pulp is, in consequence of this process, converted into a
delicious liquor.’? Mr. Southey has alluded to this cir-
cumstance in the following passage:—

“ Whither is gone the boy ?

He had pierced the Melon’s pulp,
And clothed with wax the wound;
And he had duly gone at morn
And watched its ripening rind ;
And now all joyfully he brings
The treasure, now matured.”’*

Although the Melon is a very delicious fruit, it is not
one of the most wholesome; more especially in cold cli-
mates, where, if eaten in any considerable quantity, it is

_apt to derange the stomach, unless corrected by warm and
stimulating ingredients; and the same remark may be ap-
plied to the cucumber.

Small Melons are, when equally ripe, more highly fla-
youred than large ones. In general, however, the fruit
is chosen as much for show as for use, and thus the large
ones are preferred. Indeed, in almost all the cultivated

* Thalaba, book ii.

“i ,

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

fruits and vegetables, quality is very apt to be sacrificed
to appearance; as in the markets the articles are bought
by the judgment of the eye, and not by that of the palate.
To obtain the large size, a ranker manuring, and higher
culture, must be resorted to than are altogether consist-
ent with the natural development of the juices of the
plant.

Of the Melon there are many varieties, and the number
of them is constantly increasing. The Cantaloupe is one
of the best. It obtains its name from a seat belonging to
the Pope, not far from Rome, where it was probably first
cultivated in Europe, and whence it has spread into most
countries. The Cantaloupe is of a middling size, nearly
round in form, and remarkably rough and irregular in the
surface. The colours, both of the surface and the flesh,
vary—the former from orange mottled with green, to
green mottled with black; and the latter from white, or
nearly so, to orange tinged with rose colour. The flesh
of some varieties is greenish, but these are inferior to the
others. When Melons of this sort are equally ripened, it
may be considered as a general rule, that those which are
darkest on the outside, most richly tinted in the flesh,
and of a moderate size, have the most high and musky
flavour.

There is also a small African or Egyptian Melon, the
flesh of which is green, of particular excellence. Frederick
the Great was passionately fond of these Melons; and
Zimmerman, who attended him in his last illness, finding
him very ill from indigestion, discovered that he ate three
or four of them daily for breakfast. On remonstrating with
the king, the only answer that the physician could get was,
that the king would send him some of the fruit to taste the
next day—as if its excellence would be a sufficient apo-
logy for the habitual indiscretion.*

The Romana is also a fine Melon; and it ripens earlier
than the Cantaloupe. The surface is often netted. It is
of an oval shape, highly flavoured, and when good, very
heavy and solid.

The Salonica, which has been but recently introduced
into this country, is a beautiful Melon. It is spherical,
smooth, and of a fine golden colour. The flesh is white,
very sweet, and in consistency resembling the Water-
Melon. The Salonieca preserves its qualities, though it is
very large; and with good culture specimens may be had
weighing seven or eight pounds.

The small Portugal is a very early and productive
Melon, but not remarkable for flavour. The Rock-Melons
are thickly set with knobs; they are of various colours,
and some of them of very fine flavour. The oblong ribbed

* Zimmerman’s Conversations with the King of Prussia.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

is marked into segments from the root to the crown; it is
very productive; and the flavour isso high, that it is some-
times called, by way of eminence, the Musk-Melon.

The Melons of Persia have long borne a high charac-
ter. ‘* Persia,’ says Malte Brun, writing after Chardin,
Olivier, and Langles, “is consoled for the occasional fail-
ure of her grain crop, by the fineness of her fruits. There
are twenty sorts of Melons—the finest in Khorassan. In
Persia, this fruit is extremely succulent, and contributes
greatly to health: they are sometimes so large that three
or four are a full load for a man.”

The Persian Melons are extremely rich and sweet; and
instead of the thick rind of the common Melons, they have
a very thin and delicate skin, which makes a fruit of the
same apparent size contain nearly twice as much edible
matter. In addition to this, the Melons are beautiful, and
they bear abundantly; and in the warm climate of Persia,
the only attention which they ask from the cultivator, is
to be regularly watered.—Lib. Ent. Know.

ANECDOTE OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.

From a child I had “‘a passion” for the very name of
a Newfoundland Dog. Their beauty and their strength,
fidelity and sagacity, had been deeply impressed upon my
imagination by many a story and surprising anecdote; and
my determination to have one some day was kept alive
by occasional glimpses of these beautiful animals in the
streets of the city. Many were the obstacles to prevent
my wish; but at length, in spite of dog laws and other
difficulties, I could call a Newfoundland Dog my own.
Poor fellow! that thy noble spirit should pine, and thy
fine form be “ cabined, cribbed, confined,” in a little yard
of eight by ten! But no matter—a smaller limit is enclo-
sure ample for thee now! Peace to thy unmarked grave.
My time was too much occupied with business to devote
to the (doubtful) pleasure of properly educating my canine
jewel, and he therefore improved but slowly in my keep-
ing. He wasa substantial six months’ old pup when I got
him, had been brought up in the country, and answered
to a name that did not answer me; so I christened him
anew, with something more poetical, though, I confess,
that for a long time, (except when the sound of the new
name was accompanied by the display of a piece of meat, )
his ear was so unmusical as to prefer his old and homely
name. I taught him to fetch and carry, and to seek what-
ever was intentionally hid for him; he showed some genius
for discovery, but I have nothing wonderful to relate about
him on this score.

As soon as the mild weather would

235

allow us to call it spring, I took him with me to the Schuy!-
kill, anxious for a display of his aquatic exercises. I threw
in chips, but though he would bring them from the shore,
none looked tempting enough to lure him into the water.
I suppose his country habitation must have been entirely
inland, and this was, I suppose, his first view of, as I had
hoped, his other native element. But I was determined,
in spite of his antipathy, that he should swim; so, after all
manner of persuasion was exhausted, I used coercion,
struggled and wrestled, and, solid as he was, turned him
into the liquid fairly off the wharf! But such a swimmer!
he did not move like a master of the element; no, if it had
been flame he could not have struggled more earnestly or
awkwardly to escape from it. So piteous a face, and nose
directly up, and fore-feet out of water, paddling away for
dear life! But at length he worked his passage to the
shore, and bounded off, determined to avoid another bath
for that day. And, indeed, whenever I afterward attempt-
ed it, I had to secure him before we approached the water,
and drag and carry him when it came in view. One day,
after one of his unwilling immersions, he was frolicking
round me at a respectful distance, as I was lying on the
bank of the basin at Chesnut street and Schuylkill, when
a gentleman approached with a Dog of the same species,
threw a chip into the water, which was immediately
plunged for by his Dog, who brought it out and returned,
swimming round, delighting in the water. The moment
my Dog observed him, he left his gambols and approach-
ed, regarding the movements of the Dog in the water in-
tently, during the time he remained. _ As soon as he left,
he walked round to the side of the basin opposite to me,
and deliberately, of his own accord, plunged in and swam
round confidently and gracefully, nothing but his head
above the water, and his chops resting on it. He had
taken one good lesson in swimming by the observation of
his fellow, and immediately put it in practice; and he
always swam in the same manner afterward. H.

PRESERVATION OF IRON FROM RUST.

A mastic or covering for this purpose, proposed by M.
Zeni, and sanctioned by the Societe d’Encouragement, is
as follows: eighty parts of pounded brick, passed through
a silk sieve, are mixed with twenty parts of litharge; the
whole is then rubbed up by the muller with linseed oil, so
as to form a thick paint, which may be diluted with spirits
of turpentine; before it is applied the iron should be well
cleaned.

From an experience of two years, upon locks exposed

236 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

to the air, and watered daily with salt water, after being
covered with two coats of this mastic, the good effects of
it have been thoroughly proved.

[Bull. d@ Encour. Jan. 1830.

From the Library of Useful Knowledge.

THE VICES AND DISAGREEABLE OR DAN-
GEROUS HABITS OF THE HORSE.

SOUND THE HORN.
A Hunting Carol.
By C. W. Tuomson.

Sound the horn—sound the horn,
O merrily dawns the day,
The birds awake with the rosy morn,
To the chase—to the chase away.
Hark from the hill, the bugle is swelling,
Hark from their kennel, the hounds are yelling,
The steeds are neighing aloud from their stall,
Awake, arise ere the sunbeams fall.
Mount, mount, thro’ forest, o’er vale and hill,
Follow the sound of the bugle still,
Follow, follow still.
Ere yet from the mountain has gleamed the day,
To the chase—to the chase away.

Sound the horn—sound the horn,

O gaily the hunters meet,

Each on his prancing courser borne,

For the chase—for the chase they greet ;
Come, for the morning is on the mountain,
Come, for the deer is at the fountain,

The mists are melting away in the air,

There’s not a moment of day to spare.

On—on—the stag must yet be slain,

Strike the spur and slacken the rein,
Slacken the courser’s rein—

The notes of the bugle unceasingly play,
To the chase—to the chase away.

Sound the horn—sound the horn,
O swiftly flies the deer,
Torrent and steep alike they scorn,
For the prize—for the prize is near.
See, the strength of the stag is waning,
See, the hounds on his track are gaining ;
Swiftly he flies thro’ valley and wood,
By horse, and huntsman, and horn pursued.
Speed—speed—ere noon has seen the sun,
The prey must be caught—the game be won—
The noble game be won.
Then heed not the river, and spurn the spray,
To the chase—to the chase away.

(Continued from page 216.)
KICKING IN HARNESS.

A much more serious vice is kicking in harness. From
the least annoyance about the rump or quarters, some
Horses will kick at the most violent rate, and destroy the
bottom of the chaise, and endanger the limbs of the driver.
Those that are fidgetty in the stable are most apt to do this.
If the reins should perchance get under the tail, the vio-
lence of the kicker will be most outrageous; and while
the animal presses down his tail so tightly that it is almost
impossible to extricate the reins, he continues to plunge
until he has demolished every thing behind him.

This is a vice standing foremost in point of danger, and
which no treatment will often conquer. It will be alto-
gether in vain to try coercion here. If the shafts are very
strong and without flaw, or if they are plated with iron
underneath, and a stout kicking strap used, which will
barely allow the Horse the proper use of his hind limbs
in progression, but not permit him to raise them suffi-
ciently for the purpose of kicking, he may be prevented
from doing mischief; or if he is harnessed to a heavy
cart, and thus confined, his efforts to lash out will be re-
strained: but it is a very unpleasant thing frequently to
witness these attempts, although ineffectual, to demolish
the vehicle; and the shafts or the kicking strap may possi-
bly break, and extreme danger may ensue. A Horse
that has once begun to kick, whatever may have been the
original cause of it, can never be depended on again; and
he will be very unwise who ventures behind him.

UNSTEADINESS WHILST BEING MOUNTED.

When this merely amounts to eagerness to start, (very un-
pleasant, indeed, at times, for many a rider has been
thrown from his seat before he was fairly fixed in it,) it
may be remedied by an active and good horseman. We
have known many instances in which, while the elderly,
and inactive, and fearful man, has been making more than
one ineffectual attempt to vault into the saddle, the Horse
has been dancing about to his annoyance and danger; but
the animal had no sooner been transferred to the manage-
ment of a younger and more agile rider, than he became
perfectly subdued. Severity will here, more decidedly
than in any other case, do harm. The rider should be

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

fearless; he should carelessly and confidently approach the
Horse, mount at the first effort, and then restrain him for
a while patting him, and not suffering him to proceed until
he becomes perfectly quiet. These Horses should not
be too highly fed, and should daily have sufficient exer-
cise.

When the difficulty of mounting arises not from eager-
ness to start, but unwillingness to be ridden, the sooner
such Horse is disposed of the better. He may be con-
quered by a determined rider, but a skilful and determin-
ed horseman alone will manage him; and even he will not
succeed without frequent and even dangerous contests
that will mar all the pleasure of the ride.

REARING.

This sometimes results from playfulness, carried indeed
to an unpleasant and dangerous extent; but it is oftener a
vice, and is a desperate and frequently successful effort to
unhorse the rider. The Horse that has twice decidedly
and dangerously reared, should never be trusted again,
unless indeed it be the fault of the rider—unless he has been
using a deep curb and sharp bit. Some of the best Horses
will contend against these, and then rearing may be im-
mediately and permanently cured by using a snafile bridle
alone.

The horse-breaker’s remedy, that of pulling the Horse
backward ona soft piece of ground, is worthy of him, and
would be practised only by reckless and brutal men.
Many Horses have been injured in the spine, and others
have broken their necks, by being thus suddenly brought
over; while even the horse-breaker, who fears no danger,
is not always able to extricate himself from the falling
Horse. If rearing proceeds from vice, and is unprovoked
by the bruising and laceration of the mouth, it fully par-
takes of the inveteracy which attends the other divisions
of restiveness.

RUNNING AWAY.

Some headstrong Horses will occasionally endeavour to
bolt with the best rider. Others, with their wonted saga-
city, endeavour thus to dislodge the timid or unskilful.
Some are hard to hold, or bolt only during the excite-
ment of the chase; others will run away, prompted by a
vicious propensity alone. There is no cure here. That
method which affords any probability of success, is to ride
such a Horse with a strong curb and sharp bit; to have
him always firmly in hand; and if he will run away, and
the place will admit of it, to give him, (sparing neither
curb, whip, nor spur,) a great deal more running than he
likes.

Ooo

VICIOUS TO CLEAN,

It would scarcely be believed to what an extent this exists
in some Horses, that are otherwise perfectly quiet. It is
only at great hazard that they can be cleaned at all. The
origin of this is probably some maltreatment. There is a
great difference in the sensibility of the skin in different
Horses. Some seem as if they could scarcely be made to
feel the whip; others cannot bear a fly to alight on them
without an expression of annoyance. In young Horses
the skin is peculiarly delicate. If they have been curried
with a broken comb, or hardly rubbed with an uneven
brush, the recollection of the torture they have felt makes
them impatient, and even vicious, during every succeed-
ing operation of the kind. Many grooms, likewise, seem
to delight in producing these exhibitions of uneasi-
ness and vice; although when they are carried a little too
far, and to the hazard of the limbs of the groom, the ani-
mals that have been almost tutored into these expressions
of irritation, are brutally kicked and punished.

This, however, is a vice which may be conquered. If
the animal be dressed with a lighter hand, and whisped
rather than brushed, and the places where the skin is most
sensitive be avoided as much as thorough cleanliness will
allow, the Horse will gradually lose the recollection of
former ill-treatment, and become tractable and quiet.

VICIOUS TO SHOE. ©

The correction of this is more peculiarly the business of
the smith; yet the master should diligently concern him-
self with it, for it is oftener the consequence of injudicious
or bad usage than of natural vice. It may be expected that
there will be some difficulty in shoeing a young Horse for
the first few times. It is an operation which gives him a
little uneasiness. The man to whom he is most accustom-
ed should go with him to the forge; and if another and
steady Horse were shod before him, he might be induced
more readily to submit. We cannot deny, that after the
habit of resisting this necessary operation is formed, force
may sometimes be necessary to reduce our rebellious ser-
vant to obedience; but we affirm, that the majority of
Horses vicious to shoe are rendered so by harsh usage,
and by the pain of correction being added to the uneasi-
ness of shoeing. It should be a rule in every forge that
no smith should be permitted to strike a Horse, much less
to twitch or to gag him, without the master-farrier’s order;
and that a young Horse should never be twitched or
struck. There are few Horses that may not be gradu-
ally rendered manageable for this purpose by mildness
and firmness in the operator. They will soon understand

ea
What no harm is meant, and they will not depart from their
usual habit of obedience; but if the remembrance of cor-
poral punishment is connected with shoeing, they will
always be fidgety, if not dangero

This is a very serious vice, Tord st only exposes the
animal to occasional severe injury from his own struggles,
but also from the correction of the irritated smith, whose
limbs, and even whose life being in jeopardy, may be for-
given if he is sometimes a little too hard-handed. Such a
Horse is very liable, and without any fault of the smith,
to be pricked and lamed in shoeing; and if the habit should
be confirmed, and should increase, and it at length be-
comes necessary to cast him, or to put him in the trevis,
the owner may be assured that many years will not pass
ere some formidable and eyen fatal aceident will take
place. If, therefore, mild treatment will not correct the
vice, the Horse cannot be too soon got rid of.

Horses have many unpleasant habits in the stable and
the road, which cannot be said to amount to vice, but
which materially lessen their value.

le

SWALLOWING WITHOUT GRINDING.

Some greedy Horses swallow their corn without properly
grinding it, and the power of digestion not being ade-
quate to the dissolving of the husk, no nutriment is ex-
tracted, and the oats are voided whole. This is particu-
larly the case when Horses of unequal appetite feed from
the same manger. The greedy one, in his eagerness to
get more than his share, bolts a portion of his corn whole.
If the farmer can, without considerable inconvenience, so
manage it that every Horse shal] have his separate divi-
sion of the manger, the Horse of smaller appetite and
slower feed would have the opportunity of grinding at
his leisure, without the fear of his share being stolen from
him by his neighbour. —

Some Horses, however, are naturally greedy feeders,
and will not, even when alone, allow themselves time to
chew or grind the corn. In consequence of this, they
earry but little flesh; they are not equal to severe work;
and, if their rack has been supplied with hay when the
corn was put into the manger, their stomachs will become
distended with half-chewed and indigestible food; they
will be incapable of exertion for a long time after feeding,
and, occasionally, dangerous symptoms of staggers will
occur. The remedy i is, not to let such Horses fast too
long. The nose-bag should be the companion of every
considerable journey. The food should likewise be of
such a nature that it cannot be easily bolted. Chaff should
be plentifully mixed with the corn, and in some cases,
and especially in Horses of slow work, should, with the

o *
%

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

corn, constitute the whole of the food. Of this we shall
treat more largely under the article ‘* Feeding.”

In every case of this kind the teeth should be very
carefully examined. Some of them may be unduly length-
ened, particularly the first of the grinders; or they may
be ragged at the edges, and may seratch and wound the
cheek. In the first case the Horse cannot properly mas-
ticate his food; in the latter he will not: for these animals,
as too often happens in sore throat, would rather starve
than put themselves to much pain.

CRIB-BITING.

This is a very unpleasant habit, and a considerable defect,
although not so serious a one as some have represented.
The Horse lays hold of the manger with his teeth, vio-
lently extends his neck, and then, after some conyulsive
action of the throat, a slight grunting is heard, aecompa-
nied by an apparent sucking or drawing in the air. Whe-
ther, however, air is actually drawn in, and thus the
Horse becomes more subject to colic than one without this
trick, or whether a portion of air is expelled, showing the
previous existence of flatulence and a disposition to colic,
are points that have not been settled among the veterina-
rians. é "

The Horse is evidently making the edge of the manger
a fixed point, by means of which he may overcome that
obstacle which the formation of the soft palate and the
back part of the mouth, would present to either
the expulsion or drawing in of the air, if accom-
plished through the medium of the mouth. When we
consider, however, that any air expelled from the stomach
might easily find a passage through the nostril, without

the action of crib-biting; while it would be difficult or im-

possible, without some alteration in the natural form and
action of the parts at the back of the mouth, and particu-
larly the depression of the epiglottis or covering of the
windpipe, to convey air to the stomach, we are inclined
to conclude, that this fixed point is used to enable the ani-
mal to accomplish this alteration, and suek up and conyey
a portion of air into the stomach.

The effect of erib-biting is plain enough. The teeth
are injured and worn away, and that, in an old Horse, to
a very serious degree; a considerable quantity of corn is
often lost, for the Horse will frequently crib with his
mouth full of corn, the greater part of which wvill fall
over the edge of the manger; and much saliva flows out
while the manger is thus forcibly held, the loss of which
must be of serious detriment, as impairing the digestion.
The crib-biting Horse is notoriously more subject to colic
than other Horses usually are, and to a species difficult

AND AMERICAN

of treatment, and even dangerous. Although many a
erib-biter is stout and strong, and capable of all ordinary
work, these Horses do not generally carry much flesh,
and have not the endurance of others. On these accounts,
erib-biting has very properly been decided to be unsound-
ness.

It is one of those tricks which are very contagious.
Every companion of a crib-biter in the same stables is
likely to acquire the habit, and it is the most inveterate
of all habits. The edge of the manger will in vain be
lined with iron, or with sheep-skin, or with sheep-skin
covered with tar or aloes, or any other unpleasant sub-
stance. In defiance of the annoyance which these may
occasion, the Horse will in a very short time again attack
his manger. A strap buckled tightly round the neck,
by compressing the windpipe, will prevent the possibility
of this action; but the strap must be constantly worn, and
its pressure is too apt to produce a worse affection, viz.
an irritation in the windpipe, which terminates in roar-
ing.

_ Some have recommended turning out for five or six

_ months, but this has never succeeded except with a young

Horse, and then rarely. The old crib-biter will employ
the gate for the same purpose as the edge of his manger,
and we have seen him gallop across a field for the mere
object of having a gripe at a rail. Medicine will be alto-
gether thrown away in this case.

The only remedy isa muzzle, with bars across the bot-
tom, sufficiently wide to enable the animal to pick up his
corn and pull his hay, but not to grasp the edge of the
manger. If this be worn a yery long time, the Horse
may be tired of attempting that which he cannot accom-
plish, and may possibly for a while forget the habit; but
in the majority of cases the desire of crib-biting will re-
turn with the power of gratifying it.

The causes of crib-biting are various, and some of them
beyond the control of the proprietor of the Horse. We
have said that it is often the result of imitation; but it is
more frequently the consequence of idleness. The-high-
fed and spirited Horse must be in mischief, if he is not
usefully employed. Sometimes, but we believe not often,
it is produced by partial starvation, whether in a bad straw-
yard, or from unpalatable food. An occasional cause of
crib-biting is the frequent custom of grooms, even when
the weather is not severe, of dressing them in the stable.
The Horse either catches at the edge of the manger, or at
the edge of the partition on each side, if he has been turn-
ed, and thus he forms the habit of laying hold of these
substances on every occasion.

(To be continued. )

RURAL SPORTS.
THE COMING OF WINTER.

‘

WE are in a season of darkness, storms, and mists; of
the whirling away ome withered leaves, and the introduc-
tion of complete winter. Rain, hail, and wind, chase each
other over the fields, and amongst the woods in rapid alter-
nations. The flowersare gone; thelonggrass stands amongst
the woodland thickets withered, bleached, and sere; the fern
is redand shrivelled amongst the green gorseand broom; the
plants, which waved their broad, white umbels to the sum-
mer breeze, like skeleton-trophies of death, rattle their dry
and hollow kexes to the autumnal winds. The brooks are
brimful; theriversturbid, and covered with masses of foam,
hurry on in angry strength, or pour their waters over the
champain. Our very gardens are sad, damp, and desolate.
Their floral splendours are dead; naked stems and decaying
leaves have taken the place of verdure. The walks are un-
kempt and uninviting; and as these summer friends of ours
arenolonger affluent and of flourishing estate, we. of course,
desert them.

The return of winter is pleasurable even in its severity.
The first snows that come dancing down; the first frost that
rimes the hedges, variegates the windows, or shoots itsfine,
long crystals across the smallest puddle, or the widest sheet
of water, bring with them the remembrance of our boyish
pleasures, our slidings and skatings—our snow-ballings and
snow-rolling—our snow-man making—the wonders of hoar-
frosts—of nightly snow-driftsin hollow lanes—of caves and
houses, scooped in the wintry heaps with much labour and
delight; and of scampering over hedge and ditch on the
frozen snow, that “crunched beneath the tread,”’ but broke
not. }

The dark, wet, and wintry days, and the long dismal
nights of this season, are, however, favourable to fireside
enjoyments and occupations. Driven from the fields and
woods, where we have found so much delight, so many
objects of interest, or employment, we may now sit with-
in and hear the storm rage around, conscious that the
fruits of the earth are secured, and that, like the bees in
their hives, we have not let the summer escape, but have
laid up stores of sweetness for the time of darkness and
dearth. In large farm-houses, many useful avocations
may enliven the evening fireside; and it is now become
a laudable custom in many superior farms, to encourage
reading and other means of mental improvement, which
the continual engagements of a rural labourer preclude
during the summer, The cottager may usefully, by his
winter fire, construct bee-hives, nets, mole-traps, bird-
cages, ect.; with any of these employments I haye more
sympathy than with the last, however.

Of all men who pursue rural occupations, the bird-catch-

i:

Se

240 .

ers, especially the summer bird-catchers, they who do not
capture birds when they have congregated in winter, when
they have no mates or young ones to feel the effects of
‘their loss, and are ready for the “ae of the epicure, but
who take only singing birds, and take a wherever
and whene aaa can, without regard to their having
young, which may perish by their absence, or to that
harsh change, from the full enjoyment of summer sunshine
and pleasures to the captivity of the cage. When I see
their nets spread in the fields wh birds resort, I wish
them all manner of villainous ill-luck; and I never omit a —
favourable opportunity of deranging or destroying their
snares when they fall in my way. a

There are none of our customs which more mark our
selfishness than that of keeping singing birds in perpetual
confinement, making the pleasure of our ears their misfor-

“tune; and that sweet gift, which God has given them,

wherewith to make themselves happy, and the country
delightful, the curse of their lives. If we were content-
ed, however, with taking and rearing young ones, which
never knew the actual blessing of liberty, or of propa~_
gating them in cages or avaries, the evil would not be so
enormous. But the practice of seizing singing bir
which have always enjoyed the freedom of the earth
air, im summer when they are busy with the pleasant cares
of their nests or young broods, and subjecting them to a
close prison, is detestable—doubly detestable in the case
of migratory birds, which have not merely the common
love of liberty, but the instinct of migration to struggle
with. To behold a bird which God has created to fly from
land to land to crown the pleasantness of spring with the
most delicious music, or which he has made to soar, in the
rapture of itsheart, up to heaven’s gates, “cribbed, cabined,

and confined’’ in a narrow cage by man, is one of the priority of voice. These are the mati

most melancholy objects on earth. Let those who have
hearts for it keep th nd listen to them with what
pleasure they may; for my part, while I am myself sensi-
ble of the charms of freedom, and of the delights of the
summer fields, I shall continue to prefer the ‘ wood notes
wild”’ of liberty to a captive’s wail.—Book of on

”

~~ BARLY AWAKENING OF BIRDS.
«

Ma P
Ar one periada my life, being an early waker and .
io

riser, my attent as frequently drawn < to songs of
earliest birds;” and I r obse hat these creatures
appeared abroad at very differen ods as the light ad-

vanced. The rook is perhaps the first to e the open-
ing morn; but this bird seems rather to rest than to sleep.

*& _

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY, _

instantly the whole assemblage, not successively, but col-
lectively. It is appointed to be aready mover. Its prin-
cipal food is worms, which feed and crawl upon the humid
surface of the ground in the dusk, and retire before the
light of day; and, roosting higher than other birds, the
first rays of the sun, as they peep = the horizon, be-
come visible to it. The restless, inquisitive robin now is
seen too. This is the last bird that retires in the even-
ing, being frequently flitting about when the owl and bat
are visible, arias so soon in the morning, that little
‘rest seems required by it. Its fine large eyes are fitted
to receive all, even the weakest rays of light that appear.
The worm is its food too, and few that move upon the sur-
face escape its notice. The cheerful melody of the wren
is the next we hear, as it bustles from its ivied roost; and
we note its gratulation to the young-eyed day, when twi-
light almost hides the little minstrel from our sight. The
sparrow roosts in holes, and under the eaves of the rick
or shed, where the light does not so soon enter, and hence
is rather a tardy mover; but it is always ready for food,
and seems to listen to what is going forward. We s
now peeping from its penthouse, inquisitively surveyi
the land; and,
diately descends upon it without any seruple, and makes
itself a welcome guest with all. It retires early to rest.
The black-bird quits its leafy roost in the ivied ash; its
‘chink, chink,”’ is heard in the hedge; and, ire

1

i)

3

uld provision be obtainable, it imme- ~

some neighbouring oak, with mellow, sober voice, it gra- _

tulates the coming day. ‘‘ The plain-song cuckoo gray”’
from some tall tree now tells its tale. The lark is in the
air, the “ martin twitters from her earth-built shed,”’ all
the choristers are tuning in the grove; and amid such
tokens of awakening pleasure it becomes difficult to note
oices of the sum-
mer season: in winter a cheerless chirp, or a hungry twit,
is all we hear; the families of voice are away, or silent;
we have little to note, and perhaps as little inclination to
observe.—Jour. of a Naturalist.

+
SINGULAR OCCURRENCE.

weeks since, as one of our sportsmen was out
" gunning, in the vicinity of this place, his dog started a “

wookcock, which he immediately fired at and hit, whilst
flying rapidly with the wind; and such was the impetus it
had acquired by the rapidity of its flight, that ag
ing in nearly a horizontal line to the earth, it struck a corn
stalk, which was penetrated entirely through by its dzd/,
_by which it hung suspended to the corn stalk nd in whieh
situation it was found by the gentleman whe shot it

Always vigilant, the least alarm after retirement rouses [ Reading Chronicle.
* ¥ = y > 7 | .
a ° > 2 “iy
. * S24
& : ” %
; ey 2 :
qty 6
- Pe a wo _

é

7

Che
Te aadt

. a cas §

“TGHUUTNOS Lo H

UO PLagoyy ULo/

®,

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

F Rael ¢
Te GRAY SQUIRREL.
SCIURUS CEB OES STS:
« é .
(Plate XXT. Vol. 2.)

Sciurus Carolinensis et Cinereus; GMEL.ScHREB. tab. 213.

Scturus Carolinensis, Gopman. Vol. 2. p.131. Petit
Gris: Burr. 10. pl. 25. encycl. pl. 74. fig. 3. Ecureuil

gris de la Carolina; Bose. u. p. 96. pl. 29: F. Cuv.
Mam. Lithog. livr.\1e. Gray Squirrel: Penn. 4rct.
Zool. 1. 135. Hist. Quad. No. 272.—J. Doveuty’s
Collection.

_TueEre are few animals better known in this country
than the one under present notice, and, from the circum-
stance of their being introduced so frequently as pets in
human habitations, our knowledge is acquired at a very
early age. They are, however, so plentifully scattered
over every part of the United States, that it is to be pre-
sumed, scarcely an individual can be found who is igno-
rant of the Gray Squirrel.

The pursuit of this animal has always been looked upon
as a very inviting sport, and is entered into by both old
and young, until age and eyesight in the former render
the sport a burthen; and by the latter, so soon as the
fowling-piece or rifle can be effectually wielded, and
“ dropping Squirrels”’ from the tallest trees, are the boast-
ed exploits of each. On the mountains, and in the newly-
settled districts of the country, this sport is very common;
perhaps because these animals abound in greater numbers
there. In destroying Squirrels some use the short gun,
and others the rifle; the latter, however, is more common-
ly used, in consequence of the good practice the sport
affords for the use of that instrument; the part usually
aimed at is the head, and so accurate are practitioners in
shooting the rifle, that seldom any other part, of the ani-
mal is struck; sometimes, those who are superior in skill,
show their dexterity in killing the animal, without
striking it with the ball; this is called by the hunters
“barking Squirrels,” and is performed by striking the
bark immediately under the Squirrel, which destroys
life instantaneously, by the violence of the concussion
thus effected.

To an inexperienced eye, the Squirrel, when lodged in
the foliage of a tall tree, is a difficult object to discover,
and when seen by such, they frequently are at a loss to
determine whether the object seen is a Squirrel or not.
These animals are not only shy, but most agile in their
movements, and these qualities are increased accordingly

Prp *

241

as they become persecuted, to so great extent, that in pass-
ing from limb to limb of adjoining trees, they frequently
elude the most active pursuit.

In districts where Squirrels abound, they may be seen
at all hours, except the middle of the day; but in thickly
inhabited neighbourhoods, where they are shot at and
worried much, it requires great caution to discover them;
the most propitious periods then, are from daylight to sun-
rise, and from sunset until dark. The approach of the
huntsman at these times must be with much quietness
and caution, and must be directed always to those trees
which are their fayourite resort for food, the chief of
which is the shellbark. The keen eye of an experienced
Squirrel hunter cannot always discover the object of his
pursuit on the tall trees which grow in our forests, and
is often obliged to determine the presence of these ani-
mals by the fragments gnawed from the nuts which lie
scattered beneath the trees. .Sometimes a dropping nut
denotes a Squirrel nigh, if not on the tree of his imme-
diate search. A falling nut may be heard through the
still wood at a very considerable distance, and so soon as
the sound reaches the ear of the hunter, he directs his foot-
steps to the spot whence the sound proceeded, with quiet
stealth, and soon discovers the game eating its food on the
topmost branches of the tree; sometimes the animal, warn-
ed of the approach of its enemy by the rustling leaves or
the cracking twigs beneath his footsteps, seeks safety by
escaping to its hole, or hides itself against some large
limb of the same tree, or runs to the extremity of the top,
and there remains motionless in supposed security amid
the thickest collection of leaves. The eyes and ingenuity
of the hunter are now employed to detect his prey; he
looks with intensity into every limb and branch, but un-
able to discern the wary little animal, he tries other posi-
tions around the tree, until at length he sees a spot among
the leaves of more density than other parts, or perhaps,
on a limb, a small gray tuft, like moss or tow, and level-
ling his gun, he fires, and the falling Squirrel proves the
unerring certainty of his judgment. It often happens,
however, that a Squirrel cannot be discovered in these po-
sitions when in a quiescent state, and ingenuity is em-
ployed to excite motion, and this effected, no matter how
trivial, will at once discover the position of the game. The
means usually employed to do this, are the shaking of a
small bush near or under the tree on which the animal is
supposed to be lodged, or striking its trunk with vio-
lence.

In many parts where Squirrels are scarce, they are hunt-
ed with small dogs, trained for the purpose, which, so
soon as a tree on which a Squirrel rests is discovered, sig-
nify it to their master by barking; and with a good dog of

242

this description a hunter will tree and shoot many Squir-
~ pels. .

The food of the Gray Squirrel consists of hickory-nuts,
chesnuts, beech-nuts, acorns, maize, Indian corn, and
every other variety of cultivated grain; and it frequently
requires the utmost vigilance of the husbandman to protect
his interests from suffering materially by the frequent and
destructive visits of these his unwelcome little neighbours.
Pennant in his Zoology remarks, ‘that from January,
1749, to January, 1750, Pennsylvania paid eight thousand
pounds currency; but on complaint being made by the
deputies that their treasuries were exhausted by these re-
wards, they were reduced to} one-half, that is from three
pence to a penny and a half.” On the history of this
Squirrel, and Squirrels in general, Dr. Godman says:

«<The Gray Squirrel prefers the oak, hickory and
chesnut woods, where it finds a copious supply of nuts
and mast, of which it provides large hoards for the winter.
Their nests are placed chiefly in tall oak-trees at the forks
of the branches; these nests are very comfortable, being
thickly covered and lined with dried leaves. During cold
weather the Squirrels seldom leave these suug retreats, ex-
cept for the purpose of visiting their store-houses, and ob-
taining a supply of provisions. It has been observed that
the approach of uncommonly cold weather is foretold
when these Squirrels are seen out in unusual numbers,
gathering a larger stock of provisions, lest their magazines
should fail. This, however, is not an infallible sign, at
least in vicinities where many hogs are allowed to roam
at large, as these keen-nosed brutes are very expert at dis-
covering the winter hoards of the Squirrel, which they
immediately appropriate to their own use.

“If the Gray Squirrels confined themselves to the diet
afforded by the forest trees, the farmers would profit con-
siderably thereby. But, having once tasted the sweet-
ness of Indian corn and other cultivated grains, they leave
acorns and such coarse fare to the hogs, while they invade
the corn-fields, and carry off and destroy a very large
quantity.

««This species is remarkable among all our Squirrels
for its beauty and activity. It is in captivity remarkably
playful and mischievous, and is more frequently kept as
a pet than any other. It becomes very tame, and may be
allowed to spend a great deal of the time entirely at liberty,
where there is nothing exposed that can be injured by its
teeth, which it is sure to try upon every article of furni-
ture, &c., in its vicinity. This Squirrel, when domesti-
cated, drinks frequently, and a considerable quantity of
water at each draught.

«¢ The Gray Squirrel varies considerably in colour, but
is most commonly of a fine bluish gray, mingled with a

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

slight golden hue. This golden colour is especially ob-
vious on the head, along the sides, where the white hair
of the belly ee the gray of the sides, and on the
anterior part of the fore and superior part of the hind feet,
where it is very rich and deep. This mark on the hind
feet is very permanent, and evident even in those varieties
which differ most from the common colour. There is one
specimen in the Philadelphia Museum of a light brown-
ish red on all the superior parts of the body.”

‘¢The species comprised in this genus are in different
degrees remarkable for their sprightly agility and grace-
ful movements, as well as for their personal beauty and
neatness. The forest is their appropriate residence, and
nature has provided them not only with the means of ra-
pidly ascending the loftiest trees, but with teeth capable
of opening the way to food, which is effectually secured
from almost every other creature. The hardest nuts found
in the woods afford ample provision to the Squirrels, and
the number of nuts destroyed by these animals, though
small when compared with the whole quantity produced,
must have some effect in preventing the superabundant in-
crease of forest trees.

‘¢ The muscular strength displayed by these animals is
very great, when compared with their size. They make
astonishing leaps from branch to branch, and from tree to
tree, when engaged in sporting with each other, or en-
deavouring to escape from pursuit. At such times, when
no tree is sufliciently near to be reached by a single spring,
the Squirrel unhesitatingly drops from the greatest height
to the ground, and falls with a force apparently sufficient
to crush him; but no injury is experienced, and a few se-
conds are sufficient for his escape into the top of the near-
est tree.

‘¢ The actions of most of these animals are marked by a
peculiar vivacity and playfulness. When moving on the
ground, Squirrels advance by a succession of short leaps,
while the long bushy tail, waving in graceful undulations,
renders their whole appearance very interesting. When
engaged in listening, they sit erect on their hinder limbs,
having the tail beautifully raised against the back, and
falling into an easy curve at its extremity towards the
ground. In eating, the position is much the same; the food
is held in the fore paws, principally between the rudi-
mental thumbs and the adjoining part of the palms. The
facility with which they cut through the covering of the hard-
est nuts is very remarkable; they first turn the nut about
until they get it into the most favourable position, and
then examine it by gnawing slightly in different places. If
the nut be withered or rotten it is speedily thrown aside
and another sought. When a good one is obtained, and the
proper place for opening it is selected, (which is the thin-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

nest part, immediately over the kernel,) a small linear
opening is first made, which at length admits the points of
the lower front teeth. These are now inserted, and the
hole enlarged by breaking off successive pieces of the
snell in the direction of the kernel. A hickery-nut is
thus frequently cut down on four sides from end to end,
leaving the intermediate thick portions untouched. After
satisfying his hunger the Squirrel generally buries the su-
perfluous food; previous to the approach of winter large
hoards ef nuts and grain are collected and secured in the
ground for future use. Their nests are at no great distance
from these store-houses, and are built of small sticks and
leaves in the top branches of forest trees, or in hollows of
their trunks, except in the case of a few species which in-
habit burrowsat all times. All the Squirrels are peculiar-
ly cleanly, and are frequently seen to rub their heads and
faces with their fore paws as if for the purpose of washing.
When they accidentally step into water they make use of
their bushy tail for the purpose of drying themselves, pass-
ing it several times through their hands.

‘¢ Like most of the animals belonging to this order, they
‘are very prolific, and multiply until from their numbers
large districts ef country are injuriously overrun by them.
They then invade and literally lay waste the corn-fields,
consuming vast quantities of grain, and destroy nearly as
much as they eat by breaking it down and scattering it on
the ground. Qn such occasions the farmers in thinly set-
tled districts severely suffer, and are deprived of a large
share of the fruits of their industry. The efforts of a whole
family are occasionally insufficient to drive off or destroy
these busy plunderers, as new crowds appear to be ecn-
tinually arriving to renew the depredation.

«“ While travelling through the state of Ohio, in the
autumn of 1822, we had an opportunity of witnessing
something of this sort. Parts of the country appeared to
swarm with Squirrels, which were so numerous, that, in
travelling along the high road, they might be seen scam-
pering in every direction; the woods and fields might be
truly said, in the country phrase, to be ‘alive with them.’
A farmer, who had a large field of Indian corn near the
road, informed us, that notwithstanding the continued ex-
ertions of himself and his two sons, he feared he should
lose the greater part of his crop, in addition to his time
and the expense of ammunition used in killing and scaring
off the little robbers. This man and his sons frequently
took stations in different parts of the field, and killed
Squirrels until their guns became too dirty longer to be
used with safety; yet they always found, on returning,
that the Squirrels had mustered as strongly as before.
During this journey we frequently met Squirrel-shooters
heavily laden with this game, which, in many instances,

245

they had only desisted from slaying from want of ammu-
nition or through mere fatigue.

«¢ Fortunately for the farmers these animals are not at
the same time equally numerous in different parts of the
country. We found the Squirrels, in 1822, most numerous
throughout the country lying between the Great and Lit-
tle Miami rivers; they became evidently fewer as we ad-
vanced towards Chillicothe, and beyond that place were
so rare as to be seldom seen. During some seasons they
appear to move in mass, deserting certain districts entire-
ly, and concentrating upon others. In such migrations
vast numbers are drowned in crossing the rivers, and num-
bers are also destroyed by beasts and birds of prey, and
various other causes.”’

THE MOCKING-BIRD.

Amone the many novelties which the discovery of
this part of the western continent first brought into notice,
we may reckon that of the Mocking-bird; which is not
only peculiar to the new world, but inhabits a very con-
siderable extent of both North and South America; hav-
ing been traced from the states of New England to Bra-
zil; and also among many of the adjacent islands. They
are, however, much more numerous in those states south,
than in those north, of the river Delaware; being general-
ly migratory in the latter, and resident, (at least many of
them,) in the former. A warm climate, and low country,
not far from the sea, seem most congenial to their nature;
accordingly we find the species less numerous to the west
than east of the great range of the Alleghany, in the same
parallels of latitude. The berries of the red cedar, myr-
tle, holly, Cassine shrub, many species of smilax, together
with gum-berries, gall-berries, anda profusion of others with
which the luxuriant swampy thickets of those regions
abound, furnish them witha perpetual feast. Winged in-
sects, also, of which they are very fond, and remarkably
expert at catching, abound there even in winter, and are
an additional inducement to residency.

The precise time at which the Mocking-bird begins to
build his nest varies according to the latitude in which
he resides. In the lower parts of Georgia he commences
building early in April; but in Pennsylvania rarely be-
fore the 10th of May; and in New-York, and the states of
New-England, still later. There are particular situations
to which he gives the preference. A solitary thorn bush,
an almost impenetrable thicket; an orange tree, cedar,
or holly-bush, are favourite spots, and frequently select-
ed. It is no great objection with him that these happen,

244 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

sometimes, to be near the farm or mansion house: always
ready to defend, but never overanxious to conceal, his nest,
he very often builds within a small distance of the house;
and not unfrequently in a pear or apple tree; rarely at a
greater height than six or seven feet from the ground. The
nest varies a little with different individuals, according to
theconveniency of collecting suitable materials. It is some-
times composed of the following substances: First a quan-
tity of dry twigs and sticks, then withered tops of weeds
of the preceding year, intermixed with fine straws, hay,
pieces of wool and tow; and lastly, a thick layer of fine
fibrous roots, of a light brown colour, lines the whole. The
eges are four, sometimes five, of a cinerous blue, marked
with large blotches of brown. The female sits fourteen
days; and generally produces two broods in the season, un-
less robbed of her eggs, in which case she will even build
and lay the third time. She is, however, extremely jealous
of her nest, and very apt to forsake it if much disturbed.
During the period of incubation, neither cat, dog, animal,
or man, can approach the nest without being attacked.
‘The cats, in particular, are persecuted whenever they
make their appearance, till obliged to retreat. But his
whole vengeance is most particularly directed against that
mortal enemy of his eggs and young, the black snake.

Whenever the insidious approaches of this reptile are dis-
covered, the male darts upon it with the rapidity of an
arrow, dexterously eluding its bite, and striking it vio-
lently and incessantly about the head, where it is very
vulnerable. The snake soon becomes sensible of its dan-
ger, and seeks to escape; but the intrepid defender of his
young redoubles his exertions, and, unless his antagonist
be of great magnitude, often succeeds in destroying him.

All its pretended powers of fascination avail it nothing
against the vengeance of this noble bird. As the snake’s
strength begins to flag, the Mocking-bird seizes and lifts it
up, partly from the ground, beating it with its wings, and
when the business is completed, ne returns to the reposi-
tory of his young, mounts the summit of the bush, and
pours out a torrent of song in token of victory.

As it is of some consequence to be able to distinguish a
young male bird from a female, the following marks may
be attended to; by which some pretend to be able to dis-
tinguish them in less than a week after they are hatched.
These are, the breadth and purity of the white on the
wings, for that on the tail is not so much to be depended
on. This white, in a full grown male bird, spreads over
the whole nine primaries, down to, and considerably be-
low, their cgpens which are also white, sometimes light-
ly tipt with brown. The white of the primaries also ex-
tends equally far on both vanes of the feathers. In the
female the white is less pure, spreads over only seven or

eight of the primaries, does not extend so far, and extends
considerably farther down on the broad than on the nar-
row side of the feathers. The black is also more of a
brownish cast.

If the young bird is designed to be taught by an old
one, the best singer should be selected for this office, and
no other allowed to be beside him. Orif by the bird organ,
or mouth whistling, it should be begun early, and con-
tinued, pretty constantly, by the same person, until the

‘scholar, who is seldom inattentive, has completely ac-

quired his lesson. The best singing birds, however, in
my own opinion, are those that have been reared in the
country, and educated under the tuition of the feathered
choristers of the surrounding fields, groves, woods, and
meadows.

The plumage of the Mocking-bird, though none of the
homeliest, has nothing gaudy or brilliant in it, and, had
he nothing else to recommend him, would scarcely en-
title him to notice, but his figure is well proportioned, and
even handsome. The ease, elegance and rapidity of his
movements, the animation of his eye, and the intelligence
he displays in listening and laying up lessons from almost
every species of the feathered creation within his hearing, are
really surprising, and mark the peculiarity of his genius.
To these qualities we may add that of a voice full, strong,
and musical, and capable of almost every modulation,
from the clear mellow tones of the wood thrush, to the
savage scream of the bald eagle. In measure and accent he
faithfully follows his originals. In foree and sweetness
of expression he greatly improves upon them. In his na-
tive groves, mounted on the top of a tall bush or half-
grown tree, in the dawn of dewy morning, while the
woods are already vocal with a multitude of warblers, his
admirable song rises pre-eminent over every competitor.
The ear can listen to his music alone, to which that of all
the others seems a mere accompaniment. Neither is this
strain altogether imitative. His own native notes, which
are easily distinguishable by such as are well acquainted
with those of our various song birds, are bold and full, and
varied seemingly beyond all limits. They consist of short
expressions of two, three, or at the most five or six sylla-
bles; generally interspersed with imitations, and all of
them uttered with great emphasis and rapidity; and con-
tinued, with undiminished ardour, for half an hour, or an
hour at a time. His expanded wings and tail, glistening
with white, and the buoyant gaiety of his action, arrest-
ing the eye, as his song most irresistibly does the ear. He
‘sweeps round with enthusiastic ecstaey—he mounts and
descends as his song swells or dies away; and, as Mr, Bar-
tram has heautifully expressed it, ‘* He bounds aloft with
the celerity of an arrow, as if to recover or recal his yery

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

suul, expired in the last elevated strain.’? While thus
exerting himself, a bystander, destitute of sight, would
suppose that the whole feathered tribes had assembled to-
gether, on a trial of skill; each striving to produce his ut-
most effect; so perfect are hisimitations. He many times
deceives the sportsman, and sends him in search of birds
that perhaps are not within miles of him; but whose notes
he exactly imitates: even birds themselves are frequently
imposed on by this admirable mimic, and are decoyed by
the fancied calls of their mates; or dive, with precipita-
tion, into the depth of thickets, at the scream of what they
suppose to be the sparrow hawk.

The Mocking-bird loses little of the power and energy
of his song by confinement. In his domesticated state,
when he commences his career of song, it is impossible to
stand by uninterested. He whistles for the dog; Cesar
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 bristled feathers, clucking to
protect its injured brood. The barking of the dog, the
mewing of the cat, the creaking of a passing wheel-bar-
row, 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 Virginia
nightingale, or red-bird, with such superior execution and
effect, that the mortified songsters feel their own inferi-
ority, and become altogether silent; while he seems to
triumph in their defeat by redoubling his exertions.

This excessive fondness for variety, however, in the
opinion of some, injures his song. His elevated imita-
tion of the brown thrush are frequently interrupted by the
crowing of cocks; and the warblings of the blue-bird,
which he exquisitely manages, are mingled with the
screaming of swallows, or the cackling of hens; amidst the
simple melody of the robin we are suddenly surprised by
the shrill reiterations of the whippoorwill; while the notes
of the kildeer, blue jay, martin, baltimore, and twenty
others, succeed, with such imposing reality, that we look
round for the originals, and discover, with astonishment,
that the sole performer in this singular concert is the admi-
rable bird now before us. During this exhibition of his
powers he spreads his wings, expands his tail, and throws
himself around the cage in all the ecstacy of enthusiasm,
seeming not only to sing, but to dance, keeping time to
the measure of his own music. Both in his native and do-
mesticated state, during the solmen stillness of night, as
soon as the moon rises in silent majesty, he begins his de-
lightful solo; and serenades us the live long night with a
full display of his vocal powers, making the whole neigh-
bourhood ring with his inimitable medley.—Wixtson,

Qeaq

245

THE TAMARIND-TREE.

Tue tamarind-tree is a native both of the Hast In-
dies and of tropical America, and probably also of Arabia
and some parts of Africa. It was very early introduced
into England; for Gerarde, whose Herbal was published
in 1633, makes mention of it as growing there. It does
not often flower in that country, though it has done so in
the Royal Gardens at Kew. It is, however, a common or-
nament of their hot-houses. Where itis a native, it grows
to be a large tree, and affords excellent timber—heavy,
firm, hard, and durable. The stem is large, covered with
brown bark, and divides into many branches; the leaves
are not unlike those of the mountain ash, only they are of
a brighter green, and the leaflets are closer to the mid-rib.
The leaflets are small, but the number in a leaf, (sixteen
or eighteen pairs in a leaf, with an odd one at the ex-
tremity,) give the tree a very light and elegant appear-
ance. The flowers come out from the sides of the branches
in loose bunches, and are followed by the pods, of which
there are generally about five or six onabunch. The pods
of the West India tamarinds, are, on an average, about
three inches long, and contain about three seeds; those
from the East are about double the size.

The pulp in which the seeds of the tamarind are in-
closed, contains more acid than any other vegetable sub-
stance, in a natural state, with which we are acquainted;
and therefore it is used both for sharpening food and drink;
and for medicinal purposes. Niebuhr says, ‘the tama-
rind is equally useful and agreeable. It has a pulp of a vi-
nous taste, of which a wholesome refreshing liquor is pre-
pared; its shade shelters houses from the torrid heat of the
sun; and its fine figure greatly adorns the scenery of the
country.”’ Its refreshing properties has given it a place
in poetry:

“The damsel from the tamarind-tree
Had pluck’d its acid fruit,
And steep'd it in water long;
And whoso drank of the cooling draught,
He would not wish for wine.”

Mandelslo, an old traveller, says, that as soon as the sun
is set the leaves of the tamarind close up the fruit to pre-
serve it from the dew, and open as soon as that luminary
appears again:

“Tis the cool evening hour:
The tamarind, from the dew
Sheaths its young fruit, yet green.”

The East India tamarinds are preserved without sugar,
and therefore they are the best for medicinal use. About

246

forty tons of tamarinds are annually imported into Great
Britain. —Lib. Ent. Know.

ANECDOTE OF aA CAT.

A favourite cat, that was accustomed from day to day
to take her station quietly at my elbow, on the writing
table, sometimes for hour after hour, whilst I was en-
gaged in study, became at length less constant in her at-
tendance, as she had a kitten to take care of. One morn-
ing she placed herself in the same spot, but seemed un-
quiet, and, instead of seating herself as usual, continued
to rub her furry sides against my hand and pen, as though
resolved to draw my attention, and make me leave off. As
soon as she had accomplished this point, she leaped down
on the carpet, and made towards the door, with a look of
great uneasiness. I opened the door for her, as she seem-
ed to desire, but, instead of going forward, she turned
round, and looked earnestly at me, as though she wished
me to follow her, or had something to communicate. I
did not fully understand her meaning, and, being much
engaged at the same time, shut the door upon her, that
she might go where she liked. In less than an hour after-
wards, she had again found an entrance into the room,
and drawn close to me, but, instead of mounting the table,
and rubbing herself against my hand, as before, she was
now under the table, and continued to rub herself against
my feet, on moving which I struck them against a some-
thing which seemed to be in their way, and, on looking
down, beheld, with equal grief and astonishment, the dead
body of her little kitten, covered over with cinder dust,
and which I supposed had been alive and in good health.
T now entered into the entire train of this afflicted cat’s
feelings. She had suddenly lost the nursling she doated
on, and was resolved to make me acquainted with it—as-
suredly that 1 might know her grief, and probably also
that I might inquire into the cause, and, finding me too
dull to understand her expressive motioning that I would
follow her to the cinder heap on which the dead kitten
had been thrown, she took the great labour of bringing it
to me herself, from the area on the basement floor, and
up a whole flight of stairs, and laid it at my feet. I took
up the kitten in my hand, the eat still following me, made
inquiry into the cause of its death, which I found, upon
summoning the servants, to have been an accident, in
which no one was much to blame; and the yearning mo-
ther having thus obtained her object, and gotten her mas-
ter to enter into her cause, and divide her sorrows with
her, gradually took comfort, and resumed her former sta-
tion by my side.—Good’s Book of Nature.

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

A TAME PANTHER.

Tue following interesting notices are from the pen of
Mr. Bowdich, and prove that the Panther, notwithstand-
ing all that has been said of his untameable disposition,
is nevertheless as capable of domestication as any of his
congeners:—

‘This Panther and another were found, when very
young, in the forest, apparently deserted by their mother.
They were taken to the king of Ashantee, in whose
palace they lived several weeks, when my hero, being
much larger than his companion, suffocated him in a fit of
romping, and was then sent to Mr. Hutchison, the resi-
dent left by Mr. Bowdich at Coomassie. This gentle-
man, observing that the animal was very docile, took
pains to tame him, and in a great measure succeeded.
When he was about a year old, Mr. Hutchison returned
to Cape Coast, and had him led through the country by a
chain, occasionally letting him loose when eating was
going forward, when he would sit by his master’s side,
and receive his share with comparative gentleness. Once
or twice he purloined a fowl, but easily gave it up to Mr.
Hutchison, on being allowed a portion of something else.
The day of his arrival he was placed in a small court, lead-
ing to the private rooms of the governor, and, after din-
ner, was led by a thin cord into the room, where he re-
ceived our salutations with some degree of roughness, but
with perfect good humour. On the least encouragement,
he laid his paws upon our shoulders, rubbed his head upon
us, and, his teeth and claws having been filed, there was
no danger of tearing our clothes. He was kept in the
above court for a week or two, and evinced no ferocity,
except when one of the servants tried to pull his food
from him: he then caught the offender by the leg, and tore
out a piece of flesh, but he never seemed to owe him any
ill will afterwards. He one morning broke his cord; and,
the cry being given, the castle gates were shut, and a
chase commenced. After leading his pursuers two or
three times round the ramparts, and knocking over a few
children, by bouncing against them, he suffered himself to
be caught, and led quietly back to his quarters, under one
of the guns of the fortress.

“ By degrees, the fear of him subsided, and, orders
having been given to the sentinels to prevent his escape
through the gates, he was left at liberty to go where he
pleased, and a boy was appointed to prevent him from in-
truding into the apartments of the officers. His keeper,
however, generally passed his watch in sleeping: and Sai,
as the Panther was called, after the royal giver, roamed
at large. On one occasion he found his servant sitting on
the step of the door, upright, but fast asleep, when he

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

lifted his paw, gave him a blow on the side of the head,
which laid him flat, and then stood wagging his tail, as if
enjoying the mischief he had committed. He became ex-
ceedingly attached to the governor, and followed him
every where like a dog. His favourite station was at a
window of the sitting-room, which overlooked the whole
town; there, standing on his hind legs, his fore paws rest-
ing on the ledge of the window, and his chin laid between
them, he appeared to amuse himself with what was pass-
ing beneath. The children also stood with him at the
window; and one day, finding his presence an encum-
brance, and that they could not get their chairs close, they
used their united efforts to pull him down by the tail. He
one morning missed the governor, who was settling a dis-
pute in the hall, and who, being surrounded by black
people, was hidden from the view of his favourite. Sai
wandered, with a dejected look, to various parts of the
fortress in search of him; and, while absent on this errand,
the audience ceased, the governor returned to his private
rooms, and seated himself at a table to write. Presently
he heard a heavy step coming up the stairs, and, raising
his eyes to the open door, he beheld Sai. At that moment
he gave himself up for lost, for Sai immediately sprang
from the door on to his neck. Instead, however, of de-
vouring him, he laid his head close to the governor’s, rub-
bed his cheek upon his shoulder, wagged his tail, and
tried to evince his happiness. Occasionally, however,
the Panther caused a little alarm to the other inmates of
the castle, and the poor woman who swept the floors, or,
to speak technically, the pra-pra woman, was made ill
by her fright.
the great hall with a short broom, and in an attitude near-
ly approaching to all-fours, and Sai, who was hidden under
one of the sofas, suddenly leaped upon her back, where
he stood in triumph. She screamed so violently as to
summon the other servants, but they, seeing the Panther,
as they thought, in the act of swallowing her, one and all
scampered off as quickly as possible; nor was she releas-
ed, till the governor, who heard the noise, came to her
assistance. Strangers were naturally uncomfortable when
they saw so powerful a beast at perfect liberty, and many
were the ridiculous scenes which took place, they not
liking to own their alarm, yet perfectly unable to retain
their composure in his presence.

«¢ This interesting animal was well fed twice every day,
but never given any thing with life in it. He stood about
two feet high, and was of a dark yellow colour, thickly
spotted with black rosettes; and, from the good feeding
and the care taken to clean him, his skin shone like silk.
The expression of his countenance was very animated and
good-tempered, and he was particularly gentle to chil-

She was one day sweeping the boards of _

R47

dren; he would lie down on the mats by their side when
they slept; and even the infant shared his caresses, and
remained unhurt. During the period of his residence at
Cape Coast, I was much occupied by making arrange-
ments for my departure from Africa, but generally visit-
ed my future companion every day, and we, in conse-
quence, became great friends before we sailed. He was
conveyed on board the vessel in a large wooden cage,
thickly barred in front with iron. Even this confinement
was not deemed a sufficient protection by the canoe men,
who were so alarmed at taking him from the shore to the
vessel, that, in their confusion, they dropped cage and all
into the sea. For a few minutes I gave up my poor Pan-
ther as lost, but some sailors jumped into a boat belonging
to the vessel, and dragged him out in safety. The beast
himself seemed completely subdued by his ducking, and,
as no one dared to open the cage to dry it, he rolled him-
self up in one corner, nor roused himself till after an in-
terval of some days, when he recognized my voice. When
I first spoke, he raised his head, held it on one side, then
onthe other, to listen; and when I came fully into his
view, he jumped on his legs, and appeared frantic; he
rolled himself over and over, he howled, he opened his
enormous jaws and cried, and seemed as if he would have
torn his cage to pieces. However, as his violence sub-
sided, he contented himself with thrusting his paws and
nose through the bars of the cage, to receive my caresses.
I suspect that he suffered from sea sickness, as he had ap-
parently loathed all food; but, after this period, he ate
every thing that was given to him.

‘¢ The greatest treat I could bestow upon my favourite
was lavender water. Mr. Hutchison had told me that, on
the way from Ashantee, he drew a scented handkerchief
from his pocket, which was immediately seized on by the
Panther, who reduced it to atoms; nor could he venture
to open a bottle of perfume when the animal was near, he
was so eager to enjoy it. I indulged him twice a week,
by makingacup of stiff paper, pouring alittle lavender water
into it, and giving it to him through the bars of his cage:
he would drag it to him with great eagerness, roll him-
self over it, nor rest till the smell had evaporated. By
this I taught him to put out his paws without showing his
nails, always refusing the lavender water till he had drawn
them back again; and, in a short time, he never, on any
occasion, protruded his claws when offering me his
paw.

<< We lay eight weeks in the river Gaboon, where he
had plenty of excellent food, but was never suffered to
leave his cage, on account of the deck being always filled
with black strangers, to whom he had a very decided aver-
sion, although he was perfectly reconciled to white people.

248

His indignation, however, was constantly excited by the
pigs, when they were suffered to run past his cage; and the
sight of one of the monkeys put him in complete fury.
While at anchorin the before mentioned river, an ourang-
outang, (Sima Satyrus) was brought for sale, and lived
three days on board; and I shall never forget the uncon-
trollable rage of the one, or the agony of the other, at
this meeting. The ourang was about three feet high, and
very powerful in proportion to his size; so that when
he fled, with extraordinary rapidity, from the Panther to
the farther end of the deck, neither men nor things re-
mained upright when they opposed his progress: there he
took refuge in a sail, and, although generally obedient to
the voice of his master, force was necessary to make him
quit the shelter of its folds. As to the Panther, his back
rose in an arch, his tail was elevated and perfectly stiff,
his eyes flashed, and, as he howled, he showed his huge
teeth; then, as if forgetting the bars before him, he tried
to spring on the ourang, to tear him to atoms. It was long
before he recovered his tranquillity; day and night he
appeared to be on the listen; and the approach of a large
monkey we had on board, or the intrusion of a black
man, brought a return of his agitation.

‘¢ We at length sailed for England, with an ample sup-
ply of provisions; but, unhappily, we were boarded by
pirates during the voyage, and nearly reduced to starva-
tion. My Panther must have perished, had it not been for
, collection of morethan three hundred parrots with which
2 sailed from the river, and which died very fast while
we were in the north-west trades. Sai’s allowance was
one per diem, but this was so scanty a pittance that he be-
came ravenous, and had no patience to pick all the feathers
off before he commenced his meal. The consequence
was, that he became very ill, and refused even this small
quantity of food. Those around tried to persuade me
that he suffered from the colder climate; but his dry nose
and paws convinced me that he was feverish, and I had
him taken out of his cage; when, instead of jumping about
and enjoying his liberty, he lay down, and rested his
head upon my feet. I then made him three pills, each
containing two grains of calomel. The boy who had
the charge of him, and who was much attached to him,
held his jaws open, and I pushed the medicine down his
throat. Early the next morning I went to visit my pa-
tient, and found his guard sleeping in the cage with him;
and having administered a farther dose to the invalid, I
had the satisfaction of seeing him perfectly cured by the
evening. On the arrival of the vessel in the London
Docks, Sai was taken ashore, and presented to the Duchess
ef York, who placed him in Exeter Change, to be taken
care of, till she herself went to Oatlands. He remained

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY, :

there for some weeks, and was suffered to roam about the
greater part of the day without any restraint. On the
morning previous to the Duchess’ departure from
town, she went to visit her new pet, played with him,
and admired his healthy appearance and gentle deportment-
In the evening, when her Royal Highness’ coachman went
to take him away, he was dead.”’

THE REIN DEER.

Tue adult male of this species, in a wild state, is the
size of a stag, or about four and a half to five feet high;
but the female is fully less than the hind. It is the only
species of the genus which has been completely domesti-
cated, and that is steadily employed in the service of man.
It is found in most of the northern countries of Europe,
Asia,and America. The colour is of a dusky brown above,
and white beneath. The space between the eyes is black.
The hair on the lower part of the neck is much longer
than on any other place. The hoofs are large, long, and
black. The female of this species has horns, as well as
the male; but those of the latterare much the largest. These
are long, slender, branched, and upright, furnished with
brown antlers with widely expanded and palmated tips,
directed forward.

The figure of the Rein Deer is rather heavy, when com-
pared with other species. The neck is short, and the
head carried straight forward, giving the animal a dull
appearance. The females produce, in May, two fawns at
at a birth.

The Rein Deers swim with great facility, and are so
buoyant, as to keep half of the back above water; and
the great size of their feet enables them to make rapid
way across even the strongest currents. They defend
themselves with great courage, and kick furiously with
their hind feet, when attacked by the wolf, seldom failing
to repel a single one.

To the poor Laplanders, the Rein Deer is a substitute
for the horse and cow, goat and sheep. They make cheese
of its milk; feed on its flesh; and clothe themselves with
its skin. They make its tendons into bow-strings; and,
when split, use them as a coarse kind of thread. They
boil their horns into glue, and make their bones into
spoons; and, in winter, the Rein Deer supplies the place
of a horse, by drawing their sledges; and that even across
the snows, in which the breadth of their hoofs prevents
them from sinking. They run at great speed, performing
immense journeys. With two of them yoked in a sledge,
it is said the Laplander will travel upwards of a hundred

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

English miles in a day; or, according to their own way
of reckoning, they can thrice change the horizon in
twenty-four hours—that is, they can three times pass the
most remote object which presents itself, at their setting
out, in these dreary wastes.

The sledge is somewhat the shape of a boat, having a
back board, for the Laplander to lean against. Its bottom
is convex, and so constructed, that it requires considera-
ble experience to enable the traveller to maintain his equi-
librium. To this the Laplander ties himself; and ma-
nages the animals with great dexterity, by means of astick
and the reins. Before he enters the sledge, he puts on
his gloves, rolls the reins round his right thumb, and
then seats himself, giving the reins a violent shake, when
the animals bound off with astonishing fleetness. Besides
the reins, in directing the course of the Deer, he uses his
voice. The Laplander lightens the tedium of his journey,
by chanting some wild love song. These often possess
much beauty, and breathe the native wildness of that rude
and uncivilized people. Several of these have been trans-
lated into English, and have attracted universal admira-
tion, for their simplicity. The following is a specimen
of oue of these, from Consett’s Tour in Lapland. It
affords a happy illustration of that consolation which con-
tentment brings, in any condition of life.

The snows are dissolving on Tornao’s rude side,
And the ice of Lulhea flows down the dark tide:
Thy dark stream, oh, Lulhea, flows freely away!
And the snow-drop unfolds her pale beauties to-day.
Far off the keen terrors of winter retire,

And the North’s dancing streamers relinquish their fire
The sun’s genial beams swell the bud on the tree,
And Enna chants forth her wild warblings with glee.
The Rein Deer, unharness’d, in freedom shall play,
And safely o’er Odon’s steep precipice stray ;

The wolf to the forest’s recesses shall fly,

And how! to the moon as she glides through the sky.
Then haste, my fair Luah, oh! haste to the grove,
And pass the sweet season in rapture and love ;

Tn youth let our bosoms in ecstacy glow,

For the winter of life ne’er a transport can know.

It may seem difficult to account for the mode by which
these people direct their course to their destination, over
a country which presents a uniform surface of snow and
ice—and this, even during the night. It is to the Rein
Deer they trust their lives ; and accidents are said to be of
rare occurrence.

The Rein Deer feeds on the Lichen rangiferinus, and
the Lichen Islandicus, the buds of coniferous evergreens,
and other arctic plants.

It is singular, that this animal inhabits a very limited

Rrr

249

physical range, and cannot exist beyond these precincts.
Cuvier, after a laborious investigation of these limits, has
proved, that it never extended farther north than the
northern boundary of Poland, nor farther south than the
Baltic. An attempt to naturalize this species in Great
Britain was made in 1823, but failed. In the autumn of
that year, a Norwegian, with five Deer, arrived in Eng-
land, which were conveyed to the seat of a gentleman in
Worcestershire. There they remained during the winter;
and were fed with the Lichen rangiferinus. They con-
tinued healthy until the following April, when they werere-
moved to Clee Hill, on thehighest part of which that lichen
grows in great abundance; but before winter they had all
died. The same attempt was made in Ireland; but with no
better success. The Rein Deer is found wild in the Uralian
mountains, and in Siberia.—Brown’s nec. of Quad.

SNOW STORM.

[There is something exceedingly graphic and interesting in the fol-
lowing description of a snow storm in Scotland, by the Ettrick Shep-
herd, and it is well calculated to give an impressive idea of the power
of nature in one of her most magnificent aspects. ]

Or all the storms that ever Scotland witnessed, or I
hope ever will again behold, there is none of them that can
once be compared withthememorable 24th ofJanuary, 1794,
which fell with such peculiar violenceon that division of the
south of Scotland that lies between Crawford-muir and the
border. In that bounds there were seventeen shepherds pe-
rished, and upwards of thirty carried home insensible, who
afterwards recovered; but the number of sheep that were
lost far outwent any possibility of calculation. One farmer
alone, lost seventy-two scores for his own share—and
many cthers, in the same quarter, from thirty to forty
scores each. Whole flocks were overwhelmed with
snow, and no one ever knew where they were till the
snow was dissolved, that they were all founddead. I myself
witnessed one particular instance of this on the farm of Thick-
side; there were twelve scores of excellent ewes, all one
age, that were missing there all the time that the snow lay,
which was only aweek, andno tracesof them could be found;
when the snow went away, they were discovered all lying
dead, with their heads one way, as if a flock of sheep had
dropped dead going fromthe washing. Many hundreds were
driven into waters, burns, and lakes, by the violence of the
storm, where they were buried or frozen up, and these the
flood carried away, so that they were never seen or found
by the owners at all. The following anecdote somewhat
illustrates the confusion and devastation that it bred in the

250

country.. The greater part of the rivers on which the
storm was most deadly, run into the Solway Frith, on
which there is a place called the Beds of Esk, where the
tide throws out, and leaves whatsoever is carried into it
by the rivers. When the flood after the storm subsided,
there were found on that place, and the shores adjacent,
1840 sheep, nine black cattle, three horses, two men, one
woman, forty-five dogs, and one hundred and eighty
hares, beside a number of meaner animals.

To relate all the particular scenes of distress that occur-
red during this tremendous hurricane is impossible—a vo-
lume would not contain them. I shall, therefore, in order
to give a true picture of the storm, merely relate what I
saw, and shall in nothing exaggerate. But before doing
this, I must mention a circumstance, curious in its nature,
and connected with others that afterwards oecurred.

Sometime previous to that, a few young shepherds, (of
whom I was one, and the youngest, though not the least
ambitious of the number,) had formed themselves into a
sort of literary society, that met periodically, at one or
other of the houses of its members, where each read an
essay on a subject previously given out; and after that,
every essay was minutely investigated and criticised. We
met in the evening, and continued our important discus-
sions all night. Friday, the 23d of January, was the day
appointed for one of these meetings, and it was to be held
at Entertrony, a wild and remote shieling, at the very
sources of the Ettrick, and now occupied by my own bro-
ther. I had the honour of having been named as preses—
so, leaving the charge of my flock with my master, off I
set from Blackhouse, on Thursday, a very ill day, with a
flaming bombastical essay in my pocket, and my tongue
trained to many wise and profound remarks, to attend this
extraordinary meeting, though the place lay at the distance
of twenty miles, over the wildest hills in the kingdom,
and the time the depth of winter. I remained that night
with my parents at Ettrick-house, and next day again set
out on my journey. I had not, however, proceeded far,
before I perceived, or thought I perceived, symptoms of
an approaching storm, and that of no ordinary nature. I
remember the day well: the wind, which was rough on
the preceding day, had subsided into a dead calm; there
was a slight fall of snow, which descended in small, thin
flakes, that seemed to hover and reel in the air, as if un-
certain whether to go upward or downward—the hills
were covered down to the middle in deep folds of rime,
or frost-fog—in the cloughs that was dark, dense, and
seemed as if it were heaped and crushed together—but on
the brows of the hills it had a pale and fleecy appearance,
and, altogether, I never beheld a day of such gloomy as-
pect. A thought now began to intrude itself on me,

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

though I strove all that I could to get quit of it, that it
would be a wise course in me to return home to my sheep.
‘Inclination urged me on, and I tried to bring reason to her
aid, by saying to myself, ‘I have no reason in the world
to be afraid of my sheep, my master took the charge of
them cheerfully, there is not a better shepherd in the king-
dom, and I cannot doubt his concern in having them
right.””, All would not do; I stood still and contem-
plated the day, and the more closely I examined it, the
more was I impressed that some mischief was a brewing;
so, with a heavy heart, I turned on my heel, and made
the best of my way back the road I came; my elaborate
essay, and all my wise observations, had come to no-
thing.

On my way home, I called at a place named the Hope-
house, to see a maternal uncle, whom I loved; he was
angry when he saw me, and said it was not like a prudent
lad to be running up and down the country in such wea-
ther, and at such a season; and urged me to make haste
home, for it would be a drift before the morn. He ac-
companied me to the top of the height called the Black
Gate-head, and on parting, he shook his head, and said,
« Ah! it is a dangerous looking day! In troth I’m amaist
fear’d to look at it.”? I said I would not mind it, if any
one knew from what quarter the storm would arise; but
we might, in all likelihood, gather our sheep to the place
where they would be most exposed to danger. He bade
me keep a good look out all the way home, and wherever
I observed the first opening through the rime, to be as-
sured the wind would rise directly from that point. I did
as he desired me, but the clouds continued close set all
around, till the fall of evening; and as the snow had been
accumulating all day, so as to render walking very un-
furthersome, it was that time before Ireached home. The
first thing I did was to go to my master and inquire where
he had left my sheep—he told me—but though I had al-
ways the most perfect confidence in his experience, I
was not pleased with what he had done—he had left a
part of them far too high out on the hills, and the rest
were not where J wanted them, and I told him so: he
said he had done all for the best, but if there appeared to
be any danger, if I would call him up in the morning, he
would assist me. We had two beautiful servant girls,
and with them I sat chattering till past eleven o’clock,
and then I went down to the old tower. What could
have taken me to that ruinous habitation of the Black
Danglasses at that untimeous hour, I cannot recollect, but
it certainly must have been from a supposition that one of
the girls would follow me, or else that I would see a
hare—both very unlikely events to have taken place on
such a night. However, certain it is, that there I was at

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 251

midnight, and it was while standing on the top of the
staircase turret, that I first beheld a bright bore through
th clouds, toward the north, which reminded me of my
uncle’s apophthegm. But at the same time a smart thaw
had commenced, and the breeze seemed to be rising from
the south, so that I laughed in my heart at his sage rule,
and accounted it quite absurd. Short was the time till
awful experience told me how true it was.

I then went to my bed in the byre loft, where I slept
with a neighbour shepherd, named Borthwick; but though
fatigued with walking through the snow, I could not close
an eye, so that I heard the first burst of the storm, which
commenced between one and two, with a fury that no one
can conceive who does not remember of it. Besides, the
place where I lived being exposed to two or three gather-
ed winds, as they are called by shepherds, the storm raged
there with redoubled ferocity. It began all at once, with
such a tremendous roar, that I imagined it was a peal of
thunder, until I felt the house trembling to its foundation.
In a few minutes I went and thrust my naked arm through
a hole in the roof, in order, if possible, to ascertain what
was going on without, for not a ray of light could I see.
T could not then, nor can I yet, express my astonishment.
So completely was the air overloaded with falling and
driving snow, that but for the force of the wind, I felt as
if I had thrust my arm into a wreath of snow. I deemed
it a judgment sent from heaven upon us, and lay down
again in my bed, trembling with agitation. I lay still for
about an hour, in hopes that it might prove only a tempo-
rary hurricane; but, hearing no abatement of its fury, I
awakened Borthwick, and bade him get up, for it was come
on such a night or morning, as never blew from the hea-
vens. He was not long in obeying, for assoon as he heard
the turmoil, he started from his bed, and in one minute,
throwing on his clothes, he hasted down the ladder, and
opened the door, where he stood for a good while, utter-
ing exclamations of astonishment. The door where he
stood was not above fourteen yards from the door of the
dwelling house, but a wreath was already amassed between
them, as high as the walls of the house—and in trying to
get round or through this, Borthwick lost himself, and
could neither find the house nor his way back to the byre,
and about six minutes after, I heard him calling my name,
in a shrill, desperate tone of voice, at which I could not
refrain from laughing immoderately, notwithstanding the
dismal prospect that lay before us; for I heard, from his
eries, where he was. He had tried to make his way over
the top of a large dunghill, but going to the wrong side,
had fallen over, and wrestled long among snow, quite over
the head. Idid not think proper to move to his assistance,
but lay still, and shortly after, heard him shouting at the

kitchen door for instant admittance; still I kept my bed
for about three quarters of an hour longer; and then, on
reaching the house with much difficulty, found our master,
the ploughman, Borthwick, and the two servant maids,
sitting round the kitchen fire with looks of dismay, I may
almost say despair. We all agreed at once, that the soon-
er we were able to reach the sheep the better chance we
had to save a remnant; and as there were eight hundred
excellent ewes, all in one lot, but a long way distant, and
the most valuable lot of any on the farm, we resolved to
make a bold effort to reach them. Our master made fami-
ly worship, a duty he never neglected; but that morning,
the manner in which we manifested our trust and confi-
dence in heaven, was particularly affecting. We took our
breakfast—stuffed our pockets with bread and cheese—
sewed our plaids around us—tied down our hats with nap-
kins coming below our chins—and each taking a SEONG
staff in his hand, we set out on the attempt.

No sooner was the door closed behind us than we lost
sight of each other—seeing there was none—it was im-
possible for a man to see his hand held up before him,
and it was still two hours till day. We had no means of
keeping together but by following to one another’s voices,
nor of working our way save by groping with our staves
before us. It soon appeared to me a hopeless concern, for
ere ever we got clear of the houses and haystacks, we had
to roll ourselves over two or three wreaths which it was
impossible to wade through; and all the while the wind and
drift were so violent, that every three or four minutes we
were obliged to hold our faces down between our knees, to
recover our breath.

We soon got into an eddying wind that was altogether
insufferable, and atthe same time we werestruggling among
snow so deep, that our progress in the way we purposed
going was indeed very equivocal, for we had, by this
time, lost all idea of east. west, north, or south. Still we
were as busy as men determined on a business could be,
and persevered on we knew not whither, sometimes roll-
ing over the snow, and sometimes weltering in it to the
chin. The following instance of our successful exertions
marks our progress to a tittle. There was an inclosure
around the house to the westward, which we denomi-
nated the park, as is customary in Scotland. When we
went away, we calculated that it was two hours until day—
the park did not extend above 300 yards—and we were
still engaged in that park when day-light appeared.

When we got free of the park, we also got free of the
eddy of the wind—it was now straight in our faces—we
went in a line before each other, and changed places every
three or four minutes, and at length, after great fatigue, we
reached a long ridge of a hill, where the snow was thin-

252
ner, having been blown off it by the force of the wind, and
by this time we had hopes of reaching within a short space
of the ewes, which were still a mile and a half distant.
Our master had taken the lead; I was next him, and soon
began to suspect, from the depth of the snow, that he was
leading us quite wrong, but as we always trusted impli-
citly to him that was foremost for the time, I said nothing
for a good while, until satisfied that we were going in a
direction very nearly right opposite to that we intended.
I then tried to expostulate with him, but he did not seem
to understand what I said, and, on getting a glimpse of his
countenance, I perceived that it was quite altered. Not
to alarm the others, nor even himself, I said I was becom-
ing terribly fatigued, and proposed that we should lean on
the snow and take each a mouthful of whiskey, (for I had
brought a small bottle in my pocket for fear of the worst,)
and a bite of bread and cheese. This was unanimously
agreed to, and I noted that he swallowed the spirits rather
eagerly, a thing not usual with him, and when he tried to
eat, it was long before he could swallow any thing. I was
convinced that he would fail altogether, but, as it would
have been easier to have got him to the shepherd’s house
before than home again, I made no proposal for him to re-
turn. On the contrary, I said if they would trust them-
selves entirely tome, I would engage to lead them to the
ewes without going a foot out of the way—the other two
agreed to it, and acknowledged that they knew not where
they were, but he never opened his mouth, nor did he
speak a word for two hours thereafter. It had only been
a temporary exhaustion, however; for after that he re-
covered, and wrought till night as well asany of us, though
he neyer could recollect a single circumstance that occur-
red during that part of our way, nor a word that was said,
nor of having got any refreshment whatever.

At half an hour after ten, we reached the flock, and just
in time to save them; but before that, both Borthwick and
the ploughman had lost their hats, notwithstanding all their
precautions; and to impede us still farther, I went inad-
vertently over a precipice, and going down head foremost,
between the scaur and the snow, found it impossible to ex-
tricate myself; for the more I struggled, I went the deeper.
For all our troubles, I heard Borthwick above convulsed
with laughter; he thought he had got the affair of the dung-
hill paid back. By holding by one another, and letting
down a plaid to me, they hauled me up, but I was terribly
incommoded by snow that had got inside my clothes.

The ewes were standing in a close body; one half of
them were covered over with snow to the depth of ten
feet, the rest were jammed against a brae. We knew not
what to do for spades to dig them out; but, to our agree-
able astonishment, when those before were removed, they

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

had been so close pent together as to be all touching one
another, and they walked out from below the snow after
their neighbours in a body. If the snow-wreath had not
broke, and crumbled down upon a few that were hind-
most, we should have got them all out without putting a
hand to them. This was effecting a good deal more than
I or any of the party expected a few hours before; there
were 100 ewes in another place near by, but of these we
could only get out a very few, and lost all hopes of saving
the rest.

it was now wearing towards mid-day, and there were
occasionally short intervals in which we could see about
us for perhaps a score of yards; but we got only one mo-
mentary glance of the hills around us all that day. I
grew quite impatient to be at my own charge, and leaving
the rest, I went away to them by myself, that is, I went
to the division that was left far out on the hills, while our
master and the ploughman volunteered to rescue those that
were down on the lower ground. I found mine in mise-
rable circumstances, but making all possible exertion, I got
out about one half of them, which I left in a place of safety,
and made towards home, for it was beginning to grow
dark, and the storm was again raging, without any miti-
gation, in all its darkness and deformity. I was not the
least afraid of losing my way, for I knew all the declivi-
ties of the hills so well, that I could have come home with
my eyes bound up, and, indeed, long ere I got home, they
were of no use to me. I was terrified for the water,
(Douglas Burn,) for in the morning it was flooded and
gorged up with snow in a dreadful manner, and I judged
that it would be quite impassable. At length I came to
a place where I thought the water should be, and fell a
boring and groping for it with my long staff. No, I
could find no water, and began to dread, that for all my
accuracy I had gone wrong. I was greatly astonished,
and, standing still to consider, I looked up toward heaven,
I shall not say for what cause, and to my utter amaze-
ment thought I beheld trees over my head flourishing
abroad over the whole sky. I never had seen such an op-
tical delusion before; it was so like enchantment, that I
knew not what to think, but dreaded that some extraor-
dinary thing was coming over me, and that I was de-
prived of my right senses. I remember I thought the
storm was a great judgment sent on us for our sins, and
that this strange phantasy was connected with it, an illu-
sion effected by evil spirits. I stood a good while in this
painful trance; at length, on making a bold exertion to
escape from the fairy vision, I came all at once in contact
with the old tower. Never in my life did I experience
such a relief; I was not only all at once freed from the
fairies, but from the dangers of the gorged river. I had

ea her Tein Ua Ona ety

we i.
aed

MOAN HINT SOSA

HON

wird wood

“HONIG

wNId

sauan(p- of Ay attoyg mo ITGQUAN ULoLs

BID aur!

0 “TPA.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 253

come over it on some mountain of snow, I knew not how
nor where, nor do I know to this day. So that, after all,
they were trees that I saw, and trees of no great magni-
tude neither; but their appearance to my eyes it is impos-
sible to describe. I thought they flourished abroad, not
for miles, but for hundreds of miles, to the utmost verge
of the visible heavens. Such a day and such a night may
the eye of a shepherd never again behold.
[Shepherd’s Calendar.

PURPLE FINCH.

FRINGILLA PURPUREA.
[Plate XXII. Vol. 2.—on a branch of Sycamore. |

Fringilla Purpurea, Guru. Syst. 1. 923—Bouvreuil
violet de la Caroline, Burr. rv. 395.—Purple Finch,
Arct. Zool. 11. No. 258.—Carsss. 1. 41.—Latu. Syn.
m1. 275, 39.—Crimson-headed Finch, 4rct. Zool. 11.
No. 257.—Latuam, Syn. m1. 275, 39.—Hemp-bird,
Bartram, 291—Fringilla Purpurea, Id. 291.—J.
Doveuty’s Collection.

Tuis is a winter bird of passage, coming to us in large
flocks from the north, in September and October, great
numbers remaining with us in Pennsylvania during the
whole winter, feeding on the seeds of the poplar, button-
wood, juniper, cedar; and on those of many rank weeds
that flourish in rich bottoms, and along the margin of
ereeks. When the season is very severe they proceed to
the south, as far at least as Georgia, returning north early
in April. They now frequent the elm trees, feeding on
the slender but sweet covering of the flowers; and as soon
as the cherries put out their blossoms, feed almost exclu-
sively on the stamina of the flowers; afterwards the apple
blossoms are attacked in the same manner; and their de-
predations on these continue till they disappear, which is
usually about the 10th or middle of May. I have been
told that they sometimes breed in the northern parts of
New-York, but haye never met with their nests. About
the middle of September I found these birds numerous on
Long Island, and round Newark, in New-Jersey. They
fly at a considerable height in the air, and their note is a
single chink, like that of the Rice-bird. They possess
great boldness and spirit, and when caught, bite violently,
and hang by the bill from your hand, striking with great
fury; but they are soon reconciled to confinement, and in
a day or two are quite at home. I have kept a pair of

Sss

these birds upwards of nine months, to observe their man-
ners. One was caught in a trap, the other was winged
with the gun; both are now as familiar as if brought up
from the nest by the hand, and seem to prefer hempseed
and cherry blossoms to all other kinds of food. Both male
and female, though not crested, are almost constantly in
the habit of erecting the feathers of the crown; they ap-
pear to be of a tyrannical and domineering disposition,
for they nearly killed an indigo-bird, and two or three
others that were occasionally placed with them, driving
them into a corner of the cage, standing on them and tear-
ing out their feathers, striking them on the head, munch-
ing their wings, &c. &e., till I was obliged to interfere;
and even if called to, the aggressor would only turn up a
malicious eye to me for a moment, and renew his out-
rage as before. They are a hardy, vigorous bird. In the
month of October, about the time of their first arrival, I shot
a male, rich in plumage, and plump in flesh, but which
wanted one leg, that had been taken off a little above the
knee; the wound had healed so completely, and was co-
vered with so thick a skin, that it seemed as though it had
been so for years. Whether this mutilation was occasion-
ed by a shot, or in party quarrels of its own, I could not
determine; but our invalid seemed to have used his stump
either in hopping or resting, for it had all the appearance
of having been brought in frequent contact with other
bodies harder than itself.

This bird is a striking example of the truth of what has
been frequently repeated, that in many instances the same
bird has been more than once described by the same per-
son as a different species; for it is a fact which time will
establish, that the Crimson-headed Finch of Pennant and
Latham, the Purple Finch of the same and other natural-
ists, the Hemp-bird of Bartram, and the Fringilla rosea of
Pallas, are one and the same, viz: the Purple Finch, the
subject of the present article.

The Purple Finch is six inches in length, and nine in
extent; head, neck, back, breast, rump, and tail coverts,
dark crimson, deepest on the head and chin, and lightest
on the lower part of the breast; the back is streaked with
dusky; the wings and tail are also dusky black, edged
with reddish; the latter a good deal forked; round the base
of the bill the recumbent feathers are of a light clay or
cream colour; belly and vent white; sides under the
wings streaked with dull reddish; legs a dirty purplish
flesh colour; bill short, strong, conical, and of a dusky
horn colour; iris dark hazle; the feathers covering the ears
are more dusky red than the other parts of the head. This
is the male, when arrived at its full colours. The female
is nearly of the same size, of a brown olive or flax colour,
streaked with dusky black; the head seamed with lateral

254 THE CABINET OF
lines of whitish; above and below the hind part of the ear
feathers, are two streaks of white; the breast is whitish,
streaked with a light flax colour; tail and wings as in the
male, only both edged with dull brown, instead of red;
belly and vent white. This is also the colour of the
young during the first, and to at least the end of the
second season, when the males begin to become lightly
yellowish, which gradually brightens to crimson; the
female always retains nearly the same appearance. The
young male bird of the first year may be distinguished
from the female by the tail of the former being edged with
olive green; that of the latter with brown. A male of one
of these birds, which I kept for some time, changed in the
month of October, from red to greenish yellow, but died
before it recovered its former colour.—W11son.

PINE FINCH.
FRINGILLA PINUS.
[Plate XXII. Vol. 2.]

J. Dovenry’s Collection.

Tus little northern stranger visits us in the month of
November, and seeks the seeds of the black alder, on the
borders of swamps, creeks and rivulets. As the weather
becomes more severe, and the seeds of the Pinws cana-
densis are fully ripe, these birds collect in large flocks, and
take up their residence, almost exclusively, among these
trees. In the gardens of Bushhill, in the neighbour-
hood of Philadelphia, a flock of two or three hundred of
these birds have regularly wintered many years; where a
noble avenue of pine trees, and walks covered with fine
white gravel, furnish them with abundance through the
winter. Early in March they disappear, either to the
north, or to the pine woods that cover many lesser ranges
of the Alleghany. While here they are often so tame as
to allow you to walk within a few yards of the spot where
a whole flock of them are sitting. They flutter among
the branches, frequently hanging by the cones, and utter-
ing a note almost exactly like that of the goldfinch, (7.
tristis.) Ihave not a doubt but this bird appears in a
richer dress in summer in those places where he breeds as
he has so very great a resemblance to the bird above men-
tioned, with whose changes we are well acquainted.

The length of this species is four inches, breadth eight
inches; upper part of the head, the neck and back, a dark
flaxen colour, streaked with black; wings black, marked

NATURAL HISTORY,

with two rows of dull white or cream colour; whole wing
quills, under the coverts, rich yellow, appearing eyen
when the wings are shut; rump and tail coverts yellowish,
streaked with dark brown; tail feathers rich yellow from
the roots half way to the tips, except the two middle ones,
which are blackish brown, slightly edged with yellow;
sides under the wings of a cream colour, with long streaks
of black; breast a light flaxen colour, with small streaks or
pointed spots of black; legs purplish brown; bill a dull
horn colour; eyes hazel. The female was scarcely distin-
guishable by its plumage from the male. The New-
York Siskin of Pennant appears to be only the yellow-
bird, (ringilla tristis,) in his winter dress.

This bird has a still greater resemblance to the Siskin
of Europe, (7. spinus,) and may perhaps be the species
described by Turton, as the Black Mexican Siskin, which
he says is varied above with black and yellowish, and is
white beneath, and which is also said to sing finely. This
change from flaxen to yellow is observable in the Gold-
finch; and no other two birds of our country resemble
each other more than these do in their winter dresses.—b.

INSTRUCTIONS TO YOUNG SPORTSMEN.
No. 6.

My remarks in the present number will be confined to
woodcock and snipe shooting, this being also readily sought
after by the young sportsman, as these birds appear in
their proper seasons, in the neighbourhood almost of every
farm, town or city of the United States.

The woodcock is a bird of very singular habits, and is,
perhaps, one of the most itinerant of the feathered tribe,
for it not only makes long journies over land, passing
from clime to clime in a single night, but is ever moving
throughout a neighbourhood in search of food, so soon as
darkness covers the earth.

The sluggishness of this bird at times, when flushed by
the sportsman, may be attributed to its wanderings on the
preceding night, especially if it should have been a clear,
moonlight night. The indisposition, however, it mani-
fests to quit its hiding place, arises more from the painful
influence of the light on the vision; these operating
against the bird, make it a favourite object of pursuit by
the young sportsman, who, though unskilful in shooting
either snipe or partridges, is sometimes very successful
after woodcocks.

In particular seasons of the year the woodcock is a most
delicious bird, and may justly vie with any other delicacy

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

for the platter; but system in shooting is so little regarded
in this country, that no season is considered propitious,
except that in which the rapacious shooter may fill his un-
satisfied game-bag. No respect is paid by many, even to
the period of incubation, when the bird, being so intent
either to its mate, or the performance of parental duties,
may be approached within a few feet, and thus become
the victim to an unfeeling destroyer. The bird, at this
time, if driven from the ground, will fly but a few yards
and settle again; or if towards the close of day, will
ascend into the air, and after performing a few certain
flights, uttering some musical notes the whole time, will
descend within a few feet of the spot from which it sprang.
When on the ground, it has a note peculiar to itself, and
is never heard before twilight, but at all hours during the
night, and is very much like the sound produced by blow-
ing one of those small trumpets, with which most are ac-
quainted. The latter action of the bird is sure evidence
that the pairing time has arrived, and is performed most-
ly by the male bird, while the female is attending to her
more sacred rites.

After the 1st of February, no woodcock should be kill-
ed, for in mild seasons they begin to pair and lay during
that month, and there are no birds which produce their
young so soon as these. In several instances, the author
has found by the middle of February the ovarva so large,
as to require but few more days to produce the perfect
egg. The young birds have also been found capable of
flying in the early part of April. There are other reasons
why they should not be killed so late in the season, and
these are, the poverty and unflayoured state of the flesh.
Woodcocks feed altogether on worms and insects, which,
being either destroyed or driven into the earth by rigor-
ous weather, little or no means are furnished for their
subsistence; hence, when they make their appearance to
the north in February, they have just commenced their
migrations from the south, and before the earth-worm,
(which is their favourite food,) can be obtained in suffi-
cient quantities to create fatness, incubation is progress-

g, and of course the consequent poverty of the parent
bird succeeds. After this is experienced, they do not re-
cover from the effects until their progeny is reared, or
until autumn approaches; the old and young are alike
miserable, poor and covered with vermin. The fact then
may be established, that the only proper time for shoot-
ing woodecocks, is either in the fall, or, if you choose,
from September until the Ist of February.

I would advise you not to hunt at the commencement
of the season; this, you know, generally commences in
July. In New-Jersey it is established by law on the 5th,
The above reasons alone should deter you from it, and if

ing.

255

they are not sufficient, others may be adduced which
should satisfy you; these are, first, the successive hot
weather during the months of July and August; and again,
the impossibility of preserving longer than a few hours the
birds you may have killed. Shooting, if well followed,
is laborious work under the best circumstances; but, to
pursue woodcocks under a scorching sun, through all of
those different places which are frequented by them, re-
quires effort and energy, which can only be sustained in
a cool and bracing atmosphere for any length of time, is
laborious and fatiguing beyond conception, and is often
productive of a fevered system, great lassitude, and fre-
quently sickness, At this period, too, your efforts are
seldom rewarded by a proportionable quantity of game,
and, that which you have procured, should you perse-
vere through the day in hunting, will, no doubt, be spoil-
ed and useless ere you get home. Should you, however,
after all, be disposed to pursue the sport during these
months, I would advise you to start very early in the
morning, and retire to some house, or shady retreat, about
eleven o’clock, where you should remain until three or
four o’clock in the afternoon. The interval, at any rate,
is an unpropitious time for shooting any description of
game, particularly woodcocks, as the influence of the light
and heat will drive them into the most shady and retired
parts of the swamps, or cause them to be two-fold more
tenacious of their resting places. The latter part of
the afternoon, especially towards the close of day,
is the best time for hunting. Should you then be beat-
ing a meadow in the vicinity of a swampy thicket, you
must approach the edges of the latter, where the birds are
most likely to be.

In hunting woodcocks, you cannot beat the ground too
well; above all, proceed only at a very moderate rate,
pausing every few steps for a moment or two, which I
have found often causes the birds to spring, when con-
stant progress would tend to keep them quiet. During
these months, (July, August, and September,) the birds
are scattered over all parts of the northern country, unless
the season should be uncommonly dry. Woodecocks do
not like much water, and constant rains will drive them
from the low lands; but moist grounds of a loamy nature
are places of their most favourite resort. In meadows of
this bottom where cattle have been grazing, you will most-
ly find some of these birds. The grass in such places is
generally of sufficient height to afford them shelter, while
the tracks and spots made bare by the trampling of the
cattle, enables them to penetrate the earth with their bills.

Swamps or woods, with bottoms also of this kind, espe-
cially if covered with alder bushes or maple trees, are
good places for hunting these birds; but into whatever

256

species of ground you enter, search well for the borings,
or, as some term them, ‘‘spikings’’ in the ground. These,
you are aware, are small holes, like worm holes, or rather
of a triangular shape, sometimes in clusters, directed fre-
quently at the foot of a tuft of grass or tussock, and made
by the bird with its bill, while seeking for acorns beneath
the surface of the ground. The object of this is argued by
persons differently. Some say the bird lives by suction,
that is, by some nutritive substance drawn from the earth
by means of its bill; others, that the bird, being governed
by the sense of touch alone, drives its bill into the ground
and remains in that position until it feels the worm, when
it is drawn forth and eaten; each of these positions may be
partially correct; but my observation causes me to differ
from both. There is no doubt, the sense of touch, hear-
ing and sight, are all employed by the bird in the attain-
ment of its food; perhaps the two former more frequently.
The latter cannot avail, when the objects searched for by
the bird, are placed beneath the surface of the ground.
The operation of boring, or spiking, is done by the bird,
by sticking its bill with all its strength into the mud suc-
cessively, and then a pause ensues for a few seconds, when
the same action is repeated; during this employment, the
bird half spreads its wings, and at every stroke of the bill,
gets up and also spreads its tail considerably; now, it is
evident, that the bird, by thus disturbing the ground, ex-
cites the earth worm to motion, which, perhaps, in its en-
deayours to escape, finds easier access to the holes made by
the bill, and instead of escaping, ascends to the surface of
the ground, and thus serves as a repast to the bird. The
woodcock is no doubt greatly governed by hearing, and
directs its efforts towards those parts where it hears the
worm perforating the ground. This opinion, Ithink,ismost
reasonable, as we, who are more imperfect in that sense
than many other animals, can hear insects boring various
substances, especially the bottom of a ship, which is per-
forated by myriads of the minutest insects; this accuracy
of hearing is one of the perfections, but not an absolutely
necessary part of our nature; but with the bird in question,
it becomes a necessary part of its nature, inasmuch as most
of its food is sought after in the darkness and stillness of
the night; and it appears to be endowed by Providence
with that particular quality as is suited to its cireumstances
or habits. These borings indicate the presence of the
bird, and I would advise you to hunt every spot well,
when such occur. When you spring the bird in clear
ground, a little deliberation on your part will ensure you
a successful shot: for the bird is neither rapid in its flight,
nor strong on the wing, and a very slight wound will
bring it to the ground. Should a bird come towards you,

always suffer it to pass before you shoot. Should you

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

spring a bird in a thicket, you will observe it will always
soar to the tops of the trees, unless the wood should be
open. In this case, you must wait until they have risen
to their highest point before you shoot, or you will pro-
bably miss your object.

In the fall season, woodcocks are seldom seen in mea-
dows, or open land, except it should be newly cleared land
of wet bottom; but in maple swamps, and bush land, they
may sometimes be found in abundance; at this period itis
truly a valuable bird, and a small number will compen-
sate for a day’s hunt; the finest bag of game the writer
ever carried in one day, consisted of twenty-one wood-
cocks, killed in the early part of November, in a large
swamp, within ten miles of Philadelphia. I have heard
of some sportsmen killing four times as many in a single
day, in the early part of the season, that is in July; but I
would ask any epicure, whether my twenty-one birds
killed in November, were not more valuable than four
score killed in the summer. It is not the quantity, but
the condition of the game which makes them valuable.
In the latter instance, an unnecessary wasteof life is ocea-
sioned, for not one-fourth of the quantity is ever used, and
the satisfaction of bagging half a dozen of the splendid
November birds, is greater than killing two dozen in July.
Very small shot will kill these birds, say No. 9 or 10;
but as you may encounter partridges also, I would advise
you to use No. 8 in fall and winter, and in the summer,
No. 9. A woodcock is a very nerveless bird for its size
and appearance, although it sometimes happens, that when
struck by shot, it will fly a long distance before it falls,
and I have known them, even when mortally wounded,
to move and settle as if unhurt; but it rarely occurs, if
wounded, that it will ever take wing again; therefore, if
you suppose you have struck the bird, you should follow
its wake with caution, and you will stand a good chance
to recover it, if wounded, without the necessity of shoot-
ing again. I have no doubt many birds haye been lost by
inattention to this point.

Snipe shooting is somewhat different and more difli-
cult, as the shooter must hunt through mud and water con-
tinually; it is, however, more free from other obstruc-
tions, but it requires much skill to be successful. Snipes
occur in abundance twice in the year; the first season is
from the middle of March to that of April, and again
during the latter part of October and beginning of Novem-
ber: these are the seasons for the middle states; but they
are found much sooner in the year, and later in the fall,
in the Carolinas and Georgia, and vice versa in the northern
states. In the first instance, they are migrating north,
and in the latter, returning south. They are poor on their
first arrival in both seasons, but a few days rest on good

be a!

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

feeding ground will fattenthem. The best period in the
spring is at the time when the frogs are most noisy, and
the grass beginning to grow, and they may be hunted
either with or without dogs. Ifthe weather is windy you
must hunt with the wind, and when you spring a snipe it
doubles immediately and flies by you, by which you will
haye across shot. In this kind of weather they are not
so shy as in still weather, for in the latter they will fre-
quently rise out of reach, especially if hunted much. You
must at all times reserve your fire until the bird over-
comes its zigzag flight, which it usually does within
twenty yards; and by using fine shot, say No. 8 or 9, you
will hardly fail to kill at that distance. The fall birds,
however, I think are best; they are chiefly young, and of
course tender; but in the spring they are all old, and being
on their flight north to incubate, may be considered ra-
ther out of season. For further information on this head,
I will refer the reader to pages 87 and 97 of Vol. I. of
this werk, under Woodcock and Snipe Shooting.

With the exception of the wild pigeon, I think there is
no bird that describes so great a line of flight as the snipe;
it penetrates the north so far to incubate, that no one can
tell the precise place where it raises its young. Who
has ever seen a snipe’s nest?””? is an unanswered ques-
tion often propounded, which leaves a mystery about
the parental duties of the bird. Snipes are seattered not
only oyer the whole continent of America, but through-
out Europe and other parts of the world, and wherever
there is civilization, they are objects of pursuit among
sportsmen. In March, this bird is very abundant in the
southern states of this country; the rice grounds are its
delight, and at that time numbers may be found there,
and it is not uncommon for those who shoot well, to kill
from fifty to an hundred in a single day. In the middle
and northern states they are not so plentiful, and the
sportsmen of these places are contented with the success
of bagging twenty or thirty in a day; there are parts,
however, in which, at times, they are found in num-
bers, but the uncertainty even of those places af-
fording much sport, renders it unnecessary now to point
them out. Ie

KANGUROO HUNTING.

Tue Kanguroo is naturally a timid animal, and flies at
the approach of man. In New-Holland this creature is
hunted with greyhounds, and affords an agreeable pastime
to the settlers. It does not run like other quadrupeds,
but progresses by quick, repeated bounds, of more than

Wa

257

twenty feet, and no obstacle of nine or ten feet can ob-
struct its flight, for it will leap oyer any object of that
height with the greatest ease. It is hunted silently, for it
has surprising quickness of hearing. When a dog finds
his game, the chase begins, the Kanguroo hopping, and
the dog running at his full speed; so that in a thickly-
wooded country like New-Holland they are quickly
out of view.

The following account of Kanguroo hunting is taken
from Dawson’s Present State of Australia:—

«<The country on our right consisted of high hills,
thickly timbered; that on the left, on the opposite side of
the river, was a rich and thinly timbered country. A low
and fertile flat meadow there skirted the river, and at the
extremity of the flat the hills gradually arose with a gen-
tle slope, covered with vyerdure, upon which an immense
herd of Kanguroos was feeding. I crossed over with Maty
Bill and a brace of dogs, leaving the party to proceed on
their route. The moment we had crossed, the Kangu-
roos moved off, It is extremely curious to see the man-
ner in which a large herd of these animals jump before
you. It has often been asserted in England that they
make use of their tails to spring from you when they are
pursued: this is not correct. Their tails never touch the
ground when they move, except when they are on their
feed, or at play: and the faster they run or jump, the
higher they carry them. The male Kanguroos were
called, by the natives, old men, ‘wool man;’ and the
females, young ladies, ‘young liddy.’” The males are
not so swift as the females; and the natives, in wet seasons,
occasionally run the former down when very large, their
weight causing them to sink in the wet ground, and thus
to become tired. They frequently, however, make up
for this disadvantage, by fierceness and cunning, when
attacked either by men or dogs; and it is exceedingly
difficult for a brace of the best dogs to killa ‘ corbon wool
man.’ When they can, they will hug a dog ora man as a
bear would do; and as they are armed with long sharp
claws, they not unfrequently let a dog’s entrails out, or
otherwise lacerate him in the most dreadful manner, sit-
ting all the while on their haunches, hugging and scratch-
ing with determined fury. Young dogs, that are fierce
and of good bottom, are almost sure to be sacrificed, if
allowed to run at these ‘old men,’ before they have ac-
quired some experience with smaller ones. After having
been once or twice wounded, they get pretty cunning;
and very few dogs will attack a ‘ wool man,’ when they
are away from their keepers: their practice is to keep the
enemy at bay, by running round, and barking at him, till
some persons come up, when, either with large sticks or
pistols, and the aid of the dogs, he is finally despatched,

258

but not without some difficulty and caution. A full-sized
‘wool man’ at bay, always sits on his haunches, and when
he rises to move forward, he stands four, or four and a
half feet high. In this manner, he will, when pressed,
meet a man, and hug and scratch him, if not to death, in
such a way as he does not soon forget it. When hard
pressed, and near to water, the Kanguroo always takes it;
if it be deep water, and the dogs follow him, one or the
other is almost sure to be drowned. If a single dog, the
Kanguroo is nearly certain to come off victorious, by
taking his assailant in his fore arms, and holding him
under water till he is dead; but, if he has two dogs op-
posed to him, he is not left at liberty to hold either of his
opponents long enough under water to drown him, and
he generally himself falls a sacrifice, after a long and hard
struggle. Notwithstanding the courage and ferocity of
the Kanguroo, when pressed, he is otherwise extreme-
ly timid, and more easily domesticated than any wild ani-
mal with which I am acquainted. The smaller ones are
frequently quite as swift as a hare; and I have sometimes
seen them outstrip the fleetest dogs. The kind of dog
used for coursing the Kanguroois generally a cross between
the greyhound and the mastiff, or sheep-dog; but in a cli-
mate like New South Wales, they have, to use the com-
mon phrase, too much lumber about them. The true-
bred greyhound is the most useful dog; he has more wind;
he ascends the hill with more ease, and will run double
the number of courses in a day. He has more bottom in
running, and, if he has less ferocity when he comes up
with an ‘old man,’ so much the better, as he exposes him-
self the less, and lives to afford sport another day. The
strongest and most courageous dog can seldom conquer a
‘wool man’ alone, and not one in fifty will face him fair-
ly; the dog who has the temerity, is certain to be disa-
bled, if not killed.

*¢ The herd of Kanguroos we had thus come upon was
too numerous to allow of the dogs being let loose; but, as the
day’s walk was drawing to a close, I had given Maty Bill
liberty to catch another Kanguroo, if we should fall in
with a single one. After moving up to the foot of a hill,
about a quarter of a mile from the river, my sable com-
panion eyed a ‘corbon wool man,’ as he called it, quietly
feeding at a distance, on the slope of the hill. His eyes
sparkled; he was all agitation: and he called out, ¢ Massa!
massa! You tee! you tee! wool man, wool man! cordon
wool man!’ and off he ran with his dogs, till he was with-
in a fair distance, when he slipped their collars. I was
at this time on foot, and the whole of them, therefore,
were soon out of my sight. They had turned round the
bottom of the hill, in the direction of the river, and, as I
was following them down, I heard the dogs at bay, and

THE oe OF NATURAL HISTORY,

the shrill call of ‘coo-00-00,’ from my companion, to
direct me to the spot; and, on turning the corner of the
hill, I met him, running, and calling as fast and as loud as
he could. As soonas he saw me, he stopped and called
out,—‘ Massa! massa! make haste; dingo, (dogs,) have got
him in ribber. Many corbon wool man, all te same like
it bullock.’ All this was said in a breath; and as I could
not pretend to run with him, I desired him to go as fast
as he could, and help the dogs, till I should arrive. When
I got up to the spot, he was in the middle of the river,
with about two feet depth of water, while the Kanguroo,
sitting upright on its haunches, was keeping both him and
the dogs at a respectful distance, and had laid bare the
windpipe of one of the dogs. Billy’s Waddy was too
short to reach him without coming to close quarters, and
he knew better than to do that; at length he got behind
him, and with a blow on the head, he despatched him.
No huntsman could have shown more ardour in pursuit,
or more pleasure at the death of a fox, than did poor Maty
Bill upon this occasion. The Kanguroo was so heavy,
weighing about a hundred and fifty pounds, that he could
not lift him out of the water, and we were obliged to leave
him till our party arrived on the opposite side. A fresh
scene of pleasure ensued among the natives when they be-
came acquainted with our good fortune. They were now
all in the river, from whence they drew the ‘wool man,’
and placed him on the back of one of the horses. I wished
to have left him, as we had already enough; but, as they
were eager beyond every thing to take him, I indulged
them. It appears that the natives have a great partiality
for the flesh of the old and Jarge Kanguroos, just as we
have for mutton or venison of a proper age. Inever could
discover any difference in flavour; but, if they can partake
of a ‘ wool man,’ they refuse any other; and, when asked
the reason, they replied to me, ‘Wool man’ budge-
ree (food) fatter. Black fellow like him always more
better.’ ””

ON THE SCENT OF BIRDS.

A power is supposed to be exercised by birds in sup-
pressing that peculiar odour, which enables the dog to
scent them. Some of the occurrences of a day’s sporting,
have gone very far towards satisfying me that the theory
is correct.

I was out with a companion, each of us having a dog.
After traversing much ground, without success, our point-
ers nosed a covey of partridges, and we prepared for a
shot; one of the birds upon ‘the extreme left,’’ received

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

some of the contents of one of my barrels, and fell. I
marked the spot, and in my anxiety to bag the little vic-
tim, proceeded directly to the place; my imagination ra-
pidly sketching out the delight with which the fair lady,
for whose service I intended my prize, would contemplate
it about 9 o’clock, when nicely broiled, with plenty of
fresh butter, and a little black pepper. And here let me
hint to cur young sportsmen, that (however much they
may retrench in the article of supper, for the ladies, when
they are managers of the public balls, and deem the fair
sex too ethereal to eat any thing but jellies and syllabubs, )
a present of a brace or two of game, is not unacceptable
to the most sylph-like of their female friends. The way
to tempt the appetite with a partridge, is to cook it as I
have described, and flanked by a slice of bread and small
plate of pickle, place it upon a waiter and send it in. But
to return from this digression.

Although I marked the spot where my bird fell, I was
unable to find it. I called my companion, and we called
our dogs. For several minutes we kept the dogs ‘hie
finding”? upon a space about ten feet square, where the
grass was long and silky, but at length they fairly gave it
up. But my companion being of a persevering nature, re-
fused to be baffled, and at length found the crippled bird
hid in a tuft’ of grass.

Some time afterwards, we came across another covey,
which was in a hedge. When the birds got up, we had
each of us a shot, although on different sides of the hedge,
and each one brought down his bird. I saw mine scram-
ble into the hedge, and warned by the previous occur-
rence of the difficulty of finding the game, I put the dogs
to work. They came toastand. The bird was dead.

I got over the fence to assist my companion, who com-
plained that he could not find his bird, although it was in
a field with very short grass. We searched; the dogs
smelt about, but in vain. After looking for a long time,
I proposed to give it up, and was actually moving off,
when by a mere accident, we discovered the little sufferer
alive. The dogs must have passed nearly over him.

Having marked the spot where some of the birds put
down, we moved forward to give them another unwel-
come interruption. I had a fair shot, and finding my
bird continue to fly, exclaimed, ‘‘ mark that bird—he will
* not survive that shot.”? He put down ina marshy, reedy
place, at least a hundred yards off. We proceeded leisurely
onward, and found the bushes and briers pretty thick.
The dogs stood at once. Upon examination the bird was
dead.

If it be said, that our dogs were good for nothing, and
therefore could not mark the crippled birds: I answer, they
found them when dead; and I confess that the occur-

259

rences I have mentioned, could not well have been more
strongly to the point, if the ground had been selected by
way of experiment. In a field nearly open, they missed
a living bird; in a close bushy place, they instantly found
a dead one.—American Turf Register.

SLEEP OF ANIMALS DURING WINTER.

In the cold season nature being deprived of so many
creatures, which rendered it beautiful and animated, ap-
pears dead. Most of the animals that have disappeared
are buried in a profound sleep for the winter. This is
the case, not only with snails, but bugs, ants, flies, spiders,
caterpillars, frogs, lizards, and serpents. It is a mistake
to suppose that the ants lay up provisions for the winter.
The least cold numbs them, and they remain in that state
till the return of spring. Of what use then would their
stores be, since nature has prevented their requiring food
in winter? What they collect in summer, with so much
care, is not for their subsistence. They use it as mate-
rials to build their habitations. ‘There are also many
birds, who, when food begins to fail, hide themselves
under ground, or in caves, to sleep all the winter. It is
at least asserted, that, before winter, the shore-swallows
hide under ground, the wall-swallows in the hollows of
trees, or old buildings, and the common swallows go to
the end of ponds, and fasten themselves in pairs to some
reeds, where they remain lifeless and motionless till they
are revived by the return of fine weather. There are
also some beasts, which bury themselves in the ground at
the end of summer. The most remarkable of them is the
mountain-rat, which generally makes its abode in the
Alps. Though it loves to be on the highest mountains,
in the region of ice and snow, it is sooner numbed with
cold than any other animal; for which reason, it retires
about the end of September, or the beginning of October,
into its subterraneous lodging, to remain there till April.
There is much art and precaution in the plan of their
winter-residence. It is a sort of gallery, the two branches
of which have each their particular opening, and both
terminate in a place without any, where they live. This
dwelling place is lined with moss and hay. They make
no provision for winter, as it would be useless to them.
Before they enter their winter quarters, they prepare
themselves each a bed of moss and hay; and then, having
well closed the entrance into their houses, they compose
themselves to sleep. As long as this state of insensibility
lasts, they absolutely live without eating. At the begin-
ning of winter, they are so fat, that some of them weigh

260

twenty pounds; but by degrees they fall away, and are
very thin in spring. When these rats are discovered in
their retreats, they are found rolled up round, and sunk
into the hay. During their torpid state, they are carried
away without being wakened, and they may even be kill-
ed without appearing to feel it. There is another sort of
rats, whose sleep is as long and as sound as these, and are
therefore called the sleepers. Bears eat prodigiously at
the beginning of winter, as if they meant to eat enough at
once for their whole lives. As they are naturally fat, and
are excessively so at the end of autumn, this abundance
of fat enables them to bear their abstinence during their
winter’s repose. The badgers prepare for their retreat
into their burrowsinthesamemanner. Theinstinct of these,
and many other animals, teaches them thus to dispense
with food for a considerable time.—Sturm’s Reflections.

TWVAY ©

Wary is it that every one is pleased with the common
Ivy? There is a charm about that plant which all feel,
butnone can tell why. Observe it hanging from the arch of
some old bridge, and consider the degree of interest it
gives to that object. The bridge itself may be beautiful-
ly situated; the stream passing through its arches clear
and copious; but still it is the Zuy which gives the finish
and picturesque effect. Mouldering towers, and castles,
and ruined cloisters, interest our feelings in a great de-
gree more or less by the circumstance of their being co-
vered or not by the Ivy. Precipices, which else would
exhibit only their naked barren walls, are clothed by it
in a rich and beautiful vesture. Old trees, whose trunks
it surrounds, assume a great variety of aspect; and, in-
deed, it is a most important agent in forming the beauty
and variety of rural landscape. It is also as useful as it
is beautiful; and among its uses I would include the very
thing of which I am now speaking, for I have no idea that
the forms and colours in nature please the eye by a sort
of chanee. If I admire the Ivy clinging to and surmount-
ing some time-worn tower, and the various tints that
diversify the parts of the ruin not hidden by it, I can only
refer the pleasure I experience to the natural construction
of the human mind, which the Almighty has formed to
feel a pleasure in contemplating the external world around
it. Who is insensible to the beauties of nature at the
rising and setting of the sammer’s sun? Who can behold
the moon-beams reflected from some silent river, lake, or
sea, and not feel happy in the sight? None, I believe, in
early life. When hardened in the ways of men—when

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

the chief good pursued is the accumulation of wealth, the
acquisition of power, or the pursuit of pleasure, so call-
ed—then mankind lose a sense of the beauties of nature;
but never, perhaps, till then. A love for them is inhe-
rent in the mind, and almost always shows itself in youth;
and if cherished at that period by education, would sel-
dom be destroyed or become dormant in after life, as it
now so generally is.

The Ivy is of -vast advantage to the smaller birds, as it
affords them shelter in winter, and a retreat for building
their nests in spring and summer. It is in fructification
in October and November; and the sweet juice which its
flowers exude supports an infinity of insects in autumn,
while its berries are a store of nutriment for many birds
in the early spring. Along with other excellent observa-
tions relating to this plant, you will find the following in
the ‘* Journal of a Naturalist:’’—‘* Those two extreme
quarters of our year, autumn and spring, yield to most ani-
mals but a very slender and precarious supply of food; but
the Ivy in those periods saves many from want and death;
and the peculiar situations in which it prefers to flourish,
are essential to the preservation of this supply, as in less
sheltered ones it would be destroyed. In the month of
October the Ivy blooms in profusion; and spreading over
the warm side of some neglected wall, or the sunny bark
of the broad ash on the bank, its flowers become a univer-
sal banquet to the insect race. The great black fly, and
its numerous tribe, with multitudes of small winged crea-
tures, resort to them; and there we see those beautiful
animals, the latest birth of the year, the admiral and
peacock butterflies, hanging with expanded wings like
open flowers themselves, enjoying the sunny gleam, and
feeding on the sweet liquor that distils from the nectary
of this plant. As this honey is produced in succession by
the early or latter expansion of the bud, it yields a con-
stant supply of food till the frosts of November destroy
the insects, or drive them to their winter retreats. Spring
arrives; and in the bitter months of March, April, and
even May, at times, when the wild products of the field
are nearly consumed, the Ivy ripens its berries, and then
almost entirely constitutes the food of the missel-thrush,
wood-pigeon, and some other birds; and now these shy
and wary birds, that commonly avoid the haunts of man,
constrained by hunger, will approach our dwellings to
feed upon the ripe berries of the Ivy. Now, too, the
blackbird and the thrush resort to its cover, to conceal
their nests. These early-building birds find little foliage
at this period sufficient to hide their habitations; and did
not the Ivy lend its aid to preserve them—and no great
number are preserved—perhaps few nests would be hid-
den from the young eyes that seek them. The early

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

expansion of the catkins of the sallow, and others of the
willow tribe, whence the bee extracts its first food, and
the late blooming of the Ivy, are indispensable provisions
for the existence of many of the insect race.”’

Now, only recollect how often you have seen the Ivy
in October, and the bloom of the sallow in April, without
ever asking yourself why the one flowered so late, and the
other so early. This is another example of the want of
attention paid to things with which people have always been
accustomed. Were a tulip to blow in the open air in No-
vember, ora white lily in April, the whole country round
would flock to the wonderful sight; but the thousand ex-
amples of Divine wisdom and arrangement that are daily
passing before our eyes are neglected or despised.

Let us inquire, whether the tendency of Ivy to climb
is a wise provision. If one great use of the plant in the
economy of nature be the protection of animals, would the
purpose not have been equally answered by an evergreen
tree springing at once from the ground, and bearing
branches like other trees? No; because the shelter afford-
ed by Ivy, growing as it does around trunks, and on walls
and rocks, is much more perfect and secure than could be
attained, perhaps, in any other way. Buta question arises:
Does it injure those trees and walls to which it is at-
tached? This I cannot answer from my own observation;
but a very intelligent and observing friend has informed
me, that he isin the practice of encouraging the growth of
Ivy on his trees, and that he has no fear of its injuring
them. This, however, is not proof sufficient. That it is
not injurious to walls, I have had repeated assurance from
persons who spoke from their own practical experience.
When sufficiently old, so as to cover a wall, it protects it
both from sun and rain; and do we not every where see,
that the part of a ruin best preserved, is that which the Ivy
covers? It may serve, too, asasubstitute for a part which
timerhas nearly removed, as was remarked to me by the
friend above alluded to. ¢¢ Had it not been for the Ivy,”
said he, ‘that summer house,’’ (directing my attention
to a little square building, of which scarcely a stone could
be seen through its verdant envelope,) ‘would many
years ago have been roofless and dilapidated; the Ivy has
saved it from destruction.”’

Were the sight not so familiar, we should find some diffi-
culty in conceiving how a plant of such large dimensions
could climb up and adhere to a steep wallor rock. It dges
so by sending cut a number of claws or root-like projec-
tions, which insinuate themselves into the pores of the
body it ascends; and by them it is kept fixed. It appears
that these claws keep their hold by swelling, so as com-
pletely to fill the pores; though some have thought that
atmospheric pressure was the chief agent of adhesion.

Uvu

261

Does the Ivy, you may ask, shoot out these claws at ran-
dom? Not when it is of material consequence that they
should proceed from one side only; and hence in the
young Ivy we find that they shoot only from the side
that is applied to the tree or wall. If you examine a
young Ivy branch climbing up the smooth bark of a beech,
you will find that its claws go out in great numbers from
each side, and spread horizontally, and in tearing it off
you will bring portions of the epidermis, or outer layer of
the bark adhering to them. It is evident, that on a smooth
bark this direction must be the most effectual in fixing them
to the part, but if the latter be rough and chinky, then you
will observe that the claws in general run perpendicularly
into the fissures, and do not spread out sideways, which
in this case would not be so effectual. When the Ivy is
old enough to have a trunk, then the claws shoot out from
the latter, and its larger branches on all sides, so as to ren-
der it rough and as if clothed in bristles; but we never see
this in the young state.

Through the medium of these claws the Ivy ascends toa
great height; it will mount the highest castle or tower, and
wave triumphant on its summit; and yet, though it climbs
the trunks of very high trees, we do not find that it ascends
farupon the branches. [f it did so it would injure the tree
very materially, or destroy it, by chokingits leaves. Have
you ever remarked how the shape of the Ivy-leaf varies
according to its situation? It differs greatly according to
circumstances, and I apprehend that the variations are
connected with a very curious and important part of the
economy of the plant. The leaf of the young Ivy is pen-
tangular, or five angled, and while the plant is climbing, it
is almost invariably of this form. But if a branch project
from the stem, and hang out free from the tree or wall, you
willfind that the leaves ofsuch branch are ovate or lanceolate,
and also, that on the branch itself there is no appearance
of claws.

When an Ivy trunk has got fair possession of a wall, its
branches diverge from it somewhat in manner of the spokes
of a fan, and when they have reached the top of the wall
they creep along it laterally, forming innumerable twist-
ings and overlappings by which the whole are bound to-
gether in the strongest manner, and the branches which
rise up and bear the flowers and fruit, are, in general,
rather lateral ramifications than the continuations of the
stem. They do not overtop the wall more than two or
three feet, for the economy of the plant seems to be alter-
ed whenever it has got on so far as to stand no longer in
need of its claws. Its whole powers then seem to bear
on the ultimate object, the production of seeds, and when
it is arrived at the top of the walla higher elevation is un-
necessary. It is the same circumstance, I believe, that

262

limits the growth of the plant, in a great measure, to the
trunk and part of the larger branches of the tree. When
it has got so high, the formation of claws and tendency to
climb cease, and the branches produce flowers succeeded
by berries. In the adhesion of Ivy to rocks and walls, the
frequent overlapping of its branches serves most material-
ly to strengthen its hold, and we observe innumerable
young branches not climbing up in the direction of the
parent trunks, but crossing and twining over them in all
possible ways, transversely and oblique, and tying them
down as with strings or cords to the surface on which they
are placed. This is still more evident in trees where we
find the yeung shoots of the Ivy often forming rings round
the trunks and thicker branches, like so many girths or
braces. The intertwinings of the branches, and their ser-
pentine direction, often bear a very exact resemblance to
the distribution of blood-vessels in some parts of the ani-
mal body; and I have remarked a circumstance still more
curious, that whenever the branches which cross each other
have become as thick as one’s little finger, they grow to-
gether at the points of contact, so as to become perfectly
consolidated with each other. This is still more striking
in the larger branches, and you will often, on observing
the trunk of an Ivy bush, find that it is composed of a con-
geries of smaller stems which have all grown together into
one mass, and formed what, without examination, would
seem to be one simple uncompounded trunk.
[Letters to a Young Naturalist.

From the Library of Useful Knowledge.

THE VICES AND DISAGREEABLE OR DAN-
GEROUS HABITS OF THE HORSE.

(Concluded. )

WIND-SUCKING.

Tuts bears a close analogy to crib-biting. It arises
from the same causes; the same purpose is accomplished;
and the same results follow. The Herse stands with his
neck bent; his head drawn inward; his lips alternately a
little opened and then closed, and a noise is heard as if he
were sucking. If we may judge from the same compara-
tive want of condition, and the flatulence which we have
described under the last head, either some portion of wind
enters the stomach, or there is an injurious loss of saliva.
This diminishes the value of the Horse almost as much as
crib-biting; it is as contagious, and it is as inveterate. The
only remedies, and they will seldom avail, are tying the
head up, except when the Horse is feeding, or putting on
amuzzle, with sharp spikes towards the neck, and which

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

shall prick him whenever he attempts to rein his head in
for the purpose of wind-sucking.

NOT LYING DOWN.

It not uncommonly happens that a Horse will seldom or
never lie down in the stable. He sometimes continues in
apparent good health, and feeds and works well; but ge-
nerally his legs swell, or he becomes fatigued sooner
than another Horse. If it is impossible to let him loose in
the stable, or to put him into a spare box, we know not
what is to be done. No means, gentle or cruel, will
force him to lie down. The secret is that he is tied up,
and either has never dared to lie down through fear of the
confinement of the halter, or he has been cast in the night,
and severely injured. If he can be suffered to range the
stable, or have a comfortable box, in which he may be
loose, he will usually lie down the first night. Some few
Horses, however, will lie down in the stable, and not ina
loose box. A fresh, well-made bed, will generallly tempt
the tired Horse to lie down.

OVERREACH.

This unpleasant noise, known also by the terms ‘ click-
ing,” “overreach,”’ &c., arises from the toe of the hind
foot knocking against the shoe of the fore foot. In the
trot, one fore leg and the opposite hind leg are first lifted
from the ground and moved forward, the other fore leg
and the opposite hind leg remaining fixed; but, to keep
the centre of gravity within the base, and as the stride,
or space passed over by these legs, is often greater than
the distance between the fore and hind feet, it is neces-
sary that the fore feet should be alternately moved out of
the way for the hind feet to descend. Then, as occa-
sionally happens with Horses not perfectly broken, and
that have not been taught their paces, and especially if
they have high hinder quarters and low fore ones, if
the fore feet are not raised in time, the hind feet will
strike them. The fore foot will generally be caught
when it has just begun to be raised, and the toe of the
hind foot will meet the middle of the bottom of the
fore foot. It is a very disagreeable noise, and not alto-
gether free from danger; for it may so happen that a
Horse, the action of whose feet generally so much in-
terferes with each other, may advance the hind foot a
little more rapidly, or raise the fore one a little more
slowly, so that the blow may fall on the heel of the
shoe, and loosen or displace it; or the two shoes may
be locked together, and the animal may be thrown; or
the contusion may be received even higher, and on the

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

tendons of the leg, when considerable swelling and lame-
ness may follow.

If the animal is young, the action of the Horse may be
materially improved; otherwise, nothing can be done, ex-
cept to keep the toe of the hind foot as short and as round
as it can safely be, and to bevil off and round the toe
of the shoe, like that which has been worn by a stum-
bler for a fortnight, and, perhaps, a little to lower the
heel of the fore foot.

A blow received on the heel of the fore foot in this
manner, has not unfrequently, and especially if neglected,
been followed by quittor.

PAWING.

Some hot and irritable Horses are restless even in the
stable, and paw frequently and violently. Their litter
is destroyed, the floor of the stable broken up, the shoes
worn out, the feet bruised, and the legs sometimes
sprained. If this habit does not exist to any great ex-
tent, yet the stable never looks well. Shackles are the
only remedy, with a chain sufficiently long to enable
the Horse to shift his posture, or move in his stall; but
even these must be taken off at night, otherwise the
animal will seldom lie down.

QUIDDING.

A Horse will sometimes partly chew his hay, and suf-
fer it to drop from his mouth. If this does not pro-
ceed from irregular teeth, which it will be the busi-
ness of the veterinary surgeon to rasp down, it will be
found to be connected with sore-throat, and then the
Horse will exhibit some other symptom of indisposi-
tion, and the swallowing of water will be accompanied
by a peculiar gulping effort. In this case the disease,
(catarrh, with sore-throat,) must be attacked, and the
quidding will cease.

ROLLING.

This is a very pleasant and perfectly safe amusement
for a Horse at grass, but cannot be indulged in the
stable, without the chance of his being dangerously en-
tangled with the collar rein, and being cast. Yet, al-
though the Horse is cast, and bruised, and half-stran-
gled, he will roll again on the following night, and con-
tinue to do so as long as he lives. The only remedy
is not a very pleasant one to the Horse, nor always quite
safe; yet it must be had recourse to if the habit of rolling
is inveterate. ‘*The Horse,” says Mr. Castley, in the

265

Veterinarian, ‘should be tied with length enough of
collar to lie down, but not to allow of his head resting on
the ground; because, in order to roll over, a Horse is
obliged to place his head quite down upon the ground.”

SHYING.

This vice, while it is often the result of cowardice, or
playfulness, or want of work, it is at other times the con-
sequence of a defect of sight. It has been remarked, and
we believe very truly, that shying is oftener a vice of
half or quarter-bred Horses, than of those who have in
them more of the genuine racing blood.

In the treatment of shying, it is of great importance to
distinguish between that which is the consequence of de-
fective sight, and that which results from fear, or new-
ness of objects, or from mere affectation or skittishness.
For the first, every allowance must be made, and care
must be taken that the fear of correction be not associated
with the imagined existence of some terrifying object.
The severe use of the whip and the spur cannot do good
here, and are likely to aggravate the vice tenfold. A word
half encouraging and half scolding, with a gentle pres-
sure of the heel, or a slight touch of the spur, will tell
the Horse that there was nothing to fear, and will give
him confidence in his rider on a future occasion. It should
be remembered, however, that although a Horse that
shies from defective sight may be taught considerable re-
liance on his rider, he can never have the cause of the
habit removed. We may artificially strengthen the hu-
man sight, but the Horse’s must be left to itself.

The shying from skittishness or affectation is quite a
different affair, and must be conquered: but how? Seve-
rity is out of place even here. If he is forced up to
the object by dint of correction, the dread of punishment
will afterwards be associated with that object, and on the
next occasion, his startings will be more frequent and
more dangerous. ‘The way to cure him is to go on, turn-
ing as little as possible out of the road, giving the animal
a harsh word or two, anda gentle touch with the spur,
and then taking no more notice of the matter. After a
few times, whatever may have been the object which he
chose to select as the pretended cause of affright, he will
pass it almost without notice.

A colt may be cured of the habit of shying from
fear or newness of objects; and if when ‘breaking
in,”? he be accustomed as much as possible to the
objects among which his services will be required, he
will not possess this annoying vice when he grows io
maturer age. @

264

Mr. John Lawrence, in his pleasing work on the Horse,
says, ‘These animals generally fix on some particular
shying butt: for example, I recollect having, at different
periods, three hacks, all very powerful; the one made
choice of a wind-mill for the object or butt, the other a
tilted wagon, and the last a pig led ina string. It so hap-
pened, however, that I rode the two former when amiss
from a violent cold, and they then paid no more attention
to either wind-mills or tilted wagons than to any other
objects, convincing me that their shying when in health
and spirits was pure affectation; an affectation, however,
which may be speedily united with obstinacy and vice.
Let it be treated with marked displeasure, mingled with
gentle, but decided firmness, and the habit will be of
short endurance.”

Shying on coming out of the stable is a habit that can
rarely or never be cured. It proceeds from the remem-
brance of some ill usage or hurt which the animal has re-
ceived in the act of proceeding from the stable, such as
striking his head against a low door-way, or entangling
the harness. Coercion will but associate greater fear and
more determined resistance with the old recollection.
Mr. Castley, to whom we are indebted for much that is
valuable on the subject of the vices of the Horse, gives an
interesting anecdote, which tends to prove, that while se-
verity will be worse than useless, even kind treatment
will not break a confirmed habit. ‘‘I remember a very
fine grey mare that had got into this habit, and never
could be persuaded to go through a door-way without
taking an immense jump. To avoid this, the servants
used to back her in and out of the stable; but the mare
happening to meet with a severe injury of the spine, was
no longer able to back; and then I have seen the poor
creature, when brought to the door, endeavouring to
balance herself with a staggering motion upon her half-
paralyzed hind extremities, as if making preparation and
summoning up resolution for some great effort; and then,
when urged, she would plunge headlong forward with
such violence of exertion, as often to lose her feet, and
tumble down, ‘ altogether most pitiable to be seen.’ This
I merely mention,” he continues, ‘‘as one proof how in-
veterate the habits of Horses are. They are evils, let it
always be remembered, more easy to prevent than cure.”’

SLIPPING THE COLLAR.

This is a trick at which many Horses are so clever, that
scarcely a night passes without their getting loose. It is
a very serious habit, for it enables the Horse sometimes
to gorge himself with food, to the imminent danger of
staggers; or it exposes him, as he wanders about, to be

od Ns

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

kicked and injured by the other Horses, while his restless-
ness will often keep the whole team awake. If the web
of the halter, being first accurately fitted to his necky is
suffered to slip only one way, ora strap is attached to the
halter and buckled round the neck, but not sufficiently
tight to be of serious inconvenience, the power of slipping
the collar will be taken away.

& TRIPPING.

He must be a skilful practitioner or a mere pretender who
promises to remedy this habit. If it arises from a heavy
forehand, and the fore legs being too much under the
Horse, no one can alter the natural frame of the beast: if
it proceeds from tenderness of the foot, grogginess, or old
lameness, these ailments are seldom cured; and if it is to
be traced to habitual carelessness and idleness, no whip-
ping will rouse the drone. A known stumbler should
never be ridden or driven alone, by any one who values
his safety or his life. A tight hand or a strong bearing-
rein are precautions that should not be neglected, but they
are generally of little avail; for the inveterate stumbler
will rarely try to save himself, and this tight rein may
sooner and farther precipitate the rider. If, after a trip,
the Horse suddenly starts forward, and endeavours to
break into a canter, the rider or driver may be assured
that others before him have fruitlessly endeavoured to
remedy this nuisance.

If the stumbler has the foot kept as short and the toe
pared as close as safety will permit, and the shoe be round-
ed at the toe, or have that shape given to it which it na-
turally acquires in a fortnight from the action of such a
Horse, the animal may not stumble quite so much; or if
the disease which produced the habit ean be alleviated,
some trifling good may be done, but in almost every case
a stumbler should be got rid of, or put to slow and heavy
work. If the latter alternative be adopted, he may trip as
much as he pleases, for the weight of the load and the mo-
tion of the other Horses will keep him upon his legs.

WEAVING.

This consists ina motion of the head, neck, and body,
from side to side, like the shuttle of a weaver passing
through the web, and hence the name which is given to
this peculiar and incessant action. It indicates an impa-
tient, irritable temper, anda dislike to the confinement of
the stable; and a Horse that is thus incessantly on the
fret will never carry flesh, or be safe to ride or drive.
There is no cure for it, but the close tying up of the ani-
mal, except at feeding time.

ay. eh ie

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AND AMERICAN

ae * THE BLACK WOLF.

ail CANIS NUBILUS.
(Plate XXIII. Vol. 2.)e

Canis Lycaon; Linn. Surer. Saeugthiere, pl. 89. Gon-
man, Vol. 1. p. 267.—Loup Noir; Burr. 9. pl. 41.
Black Wolf: Say in Long’s Expedition to the Rocky
Mountains, p. 102, Vol. 1.—Menagerie Living Ani-
mals exhibited in Philadelphia, winter of 1832—3.

THERE was, for some time, much doubt among natu-
ralists, whether the Black Wolf should be considered a
separate species, or only a variety of the common Wolf;
but, on a close investigation of the internal and anatomi-
eal structure, habits mal general appearance of the Black
Wolf, it has become a settled question that it is a differ-
ent animal altogether. Of the two animals belonging to the
Zoological gardens of London, it is remarked, <‘ that they
exhibit real and substantial marks of distinction of suffi-
cient value to sanction their separation from the other
species—considerably longer and more robust than the
common Wolf, and differing greatly in the expression of
their physiognomy; neither in figure nor in countenance
are they remarkable for that starved and gaunt appear-
anee which is the common and well known attribute of
the latter. In fact, they have altogether a more fierce and
formidable, but, at the same time, a more noble and less
sinister aspect. a

<¢ Their hair, which is of considerable length, especial-
ly along the middle of the back and shoulders, where it
forms an indistinct and scattered mane, is mottled with
various shades of black, gray and white, giving to the
whole animal that dark and clouded colour which consti-
tutes one of its most peculiar and striking characteristics.
The colouring, whieh, on the upper parts of the body
is deep black, becomes somewhat lighter on the sides,
and assumes a yet brighter shade beneath: the chin and
angles of the mouth are nearly white; the gray tinge pre-
dominating over the darker shades in various other parts,
but by no means in so regular a manner as to merit a par-
ticular description. The ears are remarkably short, and
‘the tail is also somewhat shorter in proportion than that
of the common Wolf, not reaching in its solid form be-
neath the posterior bend (which, in all these animals, is
formed by the heel) of the hind legs.”’

These animals, it appears, were sent to England by the
Hudson’s Bay Company, by some of whose hunters they
had been trapped in the northern regions of America.
They are represented as exceedingly voracious, tearing

Www

RURAL SPORTS. 265
their meat and swallowing it in large gobbets, and after-
wards gnawing the Bones with fale wolfish avidity.
‘¢ Their length i is four feet and a quarter from the tip of
the nose to the origin of the tail.”

Dr. Godman, in describing the Black Wolf, says: ‘in
general appearance and the relative proportions of the
different parts of the body, this Wolf resembles the com-
mon wolf, (Canis Lupas,) but in size it is intermediate to
the fox and common wolf. The colour of the animal is
its most remarkable characteristic: it is entirely black,
without the slightest admixture of any other colour.”

Of these two descriptions of the Black Wolf, the wri-
ter considers the former the most correct, having, from
actual observation, closely noticed the structure, habits
and disposition of the animal, as far as a state of half do-
mesticity would permit.

The animal from which the drawing in the preceding
plate was taken, belongs to the celebrated Menagerie of
living animals, exhibited in various parts of this country
by Messrs. Welsh, Purdy & Co., and corresponds in most
particulars with those belonging to the Zoological gar-
dens of London. Dr. Godman, however, may te correct,
(and I am inclined to think he is,) in regard to the colour
of the animal being perfectly black, as ime confinement
and restraint on the natural habits of this Wolf, may have
great influence in changing the pelage or its colour.

The Black Wolf appears to be confined chiefly to the
Rocky Mountains, and the more northerly regions of
America; it is, perhaps, the rarest of its genus, and but
few specimens have ever been presented to public view,
although almost every district of North America is infest-
ed with the other species. E

The animal under immediate notice was brought by
some traders, while yet a whelp, from the neighbourhood
of the Rocky Mountains, to one of the towns on the Mis-
souri, from thence it found its way to the Menagerie spo-
ken of; but in consequence of much suffering by confine-
ment, especially with the mange, it became necessary to
remove it from the company of the other wild animals.
This Wolf, although at times it evinced much ferocity,
would generally suffer the writer to pet it, and would fre-
quently lie down and crouch like.a dog, and utter the
same whining ery of humility; it was exceedingly active
and graceful in every motion, and when irritated, would
growl and snap with violence at any object intended to
worry it, and when punished, would yelp like a dog; he
was not gaunt, but fat, and very stately in his appearance, ~
moving about with head and tail very erect. The fatness,
however, in truth, proceeded from the abundance of feod
given it, without exertion on the animal’s part to obtain
it; and, being deprived of the necessity of seeking a sub-

266

sistence, by the means which its predatory habits natural-
ly require, it no doubt, as in the case of those of the Zoo-
logical gardens, become very fat and subject to disease.
This wolf is the same in habit as the other species; and
the whole genus, besides being the greatest nightly de-
predators, will, during the season of darkness, remain
longer on foot ina state of activity than all other animals;
the consequence is, that being led by its exceeding desire
for food, it will travel over extensive countries, and must,
in the very nature of the case, be poor and gaunt.

It is designed to enter more particularly into the his-
tory and habits of the Wolf, when these become neces-
sary under the head of The Brown Wolf, at which time
every peculiarity of the animal will be given, with many
illustrative anecdotes.

FLOCKS OF WILD PIGEONS.

Tuer most.remarkable characteristic of these birds is
their associating together, both in their migrations, and
also during the period of incubation, in such prodigious
numbers as almost to surpass belief; and which has no
parallel among any other of the feathered tribes, on the
face of the earth, with which naturalists are acquainted.

These migrations appear to be undertaken rather in
quest of food, than merely to avoid the cold of the cli-
mate, since we find them lingering in the northern re-
gions around Hudson’s Bay so late as December; and
since their appearance is so casual and irregular; some-
times not visiting certain districts for several years in any
considerable numbers, while at other times they are in-
numerable. JI have witnessed these migrations in the
Genessee country—often in Pennsylvania, and also in va-
rious parts of Virginia, with amazement; but all that I
had then seen of them were mere straggling parties, when
compared with the congregated millions whieh I have
since beheld in our western forests, in the states of Ohio,
Kentucky, and the Indiana territory. These fertile and
extensive regions abound with the nutritious beech nut,
which constitutes the chief food of the Wild Pigeon. dn
seasons when these nuts are abundant, corresponding mul-
titudes of Pigeons may be confidently expected. It some-
times happens, that haying consumed the whole produce of
the beech trees in an extensive district, they discoveranother

at the distance perhaps of sixty or eighty miles, to which
they regularly repair every morning, and return as regu-
larlysin the course of the day, or in the evening, to their
place of general rendezvous, or as it is usually called, the
roosting place. These roosting places are always in the

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

2 ~~
woods, and sometimes occupy a large extent o st.
When they have frequented one of these places for some

time, the appearance it exhibits is surprising. The ground
is covered to the depth of several inches with their dung;
all the tender grass and underwood destroyed; the sur-
face strewed with large limbs of trees broken down by
the weight of the birds clustering one above another; and
the trees themselves, for thousands of acres, killed ascom-
pletely as if girdled with an axe. The marks of this deso-
lation remain for many years on the spot; and numerous
places could be pointed out, where, for several years after,
searce a single vegetable made its appearance. *

When these roosts are first discovered, the inhabitants
from considerable distances visit them in the night, with
guns, clubs, long poles, pots of sulphur, and various other
engines of destruction. In a few hours they fill many
sacks, and load their horses with them. By the Indians,
a Pigeon roost, or breeding place, is considered an impor-
tant source of national profit and dependence for that sea-
son; and all their active ingenuity is exercised on the oc-
casion. The breeding place differs from the former in
its greater extent. In the western countries above men-
tioned, these are generally in beech woods, and often ex-
tend in nearly a straight line across the country for a great
way. Not far from Shelbyville, in the state of Kentucky,
about five years ago, there was one of these breeding
places, which stretched through the woods in nearly a
north and south direction, was several miles in breadth,
and was said to be upwards of forty miles in extent! In
this tract almost every tree was furnished with nests,
wherever the branches could accommodate them. The
Pigeons made their first appearance there about the 10th
of April, and left it altogether, with their young, before
the 25th of May.

As soon as the young were fully grown, and before
they left the nests, numerous parties ef the inhabitants,
from all parts of the adjacent countty, came with wagons,
axes, beds, cooking utensils, many of them accompanied
by the greater part of their families, and encamped for
several days at this immense nursery. Several of them
informed me, that the noise in the woods was so great as
to terrify their horses, and that it was difficult for one
person to hear another speak without bawling in his.ear.
The ground was strewed with broken limbs of trees, eggs”
and squab Pigeons, which had been precipitated from
above, and on which herds of hogs were fattening.
Hawks, buzzards, and eagles, were sailing about in great
numbers, and seizing the squabs from their nests at plea-
sure; while from twenty feet upwards to the tops of the
trees the view through the woods presented a perpetual
tumult of crowding and fluttering multitudes of Pigeons,

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 267

their wings roaring like thunder; mingled with the fre-
quent crash of falling timber; for now the axe-men were
at work cutting down those trees that seemed to be most
crowded with nests; and contrived to fell them in such a
manner, that in their descent they might bring down seve-
ral others; by which means the falling of one large tree
sometimes produced two hundred squabs, little inferior in
size to the old ones, and almost one mass of fat. On some
single trees upwards of one hundred nests were found,
each containing one young only, a circumstance in the
history of this bird not generally known to naturalists. It
was dangerous to walk under these flying and fluttering
millions, from the frequent fall of large branches, broken
down by the weight of the multitudes above, and which
in their descent often destroyed numbers of the birds
themselves.

These circumstances were related to me by many of the
most respectable part of the community in that quarter;
and were confirmed in part by what I myself witnessed.
I passed for several miles through this same breeding
place, where every tree was spotted with nests, the re-
mains of those above described. In many instanees, I
counted upwards of ninety nests on a single tree; but the
Pigeons had abandoned this place for another, sixty or
eighty miles off, towards Green River, where they were
said at that time to be equally numerous. From the great
numbers that were constantly passing over head, to or
from that quarter, I had no doubt of the truth of this
statement. The mast had been chiefly consumed in Ken-
tucky, and the Pigeons, every morning, a little before
sun-rise, set out for the Indiana territory, the nearest part
of which was about sixty miles distant. Many of these
returned before ten o’cleck, and the great body generally
appeared on their return a little after noon.

I had left the public road, to visit the remains of the
breeding place near Sheibyville, and was traversing the
woods with my gun, in my.way to Frankfort, when about
one o’clock, the Pigeons, which I had observed flying the
greater part of the morning northerly, began to return in
such immense numbers as I never before had witnessed.
Coming to an-opening by the side of a creek, called the
Benson, where I had a more uninterrupted view, I was
astonished at their appearance. They were flying with
great steadiness and rapidity, at a height beyond gun-shot,
in several strata deep, and so close together, that
could shot haye reached them, one discharge could not
have failed of bringing down several individuals. From
right to left, as far as the eye could reach, the breadth of
this vast procession extended; seeming every where equal-
ly crowded. Curious to determine how long this appear-
ance would continue, I took out my watch to note the

time, and sat down to observe them. It was then half-
past one. I sat for more than an hour, but instead of a
diminution of this prodigious procession, it seemed rather
to increase both in numbers and rapidity; and, anxious to
reach Frankfort before night, I rose and went on. About
four o’clock in the afternoon I crossed the Kentucky
river, at the town of Frankfort, at which time the living
torrent above my head seemed as numerous and as exten-
sive as ever. Long after this I observed them, in large
bodies that continued to pass for six or eight minutes, and
these again were followed by other detached bodies, all
moving in the same south-east direetion, till after six in
the evening. The great breadth of front which this
mighty multitude preserved, would seem to intimate a cor-
responding breadth of their breeding place, which, by
several gentlemen who had lately passed through part of
it, was stated to me at several miles. It was said to be
in Green county, and that the young began to fly about
the middle of March. On the 17th of April, forty-nine
miles beyond Danville, and not far from Green River, I
erossed the same breeding place, where the nests for more
than three miles spotted every tree; the leaves not being
yet out, I had a fair prospect of them, and was really as-
tonished at their numbers. A few bodies of Pigeons Jin-
gered yet in different parts of the woods, the roaring
of whose wings were heard in various quarters around me.
All accounts agree in stating, that each nest contains
only one young. Thisis so extremely fat, that the In-
dians, and many of the whites, are accustomed to melt
down the fat for domestic purposes, as a substitute for
butter and lard. At the time they leave the nest they
are nearly as heavy as the old ones; but become much
leaner after they are turned out to shift for themselves.
It is universally asserted in the western countries, that
the Pigeons, though they have only one young at a time,
breed thrice, and sometimes four times, in-the same sea-
son; the circumstances already mentioned render this
highly probable. It is also worthy of observation, that
this takes place during that period when acorns, beech
nuts, &c., are scattered about in the greatest abundance,
and mellowed by the frost. But they are not confined to
these alone; buckwheat, hempseed, Indian corn, holly
berries, hack berries, huckle berries, and many others,
furnish them with abundance at almost all seasons. The
acorns of the live oak are also eagerly sought after by
these birds, and rice has been frequently found in indivi-
duals killed many hundred miles to the northward of the
nearest rice plantation. The vast quantity of mast which
these multitudes consume, is a serious loss to the bears,
pigs, squirrels, and other dependents on the fruits of the
forest. I have taken from the crop of a single Wild

268

Pigeon, a good handful of the kernels of beech nuts, in-
termixed with acorns and chesnuts. To form a rough es-
timate of the daily consumption of one of these immense
flocks, let us first attempt to calculate the numbers of that
above mentioned, as seen in passing between Frankfort
and the Indiana territory. If we suppose this column to
have been one mile in breadth, (and I believe it to have
been much more,) and that it moved at the rate of one
mile in a minute; four hours, the time it continued pass-
ing, would make its whole length two hundred and forty
miles. Again: supposing that each square yard of this
moving body comprehended three Pigeons, the square
yards in the whole space, multiplied by three, would give
two thousand, two hundred and thirty millions, two hun-
dred and seventy-two thousand Pigeons! An almost in-
conceivable multitude, and yet probably far below the
actual amount. Computing each of these to consume half
a pint of mast daily, the whole quantity at this rate, would
equal seventeen millions, four hundred and twenty-four
thousand bushels per day! Heaven has wisely and gra-
ciously given to these birds rapidity of flight, and a dispo-
sition to range over vast uncultivated tracts of the earth;
otherwise they must have perished in the districts where
they resided, or devoured up. the whole productions of
agriculture, as well as those of the forests.

A few observations on the mode of flight of these birds
must not be omitted. The appearance of large detached
bédies of them in the air, and the various evolutions they
display, are strikingly picturesque and interesting. In
descending the Ohio, by myself, in the month of Febru-
ary, I often rested on my oars to contemplate their aerial
manceuvres. A column, eight or ten miles in length,
would appear from Kentucky, high in air, steering across
to Indiana. The leaders of this great body would some-
times gradually vary their course, until it formed a large
bend of more than a mile in diameter, those behind tracing
the exact route of their predecessors. This would con-
tinue sometimes long after both extremities were beyond
the reach of sight, so that the whole, with its glittery un-
dulations, marked a space on the face of the heavens re-
sembling the windings of a vast and majestic river. When
this bend became very great, the birds, as if sensible of
the unnecessary circuitous course they were taking, sud-
denly changed their direction, so that what was in co-*
lumn before became an immense front, straightening all
its indentures, until it swept the heavens in one vast and
infinitely extended line. Other lesser bodies also united
with each other, as they happened to approach, with such
ease and elegance of evolution, forming new figures, and
varying these as they united or separated, that I was
never tired of contemplating them. Sometimes a hawk

>

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

would make a sweep on a particular part of the columm,
from a great height, when almost as quick as lightning,
that part shot downwards out of the common track, but
soon rising again, continued advancing at the same height
as before, this inflection was continued by those behind,
who, on arriving at this point, dived down almost per-
pendicularly, to a great depth, and rising, followed the
exact path of those that went before. .

Happening to go ashore one charm afternoon, to
purchase some milk at a house that stood near the river,
and while talking with the people within doors, I was
suddenly struck with astonishment at a loud rushingiroar,
succeeded by instant darkness, which, on the first mo-
ment, I took for a tornado about to overwhelm the house,
and every thing around in destruction. The people, ob-
serving my surprise, coolly said, ‘‘It is only the Pigeons;”
and on running out I beheld a flock, thirty or forty
yards in width, sweeping along very low, between the
house and the mountain, or height that formed the second
bank of the river. These continued passing for more
than a quarter of an hour, and at length varied their bear-
ing so as to pass over the mountain, behind which they
disappeared before the rear came up. 7

In the Atlantic states, though’they never appear in such
unparalleled multitudes, they are sometimes very nume-
rous; and great havoc is then made amongst them with
the gun, the clap-net, and various other implements of
destruction. As soon as it is ascertained in a town that
the Pigeons are flying numerously in the neighbourhood,
the gunners rise en masse; the clap-nets are spread out on
suitable situations, commonly Bc open height, in an
old buckwheat field; four or five live Pigeons, with their
eyelids sowed up, are fastened om a moveable stick—a
small hut of branches is fitted up for the fowlervat the dis-
tance of forty or fifty yards; by the pulling of a string, the
stick on which the Pigeons rest is alternately elevated and
depressed, which produ fluttering of their wings,
similar to that of birds just alighting; this being perceived
by the passing flocks, they descend with great rapidity,
and finding corn, buckwheat, &c., strewed about, begin
to feed, and are instantly, by the pulling of a cord, eo-
vered withthe net. In this manner ten, twenty, and even
thirty dozen, have been caughtiat one sweep. Meantime
the ar is darkened with large bodies of them, moving in ©
-yarious directions; the woods. also swarm with them in
search of acorns; and the thundering of musquetry is per-
petual on all sides from morning to night. Wagon loads
of them are poured into market, where they sell from
fifty, to twenty-five, and even twelve cents per dozen; and
Pigeons become the order of the day at dinner, breakfast
and supper, until the very name becomes sickening.

; AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

When they have been kept alive, and fed for some. > time
en corn and buckwheat, their flesh ‘acquires great supe= ~
riofity ; but in their common state they are He and black-
ish, and far in - to the full growns young ones,’or
stglabs. : :
The young, when beginning to fly, confine themselves
aoe under part of the tall woods where there is no
e nuts.and acorns are, abundant, searching
cavege r mast, and paper like a prodigious
or! rent rolling ¢ along through"the woods, @very.oné striv-
.».ing to bein the Bane Vast numbers ¢ of them»are shot
while in this situation. A person told 1 me, that he once
rode furiously into one ofthese rolling multitudes, and
picked up thirteen Pigeons, which had “yED trampled to
death by his horse’s feet. In a few minutes they will beat
the whole nuts froma tree with their wings; while all
is scramble, both above and below, for the same. They
_ have the same cooing notes common to domestic Pigeons;
but much less of their gesticulations. In some flocks you
will find nothing but young ones, which are easily distin-
guishable by their motley dress. In others they will be
mostly females; and again great multitudes of males, with
few or no females. 1 cannot account for this in any other
- way than that during the time of incubation the males are
exclusively Fy in procuring food, both for them-
selyes and their mates; and the young being unable yet
to undertake extensive excursions, associate to-
gether accordin But even in winter I know of seve-
ral species of birds who separate in this manner, particu-
larly the Red-winged Starling, among whom thousands
of old males may be found, with few or no young, or
females along with them.—Wzuison.

BUILDING A NEST.

eS e ue lee

Tue romantic, though accurate naturalist, Vaillant,
has given, a | is « Oiseaux, d Afrique,” e following
lively narrative of the proceedings of a pair of smell Afri-
can bird8 in the construction of a nes
trivedy by tempting tit-bits, to render the species alluded
to, which he ealls the-Capocier, so familiar, thal

a pa
of these birds ae ee his tent several ines a innocent an

day, and even seemed recognise hi the adjace

thickets as he passed along. « ‘The k breeds ee —°
goes on, ‘‘had no sooner arrived, than percei the
visits of my two little guests to -become less frequent,
though, whether they sought solitude the better to mature
their plans, or whether, as the rains had ceased and insects

became so abundant that my tit-bits.were less relished, I
XK

He had con-

269

cannot tell, but Dey. ido made their appearance for
- four or feve successive days, after which they unexpected-
ly returned; and it was not long before I discovered the
motives that had brought them hagte During their for-
mer visits they had not failed to observe the cotton, moss,
and flax which I used to stuff my with, and which
were always lyi ing upon my table. inding it, no doubt,
much more conics to come and furnish themselves
with these articles there than to go and pick the down
from the branches of plants, I saw them ° carry away in
their beaks pareels of these, much larger in bulk than
themselves.

» «¢Having followed and watched them, I found the place
which they had selected for constructing the cradle which
should contain their infant progeny. In a corner of a re-
tired and neglected garden, there grew, by the side of a
small spring beneath the shelter of the only tree which
ornamented that retreat, a high plant, called by the colo-
nists of the Cape, C osche. In this shrub they had
already laid a part of ne foundation with moss, the fork
of the branches chosen for the reception of the nest being
already bedded therewith. The first materials were laid
on the 11th of October. The second day’s labour pre-

sented a rude mass, about four inches in thickness, and

from five to six inches indiameter. This was the founda-
tion of the nest, which was composed of moss and flax, in-
terwoven with grass and tufts of cotton.

“TI passed the whole of the second day by the side of
the nest, which the female never quitted from the mo-
ment my windows were opened in the morning till near-
ly ten o’clock, and from five o’clock in the evening till
seven. On the morning of the 12th, the male made
recat aes to my room, and in the evening only
seventeen. He gave great assistance to the female in
trampling down and pressing the cotton with his body, in
order to make it into a sort of felt-work.

s¢ When the male arrived with parcels of moss and cot-
Mose a ‘deposited his load either on the edge of the nest,

within the reach ce the fone He

work.
< This agreeable occupation was often ey by

ed to bes 1
building, a have less relies for anne than the sae

and she even punished him for his frolies by pecking him
He, o other hand, fought in

well with her beak
his pecked; pulled do work which they had
done, prevented the female from continuing her labours,

and, in a word, seemed to tell her, ‘ You, refuse to be my

te

.
270

playmate on account of this work, — you shall not
do it!’ It will scarcely be credited, that, entirely from -
what I saw and knew respecting these little altercations,
I was both surprised an angry at the female. In ordé?,
however, to save tl ric from spoliation, she left off
working, and fled bush to bush, for the express pur-
pose of teasing him. Soonsafterwards, having made mat-
ters up again, the femalé returnéd to heflabour, and “the
male sung during several minutes in*the most ‘ani ated
strains. After his*song was concluded he began again to
occupy himself with the work, and with fresh ardour car=
ried such materials as his companion required, “till the
spirit of frolic again became buoyant, and a scene similar®
to that which I havejust described-recurred. I have wit-
nessed eight interruptions of this kind in one morning.
How happy birds are! They are certainly the privileged
ereatures of nature, thus to work and sport alternately as
fancy prompts them, ws

«©On the third day the bird 1 to rear the side
walls of the nest, after having renderedthe bottom compact
by repeatedly pressing the material ith their breasts,
and turning themselves round upon them in all direc-
tions. They first formed a plain border, which they

afterwards trimmed, and upon this they piled up tufts of, he killed it.

cotton, which was felted into the structure by beating
and pressing with their breasts and the shoulders of their
wings, taking care to arrange any projecting corner with
their beaks so as to interlace it into the tissue, and render
it more firm. The contiguous branches of the bush were
enveloped as the work proceeded in the side walls, but
without deranging the circular cavity of the interior. This
part of the nest required many material that I was
quite astonished at the quantity which tas

‘©On the seventh day their task was finished; and
anxious to examine the interior, I determined to —
duce my finger, when I felt an egg that had probably bee
laid that morning, for on the previous evening 1 could
see there was no egg in it, as it was not quite covered i
This beautiful edifice, which was as whi
nine inches in heighton the outside, whi
it was not more than five. Its external for

irregular on account of the branches which it a been f

found necessary to enclose; but the inside exactly résem-

bled a pullet’s egg placed with the smal upwards,
Its greatest diameter was five inches, smallest

four. The entrance was two-thirds orm 1e whole

height, as seen on the outside; but witltin it almost reach- _

ed the arch of the ceilin 7e.

‘¢ The interior of thi as so neatly wo nd
felted together, that it might have been takem for a piece
of fine cloth, a hitdle worn, the tissue being so compact

¥

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

and close, that it would have been impossible to détach a
‘particle of the materials without tearin g the texture to
pieces; yet was this only effected by process which I
have already*deseribed; and it mu fessed that it
was a work truly: admirable, consi e instrumetits
of the little mechanics.”’
* *- «

% o 7 a +

Aw ae

1 once met ie a man #bdiniploy ed himscltiglomin-. a
mer iff catching. Adders, the fat of which he preserved anid :
sold 4s a sovereign remedy for hurts and swellings, and *
some other parts of the animal went to, the apothecaries t6 4

‘catehing

be used in their materia mediea. ‘his man im

Adders used a forked stick and a shorter ones With the

first he pinned the Adder to the ground, and killed it with

He was accompanied by a dog, who’ hunted

Rnuae- <
shake it

his head, that

e him before»

med m

the other.
for these animals, and who, when he had fou
trived generally to seize it by the middle,
with so much rapidity against the sides o
not one Adder in a hundred had time to
His owner, however, in
when this happened his head instantly
swelling was almost as quickly remoye«
with some of the fat of Adders, wh
about with him for the purpose. Je
yielded about half a pound weight of fat. ‘They feed on
worms, mice, frogs, andyyoung birds;,and before the win-
ter sets in, would appear to quit the open downs, where
they are found in summer, for the neighbouring woods,
as a woodman told me, he had found near t
clustered together in a to e, in grub
treein the woods. Th will however hybernize, (if
ae: word,) wi 1 common snake and the slow

ch of these nail been fotind with some ‘vipers
in a torpid state, a short time ago. Phe viper-eatcher
whom I met With assured methat he haddgequently seen .
the } vipers take refu inside their mot
ch she opens for that pur-
dedi He also assured me
ova being*hatched in the
ey probably creep, as’ «
state, after they have
He also informed me, that

at they are produced ali

ide of the mother, hiel
advan

fuge,*

*

* The mode of parturition stated by the viper-catcher is generally
supposed to be a vulgar error. He seemed, however, very confident
that he wasright. May not ‘the viper, like the lizard, be ovo- vivipa-
rous? Some naturalists are of the same opinion as the viper-catcher
mentioned, yiz., that the eggs are hatched in the womb.

“by letting vipers bite a piece of rag, and then ees
Setdhing it from their mouth, he easily extracted the
fangs, mad that he then frequently put them between his
shirt and skin; d broughtthem away alive.

_ Snakes ee easily med, an instance of which is men-_

*s Naturalists? Calendar; and there is

-2 stuffed specimen of a snake now in the Zoological Mu-
seum, whith, when aliy e, was perfectly tame, and had.
been eleven eas i the possessionsof the gentleman whe
presented it to that society, and to whom it,showed a
strong attachment. Eton boys have always been great

; tamei of snakes, and many aneedotes are related by them
of their attachment tostheir owners. v
6 Snakes, unlike the viper, are ov viparous, and their eggs

: ane link ed together i in a sort of chain, and are each about

as big a a large marble. They feed on frogs, mice, cer-

tain msects, and also young birds. It is supposed by
some people that they destroy the eggs of partridges.and

« Pheagits; and for this reason many ‘Pamekeey ers samake a

nt of killing them. Sn have someti nes been found.

on the brane es of trees, where they have contr Arad to get

im Search of young birds. A” person lately informed me

that he had found one in that situation. A snake has been
ad

seen to swa ae newly-hatched chicken; and I once ob-

served one in the act of attempting to swallow a full-

grown frog. Iwas attracted to ae by the aries of
the latter, which . Se lo piteous. The
snake made grea efforts to get the g down his roat,

which he at Tast succeeded in doing. “By trampling on a

eo" which has just swallowed a frog, the latter is easily

ejected from the stomach of the Renee
The 8) of snakes annually casting their skin or slough

s. Ihave fo the age of one a
young ee

+ is
pearing perfectly fresh. Shale seems ave been
, aware of this. &

e«@ om,

“There the snake throws her, enamell’d skin.”
- ,* rs Ms. Nicur’s Dream.

° =. "

&t % ees '

intje

on

The circumstance of the Bria © twisted in the way
I found it amongst e twigs, seems to prove that the
_snake had not Oren able torid himself of it without havi
recourse to something not very pliable which would oi
him in the operation, although Mr. White sy t heh
found the slough in a field near a hedge count is
very eee He says, « About a middle of this
month, (September,) we found in a field, near a hedge,
the slough of a large snake, which seemed to have been
newly cast. From circumstances it appeared to haye been
drawn off backward, like a stocking, or woman’s glove.

RURAL SPORTS. ont

‘Not oily the whole skin, but the scales from the very
éyes, were peeled off, and appeared in the head of tha
slough like a pair of spectacles. The reptile, at the time
of changing his eoat, had entangled himself intricately in
the grass and weeds; so that the friction of the stalks
and blades might promote this curious shifting of his
eXuvie.

~

” 22 Lubrica serpens
“ Exuit in spinis vestem.”—Lucrer.

It would be a most entertaining sight could a person be
an eye-witness to such a feat, and see the snake in the
act of changing his garment. As the convexity of the
eyes in the slough is now inward, that cire
is a proof that the skin has been turned; ;
that now the present inside is much dime
If you look through the scales of the snake’s s eyes from the
concave side, viz., as the reptile used them, - _temcssen

bjects much. Thus it appears, from what has been said,
ae snakes crawl out of the mouth of their own sloughs,
and quit the tail part last, just as eels are skinned by a
eookmaid. While the scales of the eyes are growing
Joose, and a new skin is forming, the creature in appear-
ance gust be blind, and feel Absit in a very awky

uneasy situation.’ ’—Gleanings Nat. Hist.
; 4
ie
oe THE BEE. :
6 Where the Bee

Strays diligent, and with th’ extracted balm *
— woodbine loads his little thigh.” —Tomson.

I wave some experiment hives which enable me very
accurately to inspect the operations of my Bees. From
the construction of the hives, the combs are necessarily
built between two panes of glass, so that on drawing the
sliders the two surfaces of a comb are exposed to view.
Tn this way I am able to see almost every thing that is
going for ward.

~ When the Queen-Bee has an inclination to deposit her
eggs, she goes forth, accompanied by six or eight work-
ing Bees as a guard, and whose stomachs are filled with
honey. She is very deliberate in her motions, and seems
to proceed with great caution. She first looks into a cell,
and if she finds it perfectly empty, she draws up her long
body, inserts her tail into the cell, and deposits an egg.
In , she slowly proceeds till she has dropped ten
or twelve eggs, when perhaps feeling exhausted, she is
fed by one of the attendant Bees, who have surrounded

R

2

“: a
her the whgle:time. . Thisyis? doe, bythe -Becsej
the honey,fromuts stomach intothe mouth of the Q
When this has been dene the Bee goes,away, and another
takes its place. The operation of laying her eggs again
goes on, and is succeeded by the same mode of feeding—
the attendant Bees frequently touching the antennz ofthe.
Queen with their own. When the operation of laying the
eggs is completed—and it generally occupies some time—
the Queen retires to that part of the hive whieh is most
filled with Bees. During her progress, thesurface of the
comb is very little intruded upon, and the space seems
purposely to be left unoccupied. Some few of the cells,
however, in a brood comb are passed over by the Queen,
and are afterwards filled either with honey or farina.
These se S deposits of food, from which the neigh-
bouring brood may be fed more readily, as such cells are
never covered with wax. e .

With the hives referred to I have been able to follow
many of Huber’s experiments, and can bear witness to his
general curacy, except in regard to the fecundation of
the Queen-Bee. Ihave bestowed much time and pains in
endeavouring to discover any of the circumstances he men-
tions relating’to this fact, but without success. Neither
have I ever seen a cell visited by one of the drones after
the egg had been deposited, which a modern writer has
. I have for many years watched my
the greatest care and assiduity, but have never

yet seen the Queen-Bee leave the hive, except at the time

of swarming. I have also spoken to several experienced

_ Bee-masters on the subject, and they are of*the same
opinion with myself—that she never quits it. ‘Her per-
son is so easily distinguished from the other Bees, by any
one at all Gonversant with them, that if the Queen ab-
sented herself from the hive, in the way Huber describes
her as doing, it seems next to impossible that she should
not have been perceived, either on her departure from, or
on her return to the hive. It is, however, with conside-
rable diffidence'that one would venture to doubt the ac-
curacy of any statement of Huber’s, especially when the
objection turns, not upona contradictory circumstance, but
upon what myself and others have not been able to dis-
cover. ;

Wax isa secretion-formed under the seales of the back
of the insect, from Which I have repeatedly seen it exfo-
liate in small flakes. A considerable degree of heat ap-
pears to be necessary to produce this secretion, as I have
always observed it most frequent in hot weather. Other
writers have maintained that the wax is discharged from
the abdominal rings or segments of the Bees. This may
be also the case, but I have never perceived it.

The vision of ee seems very imperfect. I have fre-

_, THE, CABRYBIORINATURAL gusTORY,

_gtently turned a hive; »so as to make the- entrance about”

a

-

two or three inehes from .its former. positiow, and ‘hae
then always found the Beessat a loss to gain admittance.
Indeed they seem more ‘to feel th ay, than to seegit,
after they have once danded «thems fi the board of

' their hives. Their progress thro e air is always. -

made in’a direct line to the hive, and the instinct which, se
enables them to find ityamongst forty or fifty 8 placed in, ¢ :
arow,and nearly similar to each other ry striking. ;
Mr. Rogers, in his «Pleasures of ory,” hag? ©
pretty idea on this subject:— = ” : Z
4 ‘ “ - Se t F » ® ——
eo te varied scents that charm’dsher as she flew,”"* © @* a
« . ~ - ~ = * “ >. J o «
he thinks might point out the way of her réturm to, the ay”
hive. og . os

Wasps appear to havea better as Bees, ‘though ‘?

it is not easy to assign a reason for this being the case,
sincellimggyetuction of the eyes of both insects se
be similar. Derham, in his, Physico-theology, has
served in regard to. the eye. of the Bee and wasp, etd)
the cornea and optie nerves being always atone and the

same distance, are fitted only to see distant objects, ©
cad not such as are verymigh, and that the eye will be

found on examination to form a curious lattice-work of
sr tg ego lens c nga separate
op. ve minist ing to it, and r be consider-
ed tinct eye.”’? Wasps, however, certainly seemto ©
alight at the entrance of their nests with more accuracy
than Bees. I have frequently observed this to be the
case, even when the hole of a wasp’s nest has been in a »
grass field, surroun ith long grass. They ali ian
it with the greatest i icin or ne .
half an i er on one side or the other they
do this even late in the evening.
A hive of Bees which have been once m
rated, do not soon fo

with one of my hiv

>

‘exaspe-
rget the injury. This was the case
s, the Bees of which never allowed
me for two yea come near them while they were
working, without cking me, though a ce oe
hive would.allow me to take almost) any liberties withat
with impunity. Indeed T had familiarized myself so
much with some of my Bees, that I am convinced they

nd ty always appeared to distinguish me

knew m
from sages onstantly standing before the mouth
of the hive, and

ving vast numbers to fly about and
settle upon me, and by frequently feeding them, they be-
came so well acquainted with me, that I had much plea-
sure in witnessing their attachment, and the confidence
they placed in me. This affection was mutual, and I al-

.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

ways think with pleasure of themany agreeablehoursI have
passed in company withmy Bees. Those only canjudge
of this, who, like myself, have witnessed their assiduity,
their internal labours, their affection for their Queen, and
all the various modes they take in promoting the prospe-
rity of the community. I always listen to the pleasing
hum of Bees with delight, and know of few sounds more
soothing and agreeable.

“Then, cheerful Bee, come, freely come,
And travel round my woodbine bower!
Delight me with thy wandering hum,
And rouse me from my musing hour;
OF! try no more those tedious fields,
Come taste the sweets my garden yields:
The treasures of each blooming mine,
The bud—the blossom—all are thine.”

In some papers published a few years ago, I endea-
voured to point out the great cruelty of procuring honey
by the suffocation of Bees, and the advantage which the
Bee-owner would derive from contenting himself with a
part only of their stores. This may be done by placing a
small hive glass, or even a flowerpot, on the top of each
hive in April or May. These should be of a size to hold
about eight or ten pounds’ weight of honey; and in a
tolerably good season they will generally be filled, leaving
a sufficient stock of honey for the Bees to subsist upon
till the following spring. I am happy to find that this
method is more generally practised than it formerly was.
By adopting it, the lives of thousands of these industrious
insects would be saved; the profits of the Bee-owner would
be much more considerable, and his stock of Bees annu-
ally increased.

The summer of the year 1818, was unusually dry and
hot, and in July flowers of almost every description had
entirely disappeared. I observed that Bees, in conse-
quence of this, seldom left their hives in search of honey,
though the weather, one would have thought, would have
tempted them out. They seemed, indeed, to be perfect-
ly aware that their labours would be useless. I recollect
meeting with an account of a hive of Bees being trans-
ported from a distant place, to a spot by the side of a
mountain in Italy, where they could procure honey all the
year round. Finding this to be the case, they soon gave
up stocking their hive, and only went out to collect honey
as they wanted it. The same observation has been made
on Bees taken out to the West Indies, who the first year
stored their hive as usual, and never afterwards, merely
supplying themselves with food from day to day.

[ Lbid.
Yry

273
THE MOLE.
“Tread softly, that the bli id Mole may not
Hear a foot fall; we now are near his cell.” SHAKSPEARE.

Tue Mole-hills which we see in fields and meadows
are thrown up by the Mole probably during its search for
food. Little was known of the natural history of this ani-
mal, till a French naturalist, M. St. Hilaire, published
lately some interesting particulars respecting it. The Mole
forms several under-ground passages; and the way she
proceeds in doing this is as follows:—she first makes a
run in various directions, by undermining the ground,
and unites this and several others at one point, making,
however, some of them larger than the others. M. St.
Hilaire says, that she finishes by arranging them with the
most perfect symmetry, plastering the sides with great
care; and when completed, it may be called her encamp-
ment. In the centre of these works she establishes her-
self, and appropriates a separate place to the reception of
her young, which is in some respects differently construct-
ed from her own. In order to render the respective ha-
bitations which she and her young occupy not liable to be
injured by the rain, she makes them almost even with the
ground, and higher up than the runs, which serve as
drains, or channels, to carry off the water. She makes
choice of the place of her abode with the greatest care,
sometimes constructing it at the foot of a wall, or near a
hedge or atree, where it has the less chance of being bro-
ken in. This abode is sometimes protected by having a
quantity of earth thrown over it, especially in light soils,
where I have seen a mound almost large enough to fill a
wheelbarrow. Sometimes, however, no earth is thrown
up over the habitation. This precaution of the Mole is
very necessary, to prevent the places she has chosen for
retreats for herself and her young from being trampled in.
When a Mole has occasion to make her run through a
gateway, I have observed that she generally carries it as
near as possible to the gate-post, where it is less likely to
be injured. Some runs are so near the surface, that I
have seen the ground crack during the animal’s progress
in working them. The bed for the young is composed
of the blades of wheat, with which the Mole forms a sort
of mattress. Fourhundred and two of them were counted in
one nest, and allso fresh in their appearance, that they had
been probably collected by this animal in the course of
two or three days. This shows not only her extraor-
dinary industry, but the great depredation she must
commit.

The Mole is never known to work for food near the
place which she has fixed upon for her abode. She labours

274

to procure it about two hours in the morning, and as many
in the evening, and then returns to her home or resting-
place, which is so constructed, that she is instantly made
aware of any danger. This effect is produced by form-
ing the upper runs in a sort of circle, so as to communi-
cate a vibration when any thing passes over them. The
Mole then takes alarm, and escapes by one of her safety
runs.

The Mole is not often seen on the surface of the earth.
I once, however, caught one, and turned it loose upon a
lawn, the turf of which was on a bed of strong gravel, and
particularly hard and dry. Notwithstanding these disad-
vantages, the Mole contrived to bury itself almost in an
instant, working into the earth by means of her snout and
fins, (for they can hardly be called feet,) so fast, that the
ground seemed to yield to her mere pressure.

The power of smelling in the mole is very acute; and
it is supposed that this sense serves to direct her in the
search of her food. She hunts after beetles and worms,
which last she pursues eagerly, but not always success-
fully; for the earth-worm is aware of its danger, and quick
in escaping from it. Her search for prey taking place in
the morning and evening, when birds are more generally
on their feed, must be the means of contributing greatly
to their subsistence by driving worms to the surface of the
earth, and furnishes another striking proof that the
‘¢fowls of the air?’ have their food provided by an Al-
mighty and superintending Providence in a variety of
ways.

Le Court, who assisted M. St. Hilaire in his observa-
tions, and who appears to have been a sort of philosophi-
cal Mole-catcher, was surprised when the naturalist ex-
pressed a doubt as to the Mole seeing. He informed
him that, in swimming rivers, they habitually guide them-
selves by their sight; but, in order to satisfy M. St. Hi-
laire on this point, he contrived the following experiment
with him:—They made two openings in a dry tiled drain,
at one of which several Moles were successively intro-
duced. Le Court took his stand at the other. If he stood
quite still, the Mole soon came out and escaped; but if,
at the moment in which she showed herself at the hole, he
moved only his thumb, she stopped and turned back. By
repeating this as often as she re-appeared, the Mole was
kept imprisoned in the drain.

There has been a very general idea amongst our Mole-
catchers, that if the smallest drop of blood is taken from
a mole, it occasions instant death. Le Court seems to ac-
count for this opinion in speaking of the fights which
take place between the male Moles, by saying, that if
one is ever so slightly wounded in a vein near the ear,
the wound is mortal.

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

~

In order to ascertain the rate at which a Mole moved,
he put in practice the following curious experiment:—
He placed some slight sticks, with alittle flag at the top of
them, in the run of a Mole, which he had previously as-
certained by tracing it to be of considerable length, and
along which the Mole passed and repassed four times a
day in search of food. These sticks were placed at cer-
tain intervals in the run, so that if the Mole touched
them, the flag would instantly show it. He then intro-
duced a horn at one extremity of the run, and blowing
it loudly, frightened the animal; and she then went
along the run at such a rate, moying the flags in her
passage, that Le Court and his friends, who were sta-
tioned at intervals along the run to assist in the ob-
servation, considered that she wentas fast as a horse could
trot at its greatest speed.

Hunger in the Mole is thought to be a more violent
feeling than fear; and its appetite is singularly voracious.
If it sees a bird near, it quits its hole—approaches as if
to attack it; and if the bird pecks it, the Mole retires
towards its hole, and tempts the bird to follow. She
then watches her opportunity—darts upon it—seizes
it by the belly, which she tears open, assisting herself
for this purpose with her flaps, and, thrusting her head
into it, devours it. She drinks as greedily as she eats.
The Mole does not, like the mouse, lay up a store of
food, as she preys on worms, and various kinds of in-
sects: she will also eat frogs, but will not touch a toad
if ever so hungry. A Mole was tried with eggs and
oysters, but refused to eat either. They will, however,
eat fruit, and, Buffon says, acorns. If two Molesare shut
up together without food, the strongest will devour the
weakest, even to the bones: nothing but the skin is left,
which they never eat, and which, when one has killed
the other, is always seen to be ripped up along the
belly. It was found that ten or twelve hours was the
longest time they could live without food. This fact
seems to prove that the Mole is not torpid in frosty
weather, which Linnzus asserted she was. It is known
that, in such seasons, worms, ants, and the larve of
cock-chafers and beetles, penetrate deep into the ground.
It is probable, therefore, that the runs of the Mole
made in search of food are regulated, as to their depth,
by the habits of the grubs on which she feeds. One
would suppose, from the texture of its fur, which is
particularly short and thick, that the Mole is not very sus-
ceptible of cold. Indeed, its whole formation is ad-
mirably adapted to its mode of life.

It has been said, that the Mole, when the ground
which it frequents is flooded, will climb up trees.
This, however, seems to be unnecessary, as I have

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

seen it swim with perfect ease, which indeed Le Court
had also observed.—JZ0.

STUDY OF NATURE.

Tuerk is a principle in the human mind, which, of it-
self, if it be allowed fair play, obliges you to be impressed
agreeably by the sight of a fine waterfall, the picturesque-
ness of an aged oak or time-worn ash, the shade of woods,
the gurgle of streams, the sounds of the ocean wave, as it
murmurs on shelving sands, or talks in thunder on rocks
and precipices. These, and other general components of
nature, have only to be seen or heard, that they may come
home with power and effect to the mind. WhenI see a
chain of mountains rearing their summits to the clouds, do
I not immediately pronounce it to be a sublime object;
and that, without any one idea intervening between the
moment of sight and the moment of feeling? When a per-
son for the first time beholds the ocean, is he not wrapt
in astonishment, and awed by its grandeur, independent-
ly of anyassociation of ideas? Ifto-day I admire the beauty
of the cool, transparent, glassy flow of a river, and if to-
morrow I behold it swollen to twenty times its usual mag-
nitude, the water changed by a heavy night’s rain to a
dark brown colour, and the rolling flood dashing with in-
cessant roar over “ foamy steeps,”’ or sweeping down its
more level channel, boiling and flashing in its progress to
the main, am I not af once impressed with the sublimity
of the spectacle? or must I first think of flooded fields, or
drowned cattle, or swept-away bridges, or undermined
trees and banks? Surely not; the very first glance of the
vexed torrent excites the feeling as instantaneously as a
spark explodes gunpowder. I require no associations, no
preparatory thinking; but a sentiment of sublimity and
grandeur at the sight is at once called up, I know not how;
but I am satisfied that it is neither artificial nor acquired.
I believe the feeling of the sublime and beautiful in nature
to be truly innate, and that its great value lies in its ele-
vating our thoughts to the Deity himself. And how nu-
merous are the lovers of general nature, in obedience to
this innate feeling! How full of poetry, that language of
heaven, is nature in all her amplitudes! and how indeli-
bly rooted is the recollection of her scenes! how faith-
fully do they remain as they first fixed their impressure
on the young mind! and how permanently do they con-
tinue to call up sensations of pleasure and delight!

“O nature! woods, winds, music, valleys, hills,
And gushing brooks !—in you there is a voice

Of potency—an utterance which instils

Light, life, and freshness, bidding man rejoice

As with a spirit’s transport: from the noise,

The hum of busy towns, to you I fly:

Ye were my earliest nurses, my first choice—

Let me notidly hope, nor vainly sigh ;

Whisper once more of peace—joys—years long vanished by.”

But if the great features of nature be so impressive,
how much is to be found in her minuter details when
they come to be investigated. If a writer mention a forest,
a cataract, a storm, a calm, a desert, or a paradise, and
adapt his language to the object, all understand, and all
are pleased, or delighted, or instructed, in proportion as
he exhibits genius and truth. And when we examine the
minuter parts of creation, they also can excite no little ad-
miration, while they give a deeper, and more certain and
solid knowledge of the power and goodness of God. The
catalogue of the great features, too, is in comparison
limited; while in the minuter departments, the number of
organized beings, of geological, physiological, and cther
phenomena of the highest interest, are absolutely not to
be numbered. And here there seems to me to be a wide
and material distinction. The great forms of nature every
one is impressed with from a constitutional innate feeling.
The lesser are left to man himself to investigate, by his
own research and the exercise of his understanding: they
are innumerable; and we every where in them find an in-
comprehensible wisdom directing to certain useful ends,
and unfolding a knowledge not only of the things, but of
the mighty Being whose work they are. Let it not then
besupposed, that the studying and collectinganimal, vegeta-
ble, or mineral productions is a trifling occupation; for
however general that opinion may be, it is as erroneous as
it is vulgar.—Leéters to a Young Naturalist.

SUBTERRANEOUS AND OMINOUS SOUNDS.

In a former volume of the Journal, we communicated
some curious details in regard to what have been called
subterranean and ominous sounds. Sir Sohn Herschell
has lately considered this subject, and conjectures that
the noises of Nakoos, in Arabia, may be owing to a sub-
terraneous production of steam, by the generation and
condensation of which, under certain circumstances,
sounds are well known to be produced. They belong to
the same class of phenomena as the combustion of a jet of
hydrogen gas in glass tubes. He also remarks, that
wherever extensive subterraneous caverns exist, commu-
nicating with each other, or with the atmosphere, by

276

means of small orifices, considerable differences of tempe-
rature may occasion currents of air to pass through those
apertures with sufficient velocity for producing sonorous
vibrations. The soundsdescribed by Humboldt, as heard
at sunrise, by those who sleep on certain granitic rocks,
on the banks of the Orinoco, may be explained on this
principle. The sounds produced at sunrise, by the statue
of Memnon, and the twang, like the breaking of a string,
heard by the French naturalists to proceed from a granite
mountain at Carnac, are viewed by him as referable to a
different cause, viz. to pyrometric expansions and contrac-
tions of the heterogeneous material of which the statue
and mountain consist. Similar sounds, and from the same
cause, are emitted when heat is applied to any connected
mass of machinery; and the snapping often heard in the
bars of a grate affords a familiar example of this pheno-
menon. The following amusing account of an ominous
sound is given by Gairdner in his book on the ‘‘ Music of
Nature:”?—In one of the baronial castles of the north,
which has been uninhabited for years, there were heard
at times such extraordinary noises, as to confirm the
opinion among the country people that the place was
haunted. In the western tower an old couple were per-
mitted to live, who had been in the service of the former
lord, but so imbued were they with the superstitions of
the country, that they never went to bed without expect-
ing to hear the cries of the disturbed spirits of the man-
sion. An old story was current, that an heir-apparent
had been murdered by an uncle, that he might possess the
estate, who, however, after enjoying it for a time, was so
annoyed by the sounds in the castle, that he retired with
an uneasy conscience from the domain, and died in France.
Not many years ago, the property descended to a branch
of the female line, (one of the heroes of Waterloo,) who,
nothing daunted, was determined to make this castle his
place of residence. As the noises were a subject of real
terror to his tenantry, he formed the resolution of sleep-
ing in the castle on the night he took possession, in order
to do away these superstitious fears. Not a habitable
room could be found, except the one occupied by the
old gardener and his wife in the western turret, and he
ordered his camp-bed to be set up in that apartment. It
was in the autumn, at nightfall, that he repaired to the
gloomy abode, leaving his servant, to his no small com-
fort, at the village inn; and after having found every
thing comfortably provided, turned the large old rusty
key upon the antiquated pair, who took leave of him to
lodge at a farm hard by. It was one of those nights
which are chequered with occasional gleams of moon-
shine and darkness, when the clouds are riding in a high
wind. He slept well for the two first hours; he was then

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

me

wakened by a low mournful sound that ran through the
apartments. This warned him to be up and accoutred,
He descended the turret stairs with a brilliant light, which,
on coming to the ground floor, cast a gigantic shadow of
himself upon the high embattled walls. Here he stood
and listened, when presently a hollow moan ran through
the long corridor, and died away. This was followed by
one of a higher key, a sort of scream, which directed his
footsteps with more certainty to the spot. Pursuing the
sounds, he found himself in the hall of his ancestors, and
vaulting upon the large oaken table, set down his lamp, and
folding his cloak about him, determined to wait for the
appearance of all that was terrible. The night, which had
been stormy, became suddenly still; the dark flitting
clouds had sunk below the horizon, and the moon insinu-
ated her silvery light through the chinks of the moulder-
ing pile. As our hero had spent the morning in the chase,
Morpheus came unbidden, and he fell asleep upon the
table. His dream was short; for close upon him issued
forth the horid groan; amazed, he started up and sprang
at the unseen voice, fixing, with a powerful blow, his To-
ledo steel in the arras. The blade was fast, and held him
to the spot. At this moment the moon shot a ray that illu-
mined the hall, and showed that behind the waving folds
there lay the cause concealed. His sword he left, and to
the turret retraced his steps. When morning came, a
welcome crowd greeting, asked if he had met the ghost?
“¢O yes!”’ replied the knight, ‘‘dead as a door nail be-
hind the screen he lies, where my sword has pinned him
fast; bring the wrenching bar and we’ll haul the disturber
out.”’ With such a leader, and broad day to boot, the
valiant throng tore down the screen where the sword
was fixed, when lo! in a recess, lay the fragments of a
chapel organ, and the square wooden trunks made for
hallowed sounds were used as props to stay the work
when the hall was coated round with oak. The wonder-
ing clowns now laughed aloud at the mysterious voice. It
was the northern blast that found its way through the
crannies of the wall to the groaning pipes, that alarmed
the country round for a century.—£din. Phil. Jour.

OBESITY.

Tuer celebrated fat liver pies of Strasburgh are made
of the livers of geese, fattened with great attention. The
animal is shut up in a cage, but little larger than its body,
and is taken out but twice a day, and then to be fed with
about a quart of crude peas. They are introduced with a
finger into the pharynx of the animal, which is thus made

a

“Mond daqavaH

“AIXN THI TOA

"Td dda

* WaHstd

DO NIM

aqaLTad

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

to swallow this enormous quantity of nourishment, and is
then immediately shut up in its cage. The immediate
result of this kind of life is a remarkable obesity, and an

ement of volume. JBibulous paper brought into
close contact with this fat liver, immediately absorbs an
oily matter, much like melted fat. These livers some-
times weigh eight or ten ounces, and sell at from three to
five francs. The fattening of geese in this manner is a
good speculation, for every part of the animal possesses
an intrinsic value; the fat on many occasions is a substi-
tute for butter, and the flesh is served at table, and although
somewhat tough, is not the less nutritious; the feathers
are much sought after, the quills serve for writing, and
even the excrements sell at a high price as one of the
richest of manures. —ZJ0.

BELTED KINGSFISHER.
ALCEDO ALCYON.
[Plate XXIV. Vol. 2.]

Bartram, p. 289.—Turron, p. 278.—4cedo Alcyon,
Linn. Syst. ed.10, vol.1. 115.—Guex. Syst. 1. 451.—
Latru. Ind. Orn. 257.—Caruszpy, 1. 60.—Burr. Pl.
Enl. 598—715.—J. Doveury’s Collection.

Tuts is a general inhabitant of the banks and shores
of all our fresh-water rivers, from Hudson’s Bay to Mexi-
co; and is the only species of its tribe found within the
United States. This last circumstance, and its character-
istic appearance, make it as universally known here, as
its elegant little brother, the common Kingsfisher of Eu-
rope, is in Britain. Like the love-lorn swains, of whom
poets tell us, he delights in murmuring streams and fall-
ing waters; not, however, merely that they may soothe
his ear, but for a gratification more substantial. Amidst
the roar of the cataract, or over the foam of a torrent, he
sits perched upon an overhanging bough, glancing his
piercing eye in every direction below for his scaly prey,
which, with a sudden circular plunge, he sweeps from
their native element, and swallows in an instant. His
voice, which is not unlike the twirling of a watchman’s
rattle, is naturally loud, harsh, and sudden; but is soften-
ed by the sound of the brawling streams and cascades
among which he generally rambles. He courses along the
windings of the brook or river, at a small height above

ZL2Z

277

the surface, sometimes suspending himself by the rapid
action of his wings, like certain species of hawks, ready
to pounce on the fry below; now and then settling on an
old dead overhanging limb to reconnoitre. Mill-dams
are particularly visited by this feathered fisher; and the
sound of his pipe is as well known to the miller as the

rattling of his own hopper. Rapid streams, with high

perpendicular banks, particularly if they be of a hard
clayey or sandy nature, are also favourite places of resort
for this bird; not only because in such places the small
fish are more exposed to view, but because those steep and
dry banks are the chosen situations for his nest. Into
these he digs with bill and claws, horizontally, sometimes
to the extent of four or five feet, at the distance of a foot
or two from thesurface. The few materials he takes in are
not always placed at the extremity of the hole, that he and
his mate may have room to turn with convenience. The

~ eggs are five, pure white, and the first brood usually comes

out about the beginning of June, and sometimes sooner,
according to that part of the country where they reside.
On the shores of Kentucky river, near the town of Frank-
fort, I found the female sitting early in April. They are
very tenacious of their haunts, breeding for several suc-
cessive years in the same hole, and do not readily forsake
it, even though it be visited. An intelligent young gen-
tleman informed me, that having found where a Kings-
fisher built, he took away its eggs, from time to time,
leaving always one behind, until he had taken no less than
eighteen from the same nest. At some of these visits, the
female being within, retired to the extremity of the hole
while he withdrew the egg, and next day, when he re-
turned, he found she had laid again as usual.

The fabulous stories related by the ancients of the nest,
manner of hatching, &c., of the Kingsfisher, are too trifling
to be repeated here. Over the winds and the waves the
humble Kingsfisher of our days, at least, the species now
before us, has no control. Its nest is neither constructed
of glue nor fish-bones; but of loose grass and a few feathers.
It is not thrown on the surface of the water to float about,
with its'proprietor, at random; but snugly secured from
the winds and the weather in the recesses of the earth;
neither is its head or its feathers believed, even by the
most illiterate of our clowns or seamen, to be a charm for
love, a protection against witchcraft, or a security for fair
weather. It is neither venerated like those of the So-
ciety isles, nor dreaded like those of some other countries;
but is considered merely as a bird that feeds on fish; is
generally fat; relished by some as good eating; and is now
and then seen exposed for sale in our markets.

Though the Kingsfisher generally remains with us, in
Pennsylvania, until the commencement of cold weather,

278 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

it is seldom seen here in winter; but returns to us early
in April. In North and South Carolina, I observed num-
bers of these birds in the months of February and March,
I also frequently noticed them on the shores of the
Ohio, in February, as high up as the mouth of the Musk-
ingum.

I suspect this bird to be a native of the Bahama islands,
as well as of our continent. In passing between these
isles and the Florida shore, in the month of July, a Kings-
fisher flew several times round our ship, and afterwards
shot off to the south.*

The length of this species is twelve inches and a half,
extent twenty; back and whole upper parts a light bluish
slate colour; round the neck is a collar of pure white,
which reaches before to the chin; head large, crested, the
feathers long and narrow, black in the centre, and gene-
rally erect; the shafts of all the feathers, except the white
plumage, are black; belly and vent white; sides under the
wings variegated with blue; round the upper part of the
breast passes a band of blue, interspersed with some light
brown feathers; before the eye is a small spot of white,
and another immediately below it; the bill is three inches
long, from the point to the slit of the mouth, strong,
sharp pointed, and black, except near the base of the lower
mandible, and at the tip, where it is of a horn colour; pri-
maries, and interior webs of the secondaries, black, spot-
ted with white; the interior vanes of the tail feathers ele-
gantly spotted with white on a jet black ground; lower
side light coloured; exterior vanes blue; wing-coverts and
secondaries marked with small specks of white; legs ex-
tremely short; when the bird perches it generally rests
on the lower side of the second joint, which is thereby
thick and callous; claws stout and black; whole leg of a
dirty yellowish colour; above the knee bare of feathers
for half an inch; the two exterior toes united together for
nearly their whole length.

The female is sprinkled all over with specks of white;
the band of blue around the upper part of the breast is
nearly half reddish brown; and a little below this passes a
band of bright reddish bay, spreading on each side under
the wings. The blue and rufous feathers on the breast
are strong like scales. The head is also of a much darker
blue than the back; and the white feathers on the
chin and throat of an exquisite fine glossy texture, like the
most beautiful satin.—Wzutson.

* On the 25th of April last, a like circumstance occurred. While a
passenger in the Brig General Sumter, from Charleston to Norfolk,
lat. 35 long. 76, I noticed a Kingsfisher settle on the end of the fly-
ing gib-boom of the brig, where it remained about ten minutes, and

then took its departure to the eastward with the same quietness as
when it came.—Ep.

BUFFEL-HEADED DUCK.
ANAS ALBEOLA.
[Plate XXIV. Vol. 2.]

La Sarcelle de la Louisiane, Briss. vi. p. 461, pl. Al,
Jig. 1.—Le petit Canard a grosse téte, Burr. 1x. p.
249.—Epw. pl. 100.— rect. Zool. No. 487.—Caresny,
1. 95.—Laru. Syn. ur. p. 533.—Le Canard d’hyver,
Briss. vi. p. 349; La sarcelle de la Caroline, Id. p.
464.—J. Doveury’s Collection.

Turs pretty little species, usually known by the name
of the Butter-box, or Butter-ball, is common to the sea-
shores, rivers and lakes of the United States, in every
quarter of the country, during autumn and winter. About
the middle of April, or early in May, they retire
to the north to breed. They are dexterous divers, and
fly with extraordinary velocity. So early as the latter
part of February the males are observed to have violent
disputes for the females; at this time they are more com-
monly seen in flocks; but during the preceding part of
winter they usually fly in pairs. Their note is a short
quack. 'They feed much on shell fish, shrimps, &c. They
are sometimes exceedingly fat; though their flesh is infe-
rior to many others for the table. The male exceeds the
female in size, and greatly in beauty of plumage.

The Buffel-headed Duck, or rather as it has originally
been, the Buffalo-headed Duck, from the disproportion-
ate size of its head, is fourteen inches long, and twenty-
three inches in extent; the bill is short, and of a light
blue or Jeaden colour; the plumage of the head and half of
the neck is thick, long and velvetty, projecting greatly
over the lower part of the neck; this plumage on the
forehead and nape is rich glossy green changing into a
shining purple on the crown and sides of the neck; from
the eyes backward passes a broad band of pure white;
iris of the eye dark; back, wings, and part of the scapu-
lars, black; rest of the scapulars, lateral band along the
wing, and whole breast, snowy white; belly, vent, and
tail coverts, dusky white, tail pointed, and of a hoary
colour.

The female is considerably less than the male, and en-
tirely destitute of the tumid plumage of the head; the
head, neck, and upper parts of the body and wings, are
sooty black, darkest on the crown; side of the head
marked with a small oblong spot of white, bill dusky;
lower part of the neck ash, tipt with white; belly dull
white; vent cinerous; outer edges of six of the seconda-
ries and their incumbent coverts, white, except the tips
of the latter, which are black; legs and feet a livid blue;

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

tail hoary brown; length of the intestines three feet six
inches; stomach filled with small shell fish. This is the
Spirit Duck of Pennant, so called from its dexterity in
diving, (Arct. Zool. No. 487,) likewise the Little Brown
Duck of Catesby, (Nat. Hist. Car. pl. 98.)

This species is said to come into Hudson’s Bay about
Severn River in June, and make their nests in trees in the
woods near ponds. The young males during the first year
are almost exactly like the females in colour.—J0.

WILD ANIMALS IN THE ILLINOIS COUNTRY.

Tue buffalo has entirely left us. Before the country
was settled, immense prairies afforded pasturage to large
herds of this animal, and the traces of them are still re-
maining in the ‘¢ buffalo paths,”’ which are to be seen in
several parts of the state. These are well beaten tracts,
leading generally from the prairies in the interior of the
state, to the margins of the large rivers; showing the course
of their migrations as they changed their pastures periodi-
cally from the low marshy alluvium to the dry upland
plains. In the heat of summer they would be driven
from the latter by the prairie flies; in the autumn they
would be expelled from the former by the mosquitoes; in
the spring the grass of the plains would afford abundant
pasturage, while the herds could enjoy the warmth of the
sun, and snuff the breeze that sweeps so freely over them;
in the winter, the rich cane on the river banks, which is
an evergreen, would furnish food, while the low grounds,
thickly covered with brush and forest, would afford pro-
tection from the bleak winds. I know few subjects more
interesting than the migration of wild animals, connect-
ing, as it does, the singular display of brute instinct, with
a wonderful exhibition of the various supplies which
nature has supplied for the support of animal life, under
an endless variety of circumstances. These paths are
narrow, and remarkably direct, showing that the animals
travelled in single file through the woods, and pursued
the most direct course to their places of destination.
Deer are more abundant than at the first settlement of the
country. They increase to a certain extent, with the
population. The reason of this appears to be, that they
find protection in the neighbourhood of man, from the
beasts of prey that assail them in the wilderness, and from
whose attacks, their young particularly can with difficulty
escape. They suffer most from the wolves, who hunt
in packs like hounds, and who seldom give up the chase
until a deer is taken. We have often sat, on a moonlight
summer night, at the door of a log-cabin on one of our

279

prairies, and heard the wolves in full chase of a deer,
yelling very nearly in the same manner as a pack of
hounds. Sometimes the cry would be heard at a great
distance over the plain; then it would die away, and again
be distinguished at a nearer point, and in another direc-
tion; now the full cry would burst upon us from a neigh-
bouring thicket, and we would almost hear the sobs of the
exhausted deer; and again it would be born away, and lost
in the distance. We have passed nearly whole nights in
listening to such sounds; and once we saw a deer dash
through the yard, and immediately pass the door at which
we sat, followed by his audacious pursuers, who were
but a few yards in his rear. Immense numbers of deer
are killed every year by our hunters, who take them for
their hams and skins alone, throwing away the rest of the
carcass. Venison hams and hides are important articles of
export: the former are purchased from the hunters at
25 cents a pair, the latter at 20 cents a pound. In our
villages we purchase for our tables the saddle of venison,
with the hams attached, for 373 cents, which would be
something like one cent a pound. There are several ways
of hunting deer, all of which are equally simple. Most
generally the hunter proceeds to the woods on horseback,
in the day-time, selecting particularly certain hours,
which are thought to be most favourable. It is said, that
during the season when the pastures are green, this ani-
mal rises from his lair precisely at the rising of the moon,
whether in the day or night; and I suppose the fact to be
so, because such is the testimony of experienced hunters.
If it be true, it is certainly a curious display of animal in-
stinet. This hour is therefore always kept in view by
the hunter, as he rides slowly through the forest, with his
rifle on his shoulder, while his keen eye penetrates the
surrounding shades. On beholding a deer, the hunter
slides from his horse, and, while the deer is observing the
latter, creeps upon him, keeping the largest trees between
himself and the object of pursuit, until he gets near enough
to fire. An expert woodsman seldom fails to hit his game.
It is extremely dangerous to approach a wounded deer.
Timid and harmless as this animal is, at other times, he
no sooner finds himself deprived of the power of flight,
than he becomes furious, and rushes upon his enemy,
making desperate plunges with his sharp horns, and
striking and trampling furiously with his fore-legs, which,
being extremely muscular, and armed with sharp hoofs,
are capable of inflicting very severe wounds. Aware of
this cireumstance, the hunter approaches him with caution,
and either secures his prey by a second shot, where the
first has been but partially successful, or, as is more fre-
quently the case, causes his dog to seize the wounded ani-
mal, while he watches his own opportunity to stah him

280

with his hunting-knife. Sometimes where a noble buck
is the victim, and the hunter is impatient or inexperienced,
terrible conflicts ensue on such occasions. Another mode,
is to watch at night, in the neighbourhood of the salt-licks.
These are spots where the earth is impregnated with
saline particles, or where the salt-water oozes through the
soil. Deer and other grazing animals frequent such places,
and remain for hours licking the earth. The hunter
secretes himself here, either in the thick top of a tree, or
most generally in a screen erected for the purpose, and
artfully concealed, likea mask battery, with logs or green
boughs. ‘This practice is pursued only in the summer, or
early in the autumn, in cloudless nights, when the moon
shines brilliantly, and objects may be readily discovered.
At the rising of the moon, or shortly after, the deer hay-
ing risen from their beds, approach the lick. Such places
are generally denuded of timber, but surrounded by it;
and as the animal is about to emerge from the shade into
the clear moon-light, he stops, looks cautiously around,
and snuffs the air. Then he advances a few steps, and
stops again, smells the ground, or raises his expanded
nostrils, as if he ‘‘ snuffed the approach of danger in every
tainted breeze.”? The hunter sits motionless, and most
breathless, waiting until the animal shall get within rifle-
shot, and until its position, in relation to the hunter and
the light, shall be favourable, when he fires with an uner-
ring aim. A few deer only can be thus taken in one
night, and after a few nights these timorous animals are
driven from the haunts which are thus disturbed. An-
other practice is called driving, and is only practised in
those parts of the country where this kind of game is
scarce, and where hunting is pursued as an amusement.
A large party is made up, and the hunters ride forth with
their dogs. The hunting ground is selected, and, as it is
pretty well known what tracks are usually taken by the
deer when started, an individual is placed at each of those
passages, to intercept the retreating animal. The scene of
action being, in some measure, surrounded, small parties
advance with the dogs from different directions, and the
startled deer, in flying, most generally pass some of the
persons who are concealed, and who fire at them as they
pass. The e/k has disappeared. A few have been seen
of late years, and some taken; but it is not known that
any remain at this time, within the limits of the state.—
The dear is seldom seen. This animal inhabits those parts
of the country that are thickly wooded, and delights par-
ticularly in cane-brakes, where it feeds in the winter on
the tender shoots of the young cane. The meat is tender
and finely flavoured, and is esteemed a great delicacy.
Wolves are very numerous in every part of the state.
There are two kinds: the common or black wolf, and the

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

prairie wolf. The former is a large fierce animal, and
very destructive to sheep, pigs, calves, poultry, and even
young colts. They hunt in large packs, and after using
every stratagem to circumvent their prey, attack it with
remarkable ferocity. Like the Indian, they always en-
deavour to surprise their victim, and strike the mortal
blow without exposing themselves to danger. They sel-
dom attack man except when asleep or wounded. The
largest animals, when wounded, entangled, or otherwise
disabled, become their prey, but in general they only
attack such as are incapable of resistance. They have
been known to lie in wait upon the bank of a stream,
which the buffaloes were in the habit of crossing, and,
when one of those unwieldy animals was so unfortu-
nate as to sink in the mire, spring suddenly upon it,
and worry it to death, while thus disabled from resist-
ance. Their most common prey is the deer, which they
hunt regularly; but all defenceless animals are alike ac-
ceptable to their ravenous appetites. When tempted by
hunger, they approach the farm-houses in the night,
and snatch their prey from under the very eye of the
farmer; and when the latter is absent with his dogs,
the wolf is sometimes seen by the females lurking about
in mid-day, as if aware of the unprotected state of the
family. Our heroic females haye sometimes shot them
under such circumstances. The smell of burning assa-
foetida has a remarkable effect upon this animal. If a
fire be made in the woods, and a portion of this drug
thrown into it, so as to saturate the atmosphere with
the odour, the wolves, if any are within reach of the
scent, immediately assemble around, howling in the most
mournful manner; and such is the remarkable fascina-
tion under which they seem to labour, that they will
often suffer themselves to be shot down rather than quit
the spot. Of the very few instances of theirattacking human
beings of which we have heard, the following may serve
to give some idea of their habits: In very early times, a
negro man was passing in the night, in the lower part of
Kentucky, from one settlement to another. The distance
was several miles, and the country over which he travel-
led entirely unsettled. In the morning his carcass was
found entirely stript of flesh. Near itlay his axe, cover-
ed with blood, and all around, the bushes were beat
down, the ground trodden, and the number of foot-tracks
so great, as to show that the unfortunate victim had fought
long and manfully. On pursuing his track, it appeared
that the wolves had pursued him for a considerable dis-
tance; he had often turned upon them and driven them
back. Several times they had attacked him, and been re-
pelled, as appeared by the blood and tracks. He had kill-
ed some of them before the final onset, and in the last con-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

fiict had destroyed several; his axe was his only weapon.
The pratrie-wolf is a smaller species, which takes its
name from its habits, or residing entirely upon the open
plains. Even when hunted with dogs, it will make cir-
cuit after circuit round the prairie, carefully avoiding the
forest, or only dashing into it occasionally when hard
pressed, and then returning to the plain. In size and ap-
pearance this animal is midway between the wolf and the
fox, and in colour it resembles the latter, being of a very
light red. It preys upon poultry, rabbits, young pigs,
calves, &e. The most friendly relations subsist between
this animal and the common wolf, and they constantly hunt
in packs together. Nothing is more common than to see
a large black wolf in company with several prairie-wolves.
I am well satisfied that the latter is the jackal of Asia.
Several years ago, an agricultural society, which was
established at the seat of government, offered a large pre-
mium to the person who should kill the greatest number
of wolves in one year. The legislature at the same time
offered a bounty for each wolf-scalp that should be taken.
The consequence was, that the expenditure for wolf-scalps
became so great, as to render it necessary to repeal the
law. These animals, although still numerous and trou-
blesome to the farmer, are greatly decreased in number,
and are no longer dangerous to man. We know of no
instance in late years of a human being having been attack-
ed by them.—Journal of Geology.

THE WILD BOAR OF GERMANY.

Tue Wild Boar of Germany, though pursued as an
object of sport, is fierce and powerful, active, cunning,
and courageous, and both tact and activity as well as the
steed, the rifle, and the hound are necessary to secure the
hunter’s safety and success in the chase.

When the Boar is found, and the Germans have dogs
regularly trained to that duty, ‘‘ugly useful animals, not
unlike a shepherd’s dog, but rather smaller,’’ called, in
the language of the country, ‘‘ sow finders,’’ and which
are so well trained, that like a thorough-bred fox-hound
with the fox, no other animal than the Boar will arrest
their attention. Immediately as there isa find these give
tongue, nor cease their ery during the chase. With ac-
tive but cautious irritation they pursue the Boar, till he is
at bay, when, with continual teasings, they artfully know
how to turn him sideways to his master, being tutored so
to do, as the shoulder affords the best aim for disabling
him most readily; and in this position he endeavours to
keep him till his master fires. If the Boar, after being

ZA

281

brought to bay, be but ineffectually wounded, he becomes
most furious and formidable, and his four large tusks are
stops more dangerous than the ‘bristling spears of bat-
tle.” Not only does he toss the heaviest hounds with
them, but frequently mortally wounds the most athletic
huntsman. Some huntsmen, when attacked, instead of
trusting to their dogs, frequently rely upon their own
courage and skill, preferring gallantly to receive him upon
the point of a short sword or hanger, which, and our
kind informant can speak from experience, however, re-
quires all his strength and address: for, as the Boar
rushes powerfully forward, he will immediately find him-
self prostrated before him, should he miss his aim; he can
then only save himself by laying close to the ground, and
face downwards; for, as the Boar always strikes upwards,
he, by hitting his nose against the ground, will greatly
impede himself. From this awkward situation the sports-
man is usually relieved by his companions, either shoot-
ing at the Boar while so upon him, and their expertness
makes this of little danger, or by their loosing large dogs,
when, during a furious combat, the awkward sportsman
recelves many a severe contusion, accompanied some-
times by the derision of his companions.

If it happen that the wounded Boar makes off, the Boar-
hound, a species of blood-hound, says Colonel De Be-
renger, ‘is let loose, which pursues him for miles, giv-
ing tongue, nor will he leave him, even if other Boars
come in his way. When this dog overtakes the Boar he
furiously attacks him, and a fierce combat ensues, in which
the hounds are often destroyed; the huntsman, who has
actively followed the sound, in this case generally slays
the Boar by thrusting his sword, or a small knife, into
the spine of the neck, and this sagacious dog is taught to
give great aid to this difficult task, by seizing one of the
Boar’s ears, when, by jumping over his back, with it fast
between his teeth, by the consequent confined attitude,
he prevents the Boar from injuring his master.”

[Annals of Sporting.

EXTRACT FROM THE DIARY OF AN ORNI-
THOLOGIST DURING A SOUTHERN TOUR.

“ Crossrp the Potomac at Georgetown on the 20th of
January; weather severely cold, and the river completely
ice bound; reached Fredericksburgh the 22d. During
my stay there, made a short excursion from town, but
saw no object worthy of particular remark. 27th, arriy-
ed at Richmond. February 9th, one mile north of Rich-

282

mond, saw the Pine-Creeping Warbler, (Sylvia pinus;)
considered this an extraordinary occurrence, as the wea-
ther had been severely cold; made several unsuccessful
excursions while at Richmond. At Petersburgh 19th,
saw numbers of the Yellow-Rump Warbler, (Sy/via co-
ronata,) hopping about the denuded branches of the aspen
trees; the weather was quite cold, and the snow falling at
the time; believe this bird to be the last of the Silvia
tribe, except the Blue-bird, (Sylvia sialis,) to migrate
south in the fall, and the earliest to move north in the
spring; supposed they had commenced their partial migra-
tions on the above period, as I saw them repeatedly after-
wards as I travelled south. 21st, left Petersburgh, and
travelled thirty miles, saw numbers of the Cardinal Gros-
beak, or Red-bird,(Lozvia cardinalis,) Snow-birds, (L’rin-
gilla Hudsonia,)and Blue-birds; sawalso, the Barred Owl,
(Striznebulosa.) 22d, was greeted at sunrise by the sweet,
warbling notes of the Blue-bird; commenced my journey
at half-past seven; the weather previous to this for many
days had been alternately cold and wet, but this day it
was delightfully pleasant, and the animating influence
of the sun, seemed to give life to every object; saw a
great variety of birds, the Snow-bird, White-throated
Sparrow, (/ringilla albicollis,) Fox-coloured Sparrow,
(F. ferruginea,) numbers of the Cardinal Grosbeak,
Crested Titmouse, (Parus bicolor,) Black-capped Tit-
mouse, (P. attricapillus,) Turtle Doves, (Columba
Carolinensis,) Crows, (Corvus corone,) Starlings, (Stur-
nus predatorius,) Cow Buntings, (Hmberiza pecoris,)
Pileated Woodpecker, (Picus pileatus,) Golden-winged
do., (P. awratus,) Red Bellied do., (P. Carolinensis,)
Hairy do., (P. villosus,) Downy do., (P. pubescens,)
and Yellow Bellied do., (P. varius,)—endeavoured to
procure the former, but was unsuccessful; saw also the
Sparrow Hawk, (falco Sparverius,) Pigeon Hawk, (fF.
Columbarius,) and shot the Red-shouldered Hawk, (/.
lineatus,) saw numbers of the Turkey Buzzard, (Vwl-
tur aura.) In consequence of heavy rains many streams
were almost impassable; crossed several in water of suffi-
cient depth to swim horses; saw also the Robin, ( Tur-
dus migratorius,) winter Wren, (Sylvia troglody-
fes,) and heard the Carolina Wren, (Certhia Caro-
liniana.) 23d, in the town of Halifax, N. C., was awa-
kened before sunrise by the spring notes of a Robin,
which was perched on the branch of a tree close to my
chamber window; arose and took a walk through the town,
and saw numbers of the Blue Jay, (Corvus cristatus,)
in various parts of the town; counted ten on one small
tree in the main street, so tame and unsuspicious, that they
suffered me to approach within thirty feet of them, a very
unusual circumstance; also in the course of the day, the

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

Kildeer, (Charadrius vociferus,) Purple Grackle, (@ra-
cula quiscala,) and for the first time this season, the

Brown Thrush, (Turdus rufus;) had an invitation to join

a party to hunt Wild Turkeys, but declined. 24th, saw
nothing worthy of remark; 25th, reached Raleigh, N. C.

late in the evening.

I spent a few days very agreeably in this place,
and made several hunting excursions; became ac-
quainted with some of the leading sportsmen of the
city; was exceedingly gratified at the courteous atten-
tion and kindness of General Beverly Daniel, U. S. Mar-
shall for the state. General Daniel is one of the most in-
defatigable sportsmen of the country, and has of late years
confined himself while hunting to the pleasures of the
chase, more especially that of hunting deer on horseback
and with hounds; his pack is of the first order, and he
never relinquishes the object of his pursuit while there is
the slightest prospect of success; a visit to this gentleman
will convince any one, that he possesses every thing that
is requisite for a sportsman of the first order, and his very
amiable and gentlemanly bearing places you free from re-
straint, and makes you feel that his home is your home.
There are several other sportsmen in this place who shoot
well, and are very polite and attentive to strangers, and
one or two excellent pointer dogs. A northern sportsman
who desires to gratify himself with hunting, can find
abundance of it here, and would do well to visit this
place. Partridges are most plentiful, wild turkeys, deer
and foxes, also, and now and then a wild cat affords
amusement, whenever any individual chooses to mount
his horse and go in pursuit; and General D., with his
fine pack of hounds, is always ready to contribute to the
enjoyment of a stranger, when his character is such as to
command that distinguished attention. The country around
Raleigh is an admirable sporting district, and although
thickly settled, it is not necessary to make excursions
over a mile for partridges, and a very few miles for any
other description of game common to that part. By-the-by,
I have a very good anecdote to tell of the perseverance of
General D., which proves the necessity also, of follow-
ing up the chase, even when hope of success has failed,
and that many a fine deer has been lost to the hun-
ter, when but little more effort would have gained him
his prize. General D., with some friends, had made a
hunt after deer, and the pack of hounds soon opened on a
fresh trail, which was followed by hounds and huntsmen
at arapid rate for a long time, but the activity of the
deer led its pursuers across many a stream and swamp
far from home, until day was drawing to its close, and
the party worn out. The dogs had become silent, or had
run out of hearing, and in consequence of this, the party,

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

except General D., had become discouraged, and proposed
to return home; he therefore desired that they would
make one more attempt, and if they failed in this, he
would return home with them; (he suspected his hounds
had taken the deer to a certain point on a distant stream,
and there had killed it;) but his importunity availed no-
thing, and they separated, he for further pursuit, and they
for their homes. The noise of the hounds had ceased for
some time, and, after riding afew miles, he could gain no
other intelligence than that they were seen moving in the
very direction he expected; he became now almost con-
vinced that they had overtaken the deer, and were eating
it; but he moved rapidly on to the spot, which he soon
reached, and much to his satisfaction, saw a buck lying
in the water on its side dead, and the hounds completely
exhausted on the margin of the stream, unable to proceed
any further;—this may be called the summit of the hunts-
man’s glory.

« March 6th, saw and shot a Loggerhead Shrike, (Za-
nius Carolinensis,) the first living bird of that kind Ihad
ever seen; these birds seldom settle on a tree at any height
from the ground; perhaps the average height may be fif-
teen feet, and mostly on the central topmost branch; it is
from this elevation, that in its silent watchfulness it disco-
vers the mice and various worms on the ground, which
form its food: this bird would be of great interest to the
northern husbandman, because it devours so many mice
and large worms; but its range north is North Carolina;
from thence south it may be seen in every neighbourhood,
and is very useful on the cotton plantations. 7th, procured
two or three specimens of squirrels; also saw some wild
turkeys cross the road, but at too great a distance to shoot;
this evening reached Columbia, S.C. The country around
this city is a tolerably good ornithological district; but the
only gentleman in the place who takes an interest in natu-
ral history is Dr. Gibbes, professor of chemistry in Co-
lumbia College; this gentleman pursues the study of na-
tural history with great spirit, and has already a very
superior collection on this subject; his cabinet of mine-
rals is truly splendid, and has cost a large sum of money.
The Blue Grosbeak, (Lozxia cwrulea,) and the Cerulean
Warbler, (Sylvia cerulea,) rare and most beautiful birds,
frequently make their appearance in this neighbourhood.
Dr. Gibbes has also procured several specimens of the
Bewicks Wren, (Zroglodytes Bewickii,) near his pre-
mises, a new bird, figured by Mr. Audubon in the first vo-
lume of his work, a copy of which I saw in the College
Library, which, it appears, was subscribed for by the
state, and deposited there; another copy is in the Charles-
ton City Library; and a third, I understood, was pur-
chased by a few spirited individuals of the city of

283

Charleston. 12th, left Columbia about twilight, heard the
well-known spring note of the Woodcock, (Scolopar
minor;) to my surprise I found the Woodcock was con-
sidered a rare bird south of Richmond, and the few which
visit the southern states remain but a very short period
during their migrations in the spring and fall. 13th, on
the road to Augusta, was much diverted at seeing some
men shooting with rifles at a black squirrel on the
topmost branches of a tall pine; they had fired five or six
unsuccessful shots with a rest, and it was finally left to
my shot-gun to kill the animal; this pleased them much,
as they belonged to some poor families then on the road,
migrating to Alabama, and had been on short allowance
of meat for some days. I discovered the Brown-headed
and Red-bellied Nuthatches, (Sitta pusilla and S. varia, )
to be very common in South Carolina and Georgia; but
did not, during my visit in those states, see a single White-
breasted Nuthatch, (S. Carolinensis;) and Dr. Gibbes, of
Columbia, informed me that he had never seen one in that
neighbourhood; this is remarkable, as its name would de-
termine its residence there; the Pine-creeping and Yellow-
rump Warblers remain in this country the whole year.
14th, saw in some ponds of shallow water, close to the
road side, the Mallard, (nas bochas,) the Buffel-head-
ed, (4. albeola,) and Summer Ducks, (2. sponsa,) feed-
ing on some short grass beneath the surface of the water;
saw an abundance of the Cardinal Grosbeak the whole of
my journey. Their plumage is much more brilliant than
those of the north.

‘¢20th, left Augusta for Savannah, saw the Ruby-crown-
ed Wren, (Sylvia calendula,) also for the first time, a pair
of Ground Doves, (Columba passerina,) or, as they are
called, the Mourning Doves—noticed to-day also for the
first, the Black Vulture, (Vultur jota;) this bird is smaller
than the other species, and its location is in the south; it
is very seldom seen as far north as Virginia. There is a
story told, that during the Revolutionary War, the Black
Vultures fed on some of the human and brute carcasses
left on a field of battle in S..C., and that numbers had
followed the army afterwards to the middle states, where
they remained during the sojourn of the troops there, but
were never seen before nor since, north of the Potomae.—
Approached a pond, and saw a large flock of the Buffel-
headed Ducks feeding, also two Blue Herons, or Cranes,
(Ardea cerulea,) endeayoured to shoot the latter, but
they would not suffer me to approach them.—A bout sunset
heard the Wild Turkeys going to their roosts; the noise
created by their wings, while flying to the top of the tall
pine trees, is so great, that in still weather, it may be
heard distinctly for half a mile; it requires great exertion
on the part of the bird to reach their roosting places, as

284

they settle on limbs seldom less than forty feet from the
ground, and the body of the bird being very heavy, the
resistance to the air caused by the concave wings, creates
a loud rustling noise, entirely unlike any other sound,
that at the above distance, the traveller, or hunter, cannot
be mistaken. This is the most propitious period to hunt
them, and is generally observed as such by the hunters of
the south, who, when the first bird flies into a tree, direct
their footsteps as rapidly as is consistent with caution, and
frequently succeed in killing several, before the remainder
take alarm and escape. 21st, killed a large rattlesnake,
which was just emerging from some bush-land on fire; it
was four and a half feet long, and rather over two inches
in diameter, and had but one rattle. I saw others which
were not half of those dimensions with three rattles.
Quere. Can the number of rattles determine the age, as is
generally supposed?

<¢ 22d, heard the singular notes, kek, kek, kek, of the
Ivory-billed Woodpecker; (Picus principalis,) endeayour-
ed with much caution to shoot it, but it eluded my efforts
after following through a swamp from tree to tree for a
long distance; these birds are becoming very scarce in
South Carolina and the northern part of Georgia: during
Wilson’s excursions he found them in North Carolina, but
I did not see one in that state, and in my frequent inqui-
ries among the residents, found the bird was unknown.
23d, the morning was beautiful; arose early and took my
seat in the porch of the tavern; around this house was a
great many live oak trees, which formed a handsome
grove of evergreens. Among the branches of these and
on the ground were quantities of the Cardinal Grosbeak;
counted fourteen hopping about the ground within a few
yards of the house; noticed the cireumstance to the land-
lady, who stated that she had fed and encouraged them
for a long time on pounded groundnuts, and they had be-
come so tame at times, that when her negroes fed them,
they would crowd around like chickens; the gray, cat,
and fox squirrels, are abundant here among the pines,
but the ground squirrel is very rare; and the chickaree,
which, in the north, is so fond of pine woods, is never
seen on the seaboard of South Carolina and Georgia. Much
to my gratification I saw a flock of Whooping Cranes,
(Ardea Americana,) eleven in number, but at a very
great height from the earth; they were directing their
course north. Sometime before they passed over, I heard
a most singular noise, but could not discern the source
whence it proceeded, but, as the sound grew more dis-
tinct, I had the curosity to alight, when I saw them
approaching most majestically. The remarkably guttu-
ral sounds produced by a company of these birds, strikes
the ear in strange discord, and may be heard at an as-

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

tonishing distance; they fly parallel with each other; but
when in a body, not perfectly horizontal like the duck,
or swan, or even others of the same tribe, as I could
observe their movement to be undulatory, although in
very long curvatures: this bird is very difficult to pro-
cure, as it cannot be approached within gun-shot, and
being thelargest of the tribe, and, when feeding, always
chooses those places, where, by its great height, it can
see objects around it for a great distance, which of course
precludes the possibility of approach. Saw the Blue-gray
Fly Catcher, (Muscicapa cerulea,) and Prairie War-
bler, (Sylvia minuta;) the latter appeared without song;
this evening reached Savannah.”

(To be continued.)

For the Cabinet of Natural History.

STANZAS TO THE MOCKING-BIRD.
By Cuarirs West Tomson.

Beautiful charmer! bird of many voices!
Most sweet magician of the choral throng !
How nature in her woodland haunts rejoices,
When thou hast filled the summer wilds with song!

Well may the grove be envious of thy powers,
When thou canst rival every warbler’s tone,
Pouring the richest melody in showers,
That prove the gifts of all the rest thine own.

Not unto thee has bounteous nature given
The bright cerulean plumage of the jay,

Nor the swan’s vesture, like the snow from heaven,
Nor the woodpecker’s fanciful array.

The parrot’s coat is far more rich and glowing ;
The red-bird much outshines thee on the wing ;

And when the peacock his gay train is showing,
Thou seem’st a mean and unregarded thing.

But what is all the dazzled eye discovers
In the gay dresses that to these belong,

To the more glorious charm that round thee hover,
When thou hast lifted up thy voice in song ?

Enchanter of the woods! the richest treasures
Of native melody in thee we find;

Each other songster trills his simple measures,
But all the forest is in thee combined.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

Thy imitative artis ever waking
To catch the varied notes that round thee ring,
And each new manner with strange aptness taking,
Thou teachest others how, improved, to sing.

The softest tones the gentle cat-bird utters,
Or the loud clamour of the noisy crow,

The lark’s sweet glee, or what the harsh owl mutters,
With equal truth thy magic voice can show.

Then come—a host thyself—with no adorning
But the plain garb that nature bids thee wear;

The gaudy show of weaker songsters scorning,
Come, and with melody invest the air.

O, ever welcome ! how the grove rejoices
Listening thy harmony, so sweet and strong!
Beautiful charmer! bird of many voices !
Come and delight our weary souls with song!

THE EUROPEAN QUAIL.

THERE is much diversity of opinion in regard to the
American Partridge, or Quail. From New-Jersey north
this bird is wholly called, and known as the Quail. In
Pennsylvania, and all of the states south and west, it is
called the Partridge.

The subjoined history of the true or European Quail,
will suffice to show, ina comparison withthe history of our
partridge, that it is a different bird in habit and character
altogether.

The Quail, in appearance, is so much like the par-
tridge, as to be in some places called the dwarf par-
tridge; and in the manners of the two species there is a
great resemblance. They form their nests and rear their
young nearly in the same way. They are, however, in
many respects, very different. Quails migrate to other
countries; they are always smaller; and have not a bare
space between the eyes, nor the horse shoe, or crescent,
figure on the breast. The eggs too, are less than those of
the partridge, and very different in colour. Their voices
are unlike. Quails seldom live in covies, except when
their wants unite the feeble family to their mother, or
some powerful cause urges at once the whole to assem-
ble, and traverse together the extent of the ocean, hold-
ing their course to the same distant lands. They are
much less cunning than the partridge, and more easily
ensnared, especially when young. ‘Their disposition is
not so gentle as that of the partridge.

Quails are found in most parts of Great Britain, but not

2B

285

very numerously, and they are seldom seen in the mid-
land counties. It appears that one circumstance which
determines: their abode in that country is plenty of herb-
age’ since, in a dry spring, when grass is consequently
scarce, few Quails are to be met with.

The females lay ten or twelve eggs, in the incubation of
which they are occupied three weeks. The eggs are
whitish, but marked with ragged rust-coloured spots.
Quails have been supposed, but without foundation, to
breed twice in the year.

It is said that Quails usually sleep during the day con-
cealed in the tallest grass; lying on their sides, with their
legs extended, in the same spot, even for hours. together.
So very indolent are they, that a dog must absolutely run
upon them before they are sprung; and, when they are
forced upon the wing, they seldom fly far. Quails are
easily drawn within reach of a net, by a call, imitating
their cry, which is done by an instrument called a quail
pipe, which is rarely, if ever used in England, having
been superseded by the fowling-piece.

Quails visit England in the spring, and generally leave it
again in the latter end of September; they are sometimes
found later, and, if the accounts are to be depended on,
instances are not wanting, where they have remained the
whole year. They are supposed to winter in Africa. If
to the circumstance of their generally sleeping in the
day, is added that of their being seldom known to make
their first annual appearance in the day time, it may be
inferred that they perform their journey by night, and
that they direct their course to those countries where
the harvest is preparing, and thus change their abode to
procure a subsistence. On their arrival at Alexandria, in
Egypt, such multitudes are exposed in the markets for
sale, that three or four may be bought for a medina,
(less than three farthings.) Crews of merchant vessels
have been fed upon them; and complaints have been laid
at the consul’s office by mariners against their captains
for giving them nothing but Quails to eat.

With wind and weather in their favour, they have been
known to perform a flight of fifty leagues across the Black
Sea in the course of a night; a wonderful distance for so
short-winged a bird.

Such prodigious quantities of Quails have appeared on
the western coasts of the kingdom of Naples, in the vici-
nity of Nettuno, that a hundred thousand have, in one
day, been caught within the space of three or four miles.
Most of these are taken to Rome, where they are in great
request, and are sold at high prices. Clouds of Quails
also alight in spring along the coasts of Provence; espe-
cially on the lands which border on the sea, and are some-
times found so exhausted, that for a few of the first days

286

they may be caught with the hand. In some parts of the
south of Russia they abound so greatly, that at the
time of their migration, they are caught by thousands, and
sent in casks to Moscow and Petersburgh.

It seems that great quantities of these birds are import-
ed into England from France. They are conveyed by
stage-coaches; about one hundred in a large square box,
divided into five or six compartments, one above another,
just high enough to admit the Quails to stand upright.
Were they allowed a greater height than this, they would
soon kill themselves; and even with this precaution the
feathers on the top of the head are generally beaten off.
These boxes have wire on the fore part, and each parti-
tion is furnished with a small trough for food. They
may be forwarded in this manner, without difficulty, to
great distances.

With respect to these birds haying an instinctive know-
ledge of the precise time for emigration, there is a very
singular fact in some young Quails, which had been bred
in a state of confinement from the earliest period of their
lives, had never enjoyed, and therefore could not feel the
loss of liberty. For four successive years, they were ob-
served to be restless, and to flutter, with unusual agita-
tions, regularly in September and April; and this uneasi-
ness lasted thirty days at each time. It began constant-
ly about an hour before sunset. The birds passed the
whole night in these fruitless struggles; and always on the
following day appeared dejected and stupid.

Quails are birds of undaunted courage, and their quar-

rels often terminate in mutual destruction. This irascible
disposition induced the ancient Greeks and Romans to
fight them with each other, as the moderns do game cocks.
And such favourites were the conquerors, that, in one in-
stance, Augustus punished a prefect of Egypt with death
for bringing to his table one of these birds which had
acquired celebrity for its victories:—so at least it is re-
corded; but, when the character of Augustus is taken into
consideration, the account appears scarcely entitled to
credit.
» Sometimes combats, we are told, were performed be-
tween a Quail and a man; the Quail was put into a large
box, and set in the middle of a circle traced on the floor;
the man struck it on the head with one finger, or plucked
some feathers from it: if the Quail, in defending itself,
did not pass the limits of the circle, its master won the
wager; but if, in its fury, it transgressed the bounds, its
antagonist was declared victor.

The Chinese use this bird, it is said, whose body is very
hot, to warm their hands in cold weather; and among the
French, ‘* Chaud comme un caille—warm as a Quail,”
is a proverb.

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

Quails, where they can he found, afford ‘good practice
to the young shooter: they fly straight, and seldom
far; and thus many shots may be obtained with little
difficulty.

The length of the Quail is seven inches and a half,
breadth fourteen; bill dusky; the feathers of the head,
neck, and back, are a mixture of a brown ash-colour and
black; the crown of the head divided by a whitish yellow
line, beginning at the bill, and running along the hind
part of the neck to the back; above each eye is another
similar coloured streak; a dark line passes from each
corner of the bill, forming a kind of gorget above the
breast; the chin, throat, belly, thighs, and vent, dirty yel-
lowish white; the scapular feathers, and those of the back,
are marked in their middles with a long light yellow
streak, and on their sides with ferruginous and black bars;
the coverts of their wings are reddish brown, elegantly
barred with paler lines, bounded on each side with black;
the quills are lightish brown, with small rust-coloured
bands on the exterior edges of the feathers; the breast is
of a pale rust-colour, spotted with black, and streaked
with pale yellow; the tail consists of twelve short feathers,
barred with black and very pale brownish red; the legs
are pale brown.

The female differs from the male in having no black
spots on the fore part of the neck, breast and side feathers,
and from the colours being less vivid. Some of them
have a long spot of brown beneath the throat.

DIRECTIONS FOR FISHING FOR PIKE.

Tue Pike loves a still, shady, unfrequented water, and
usually lies amongst or near weeds; such as flags, bul-
rushes, candocks, reeds, or in the green fog that some-
times covers standing waters, though he will sometimes shoot
out into the clear stream. He is sometimes caught at the
top and in the middle; and often, especially in cold wea-
ther, at the bottom.

Their time of spawning is about the end of February
or the beginning of March; and chief season, from the
end of May to the beginning of February.

Pikes are called jacks till they become twenty-four
inches long.

The baits for Pike are a small trout, frogs, the loach
and miller’s-thumb; the head end of an eel, with the skin
taken off below the fins; a small jack; a lob-worm; and in
winter, the fat of bacon. And notwithstanding what
Walton and others say against baiting with a perch, it is
confidently asserted, that Pikes have been taken with a

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 287

small perch, when neither a roach nor bleak would tempt
them. *

Observe that all your baits for Pike must be as fresh as
possible. Living baits you may take with you in a tin
kettle, changing the water often: and dead ones should be
earried in fresh bran, which will dry up that moisture
that otherwise would infect and rot them.

In trolling, the head of the bait-fish must be at the bent
of the hook; whereas in fishing at the snap, the hook must
come out at or near his tail. But the essential difference
between these two methods is, that in the former the
Pike is always suffered to pouch or swallow the bait: but
in the latter you are to strike as soon as he has taken it.

The rod for trolling should be about three yards and a
half long, with a ring at the top for the line to run
through; or you may fit a trolling-top to your fly rod,
which need only be stronger than the common fly-top.

Let your line be of green or sky-coloured silk, thirty
yards in length, which will make it necessary to use
the winch, as is before directed, with a swivel at the end.

The common trolling-hook for a living bait consists
of two large hooks, with one common shank, made of
one piece of wire, of about three-quarters of an inch
long, placed back to back, so that the points may not
stand in a right line, but incline so much inwards as that
they with the shank may form an angle little less than
equilateral. At the top of the shank is a loop, left in
the bending the wire to make the hook double, through
which is put a strong twisted brass wire, of about six
inches long; and to this is looped another such link, but
both so loose that the hook and lower link may have
room to play. To the end of the line fasten a steel swivel.

But there is a sort of trolling-hock, different from that
already described and to which it is thought preferable,
which will require another management: this is no more
than two single hooks tied back to back, with a strong
piece of gimp between the shanks. In the whipping
the hooks and the gimp together, make a small loop; and
take into it two links of chain, of about an eighth of an
inch diameter, and into the lower link, by means of a
small staple of wire, fasten by the greater end a bit of
lead of a conical figure, and somewhat sharp at the
point. These hooks are to be had at the fishing tackle
shops ready fitted up.

* A frog skinned, will, by the whiteness of its flesh, tempt Pike,
when other measures fail, but it must be kept in motion, and when
seized, will be carried slowly to the bottom by the fish: you must suf-
fer it to remain several minutes before you strike, for, should the Pike
not be very greedy, he will keep it in his jaws some time before he
swallows it.—Ep.

The latter kind of hook is to be thus ordered, viz: put
the lead into the mouth of the bait-fish, and sow it up;
the fish will live some time; and though the weight of
the lead will keep his head down, he will swim with
near the same ease as if at liberty.

But if you troll with a dead bait, as some do, for a reason
which the angler will be glad to know, viz: that a living
bait makes too great a slaughter among the fish, do it with
a hook, of which the following paragraph contains a de-
scription:

Let the shank be about six inches long, and leaded from
the middle as low as the bent of the hook, to which a
piece of very strong gimp must be fastened by a staple,
and two links of chain; the shank must be barbed like a
dart, and the lead a quarter of an inch square: the barb of
the shank must stand like the fluke of an anchor, which is
placed in a contrary direction to that of the stock. Let
the gimp be about a foot long; and to the end thereof fix a
swivel. To bait it thrust the barb of the shank into the
mouth of the bait-fish, and bring it out at his side near the
tail: when the barb is thus brought through, it cannot
return, and the fish will lie perfectly straight, a cireum-
stance that renders the trouble of tying the tail unne-
cessary.

There is yet another sort of trolling-hook, which is, in-
deed, no other than what most writers on this subject have
mentioned; whereas the others, here described, are late
improvements: and this is a hook, either single or double,
with a long shank, leaded about three inches up the wire
witha piece of lead about a quarter of an inch square at the
greater or lower end: fix to the shank an armed wire about
eight inches long. To bait this hook, thrust your wire
into the mouth of the fish, quite through his belly, and
out at his tail; placing the wire so that the point of the hook
may be even with the belly of the bait-fish; and then tie
the tail of the fish with strong thread to the wire: some
fasten it with a needle and thread, which is a neat way.

Both with the trolland at the snap, cut away one of the
fins of the bait-fish close at the gills, and another behind
the vent on the contrary side, which will make it play the
better.

The bait being thus fixed, is to be thrown in, and kept
in constant motion in the water, sometimes suffered to
sink, then gradually raised: now drawn with the stream,
and then against it; so as to counterfeit the motion of a
small fish in swimming. If a Pike is near, he mistakes the
bait for a living fish, seizes it with prodigious greediness,
goes off with it to his hole, and in about ten minutes
pouches it. When he has thus swallowed the bait, you
will see the line move, which is the signal for striking him;
do this with two lusty jerks, and then play him.

ss

288

The other way of taking Pike, viz: with the snap, is as
follows: é

Let the rod be fat feet long, very strong and taper,
with a strong loop atthe top to fasten your line to. Your
line must be about a’foot shorter than the rod, and much
stronger than the trolling-line.

And here it is necessary to be remembered, that there
are two ways of snapping for Pike, viz: with the live and
with the dead snap.

For the live snap, there is no kind of hook so proper as
the double spring hook. To bait it, nothing more is ne-
cessary than to hang the bait-fish fast by the sla fin to the
middle hook, where he will live a long time.

Of hooks for the dead snap, there are_many kinds: but
the one, which, after repeated trials, has been found to
excel all others hitherto known, we subjoin the descrip-
tion and use of as follows, viz: whip two hooks, of about
three-eighths of an inch in the bent, to a piece of gimp, in
the manner directed for that trolling-hook. Then take a
piece of lead, of the same size and figure as directed for
the trolling-hook above mentioned; and drill a hole through
it from end toend. To bait it, take a long needle or wire;
enter it in at the side, about half an inch above the tail, and
with it pass the gimp between the skin and the ribs of the
fish, bringing it out at his mouth: then put the lead over
the gimp, draw it down into the fish’s throat, and press his
mouth close, and then, having a swivel to your line, hang
on the gimp.

In throwing the bait, observe the rules given for trolling;
but remember, that the more you keep it in motion the
nearer it resembles a living fish.

When you have a bite, strike immediately, the contrary
way to that which the head of the Pike lies, or to which he
goes with the bait; if you cannot find which way his head
lies, strike upright with two smart jerks, retiring back-
wards as fast as vou can, till you have brought him to a
landing place, and then do as before is directed.

As the Pike spawns in March, and before that month
rivers are seldom in order for fishing, it will hardly be worth
while to begin trolling till April: after that the weeds will
be apt to be troublesome. But the prime month in the
year for trolling is October; when the Pike are fattened by
their summer’s feed, the weeds are rotted, and by the fall-
ing of the waters the harbours of the fish are easily found.

Choose to troll in clear, and not muddy water, and in
windy weather, if the wind be not easterly.

Some use in trolling and snapping two or more swivels
to their line, by means whereof the twisting of the line is
prevented, the bait plays more freely, and, though dead, is
made to appear as if alive, which, in rivers, is doubtless an
excellent way: but those who can like to fishin ponds, or

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

still waters, will find vei little occasion for more
than one. ~

The Pike is also to be caught with a minnow; for which
method take the following directions: _

Geta singlehook, slender, and long in the shank; let itre-
semble the shape of a shepherd’s crook; put lead upon it, as
thick near the bent as will go into a minnow’s mouth; place
the point of the hook directly up the face of the fish. Let
the rod be as long as you can handsomely manage, with a
line of the same length. Castup and down, and manage it as
when you troll with any other bait. If, when the Pike hath
taken your bait, he run to the end of the line before he hath
gorged it, do not strike, but hold still only, and he will re-
turn back and swallow it. But if you use that bait witha
troll, I rather prefer it before any bait that I know.

In landing a Pike, great caution is necessary; for his
bite is esteemed venomous. The best and safest hold you
can take of him is by the head; in doing which, place your
thumb and finger in his eyes.—Complete /ngler.

A SPORTING DIALOGUE.

Enter Monsieur Bremonp.

D Goop morning, Mr. B. ; how do you
feel after your excursion yesterday? I understood you
went after partridges.

B. . Oh, passablement, only leetel suffare vid de
rheumatis.
D . That is bad, but I heard you beat the whole

company shooting; how came that? three of our best
shots too!

B . Oh, vy, yes, you see, de first bird yen he get
up, Major C fire—pong, (imitating the report of the
gun.) No ting—Mons. D he fire—pong—No ting.—
Mons. F he fire too—pong—No ting.—I take a de
pinch’ of my rappee, (bringing his hands up in the line
of aim,) -o-n-g—dat put her down.

D—. Excellent indeed; but how did you like your
young dog, you tried him a few days ago, did you not?

B—. (With great emotion,) oh, mine cot, if you had
see de perform of Dash. I will confess, ma foi, I nevare
have see dog like a dat—he range de field so grand, and
for settin bird, dere is no dog like him.

D . But what did you find? I suppose you killed
a great many birds.

B . (shrugging up his shoulders, ) Ah, to be sure, you
may say I did not see no ting. But I will confess, mine
cot, I have in my life nevare see dog like a dat.

Published by
e€ EF, ‘O oakley é

“UMAV AG

‘U8 N STI) MW itde

“VLA T8A

THE

CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

AND

AUBRBICAN RURAL SPORTS,

THE BEAVER.
CASTOR FIBER.

[Vou. III. Prats I.]

Castor Fiber, Gopman, vol. ii. p. 21. Saprnz, app. p.
659. Sav. Lone’s Expedition to the Rocky Moun-
tains, i. p. 464.—Le Castor ou le Bievre, Briss. Regn.
an. p. 133.—Le Castor, Burr. viii. pl. 36.—Philadelphia

_ Museum.

TuerE is no animal, native of North America, so in-
teresting and valuable as the Beaver; and it is equally
certain, that few animals of the world have been so much
admired and extolled, and, at the same time, have had so
large a share of intelligence imputed to them more unjust-
ly. But, with all the importance attached to the animal,
how much ignorance exists of its true character.

If we examine the opinions of men on this subject, we
see at once how deeply wrong impressions have become
rooted by pondering over the fictitious histories of the
Beaver,—or more particularly being influenced, in early
youth, by the fabulous stories of the animal, framed as
truth, and admitted into the various seminaries of learn-
ing. Here we find the Beaver placed at the head of all
inferior creatures for sagacity and intelligence, and en-
dowed with intellectual qualities supgrior to many nations
or tribes of human beings.

This undoubtedly is error, and to overturn it must be
the work of time and truth, by the introd’ won, into
schools and families, of authentic histories ut the animal.

It is, however, no trifling undertaking, to establish
truth on prejudicial error, or attack the writings of the
learned and eloquent, which have filled the world with
theories or false statements, wrought up by ingenuity to
almost sublimity.

Among the modern writers on Natural History, none
seems to have exerted so general an influence as the

A

‘¢Count Burron,’’ who appears to have been regarded,
by most of his successors, as authority substantial and in-
dubitable. Under these impressions, many writers have
quoted his history of the Beaver, and transmitted it
through successive years to the present time, with little
contradiction. Among those who followed Buffon’s track,
may be named Pennant, author of the British and Arctic
Zoology, who, in the ‘history of his quadrupeds has
transcribed the whole of his observations on the habits of
the Beaver, from Buffon.”’ Smeruir, also, in his Philoso-
phy of Natural History, (a work now used in many
schools both in England and America,) has quoted the
same author verbatim. Among the opponents of the
foregoing author, and indeed of most other writers on the
subject of the Beaver, the most formidable is Hzarnr,
whose testimony will be adduced in the sequel of this
treatise, and Capt. G. Carrwricat, in his journal of trans-
actions, &c. on the Labrador coast, published in 1792.
Dr. Gopman, also, attacks the same with the following
severe remarks:—‘‘ Who has not heard of the wonderful
sagacity of the Beaver, or listened to the laboured ac-
counts of its social and rational nature? Who that has
read the impassioned eloquence of Buffon, to which nothing
is wanting but truth in order to render it sublime, can
forget the impression which his views of the economy and
character of this species produced ? The enchanter waves
his wand, and converts animals, congregated by instinct
alone, and guided by no moral influence, into social, ra-
tional, intelligent beings, superior to creatures high above
them in organization, and even far more advanced than
vast tribes of that race which has been justly and em-
phatically termed ‘lords of creation.’ Alas, for all these
air-drawn prospects! while we endeavour to gaze upon
their beauties, they fleet away, and leave no trace behind.”

Many living witnesses can also be produced, whose evi-
dence is derived from actual observation, against the
falsity of those statements of the habits of the Beaver,
which heretofore have only been regarded in the light of
authenticity.

2 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

The writer of Natural History should be guided by
truth in all of his descriptions, carefully avoiding every
thing to which he was not an eye-witness, or that cannot
be established by the most indubitable testimony; and
leave nothing to fancy, or the workings of an enthu-
siastic imagination. It is only by the impress of truth,
that the mind receives essential benefit, and the more
perfect mankind become in the knowledge of animals of
the inferior world, the better are they enabled to appre-
ciate their own exalted being.

There is much to admire, not only in the Beaver, but
in all other inferior animals; but our admiration should
not be extended to the creature so much, as to the great
Original who governs them in their actions in a sphere
far above their consciousness.

Although the Beaver exhibits much sagacity, and cer-
tainly immense labour and perseverance, in the construc-
tion of dams and habitations, and forethought for winter
provision,—yet we see the same power operating on
many other animals, on a scale equal, if not superior.
What do we see more to admire than the nidification of
birds? This instinctive provision for their young, is ac-
commodated by the parent birds to every place and cir-
cumstance, and, built of the most simple materials, their
little nests defy the art of man to imitate them.

“

Mark it well; within, without:

No tool had they that wrought, no knife to cut,
No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert,

No glue to join; their little beaks were all ;
And yet how neatly finished. What nice hands,
And twenty years’ apprenticeship to boot,

Could make me such another ?”

The wonderful mechanism of the spider’s web,—the
wariness and certainty which that insect displays in en-
trapping its victim,—and the wholeeconomy of the honey-
bee, have been regarded as so many wonders of the natu-
ral world. But are all these guided by any other power
than that of pure instinct? Certainly not, as regards
their consciousness.

In regard to the nature of instinct, it may be said, that
the mind is too often led astray by wrong objects—or by
forming a wrong basis for argument. For instance, we
sometimes see a departure from the regular laws of instinct
in animals around us,—as in the elephant, the horse, the
dog, &e. In these are frequently exhibited apparent sa-
gacity, memory, discernment, and other reasonable ope-
rations. But before we conclude from this, that the brute
creation possess intellectual properties, we should inquire,
what effect has the influence of man, or domestication, on
them from which we would found our argument? It is

to these, and other animals of like domestication, that
recourse is always had, to prove the brute world possesses
reason as well as instinct. Those animals, therefore, sub-
ject to domestication, are not proper objects from which
to draw that conclusion; for it is evident, that these were
originally intended for purposes connected with the
comforts and welfare of mankind,—and the formation of
their instinctive powers are such, as to be subject to his
influence and guidance. Indeed, we see a wonderful in-
fluence exerted by human presence on all nature; and, as
we are told in sacred writ, that God hath placed in
all beasts the fear of man, it is reasonable to conclude,
that the intelligence of the human species, imparted in a
measure by association to the sagacity of those animals,
often produces effects on them, which lead to results aston-
ishing and wonderful.

Aside from these animals, over which man has exercised
his influence, we behold all others governed by laws of
necessity, which impel them in their course of operations,
only to answer the end for which they were originally de-
signed in a state of nature. The same potent energy
which created, also guides them in those wonderful
plans of necessity which we so much admire; and, al-
though they are thus influenced and directed by a supe-
rior intelligent power, they have no consciousness of
this exciting energy, nor can they appreciate the result
of their labours, or value the interest attached to their ac-
tions.

Under this view, then, it may be said, that brutes only
belong to the natural world; or, in other words, not pos-
sessing moral qualities, they do not belong to the moral
world. ‘They haye no moral freedom of action, although
they produce results often which would lead us, under a
wrong view of the subject, to draw a different conclusion.
Instances may be produced of actions in the dog, more
moral or perfect, in an abstract sense, than those per-
formed by human creatures; but we cannot for a moment
admit that these are efforts of their own consciousness, un-
less we place them in a scale of moral excellence superior
to man. But these actions are only apparently moral, as
regards their conception, and not really so; for these ani-
mals are not capable of appreciating the excellence of their
acts, nor to decide of their superiority over those of other
brutes. Intelligence, moral actions, and science, there-
fore, are not objective to brutes, but are exercised on their
natures by a governing power, above their perception or
consciousness.

Having made these prefatory remarks, the history of
the Beaver, in the form of a parallel, will be given, the
authentic on one side, and the discarded or fabulous on
the other.

AND AMERICAN

AUTHENTIC HISTORY OF THE BEAVER.

‘¢The Beaver dams differ in shape according to the na-
ture of the place in which they are built. If the water in
the river or creek have but little motion, the dam is almost
straight; but when the current is more rapid, it is always
made with a considerable curve convex toward the stream.
The materials made use of in those dams are drift-wood,
green willows, birch, and poplars, if they can be got; also
mud and stones, intermixed in such a manner as must evi-
dently contribute to the strength of the dam; but in these
dams there is no other order or method observed, except
that of the work being carried on with a regular sweep,
and all the parts being made of equal strength.

‘¢Tn places which have been long frequented by Beaver
undisturbed, their dams, by frequent repairing, become a
solid bank, capable of resisting a great force both of water
and ice; and as the willow, poplar, and birch generally
take root and shoot up, they by degrees form a kind of
regular-planted hedge, which I have seen in some places
so tall, that birds have built their nests among the
branches.

‘<< The situation of the Beaver houses is various. Where
the Beavers are numerous they are found to inhabit lakes,
ponds, and rivers, as well as those narrow creeks which
connect the numerous lakes with which this country
abounds; but the two latter are generally chosen by them
when the depth of water and other circumstances are suit-
able, as they have then the advantage of a current to con-
vey wood and other necessaries to their habitations, and
because, in general they are more difficult to be taken,
than those that are built in standing water.

«¢ There is no one particular part of a lake, pond, river,
or creek, of which the Beavers make choice for building
their houses on, in preference to another; for they some-
times build on points, sometimes in the hollow of a bay,
and often on small islands; they always choose, however,
those parts that have such a depth of water as will resist
the frost of winter, and prevent it from freezing to the
bottom.

‘sThe Beaver that build their houses in small rivers
or creeks, in which the water is liable to be drained off
when the back supplies are dried up by the frost, are won-
derfully taught by instinct to provide against that evil, by
making a dam quite across the river, at a convenient dis-
tance from their houses. This I look upon as the most
curious piece of workmanship that is performed by. the
Beaver; not so much for the neatness of the work, as for
its strength and real service; and at the same time it dis-
covers such a degree of sagacity and foresight in the
animal, of approaching evils, as is little inferior to that

RURAL SPORTS.

io)

FICTITIOUS HISTORY OF THE BEAVER.

‘¢In the operation of constructing their dams, some
Beavers are engaged in cutting down large trees for the
purpose, while others traverse the vicinity of the river and
cut smaller trees, some as thick as one’s leg, and others as
large as the thigh. They trim these and gnaw them in two
at acertain height to make stakes: they bring these pieces
first by land to the edge of the stream, and there float them
to the dam; they then form a sort of close piling, which is
still farther strengthened by interlacing the branches be-
tween the stakes. This operation supposes many difficul-
ties vanquished; for to prepare these stakes, and place them
in a nearly perpendicular situation, they must raise the large
end of the stake upon the bank of the river, or against a
tree thrown acrossit, while others at the same time plunge
into the water and dig a hole with their fore feet for the
purpose of receiving the point of the stake or pile, in or-
der to sustain it erect. In proportion as some thus plant
the piles, others bring earth, which they temper with their
fore-feet and beat with their tails; they carry it in their
mouths and with their fore-feet, and convey so large a
quantity that they fill all the intervals of the piling. This
pile work is composed of several ranges of stakes of equal
height, all planted against each other, extending from one
side of the river to the other; it is piled and plastered
throughout. The piles are planted vertically on the side
next the water-fall; the whole work is sloping on the side
sustaining the pressure, so that the dam, which is ten or
twelve feet wide at base, is only two or three feet thick at
the summit. It has therefore not only all the solidity ne-
cessary, but the most convenient form for raising the wa-
ter, preventing it from escaping, sustaining its weight, and
breaking its violence. At the topof the dam, that is at the
thinnest part, they make two or three sloped openings for
the discharge of the superfluous water, and these are en-
larged or closed up as the river swells or diminishes, &c.

‘¢ Tt would be superfluous after such an exposition of their
public works, to give a detail of their private edifices, if in
a history it were not necessary to relate all the facts, and
if this first great work were not done with a view to render
their little dwellings more commodious. These dwellings
are cabins, or rather little houses, built in the water on
close piles, near the edge of the pond, having two doors or
issues, one on the land and the other on the water side.
Sometimes they are found to have two or three stories,
the walls being as much as two feet thick, elevated perpen-
dicularly upon the piles which serve at the same time for
the foundation and floor of the house, &c. The walls are
covered with a sort of stucco, so well tempered, and so
properly applied, that it appears as if it had been done by

AUTHENTIC HISTORY.—Continued.

of the human species, and is certainly peculiar to those
animals.

<¢Though the Beaver which build their houses in lakes
and other standing waters, may enjoy a sufficient quantity
of their favourite element without the assistance of a dam,
the trouble of getting wood and other necessaries to their
habitations without the help of a current, must in some
measure counterbalance the other advantages which are
reaped from such a situation; for it must be observed that
the Beaver which build in rivers and creeks, always cut
their wood above their houses, so that the current, with
little trouble, conveys it to the place required.

«<The Beaver houses are built of the same materials as
their dams, and are always proportioned in size to the
number of inhabitants, which seldom exceed four old, and
six or eight young ones; though, by chance, I have seen
above double that number.

‘¢ These houses, though not altogether unworthy of ad-
miration, fall very short of the general description given
of them; for instead of crder or regulation being ob-
served in rearing them, they are of a much ruder structure
than their dams.

‘¢ Those who have undertaken to describe the inside of
Beaver houses, as having several apartments appropriated
to various uses; such as eating, sleeping, store-houses for
provisions, and one for their natural occasions, &c., must
have been very little acquainted with the subject; or,
which is still worse, guilty of attempting to impose on the
eredulous, by representing the greatest falsehoods as real
facts. Many years constant residence among the Indians,
during which I had an opportunity of seeing several hun-
dreds of those houses, has enabled me to affirm that every
thing of the kind is entirely void of truth; for, notwith-
standing the sagacity of those animals, it has never been
observed that they aim at any other conveniences in their
houses, than to have a dry place to lie on; and there they
usually eat their victuals, which they occasionally take
out of the water.

‘It frequently happens, that some of the large houses
are found to have one or more partitions, if they deserve
that appellation; but that is no more than a part of the
main building, left by the sagacity of the Beaver to sup-
port the roof. On such occasions it is common for those
different apartments, as some are pleased to call them, to
have no communication with each other but by water; so
that in fact they may be called double or treble houses,
rather than different apartments of the same house. I
have seen a large Beaver house built ina small island, that
had near a dozen apartments under one roof: and, two or

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

FICTITIOUS HISTORY—Continued.

human hands. Their tail serves them as a trowel for ap-
plying this mortar, which they temper with their feet, &c.

‘« These retreats are not only very secure, but also very
neat and commodious; the floor is strewed with verdure;
boughs of box and fir serve for a carpet, upon which they
never leave the least dirt. The window which looks out

* upon the water serves them for a balcony for the enjoy-

ment of the air, or to bathe during the greater part of the
day. They sit with the head and anterior parts of the
body elevated and the posterior plunged in water; the
opening is sufficiently elevated never to be closed by the
ice, which in the climates where the Beayers reside, is
sometimes three feet thick; they then lower the shelf by
cutting the piles upon which it rested aslope, and make an
opening into the water below the ice!!

««The habit which they have of continually retaining the
tail and hinder parts in the water, appears to have changed
the nature of their flesh. Thus the fore parts, as far as to
the loins, has the quality, taste, and consistence of land
animals; that of the thighs and the tail has the odour, sa-
vour, and all the qualities of fish; this tail, a foot long, an
inch thick, and five or six broad, is really an extremity, a
true portion of a fish attached to the body of a quadruped.

‘¢ However admirable, or marvellous the statements we
have made on the labours and society of the Beayer may
appear, we dare to say that no one will doubt their reality.
All the relations made by different witnesses, at various
times, agree together as to the facts we have related; and
if our statement differ from some among them, it is only
at points where they have swelled the marvellous, sur-
passed thetruth, and even transcended probability !”’—Bu/-
Son’s Nat. Hist.

“ Beavers are most industrious animals; nothing equals
the art with which they construct their dwellings. They
choose a small piece of ground with a rivulet running
through it. This they form into a pond by making adam
across, first by driving into the ground stakes five or six
feet long, placed in rows, walling each row with pliant
twigs, and filling the interstices with clay, ramming it
down close.”—Pennant’s History of Quadrupeds.

‘¢They have a chief or superintendant in their works,
who directs the whole. The utmost attention is paid to
him by the whole community. Every individual has his
task allotted, which they undertake with the utmost alacrity.
The overseer gives a signal, by a certain number of smart
slaps with his tail, expressive of his orders. The moment
the artificers hear it they hasten to the place thus pointed

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 5

AUTHENTIC HISTORY—Continued.

three of these only excepted, none of them had any com-
munication with each other but by water. As there were
Beaver enough to inhabit each apartment, it is more than
probable that each family knew its own, and always en-
tered at their own door, without having any further con-
nexion with their neighbours than a friendly intercourse;
and to join their united labours in erecting their separate
habitations, and building their dams where required. It is
difficult to say whether their interest on other occasions
was any ways reciprocal. The Indians of my party killed
twelve old Beaver, and twenty-five young and half-grown
ones out of the house above mentioned; and on examina-
tion found that several had escaped their vigilance, and
could not be taken but at the expense of more trouble
than would be sufficient to take double the number in a
less difficult situation. The difficulty here alluded to, was
the numberless vaults the Beaver had in the sides of the
pond, and the immense thickness of the house in some
parts.

« Travellers who assert that the Beaver have two doors
to their houses, one on the land side, and the other next
the water, seem to be less acquainted with those animals
than others who assign them an elegant suite of apart-
ments. Such a proceeding would be quite contrary to
their manner of life, and at the same time would render
their houses of no use, either to protect them from their
enemies, or guard them against the extreme cold in
winter.

«<The quiquehatches, or wolvereens, are great enemies
to the Beaver; and if there werea passage into their houses
on the land side, would not leave one of them alive where-
ever they came.

“‘T cannot refrain from smiling, when I read the ac-
counts of different authors who have written on the econo-
my of those animals, as there seems to be a contest be-
tween them, who shall most exceed in fiction. But the
compiler of the wonders of nature and art seems, in my
opinion, to have succeeded best in this respect; as he has
not only collected all the fictions into which’ other writers
on the subject have run, but has so greatly improved on
them, that little remains to be added to his account of the
Beaver, beside a vocabulary of their language, a code of
their laws, and a sketch of their religion, to make it the
most complete natural history of that animal which can
possibly be offered to the public.

«There cannot be a greater imposition, or indeed a
grosser insult, on common understanding, than the wish
to make us believe the stories of some of the works as-
cribed to the Beaver; and though it is not to be supposed

B

FICTITIOUS HISTORY—Continued.

out, and perform tue allotted labour, whether it is to carry
wood, or draw, or repair any accidental breach. They have
also their sentinels, who, by the same kind of signal, give
notice of any apprehended danger. They are said to have
a sort of slavish Beaver among them (analogous to the
drone) which they employ in servile works and domestic
drudgery.”’—Pennant’s Arctic Zoology.

«¢The Castor, or Beaver, when in the rivers, feeds upon
shell-fish, and such other prey as it can catch. This va-
riety of food is the reason why its hinder parts, to the ribs,
have the taste of fish, and that they are eaten upon fast
days, and all the rest has the taste of flesh, so that it is not
used at other times.

‘<It has pretty large teeth, the under standing out be-
yond their lips about three fingers breadth; the upper about
half a finger, being very broad, crooked, strong and sharp,
growing double, very deep in their mouths, bending circu-
lar, like the edge of an axe, and are of a yellowish red.
They take fishes upon them as if they were hooks, being
able to break in pieces the hardest bones. When he bites
he never loses his hold until his teeth meet together. The
bristles about their mouths are as hard as horns; their bones
are solid and without marrow; their fore feet are like a
dog’s, and their hinder like aswan’s. Their tail is covered
over with scales, being, like a soal, about six inches broad
and ten inches long, which he uses as a rudder to steer
with when he swims to catch fish; and though his teeth
are so terrible, yet when men have seized his tail they
can govern the animal as they please.

‘<The Beavers make themselves houses of square tim-
ber, which they gnaw down with their teeth almost as
even as if they were sawed, and almost as equal as if it
were measured. ‘hey lay these pieces across, and each is
let down by large notches into the other, so that, having
dug a hole for their foundation, they build several stories,
that they may rise higher or lower, according to the fall of
water.” —Pomet, History of Drugs.

‘Amongst the Beavers some are accounted masters,
some servants. They are cleanly in their houses, for the
making of which, they draw the timber on the belly of
their ancients, they lying on their backs.’’—Lemery.

‘¢ Three Beavers were seen cutting down a large cotton-
wood tree: when they had made considerable progress
one of them retired to a short distance and took his station
in the water, looking steadfastly at the top of the tree. As
soon as he perceived the top of the tree begin to move

6 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

AUTHENTIC HISTORY—Continued.

that the compiler of a general work can be intimately ac-
quainted with every subject of which it may be necessary
to treat, yet a very moderate share of understanding is
surely sufficient to guard him against giving credit to such
marvellous tales, however smoothly they may be told, or
however boldly they may be asserted, by the romancing
traveller.

‘¢ To deny that the Beaver is possessed of a very con-
siderable degree of sagacity, would be as absurd in me, as
it is in those authors who think they cannot allow them
too much. I shall willingly grant them their full share;
but it is impossible for any one to conceive how or by
what means, a beaver, whose full height when standing
erect does not exceed two feet and a half, or three feet at
most, and whose fore-paws are not much larger than a
half-crown piece, can ‘drive stakes as thick as a man’s
leg into the ground three or four feet deep.? Their
‘wattling those stakes with twigs,’ is equally absurd;
and their plaistering the inside of their houses with a com-
position of mud and straw, and swimming with mud and
stones on their tails,’ are still more incredible. The
form and size of the animal, notwithstanding all its saga-
city, will not admit of its performing such feats; and it
would be as impossible for a beaver to use its tail as a
trowel, except on the surface of the ground on which it
walks, as it would have been for Sir James Thornhill to
have painted the dome of St. Paul’s cathedral without the
assistance of scaffolding. The joints of their tail will not
admit of their turning it over their backs on any occasion
whatever, as it has a natural inclination to bend down-
wards; and it is not without some considerable exertion
that they can keep it from trailing on the ground. This
being the case, they cannot sit erect like a squirrel, which
is their common posture; particularly when eating, or
when they are cleaning themselves, as a cat or squirrel
does, without having their tails bent forward between
their legs; and which may not improperly be called their
trencher.

“So far are the beavers from driving stakes into the
ground when building their houses, that they lay most of
the wood crosswise, and nearly horizontal, and without any
other order than that of leaving a hollow or cavity in the
middle; when any unnecessary branches project inward,
they cut them off with their teeth, and throw them in
among the rest, to prevent the mud from falling through
the roof. It is a mistaken notion, that the wood-work is
first completed and then plaistered; for the whole of their
houses, as well as their dams, are from the foundation one
mass of wood and mud, mixed with stones, if they can

FICTITIOUS HISTORY—Continued.

towards its fall, he gave notice of the danger to his compa-
nions, who were still at work, gnawing at its base, by slap-
ping his tail upon the surface of the water, and they imme-
diately ran from the tree out of harm’s way.’’—Long’s
Expedition to the Rocky Mountains, yol. i. p. 464. (A
hunters story.)

<¢ At the head of one of the rivers of Louisiana I disco-
vered a Beaver dam. Not far from it, but hidden from
the sight of the animals, I and my companions erected our
hut, in order to watch the operations at leisure. We
waited till the moon shone pretty bright; and then carry-
ing branches of trees in our front to conceal us, we went
with great care and silence to the dam. I then ordered
one of the men to cut, as silently as possible, a gutter,
about a foot wide, through it, and retire immediately to the
hiding-place.

‘As soon as the water through the gutter began to
make a noise, we heard a Beaver come from one of the
huts, and plunge in. We sawhim getupon the bank, and
clearly perceived that he examined it. He then, with all
his force, gave four distinct blows with his tail, when im-~
mediately the whole colony threw themselves into the
water, and arrived upon the dam. When they were all
assembled, one of them appeared, by muttering, to issue
some kind of orders; for they all instantly left the place,
and went out on the banks of the pond in different direc-
tions. Those nearest to us were between our station and
the dam, and therefore we could observe their operations
very plainly. Some of them formed a substance resem-
bling a kind of mortar; others carried this on their tails,
which served as sledges for the purpose. I observed that
they put themselves two and two, and that each of a cou-
ple loaded his fellow. They trailed the mortar, which
was pretty stiff, quite to the dam, where others were sta-
tioned to take it; these put it into the gutter, and rammed
it down with blows of their tails.

‘‘The noise of the water soon ceased, and the breach
was completely repaired. One of the Beavers then struck
two blows with his tail; and instantly they all took to the
water without noise, and disappeared.

‘‘ We afterwards retired to the hut to rest, and did not
again disturb these industrious animals till the nextday. In
the morning, however, we went together to the dam to ob-
serve its construction, for which purpose it was necessary
that we should cut a part of it down. The depression of the
water in consequence of this, together with the noise they
made, roused the Beavers again. The animals seemed much
disturbed by these exertions; and one of them in particular,

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

AUTHENTIC HISTORY—Continued.

be procured. The mud is always taken from the edge
of the bank, or the bottom of the creek or pond, near the
door of the house; and though their fore-paws are so
small, yet it is held close up between them, under their
throat, that they carry both mud and stones; while they
always drag the wood with their teeth.

‘< All their work is executed in the night; and they are
so expeditious in completing it, that in the course of one
night I have known them to have collected as much mud
at their houses as. to have amounted to some thousands of
their little handfuls; and when any mixture of grass or
straw has appeared in it, it has been, most assuredly, mere
chance, owing to the nature of the ground from which
they had taken it. As to their designedly making a
composition for that purpose, it is entirely void of
truth.

<< It is a great piece of policy in those animals, to cover,
or plaister as it is usually called, the outside of their houses
every fall with fresh mud, and as late as possible in the
autumn, even when the frost becomes pretty severe; as
by this means it soon freezes as hard as a stone, and pre-
vents their common enemy, the quiquehatch, from dis-
turbing them during the winter. And as they are fre-
quently seen to walk over their work, and sometimes to
give a flap with their tail, particularly when plunging into
the water, this has, without doubt, given rise to the vulgar
opinion that they use their tails as a trowel, with which
they plaister their houses; whereas that flapping of the
tail is no more than a custom, which they always pre-
serve even when they become tame and domestic, and
more particularly so when they are startled.

‘¢ Their food chiefly consists of a large root, (nuphar
Luteum,) something resembling a cabbage stalk, which
grows at the bottom of the lakes and rivers. They eat
also the bark of trees, particularly that of the poplar, birch,
and willow; but the ice preventing them from getting to
the land in winter, they have not any barks to feed upon
during that season, except that of such sticks as they cut

down in summer, and throw into the water opposite the_

doors of their houses; and as they generally eat a great
deal, the roots above mentioned constitute a chief part of
their food during the winter. In summer they vary their
diet, by eating various kinds of herbage, and such berries
as grow near their haunts during that season.

«¢ When the ice breaks up in the spring, the beaver al-
ways leave their houses, and rove about the whole sum-
mer, probably in search of a more commodious situation;
but in case of not succeeding in their endeavours, they
return again to their old habitations a little before the fall

~l

FICTITIOUS HISTORY—Continued.

was observed several times to come pretty near the labour-
ers, as if to examine what passed. As I apprehended that
they might run into the woods if further disturbed, I ad-
vised my companions again to conceal themselves.

<¢One of the Beavers then ventured to go upon the
breach, after having several times approached and returned
like aspy. He surveyed the place, and then struck four
blows, as he did the preceding evening, with his tail. One
of those that were going to work, passed close by me; and
as I wanted a specimen to examine, I shot him. The noise
of the gun made them scamper off with greater speed than
a hundred blows of the tail of their overseer could have
done. By firing at them several times afterwards, they
were compelled to run with precipitation into the woods.
I then examined their habitations, and under one of the
houses I found fifteen pieces of wood, with the bark in
part gnawed off, apparently intended for food. Round
the middle of this house, which formed a passage for
them to go in and out at, I found no less than fifteen
different cells. These habitations were made by posts
fixed slantingly upwards to a point; and in the middle
was the floor, resting firmly on notches in the posts.”,—Du
Pratz.

“It seems difficult for a traveller to publish his adven-
tures without mentioning the Castor, or Beaver, eventhough
his travels may have been limited to Africa, where this ani-
mal is not to be found. I should wish to avoid repetitions,
but I do not distinctly recollect any thing that has been
stated by these ingenious gentlemen on the subject, or
even what Buffon wrote about it in his closet. I will
communicate to you only what I have myself actually
seen, and been from good authority informed of, respect-
ing these astonishing creatures. If I mention circum-
stances which others have narrated before me, you may
consider it as affording additional evidence of what you
were previously acquainted with; and if what I advance
be new, you will, I hope, give me credit for adding to your
information. :

<¢ A small river flows into the lake on the western side.
The Beavers have barricadoed the mouth of it by a dike,
completed in a manner which would not disgrace a corps
of engineers; the water is thus kept back, and forms a
pond, in which they have erected their habitations. It
is proper to notice that the river in question is never dried
up, as otherwise they would not have fixed upon it for
their purpose.

‘¢ The stakes fixed in the earth, and the trunks of trees
which are laid across them, are of considerable thickness

-

8 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

AUTHENTIC HISTORY—Continued.

of the leaf, and lay in their winter stock of woods. They
seldom begin to repair the houses till the frost commences,
and never finish the outer-coat till the cold is pretty
severe, as hath been already mentioned.

« When they shift their habitations, or when the in-
crease of their number renders it necessary to make some
addition to their houses, or to erect new ones, they begin
felling the wood for these purposes early in the summer,
but seldom begin to build till the middle or latter end of
August, and never complete their houses till the cold
weather be set in.

*¢ Notwithstanding what has been so repeatedly reported
of those animals assembling in great bodies, and jointly
erecting large towns, cities, and commonwealths, as they
have sometimes been called, I am confident, from many
circumstances, that even where the greatest numbers of
beaver are situated in the neighbourhood of each other,
their labours are not carried on jointly in the erection of
their different habitations, nor have they any reciprocal
interest, except it be such as live immediately under the
same roof; and then it extends no farther than to build or
keep a dam which is common to several houses. In such
cases it is natural to think that every one who receives
benefit from such dams, should assist in erecting it, being
sensible of its utility to all. _

“Persons who attempt to take beaver in winter should
be thoroughly acquainted with their manner of life, other-
wise they will have much trouble to effect their purpose,
and probably without success in the end; because they
have always a number of holes in the banks, which serve
them as places of retreat when any injury is offered to
their houses; and in general it is in those holes that they
are taken.

«¢ When the beaver which are situated in a small river
or creek are to be taken, the Indians sometimes find it ne-
eessary to stake the river across, to prevent them from
passing; after which, they endeavour to find out all their
holes or places of retreat in the banks. This requires
much practice and experience to accomplish, and is per-
formed in the following manner: Every man being fur-
nished with an ice-chisel, lashes it to the end of a small
staff about four or five feet long; he then walks along the
edge of the banks, and keeps knocking his chisels against
the ice. Those who are well acquainted with that kind
of work well know by the sound of the ice when they
are opposite to any of the beavers’ holes or vaults. As
soon as they suspect any, they cut a hole through the ice
big enough to admit an old beaver; and in this manner
proceed till they have found out all their places of retreat,

FICTITIOUS HISTORY—Continued.

and length. It is difficult to conceive how such small
animals are able to transport such bulky articles. But
what is more astonishing is, that they never make use of
trees blown down by the wind, or levelled by the strength
of man, but select them themselves, cutting down such as
are peculiarly adapted for the intended building, and doing
this always on the banks of lakes or large rivers, in order
to avail themselves of the opportunity of conveying them
by water to the place intended.

‘¢ While five or six are occupied in cutting or sawing
with their teeth the bottom of the trunk, another stations
himself in the middle of the river, and indicates by a hiss-
ing sound, or by striking the water with his tail, which
way the top inclines towards the fall, that the operators
without interrupting their labour may conduct it with
proper caution, and preclude all danger. It is worthy of
remark, that they never gnaw the tree on the land side,
but always on that of the lake or river, in order to ensure
its falling into it.

‘<The whole tribe then combine their exertions, and
float the trunk to the place where it is wanted. Here,
with their teeth, they point the stakes;—with their claws
dig deep holes for them in the earth, and with their paws
introduce and drive them in. They then place branches
against them, and fill up the interstices with mortar, which
some prepare while the others are cutting down the trees,
or engaged in different departments of labour; for the tax
of labour is carefully distributed, and no individual re-
mains unemployed. The mortar used by these wonder-
ful animals becomes more hard and solid than the finest
Roman cement.

‘¢When the dike is completed, and has been proved fit
for the purpose designed, they effect an opening at the bot-
tom of.it, by way of floodgate, (which they open or close
as may be required, ) that the stream may not be too much
impeded. They then commence building their habitation
in the midst of the mass constituting the dike. They
never begin to erect the habitation previously to forming
the dike, lest the latter operation should fail of success, and
they should consequently lose their valuable time and
labour.

‘‘ Their mansion, formed equally of wood and mortar,
consists of two stories, and is double; its length is in pro-
portion to the number of the tribe for whom it is intended.

“<The first stage, or story, is a magazine in common for
provisions, and is under water; the second is divided into
dormitories, each family having its distinct chamber: this
part of the building is above the water.

‘Under the foundations of the building they form a

AND AMERICAN

AUTHENTIC HISTORY.—Continued.

or at least as many of them as possible. While the princi-
pal men are thus employed, some of the understrappers,
and the women, are busy in breaking open the house,
which at times is no easy task; for I have frequently
known these houses to be five and six feet thick; and one
in particular, was more than eight feet thick on the crown.
When the beaver find that their habitations are invaded,
they fly to their holes in the banks for shelter; and on
being perceived by the Indians, which is easily done, by
attending to the motion of the water, they block up the
entrance with stakes of wood and then haul the beaver
out of its hole, either by hand, if they can reach it, or
with a large hook made for that purpose, which is fastened
to the end of a long stick.

<¢Tn this kind of hunting, every man has the sole right
to all the beaver caught by him in the holes or vaults; and
as this is a constant rule, each person takes care to mark
such as he discovers, by sticking up the branch of a tree,
or some other distinguishing post, by which he may know
them. All that are caught in the house also are the pro-
perty of the person who finds it.

<¢ The same regulations are observed, and the same pro-
cess used in taking beaver that are found in lakes and other
standing waters, except it be that of staking the lake
across, which would be both unnecessary and impossible.
Taking beaver-houses in these situations is generally at-
tended with less trouble and more success than in the
former.

GROTTO DEL CANE.

[ sexipve I did not tell you, in my last, that I made
a visit to the famous Grotto del Cane, a visit to me so full
of interest, that I cannot help giving you some account of
it, notwithstanding the numerous descriptions we already
have of that singular place. I was enticed onward, one
bright morning, by the numberless curious objects that pre-
sent themselves about Naples, till I found myself at the
entrance of the Grotto of Posilipo, then at its further ex-
tremity, then in the beautiful valley beyond; and being
now not far from the Grotto del Cane, set out in earnest
for a treat that I had, from the first, been promising my-
self. A guide was quickly selected from a set of ragged
urchins, who offered themselves along the road. Thus
escorted, I soon reached the house of the Custode, or show-
man, and a rapid knock and short dialogue having settled
the preliminaries, I pushed on towards the Grotto, leay-
ing him to hunt up his dog and followat his leisure. The

C

RURAL SPORTS. 9

FICTITIOUS HISTORY.—Coniinued.

number of avenues, by means of which they enter and
quit subterraneously, so as not to be perceived by the most
keen and watchful Indian; these all terminate at a distance
from their dwelling, and in part of the mound constituting
their dike, or in lakes or rivers, near which they usually
form their establishments, that they may have it in their
power to select that direction which may be most conve-
nient and least dangerous in the various incidents and exi-
gencies of their lives.

‘¢ Beavers are divided into tribes, and sometimes mere-
ly into small bands, each of which has its chief; and order
and discipline exist in these distinct societies to a greater
extent probably than among the Indians, or even among
some civilized and polished nations.

<< Their magazines are invariably fully stored with pro-
visions in summer; and no one is permitted to break in
upon this stock until the scarcity of winter begins to be
experienced, unless circumstances render it imperatively
necessary to violate this rule. In no case, however, is
any one permitted to enter without the express authority
and indeed the presence of the chief. Their provisions
consist, in general, of the bark of trees, principally of the
willow and poplar species. On some occasions when bark
is not to be found in sufficient quantities, they collect also
the wood of those trees, which they divide into distinet
parcels with their teeth.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

road, which had hitherto obliquely crossed the valley no-
ticed above, now approached its edge, and led us among
rough, abrupt hills, until suddenly turning to the right,
and entering a deep, natural chasm, it brought us in a few
minutes to the edge of the Lago d’Agnaro. This lake is
about four miles in circuit, and evidently occupies the
crater of an extinct volcano. My little Cicerone led me
along the border of the lake, for about a hundred yards,
when pointing to a small door against the side of the crater,
a short distance above us, he told me that there was the
object of my search. The name Groééo had misled me,
and my disappointment was great, when, on the door
being unlocked and thrown open, an excavation, of not
more than twelve feet in length, and seven or eight in
height, made its appearance. To the right, it was the
rudest thing possible. The bottom, sides, and top, were
of the bare earth, very uneven, and as the cave was shaped
much like an egg, it was only at the centre or near it, that

55’
a person could stand upright. The floor, and sides to a

10 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

well-defined horizontal line eight or nine inches above it,
appeared moist, and on stepping in, I immediately became
sensible of a small degree of warmth up to the same height,
although the atmosphere down to the ground was perfectly
transparent. The custode first directed me to get on my
hands and knees, and to bring my face within the influ-
ence of the gas. I took the posture desired, and as I had
lowered my head to within a short distance of the ground,
and found myself breathing a pure air, was beginning to
think the wonders of the grotto far overrated, when I sud-
denly found myself bolt upright, and on my feet, having
been brought there by a sensation as if a thousand needles
had been at once thrust into my nostrils. The feeling was
like that often experienced after drinking strong soda water,
only to an almost overpowering degree.

The next experiment was a cruel one, but I hope par-
donable, inasmuch as the cruelty was far from being of
a wanton kind. The man looked for a dog which he had
brought with him, and tied to some bushes near the door,
and taking the struggling animal in his arms laid him down
in the deepest part of the cave. The dog laid quiet for
a moment, and then, with a sudden start nearly escaped
from the custode’s hands, but was brought back, and once
more held down within the full power of the gas. His
struggles were violent, and his eyes turned upward toward
his master, showed a high degree of suffering; but present-
ly, his muscles began to relax, and his struggles ceased,
his open and beseeching eye only showing life. His
master now took him up, and laid him in the pure air,
outside the cave. Here he remained motionless for nearly
two minutes, when he was seized with violent spasms,
gasped for breath; at length got on his feet, staggered
about, and then recovering himself fully, darted away
into the bushes. A whistle brought him back, and he
came up, wagging his tail, to receive the customary crust
of bread. The man now lighted a couple of torches, and
placing one in my hand, allowed me to amuse myself with
such experiments as are frequently practised in our La-
boratories with this gas, and others of a similar character.
The flame began to separate from the torch as soon as it
was lowered to the line noticed above, showing a smooth
uniform surface to the gas. When moved along the sill
of the door, it burnt with undiminished brightness, except
where a small channel was made by an inequality in the
wood; when it sunk into this the light was immediately
extinguished. In the same manner, I could discern the
gas flowing down the hollows leading from this to the lake.
When I had satisfied myself with these experiments, the
eustode took both the torches, and rubbing them against
the sides of the cave, filled the bottom of it with smoke;
the hitherto invisible spirit of the cave took form and sub-

stance; and I was warned by a gentle hint, for half a dollar,
that the exhibition was at an end.—Silliman’s Journal.

OBSERVATIONS ON IGNIS FATUUS.
By Rev Joun Mrrcuett.

Tuose luminous appearances, which are popularly called
Will-o’the-wisp” and < Jack-a-lantern,” have been alike
the object of vulgar superstition and philosophical curiosi-
ty; and notwithstanding all attempts to apprehend and
subject them to examination, they are not much more the
subjects of knowledge now than they were centuries ago.
They are still but an ignis fatuus to the philosopher, and a
thing of mystery to the credulous.

I was myself, formerly familiar with these appearances;
they were of frequent occurrence near my father’s resi-
dence, owing probably, to the proximity of extensive wet
grounds, over which they are usually seen. The house
stood upon a ridge, which sloped down on three sides to
the beautiful meadows which form the margin of the Con-
necticut, and of its tributary creeks, and which, owing to
their own luxuriance and the deposits of the vernal
freshets, are covered with rich and constantly decaying
vegetable matter. From the circumstance, also, that we
had no neighbours in the direction of these grounds, a
light could not be seen over them without attracting our
notice. I mention this by way of suggesting, that pro-
bably the ignis fatuus, in consequence of its not being al-
ways distinguished from the lights of surrounding houses,
and therefore exciting no curiosity, is oftener seen than it
is supposed to be.

These mysterious luminaries used often to be seen by
the fishermen; who plied their nets by night as well as by
day. They commonly reported that they saw them a
little above the surface of the meadow, dancing up and
down, or gliding quietly along in a horizontal line. Some-
times two, or even three, would be seen together, skip-
ping and dancing or sailing away in concert, as if rejoic-
ing in their mutual companionship. I might entertain
you with abundance of fabulous accounts of them—the
offspring of imaginations tinctured with superstition, and
of minds credulous from a natural love of the marvellous.
Fables, however, are of little value for the purposes of
science: if the following account of some of the pheno-
mena of the ignis fatuus, shall, with the observations of
others, contribute towards a true theory of its nature, you
will think them worthy of a place in your Journal.

A friend of mine, returning from abroad late in the

‘. AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 11

evening, had to cross a strip of marsh. As he approached
the causeway, he noticed a light towards the opposite end,
which he supposed to be a lantern in the hand of some
person whom he was about to meet. It proved, however,
to be a solitary flame, a few inches above the marsh, at
the distance of a few feet from the edge of the causeway.
He stopped some time to look at it; and was strongly
tempted, notwithstanding the miriness of the place, to get
nearer to it, for the purpose of closer examination. It was
evidently a vapour, [phosphuretted hydrogen ?] issuing
from the mud, and becoming ignited, or at least luminous,
in contact with the air. It exhibited a flickering appear-
ance, like that of a candle expiring in its socket; alter-
nately burning with a large flame and then sinking toa
small taper; and occasionally, for a moment, becoming
quite extinct. It constantly appeared over the same spot.

With the phenomena exhibited in this instance, I have
been accustomed to compare those exhibited in other in-
stances, whether observed by myself or others; and gene-
rally, making due allowance for the illusion of the senses
and the credulity of the imagination in a dark and misty
night, (for it is on such nights that they usually appear,)
I have found these phenomena sufficient for the explanation
of all the fantastic tricks that are reported of these phan-
toms.

They are supposed to be endowed with locomotive
power. ‘They appear to recede from the spectator, or to
advance towards him. SBut this may be explained with-
out locomotion—by their variation in respect to quantity
of flame. As the light dwindles away, it will seem to
move from you, and with a velocity proportioned to the
rapidity of its diminution. Again, as it grows larger, it
will appear to approach you. If it expires, by several
flickerings or flashes, it will seem to skip from you, and
when it re-appears you will easily imagine that it has as-
sumed a new position. This reasoning accounts for their
apparent motion, either to or from the spectator; and I
never could ascertain that they moved in any other direc-
tion, that is, in a line oblique or perpendicular to that in
which they first appeared. In one instance, indeed, I
thought this was the fact, and what struck me as more sin-
gular, the light appeared to move, with great rapidity, di-
rectly against a very strong wind. But after looking some
time, I reflected that I had not changed the direction of
my eye at all, whereas if the apparent motion had been
real, | ought to have turned half round. The deception
was occasioned by the motion of the wind itself—as a
stake standing in a rapid stream will appear to move
against the current.

It isa common notion that the ignis fatuus cannot be
approached, but will move off as rapidly as you advance.

This characteristic is mentioned in the Edinburgh Ency-
clopeedia. It is doubtless a mistake. Persons attempting
to approach them, have been deceived perhaps as to their
distance, and finding them farther off than they imagined,
have proceeded a little way and given over, under the
impression that pursuit was vain. An acquaintance of
mine, a plain man, told me he actually stole up close
to one, and caught it in his hat, as he thought ;—‘‘ and
what was it??? I asked. ‘It was’nt nothin.” On
looking into his hat for the ‘shining jelly,” it had
wholly disappeared. His motion had dissipated the
vapour, or perhaps his foot had closed the orifice from
which it issued. To this instance another may be added.
A young man and woman, walking home from an evening
visit, approached a light, which they took for a lantern
carried by some neighbour, but which on actually passing
it, they found to be borne by no visible being; and taking
themselves to flight, burst into the nearest house with such
precipitation as to overturn the furniture, and impart no
small share of their fright to the family.

The circumstance that these lights usually appear over
marshy grounds, explains another popular notion respect-
ing them; namely, that they possess the power of beguil-
ing persons into swamps and fens. To this superstition
Parnell alludes in his Fairy Tale, in which he makes
Will-o’the-wisp one of his dancing fairies;

“Then Will who bears the wispy fire,
To trail the swains among the mire,” &c.

In a misty night, they are easily mistaken for the light of
a neighbouring house, and the deceived traveller, directing
his course towards it, meets with fences, ditches, and other
obstacles, and by perseverance, lands at length, quite be-
wildered, in the swamp itself. By this time, he perceives
that the false lamp is only a mischievous jack-a-lantern.
An adventure of this kind [remember to have occurred
in my own neighbourhood. A man left his neighbour’s
house late in the evening, and at day-light had not reached
his own, a quarter of a mile distant; at which his family
being concerned, a number of persons went out to search
for him. We found him near a swamp, with soiled
clothes and a thoughtful countenance, reclining by a fence.

The account he gave was, that he had been led into the

swamp by a jack-a-lantern. His story was no doubt true,

and yet had little of the marvellous in it. The night being

dark, and the man’s senses a little disordered withal, by a

glass too much of his neighbour’s cherry, on approaching

his house, he saw a light, and not suspecting that it was

not upon his own mantel, made towards it. A bush ora

bog, might have led to the same place, if he had happened

to take it for his chimney-top.—ZJ0.

12

To the Editor of the Cabinet of Natural History.

A NEW PROPERTY OF THE FETID MATTER OF THE SKUNK.

Waits perusing the history of the Skunk, in the second
volume of your work, I was reminded of a circumstance
that happened in this neighbourhood, and which was re-
lated to me by an eye-witness.

Two men were hunting Skunks, for the purpose of ob-
taining their fur, and being labourers, from necessity were
obliged to spend the night in that occupation. They had
seen several, but had been unsuccessful in taking any. One
of them, however, perceived something indistinctly in a
erevice of the rocks, and approached to examine it. He
stooped over the place with a stick in his hand to aid in
ascertaining the description of the animal before him. He
disturbed it with the weapon, and received in his eyes the
fetid matter of a Skunk. So violent was the pain, that he
roared out ‘‘ help!”? and it wholly deprived him of sight
for some hours. His companion, (the narrator of the cir-
cumstances,) led him to a brook, not far distant from the
scene of the disaster, in whose limpid waters he washed
his eyes, and under this treatment the pain began gradually
to diminish, and the power of sight to return. It was fol-
lowed by an inflammation which lasted for several days,
but then subsided.

His sight was so improved that objects were distin-
guished in the night as perfectly as in the day. What
power this fluid has to improve the vision I am ignorant
of; and this simple tale is all I have heard to establish the
truth of that power; and in this perplexed condition, I
would ask, if any one has seen or known of any other
instances of the effect of this fluid on the human system.

2G Ma Le
Geneva, N. Y. Feb. 4th, 1833.

TEST OF THE PERCUSSION PRINCIPLE.

Tue question as to the using of percussion locks in
the army, is about to be decided in France. By experi-
ments made in the Hanoverian army, it appears that out
of 340 muskets, with percussion locks, consuming to-
gether 27,000 cartridges, there were only 21 missed fire
from the failure of the priming, and 72 from the defect of
charge, making in all 93: while out of the same number
of muskets, with flint locks, 206 shots failed from the
priming, and 599 from the charge, in all 806. Still further
experiments were made both in the exposing to a constant
rain, by wetting the inside of the cup, and by putting wa-
ter in the touch-hole. The result was, that the guns, after

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

being exposed to the injuries of the weather, or even a
constant rain, were much more to be relied upon than
those with flint locks. Marshal Soult, who had been for
a long time impressed with the advantages to be derived
from the use of percussion guns, resolyed to renew the
above experiments in France,—and last year a committee
of officers, by his direction, repeated all the experiments,
and their report completely establishes the supremacy of
the percussion lock. At this moment, however, nearly
2,600 muskets of all the different kinds have been fitted
up with percussion locks in order to make a grand and
last trial.

WILD TURKEY.
MELEAGRIS GALLOPAVO.
[Vox. I. Prare II.)

Meleagris Gallopavo, Cu. Bonaparte, Synops. of Birds
of the United States, p. 122.—Cu. Bonaparte’s
American Ornithology, vol. i. p. 79, pl. IX.—Aunv-
Bon’s Ornithological Biography, p. 1, vol. i., pl. I.
vol. i.

Meleagris Gallopavo, Linn. Syst. I. p. 268, sp. 1.—
Gamez. Syst. I. p. 732, sp. 1.—Laru. Ind. p. 618, sp.
1.—Witson, 4m. Orn. VI. Index, p. xvii.—Srn-
puEns’ Cont. of Suaw’s Zool. XI. Part 1. p. 156.

Gallopavo Sylvestris Nove-Angliz. a New-England .
Wild Turkey) Ray, San. p. 51, sp. 3.—Catressy Caro-
lina, 1. pp. p. xiv.

Meleagris /lmericanus, the Wild Turkey, Barrram,
Tray. p. 290.

Dindon, Burr. Ois. Il. p. 132, pl. Il. Pl. Eni. 97,
dom.—Tumm. Hist. Nat. des Pig. et Gall. Il. p. 374.
—Gerarpin, Tubl. Elem. d’Orn. I. p. 103, pl. XXI.
fig. 2.

Wild Turkey; Cuayron, Virginia, Phil. Trans. XVII.
p- 992.—Lawson, Carolina, p. 149.

American Turkey, Laru. Syn. WU. Part um. p. 676,
sp. l.

Domestic Turkey, Pann. Brit. Zool. \. sp. 97.—J.
Doveury’s collection.

Tur most beautiful and interesting bird of North Ame-
riea, is the Wild Turkey; and for usefulness, and the de-
licacy of its flesh, is not surpassed, if indeed equalled, by
any other individual of the feathered tribe on the whole

~ ct » }
KNgin wNetizre by MLE LD F3 3

POMS

WILD TURKEY.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 13

earth,—while it is a fact fully admitted, that this bird is
the origin whence sprung the whole domestic race of Tur-
keys now scattered over almost every country.

The Wild Turkey is strictly a native of North Ame-
rica, having its range from the isthmus of Darien on the
south, to the fiftieth degree north, —and east and west, the
Atlantic Ocean and the Rocky Mountains. No indivi-
dual of the species has ever been seen south of Panama,
and it is utterly unknown beyond Lake Superior. There
is no good reason, however, that its western range should
be limited to the Rocky Mountains, as the country and
climate beyond them, warrant the conclusion, that these
birds exist even to the shores of the Pacific Ocean. In
the north Atlantic states, Turkeys have become very
scarce, but in the south and west they are exceedingly plen-
tiful. In Virginia, the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida,
many may at all times be found; but in every state west
of these, multitudes of these magnificent birds are conti-
nually roaming the fields and forests. Some Turkeys still
exist in the inaccessible hills of New-Jersey and New-
York, but are to be found in greater numbers among the
mountains of Pennsylvania.

It is not precisely known at what period the Turkey
was first introduced into Europe; but from the years 1525
to 1530, the earliest mention is made of this bird,—while
from that period to the present, its increase has been won-
derfully rapid, until it has now become an inhabitant of
almost every poultry-yard, and is regarded as a standing
dish at all festivals, and tables of hotels and private fami-
lies.

Many attempts have been made to introduce the Wild
Turkey, in its native state, on several preserves of game
in Europe,—but with the exception of one or two in-
stances in England, they have not succeeded.

So greatly was the Turkey esteemed in Europe shortly
after its introduction, that ‘‘in the year 1566, a present
of twelve Turkeys was thought not unworthy of being
offered by the municipality of Amiens to their king, at
whose marriage, in 1570, it is stated they were first eaten
in France. Hurnrespacx asserts that they were introduced
into Germany about 1530; and a sumptuary law made at
Venice, in 1577, particularizes the tables at which they
were permitted to be served.”’

«<Those who have seen only the domesticated bird, can
form but a faint idea of its beauty in a state of nature.
When fully grown the male Wild Turkey measures nearly
four feet in length, and more than five in the expanse of
its wings. Its head, which is very small in proportion to
its body, is covered with a naked bluish skin, which is
eontinued over the upper half of its neck. On this skin
are placed a number of wart-like elevations, red on the

Bey

Ye

upper portion, and whitish below, interspersed with a
few scattered blackish hairs. On the under part of the
neck the skin is flaccid and membranous, and extends
downwards in the shape of large wattles. From the base
of the bill, at its junction with the forehead, rises a wrin-
kled conical fleshy protuberance, with a pencil of hairs at
the tip. This protuberance, when the bird is at rest, does
not exceed an inch and a half in length, but on any ex-
citement becomes elongated to such an extent as to cover
the bill entirely, and to depend below it for several inches.
The lower part of the neck, at its junction with the breast,
is ornamented by a singular tuft of black rigid hairs, sepa-
rating themselves from the feathers, and reaching as much
as nine inches in length. The feathers of the body are
long and truncated, and, generally speaking, may each be
subdivided into four parts. Their base is formed by a
light fuliginous down, which is followed by a dusky por-
tion. This again is succeeded by a broad shining metallic
band, changing to copper-colour or bronze, to violet or
purple, according to the incidence of the light; while the
tip is formed by a narrow black velvety band, which last
is wanting on the neck and breast. From this disposition
of the colours results a most beautiful changeable metallic
gloss over the whole body of the bird, which is, however,
less marked on the lower part of the back and tail-coverts.

‘¢ The wings, which scarcely extend beyond the base of
the tail, are concave and rounded. They are furnished
with twenty-eight quill-feathers; the primaries are plain
blackish banded with white, while the secondaries have
the relative extent of these markings so reversed that they
may be described as white banded with blackish; and
tinged, especially towards the back, with brownish-yellow.
The tail measures more than fifteen inches in length, is
rounded at the extremity, and consists of eighteen broad
feathers, which, when expanded and elevated, assume the
form of a fan. It is brown, mottled with black, and
crossed by numerous narrow undulating lines of the same.
Near the tip is a broad black band, then follows a short
mottled portion, and lastly a broad dingy yellowish band.
The feet are robust, have blunt spurs about an inch in
length, and are of a red colour, with blackish margins to
the scales, and claws of the same dusky hue. The bill is
reddish, and horn-coloured at the tip; and the irides are
dark brown.

«‘The female is considerably smaller, not exceeding
three feet and a quarter in length. Her bill and legs are
less robust, the latter without any rudiment of a spur; and
her irides similar to those of the male. Her head and neck
are less denuded, being covered by short decomposed fea-
thers of a dirty gray. Those of the back of the neck have
brownish tips, producing a longitudinal band on that part.

14 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

The caruncle on the forehead is short, and incapable of
elongation; and the fasciculus on the breast is not always
present. The prevailing tinge of the plumage is dusky
gray; each feather having a metallic band, less brilliant
than that.of the male, then a blackish band, and a grayish
erminal fringe. On the feathers of the neck and under
surface the black band is for the most part obliterated.
All the parts, without exception, are duller than those of
the male; less white exists on the primary wing-feathers,
and the secondaries are entirely destitute of bands. The
tail is similar in colour to that of the male.
<¢ Until the naked membrane acquires its tinge of red,
it is not easy to distinguish between the two sexes; but on
the approach of the first winter, the young males show a
rudiment of the tuft of hairs upon the breast, consisting at
first of a mere tubercle; in the second year the tuft is
about three inches long; and in the third the bird attains
its adult form, although it certainly continues to increase
in size and beauty for several years. Females have their
full size and colouring at the end of four years; they then
possess the pectoral fascicle, four or five inches in length,
but much thinner than in the male. This appendage is
more frequently observed, and is acquired at an earlier pe-
riod of life, in the wild than in the domestic female.”’

The following important features of the history of the
Turkey, are selected from the account furnished by Mr.
AvupuBon, who it appears has studied the habits, and
written more largely, of that bird than any other natural
historian.

«¢ About the middle of April, when the season is dry,
the hens begin to look out for a place in which to deposit
their eggs. This place requires to be as muchas possible
concealed from the eye of the Crow, as that bird often
watches the Turkey when going to her nest, and, waiting
in the neighbourhood until she has left it, removes
and eats the eggs. The nest, which consists of a few
withered leaves, is placed on the ground, in a hollow
scooped out, by the side of a log, or in the fallen top
of a dry leafy tree, under a thicket of sumach or briars,
or a few feet within the edge of a cane-brake, but always
ina dry place. The eggs, which are of a dull cream co-
lour, sprinkled with red dots, sometimes amount to twenty,
although the more usual number is from ten to fifteen.
When depositing her eggs the female always approaches
the nest with extreme caution, scarcely ever taking the
same course twice, and when about to leave them, covers
them carefully with leaves, so that is very difficult for a
person who may have seen the bird to discover the nest.
Indeed few Turkeys’ nests are found, unless the female has
been suddenly started from them, or a cunning lynx,

fox, or crow, has sucked the eggs, and left their shells scat-
tered about.

“‘ Turkey hens not unfrequently prefer islands for de-
positing their eggs and rearing their young, probably be-
cause such places are less frequented by hunters, and
because the great masses of drifted timber which usually
accumulate at their heads, may protect and save them in
cases of great emergency.

«¢ When an enemy passes within sight of a female, while
lying or sitting, she never moves, unless she knows that
she has been discovered, but crouches lower until he has
passed. I have frequently approached within five or six
paces of a nest, of which I was previously aware, on as-
suming an air of carelessness, and whistling or talking to
myself, the female remaining undisturbed; whereas if I
went cautiously towards it, she would never suffer me to
approach within twenty paces, but would run off, with her
tail spread on one side, to a distance of twenty or thirty
yards, when assuming a stately gait, she would walk about
deliberately, uttering every now and then a cluck. They
seldom abandon their nest, when it has been discovered
by men; but, I believe, never go near it again, when a
snake or other animal has sucked any of the eggs. If the
eggs have been destroyed or carried off, the female soon
yelps again for a male; but, in general, she rears only a
single brood each season. Several hens sometimes asso-
ciate together, I believe for their mutual safety, deposit
their eggs in the same nest, and rear their broods together.
I once found three sitting on forty-two eggs. In such
eases, the common nest is always watched by one of the
females, so that no crow, rayen, or perhaps even pole-cat,
dares approach it.

‘¢ The mother will not leave her eggs, when near hatch-
ing, under any circumstances, while life remains. She
will even allow an enclosure to be made around her, and
thus suffer imprisonment, rather than abandon them. I
once witnessed the hatching of a brood of Turkeys, which
I watched for the purpose of securing them, together with
the parent. I concealed myself on the ground within a
very few feet, and saw her raise herself half the length of
her legs, look anxiously upon the eggs, and cluck with a
sound peculiar to the mother on such occasions, carefully
remove each half-empty shell, and with her bill caress
and dry the young birds, that already stood tottering and
attempting to make their way out of the nest. Yes, I
have seen this, and have left mother and young to better
care than mine could have proved;—to the care of their
Creator and mine. I have seen them all emerge from the
shell, and in a few moments after, tumble, roll, and push
each other forward, with astonishing and inscrutable in-
stinct.

a
-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 15

‘‘ Before leaving the nest with her young brood, the
mother shakes herself in a violent manner, picks and ad-
justs the feathers about her belly, and assumes quite a dif-
ferent aspect. She alternately inclines her eyes oblique-
ly upwards and sideways, stretching out her neck to dis-
cover hawks or other enemies, spreads her wings a little as
she walks, and softly clucks to keep her innocent offspring
close to her. They move slowly along, and as the
hatching generally takes place in the afternoon, they
frequently return to the nest to spend the first night
there. After this, they remove to some distance,
keeping on the highest undulated grounds, the mother
dreading rainy weather, which is extremely dangerous to
the young, in this tender state, when they are only co-
vered by akind of soft hairy down, of surprising delicacy.
In very rainy seasons, Turkeys are scarce, for if once com-
pletely wetted, the young seldom recover. To prevent the
disastrous effects of rainy weather, the mother, like a skil-
ful physician, plucks the buds of the spice-wood bush, and
gives them to her young,

‘¢In about a fortnight, the young birds, which had pre-
viously rested on the ground, leave it, and fly, at night,
to some very large low branch, where they place them-
selves under the deeply-curved wings of their kind and
careful parent, dividing themselves for that purpose into
two nearly equal parties. After this, they leave the woods
during the day, and approach the natural glades or prai-
ries, in search of strawberries, and subsequently of dew-
berries, blackberries, and grasshoppers, thus obtaining
abundant food, and enjoying the beneficial influence of the
sun’s rays. They roll themselves in deserted ants’ nests,
to clear their growing feathers of the loose scales, and pre-
vent ticks and other vermin from attacking them, these
insects being unable to bear the odour of the earth in
which ants have been.

‘¢The young Turkeys now advance rapidly in growth,
and in the month of August are able to secure themselves
from unexpected attacks of wolves, foxes, lynxes, and even
cougars, by rising quickly from the ground, by the help
of their powerful legs, and reaching with ease the highest
branches of the tallest trees. The young cocks show the
tuft on the breast about this time, and begin to gobble and
strut, while the young hens pur and leap in the manner
which I have already described.

‘* About the beginning of October, when scarcely any
of the seeds and fruits have yet fallen from the trees, these
birds assemble in flocks, and gradually move towards the
rich bottom lands of the Ohio and Mississippi. The males,
or asthey are more commonly called, the gobdlers, asso-
ciate in parties of from ten to a hundred, and search for
food apart from the females; while the latter are seen

either advancing singly, each with its brood of young,

then about two-thirds grown, or in connexion with other

families, forming parties often amounting to seventy or
eighty individuals, all intent on shunning the old cocks,

which, even when the young birds have attained this size,
will fight with, and often destroy them by repeated blows
on the head. Old and young, however, all move in the
same course, and on foot, unless their progress be inter-
rupted by a river, or the hunter’s dog force them to take
wing. When they come upon a river, they betake
themselves to the highest eminences, and there often re-
main a whole day, or sometimes two, as if for the purpose
of consultation. During this time, the males are heard
gobbling, calling, and making much ado, and are seen
strutting about, as if to raise their courage to a pitch be-
fitting the emergency. Even the females and young as-
sume something of the same pompous demeanour, spread
out their tails and run round each other, purring loudly,
and performing extravagant leaps. At length, when the
weather appears settled, and all around is quiet, the whole
party mounts to the tops of the highest trees, whence at a
signal, consisting of a single cluck, given by a leader,
the flock takes flight for the opposite shore. The old
and fat birds easily get over, even should the river be a
mile in breadth, but the younger and less robust, frequent-
ly fall into the water,—not to be drowned, however, as
might be imagined. They bring their wings close to their
body, spread out their tail as a support, stretch forward
their neck, and striking out their legs with great vigour,
proceed rapidly towards the shore, on approaching which,
should they find it too steep for landing, they cease their
exertions for a few moments, float down the stream until
they come to an accessible part, and by a violent effort
generally extricate themselves from the water. It is re-
markable, that immediately after thus crossing a large
stream, they ramble about for some time, as if bewildered.
In this state, they fall an easy prey to the hunter.

‘¢ When the Turkeys arrive in parts where the mast is
abundant, they separate into smaller flocks, composed of
birds of all ages and both sexes, promiscuously mingled,
and devour all before them. This happensabout the mid-
dle of November. So gentle do they sometimes become
after these long journeys, that they have been seen to ap-
proach the farm-houses, associate with the domestic fowls,
and enter the stables and corn-cribs in quest of food. In
this way, roaming about the forests, and feeding chiefly on
mast, they pass the autumn and part of the winter.

‘¢As early as the middle of February, they begin to
experience the impulse of propagation. The females se-
parate, and fly from the males. The latter strenuously pur-
sue, and begin to gobble or to utter the notes of exulta-

16 THE CABINET OF NATURAJ. HISTORY,

tion. The sexes roost apart, but at no great distance from
each other When a female uttersa call-note, all the gob-
blers within hearing return the sound, rolling note after
note with as much rapidity as if they intended to emit the
last and the first together, not with spread tail, as when
fluttering round the females on the ground, or practising
on the branches of the trees on which they have roosted
for the night, but much in the manner of the domestic
Turkey, when an unusual or unexpected noise elicits its
singular hubbub. If the call of the female comes from the
ground, all the males immediately fly towards the spot,
and the moment they reach it, whether the hen be in sight
or not, spread out and erect their tail, draw the head back
on the shoulders, depress their wings with a quivering
motion, and strut pompously about, emitting at the same
time a succession of puffs from the lungs, and stopping now
and then to listen and look. But whether they spy the
female or not, they continue to puff and strut, moving
with as much celerity as their ideas of ceremony seem to
admit. While thus occupied, the males often encounter
each other, in which case desperate battles take place, end-
ing in bloodshed, and often in the loss of many lives, the
weaker failing under the repeated blows inflicted upon their
head by the stronger.

«¢T have often been much diverted, while watching two
males in fierce conflict, by seeing them move alternately
backwards and forwards, as either had obtained a better
hold, their wings drooping, their tails partly raised, their
body-feathers ruffled, and their heads covered with blood.
If, as they thus struggle, and gasp for breath, one of them
should lose his hold, his chance is over, for the other, still
holding fast, hits him violently with spurs and wings, and
in a few minutes brings him tothe ground. The moment
he is dead, the conqueror treads him under foot, but, what
is strange, not with hatred, but with all the motions which
he employs in caressing the female.

«¢ Turkey-cocks when at roost sometimes strut and gob-
ble, but I have more generally seen them spread out and
raise their tails, and emit the pulmonic puff, lowering
their tail and other feathers immediately after. During
clear nights, or when there is moonshine, they perform
this action at intervals of a few minutes, for hours to-
gether, without moving from the same spot, and indeed
sometimes without rising on their legs, especially towards
the end of the love-season. The males now become
greatly emaciated, and cease to gobble, their dreast-
sponge becoming flat. They then separate from the hens,
and one might suppose that they had entirely deserted
their neighbourhood. At such seasons I have found them
lying by the side of a log, in some retired part of the
dense woods and cane thickets, and often permitting one

to approach within a few feet. They are then unable
to fly, but run swiftly, and to a great distance. A slow
Turkey-hound has led me miles before I could flush the
same bird. Chases of this kind I did not undertake for
the purpose of killing the bird, it being then unfit for eat-
ing, and covered with ticks, but with the view of render-
ing myself acquainted with its habits. They thus retire
to recover flesh and strength, by purging with particular
species of grass, and using less exercise. As soon as their
condition is improved, the cocks come together again, and
recommence their rambles.

‘‘ Turkeys are now generally extremely shy, and the
moment they observe a man, whether of the red or white
race, they instinctively move from him. Their usual mode
of progression is what is termed walking, during which
they frequently open each wing partially and successively,
replacing them again by folding them over each other, as
if their weight were too great. Then, as if to amuse
themselves, they will run a few steps, open both wings,
and fan their sides, in the manner of the common fowl,
and often take two or three leaps in the air and shake
themselves. Whilst searching for food among the leaves
or loose soil, they keep their head up, and are unremitting-
ly on the look-out; but as the legs and feet finish the ope-
ration, they are immediately seen to pick up the food, the
presence of which, I suspect, is frequently indicated to
them, through the sense of touch in their feet, during the
act of scratching. This habit of scratching and remoy-
ing the dried leaves in the woods, is pernicious to their
safety, as the spots which they thus clear, being about two
feet in diameter, are seen at a distance, and, if fresh, show
that the birds are in the vicinity. During the summer
months they resort to the paths or roads, as well as the
ploughed fields, forthe purpose of rolling themselves in the
dust, by which means they clear their bodies of the ticks,
which at that season infest them, as well as free themselves
of mosquitoes, which greatly annoy them, by biting their
heads.

‘¢ When Turkeys alight on a tree, it is sometimes very
difficult to see them, which is owing to their standing per-
fectly motionless. Should you discover one, when it is
down on its legs upon the branch, you may approach it
with less care. But if it is standing erect, the greatest
precaution is necessary, for should it discover you, it in-
stantly flies off, frequently to such a distance that it would
be vain to follow.

«¢ Turkeys are easily killed if shot in the head, the
neck, or the upper part of the breast; but if hit in the hind
parts only, they often fly so far as to be lost to the hunter.
During winter many of our read hunters shoot them by
moonlight, on the roosts, where these birds will fre-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 17

quently stand a repetition of the reports of a rifle, although
they would fly from the attack of an owl, or even perhaps
from his presence. Thus sometimes nearly a whole flock is
secured by men capable of using these guns in such cir-
cumstances. They are often destroyed in great numbers
when most worthless, that is, early in the fall or autumn,
when many are killed in their attempts to cross the rivers,
or immediately after they reach the shore.

‘< During spring Turkeys are cad/ed, as it is termed, by
drawing the air, in a particular way, through one of the
second joint bones of a wing of that bird, which produces
a sound resembling the voice of the female, on hearing
which the male comes up, andis shot. In managing this,
however, no fault must be committed, for Turkeys are
quick in distinguishing counterfeit sounds, and, when half
civilized, are very wary and cunning. I have known
many to answer to this kind of call, without moving a
step, and thus entirely defeat the scheme of the hunter,
who dared not move from his hiding-place, lest a single
glance of the gobbler’s eye should frustrate all further at-
tempts to decoy them. Many are shot when at roost, in this
season, by answering with a rolling gobble to a sound in
imitation of the cry of the Barred Owl.

‘¢But the most common method of procuring Wild
Turkeys, is by means of pens. These are placed in parts
of the woods where Turkeys have been frequently ob-
served to roost, and are constructed in the following man-
ner. Young trees of four or five inches diameter are cut
down, and divided into pieces of the length of twelve or
fourteen feet. Two of these are laid on the ground paral-
lel to each other, at a distance of ten or twelve feet. Two
other pieces are laid across the ends of these, at right
angles to them; and in this manner successive layers are
added, until the fabric is raised to the height of about four
feet. It is then covered with similar pieces of wood,
placed three or four inches apart, and loaded with one or
two heavy logs to render the whole firm. This done, a
trench about eighteen inches in depth and width is cut
under one side of the cage, into which it opens slant-
ingly and rather abruptly. It is continued on its outside
to some distance, so as gradually to attain the level of the
surrounding ground. Over the part of this trench within
the pen, and close to the wall, some sticks are placed so
as to form a kind of bridge about a foot in breadth. The
trap being now finished, the owner places a quantity of
Indian corn in its centre, as well as in the trench, and as
he walks off drops here and there a few grains in the
woods, sometimes to the distance of a mile. This is re-
peated at every visit to the trap, after the Turkeys have
found it. Sometimes two trenches are cut, in which case
the trenches enter on opposite sides of the trap, and are

E

both strewn with corn. No sooner has a Turkey disco-
vered the train of corn, than it communicates the circeum-
stance to the flock by a cluck, when all of them come up,
and searching for the grains scattered about, at length
come upon the trench, which they fellow, squeezing
themselves one after another through the passage under
the bridge. In this manner the whole flock sometimes
enters, but more commonly six or even only, as they are
alarmed by the least noise, even the cracking of a tree in
frosty weather. Those within, having gorged them-
selves, raise their heads, and try to force their way through
the top or sides of the pen, passing and repassing on the
bridge, but never for amoment looking down, or attempt-
ing to escape through the passage by which they entered.
Thus they remain until the owner of the trap arriving,
closes the trench, and secures his captives.

«¢ The weight of Turkey-hens generally averages about
nine pounds avoirdupois. I have, however, shot barren
hens, in strawberry season, that weighed thirteen pounds,
and have seen a few so fat as to burst open on falling from
a tree when shot. Male Turkeys differ more in their bulk
and weight. From fifteen to eighteen pounds may bea
fair estimate of their ordinary weight. I saw one offered
for sale in the Louisville market that weighed thirty-six
pounds. Its pectoral appendage measured upwards of a
foot.

For the Cabinet of Natural History.

A HUNTING EXCURSION ON ONE OF THE
CORDILLERAS.

Mr. Editor:—The following extract is from a journal,
kept during a short residence in Colombia; but at the
time it was penned, J did not intend it for publication.
If, however, you find it sufficiently interesting, and suit-
able for the pages of your work, I shall be happy in
making the contribution.

‘¢T was one of a party of adventurers which sought
their fortunes in South America,—having set sail from
Boston in 18—, and landed at Laguayra after a passage
of a few weeks. My original design was to rest at Carac-
cas, an inland city of the province of Venezuela, during
my residence in Colombia. I therefore remained in the
former town only a sufficient time to land my goods, and
prepare them for transportation to the latter city.

<¢ The distance between Laguayra and Caraccas is only
a few miles, but the road is mountainous and difficult, and

18 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

requires several hours te make the passage. The latter
city is the capitol of the province, and is situated on the
slope of a mountain, and in fact rests in a valley formed
by the mountain you cross in going to it, and another
higher mountain south a few miles, the towering summits
of which, during a clear atmosphere, form a beautiful
prospect, and seem to overhang the city. This mountain
is called the S$%2/a, and is the north-eastern termination
of the great range of the Andes, and rises to the height of
about 9000 feet above the sea.

“¢ During the few months I remained at Caraceas, it
was proposed by one of my friends that I should join him
in an excursion to this mountain, not only to behold the
beautiful scenery, which an ascent would unfold to view,
but spend a few days to range the table lands and promon-
tories in hunting some of the wild animals known to abide
in that region. Accordingly we made every preparation
necessary for the occasion, and, accompanied by a guide,
we departed on the appointed day towards the summit of
the Silla. We had arranged matters so, that by starting
at sunrise, we should be able to make a tolerable ascent
before night, and on the next day, if not able to reach the
summit of the mountain, go at least to the boundary of
vegetation and hack again to our resting place before the
evening.

‘¢ Born in the wild and mountainous regions of my own
happy land, I had learned from childhood, to scale the
rugged sides of the green hills in Vermont, (my native
state,) and wend the toilsome way after game, as often in
fruitless as successful pursuit, the characteristic features of
those highlands having made hunting a necessary part in
the life ef every resident there. It was, therefore, not
without peculiar sensations of pleasure, that an occasion
was presented to vary the scene of action, especially as it
was so eminently calculated to recal to mind the incidents
I had so often experienced at home.

‘‘My companion was one whose friendship I had tested,
and whose energies were unabating, and to whom I had
formed a sincere attachment, which became mutual, and
strengthened by absence from home and a residence among
strangers; and in the enjoyment of these social ties, we
passed much of our time together, without mixing with
the heterogeneous inhabitants of Caraccas.

‘sThe day was remarkably fine, and by three o/clock,
P. M. found we had made great progress in our ascent,
although we had overcome many difficult passages over
rocks, across savannas, and through almost impenetrable
vegetation; we therefore resolved on halting for half an
hour, previous to another and last attempt for that day.
We then pursued our course with a view to reach a spot,
known as a resting place at night for travellers, In this

we succeeded about seven o’clock, and made preparations
to remain for the night. Our intention was to complete,
if possible, the ascent of the mountain, without deviating
from a direct course, and spend no time in hunting until
after we had descended nearer the base of the mountain;
but on the above evening we had reached our goal at an
earlier period than we had anticipated; and being enticed
by a neighbouring promontory, we determined to reach
its summit, and take a survey of the surrounding coun-
try. We therefore buckled on our accoutrements, shoul-
dered our guns, and with our guide directed our footsteps
successfully to this elevated spot.

‘+ The sun had sunk behind the great western mountains,
and we could see his traces no where but by the golden
tinges of a few flying clouds. Mildness and _ serenity
reigned throughout the vast expanse which lay beneath
our feet, and no living creature animated the scene but a
few king-vultures, which were hovering around and oyer
us. We sat musing, wrapt up as we were by the grandeur
of the scenery, which to the east was bounded only by the
distant horizon of the sea, while we computed our eleya-
tion at upwards of six thousand feet. My companion’s
feelings were completely in unison with mine; but our
more thoughtless guide found pleasure only in searching
the sides ef the mountain for a number of small smooth
stones. At this interesting period, our attention was at-
tracted by an animal that had just emerged from a thicket
close to our left, and seemed totally unconscious of the
presence of an enemy. It was a small deer, (Cervus
Mexicanus,) and was browsing on the variety of herbs,
which grew in great abundance, and might properly be
called Alpine plants. The eyes of my companion and
mine met at the same moment; and with smiles expressive
of surprise at the new visitor, we hesitated to commit any
violence, so little were we prepared in our feelings to effect
its death. Poor littte innocent!—it had perhaps just risen
from its lair, on the approach of twilight, to satisfy the
cravings of appetite, and enjoy the bounteous repast which
nature had spread before it, unconscious of attending dan-
ger. Ina moment, however, it was stricken to the earth
by a tiger, or juguar, which no doubt had been so intent
on its prey as to be unheedful of every thing else. We
instantly rose from our seats, and discharged our guns
simultaneously at the monster, and killed it.

‘¢ Our guide, whose attention was attracted by the ani-
mal as it sprung on its victim, and by the victorious growl
in securing it, had become so panic struek, that he did not
notice the report of our guns, but sunk on his knees and
crossing himself, offered up constant ejaculations, address-
ing himself sometimes in these terms—‘ Oh! holy virgin,
why have you permitted me to be led by these heretics

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 19

into this great danger; these must be wicked men, or you
would not pass such judgment upon them; but what have I
done, that I should share the punishment due to their
crimes.’

‘¢ The earnestness of this bigot, and his want of charity,
excited our laughter,—and it was some time before the
coward could be convineed that we had killed the animal,
or even get him to turn his face towards it. After his
fears had subsided, however, he assisted us in getting the
animal to our cave, where we skinned it, and threw the
earcase to be devoured by the vultures. Wehad thus en-
joyed one of the most splendid views on earth, and been
unexpectedly successful in destroying an animal, that not
unfrequently caused terror among some of the inhabitants
of the country, and were therefore anxious to preserve
the skin, as an evidence of our success, to be exhibited on
our return to our friends.

‘¢ After drawing on our humble store of provisions, we
endeavoured to repose for the remainder of the night, pre-
paratory to a very early start the next morning for the
completion of our ascent of the mountain. We were dis-
turbed, about day-break, by our guide, who had just risen,
and, departing from the cave, left us altogether, and re-
turned home. This man was a native Indian, but had be-
come a proselyte to the Roman Church, and belonged to
one of the missionary establishments near Caraccas; in
consequence of which he had made some progress in the
knowledge of the Spanish language, and him, with those
of his fellows who had shared like advantages, were more
often chosen as guides than the other inhabitants; but, as
in the instance cited, they often proved faithless, and
sometimes treacherous. We suspected him of cowardice
several times, for on different occasions he warned us of
dangers and saw difficulties when neither were at hand;
but we dreamed not that he would forsake us or the pro-
tection we were able to afford him. In this unexpected di-
lemma, we were somewhat at a loss to decide, whether to
persevere in ascending the mountain, or finish our hunt-
ing, while we gradually approached the city. We however
decided on the former course, as a successful attempt was
a consummation which but few had experienced. We
therefore, shortly after day-break, started on our enterprise
of ascending the mountain, and continued our passage
slowly and steadily until ten o’clock. We had con-
sumed about six hours, and finding our difficulties increas-
ing so fast, we were convinced that we had mistaken the
proper course, and resolved to retrace our steps. Al-
though the temperature was not above 50°, we had
laboured so hard during the last hour, that we perspired
profusely. We had now passed the boundary of. vegeta-
tion;—all beyond were rocks and precipices, insurmount-

able by human effort,—and the greatest exertion would
not convey us but a few hundred feet further up the
mountain; we therefore tarried about half an hour, to take
another view of the country before us, and then begin our
retrograde movements. We continued descending until
nearly one o’clock, and discovered at length that we had
also lost our backward track; this caused us to halt, and
endeavour to find the proper course,—but failing in this,
we proceeded on our way.

‘<Tt was two o’clock, and the clouds, which for half an
hour had began to thicken about the mountain’s brow, now
rolled furiously immediately over our heads, impelled by
a wind that prostrated the decayed trunks of trees, and
leafy branches, with the violence of a hurricane. We were
convinced a fearful storm of rain would follow, and we
lost no time in seeking refuge from it among the crevices
of the rocks. The rain soon began to fall in torrents,
which continued, with unabated vehemence, for nearly
two hours, and then gave way to a clear sunshine and a
cloudless sky, so that we renewed our descent. But new
difficulties presented themselves, that we did not calculate
would be so unpleasant. The fissures and ravines of the
mountain were sow streams of water, which before were
dry and parched; places had become slippery and danger-
ous, on which before we could have placed our feet with
firmness and safety; and, worst of all, we had arrived on
the brink of a ravine, so broad and deep, and withal foam-
ing with cataracts and flood, that made the head giddy to
behold. This gulf was the receptacle of all the storm-
created streams that flowed down the northern side of the
mountain, and the concentration of these waters had form-
ed a terrible and angry deluge. We had no alternative
but to go up or down, along the edges of the frightful
precipice of this abyss, —so we determined on the former,
as most likely to reach the much desired path we had trod-
den while ascending the mountain, but we now encoun-
tered a new difficulty that was far more formidable than
any thing we had yet contended with.

‘Tt is a remarkable feature of that climate, especially
among the highlands, that mists and fogs arise suddenly
after storms, with a density that almost precludes belief;
but whether these are caused by the influence of a vertical
sun, assisted by the heat of the rocks over which these
waters flow, that produce a sudden evaporation, I cannot
decide; nor have I ever heard it satisfactorily accounted
for. But in one of these vapours my friend and self were
doomed to be involved, and one too, that was so imper-
vious to vision, as to preclude us from distinguishing any
object more than a few feet distance. We had by this
time reached a platform of the rock, and thinking it ex-
ceedingly hazardous to persevere in our efforts, I earnestly

20

besought my companion that we should remain in our pre-
sent situation until the mists were dissipated. But my
entreaties were made in vain, and he seemed resolved to
persevere, and reach our correct path before night, or
perish in the attempt. Fatal resolution! He had ad-
vanced but a few feet, when, mistaking the density of
the curling mist for the solid rock, he stepped aside, and
was plunged into the frightful abyss! The only words
that struck my ears were, ‘help!—help!—oh!—oh!’ and
the thunder of the waters hushed his voice for ever.
Who can describe the anguish of my feelings at that fear-
ful moment? I could not see, much less could I render
him any assistance. Horror-stricken and agonized, I
threw myself, in the listlessness of sorrow, down upon
the rock, and could only give vent to my feelings by
groans and convulsive sighs. The bitterness of wo had
dried my tears, and I could find no relief whithersoever I
turned my aching head. Thus I passed a night the most
eventful and wretched of my life. Towards day I fell
asleep through exhaustion, but was aroused about ten
o’clock by the shrill blast of a bugle, and springing on my
feet, I saw, a short distance from me, a grcup of men
with some mules. These proved to be some friends,
who had become alarmed for our safety on discovering
the storm on the mountain; and learning that our guide
had returned without us, set out themselves to find and
bring us home. I told them my melancholy tale.”

Years have since gone apace—and thou, my friend,
art passed to oblivion with the rest of departed humanity —
but the fearfulness of that night often rests upon me when
my weary limbs are stretched upon the couch. I some-
times hear thy cry of ‘help!’ and the roaring waters sing-
ing thy requiem—and, in the eagerness to save thee from
that dreaded abyss, I make an effort to grasp thee in thy
fall, when the energies of my spirit awaken me from the
delirium of a dream. M. D.

Boston, Sept. 1833.

GAME LAWS OF MARYLAND.

An Act for the preservation of Wild Fowl in the waters
of Swan Creek, Spisutie Narrows, Rumney Creek,
Bush River, and Gunpowder River, in Harford
County. Cap. 161.

‘‘Secrion 1. Be it enacted by the General Assembly
of Maryland, That from and after the first day of Septem-
ber next, it shall not be lawful for any person to shoot at

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

Wild Fowl in the waters of Swan Creek, Spisutie Nar-
rows, Rumney Creek, Bush River, and Gunpowder Ri-
ver, with a gun of any description, in the night time, ex-
cept from the land.

‘¢ Section 2. And be it enacted, That it shall not be
lawful for any person either in the day or at night, to shoot
at Wild Fowl in any of the waters of the rivers, creeks,
and narrows, aforesaid, with any gun, from a skiff, float,
or other boat, which may not be conveniently fired at
arm’s length, without a rest. And any person violating
the provisions of this act, shall be taken before some jus-
tice of the peace of said county, whose duty it shall be to
require of such offender to surrender such gun, to him the
said justice, to be sold; the proceeds of which sale said jus-
tice shall pay over the one-half to the informer; the other
half to the commissioners of said county; and, in case of
neglect or refusal of such offender to surrender such gun,
it shall be the duty of the said justice to sentence him to
imprisonment in the county jail for thirty days, unless he
sooner delivers up said gun, according to the provisions of
this act.””

For the Cabinet of Natural History.
‘“‘THE HONEST ANGLER.”

Mr. Editor:—There is something so peaceful and quiet
in the occupation of the Angler, that the very name ap-
pears to invite contemplation. It has always been re-
marked, and I believe with truth, that the character of
your genuine Angler is generally kind and benevolent,
partaking, in some measure, of the nature of his harmless
sports.

‘‘Honest Zzaak Walton,” the father of all Anglers,
says, that the talent is more of a natural than an acquired
one—that ‘it is like poetry; men are born so’?—and
surely ‘* Honest Izaak’? knew best.

On the banks of the Wabash, (only a few hundred
miles west of us,) an accident lately happened to one of
the ‘‘ gifted few,” which is likely to bring some scandal
on the fraternity, and expose the brethren to the sneers
of the uninitiated.

A fine old gentlemen, and most indefatigable Angler,
who made a fishing excursion to the river almost everyday,
whether the fish bit or not, went out one warm afternoon
to fish for cat, baited with a large live frog, the hook fast-
ened to one of its legs.

One of those queer, quizzing, and ruthless fellows, who

AND AMERICAN

imiind every body’s business but their own—and who take
an especial fancy to vex quiet people, particularly Anglers
—followed, after some time, in the wake of the old gen-
tleman, to watch his motions, as he said. At last he found
him, seated on his favourite rock, close by the water’s
edge, with his rod stuck in the bank, resting between his
knees. The frog, tired of playing in the water, had
crawled out—and prevented by the line from going fur-
ther, was sitting very gravely alongside of the ‘‘ Honest
Angler’”’—who was fast asleep!—dreaming, no doubt, of
«monstrous fine bites.”

I have seen a pencil sketch of ‘the pair;” it is graphic
and amusing—

“* Oh! the jolly Angler’s life,

It is the best of any.” Watton.

B.
Cincinnati, June 8th, 1833.

CURIOUS CONTEST BETWEEN A FERRET AND
A POLECAT.

Ir was a fine afternoon in autumn, when I took my
fowling-piece, slung a couple of shooting-bags at my back,
put a well sized buck ferret in one of them, and hastened to
an extensive wood, amidst the high mountains of Wales,
which was well stocked with rabbit-burrows.

This to me is a species of sport in which I delight. My
little industrious ferret was neither expensive nor trouble-
some to keep, and none of my dogs were surer of finding
their game than he.

I entered upon my ground with the utmost caution, lest
those rabbits which are already out of their burrows should
be too soon frightened into them; for when this is the case
it is hard to make them bolt, and they will suffer them-
selves to be gnawed by the ferret before they will quit
their hiding places.

Arriving on my ground, I hid myself, and waited until
I saw two or three rabbits go of their ownaccord into one
burrow. I then, with the least possible noise, got to the
spot, and let the ferret in unmuzzled.

This is not a usual method, for muzzling is generally
preferred. But I found that when the rabbit refuses to
bolt, and has taken refuge at the further end of his burrow,
the ferret willremain in, scraping the fur off his back with
his paws, and after he has exhausted his strength in so
doing, will lay down to restand sometimes sleep. On the
other hand, when unmuzzled, he forces the prey out by
fastening on its neck, or stern.

It had not been long in when a rabbit bolted. I shot

F

RURAL SPORTS. 21

him, and before I had time to seize my prey, another
popped out a few yards off. A shot from the left-hand
barrel secured him. And thus I continued until I had
bagged two couple.

I now sat down for awhile to enjoy the beauteous
scenery about me, and to gaze upon the splendour of the
lofty mountains on the opposite side of a small valley
which separated me from them. My ferret was, as I had
imagined, safely tied up in his bag not far from my side.
But the busy rogue had made his way out, and I just had
a glimpse of his tail, as he entered a fresh burrow.

Before I could recover him, he had disappeared; I waited
some time in the hope of seeing a rabbit—none appearing,
I concluded my little slave had slept in the burrow. I
stamped on the ground, hallooed in the holes to disturb
him, but in vain; at length I applied my ear to listen.

After remaining some time in this position, I heard a
faint noise. It resembled the squeak of a ferret. I was all
astonishment; and could not account for it. I listened
again—the noise grew louder—and as if coming from
more than oneanimal. Presently, I observed the ferret’s
tail, and soon after saw that he was struggling hard to
bring something out of the burrow.

I thought it wasarabbit. The ferret continued dragging
his prize to the mouth of the hole; when to my astonish-
ment, I found him closely interlocked with a male pole-
cat; they had fastened like bull-dogs on each other’s
necks.

The polecat, when he saw me, did not quit his hold, but
redoubled his efforts, and dragged the ferret back into the
earth, and the squeaking was resumed.

I now feared for the ferret’s life, but soon observed him
again bringing his opponent to the mouth of the hole. I
drew back, hoping he might be brought out for me to take,
orshoot. The reverse, however, happened; the polecat
again rallied, kept his hold fast, and the belligerent par-
ties once more disappeared.

I neither saw nor heard any thing of them for some
time, and again feared for my little champion’s life. But
a third time I saw him lugging out his adversary with in-
creased vigour. He brought him to the mouth of the hole;
a desperate struggle ensued,—and just as I expected to see
the polecat defeated, the ferret, quite exhausted, relin-
quished the combat, and came hopping towards me, con-
siderably mangled about the throat; his enemy did not
dare to follow him, but stood deliberately snuffing up the
air, at the mouth of his burrow. I took aim at him, and,
strange to tell, my gun missed fire at least four or five
times, when the litile hero, turning quickly round, escaped
into the earth; foiling both auxiliaries, my ferret and my
gun.

I attribute the defeat of the ferret to the inevitable loss

Ze THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

of vigour, which every animal must suffer when confined
under the dominion of man, and restrained from those
habits of invariable instinct which, in their natural state,
produce in them the greatest height of perfection.
[Annals of Sporting.

THE SPEED AND STRENGTH OF THE OSTRICH.

Sports and pastimes, which appear to be varied accord-
ing to situation, the genius of the people, or other cir-
cumstances, not necessary now either to investigate or
detail, seem natural to all countries. Thus, while an
English sportsman is delighted with the chase of the fox,
the Greenlander experiences pleasure in pursuing the
seal; the inhabitants of New South Wales in coursing
the kangaroo, the Arab of the Desert feels sensations
equally agreeable in following, upon his beautiful steed,
the half-running, half-flying ostrich.

If we are to place confidence in travellers’ tales, the
ostrich is swifter than the Arabian horse; and that when
the Arabs chase this bird, they do not immediately pursue
it in a straight direction, but by turning and twisting, and
assisting each other, they accomplish that which, by a
direct pursuit they would vainly strive to attain. I
must confess I have some difficulty in placing confidence
in relations which would make us believe that the
ostrich is swifter than the Arabian horse, or our English
racer.

During the time of Mr. Adamson’s residence at Podor,
a French factory on the south side of the river Niger, he
says, that two ostriches, which had been about two years
in the factory, afforded him a sight of a very extraordinary
nature. These gigantic birds, though young, were of
nearly the full size. ‘‘ They were (he continues) so tame,
that two little blacks mounted both together on the back
of the larger. No sooner did he feel their weight than
he began to run as fast as possible, and carried them several
times round the village; and it was impossible to stop
him, otherwise than by obstructing the passage. This
sight pleased me so much that I wished it to be repeated;
and, to try their strength, directed a full-grown negro to
mount the smallest, and two others the larger. This bur-
den did not seem at all disproportioned to their strength.
At first, they went at a pretty sharp trot; but when they
became heated a little, they expanded their wings as
though to catch the wind, and moved with such fleetness,
that they scarcely seemed to touch the ground. Most
people have, one time or other, seen the partridge run;

and, consequently, must know there is no man whatever
able to keep up with it: and it is easy to imagine, that if
this bird had a longer step, its speed would be considera-
bly augmented. The ostrich moves like the partridge
with this advantage; and I am satisfied, that those I am
speaking of would have distanced the fleetest race-horses
that were ever bred in England. It is true, they would
not hold out so long as a horse, but they would, undoubt-
edly, be able to go over the space in less time. I have
frequently beheld this sight, which is capable of giving
one an idea of the prodigious strength of the ostrich,
and of showing what use it might be of, had we but the
method of breaking and managing it as we do the
horse.’ —Jdid.

INSTRUCTIONS TO YOUNG SPORTSMEN.
Now VIE:

In the present number of my instructions, I shall con-
fine myself to Grouse Shooling—embracing, under that
head, the variety of these birds found in different parts of
this country. I shall, therefore, impress on your mind,
that there are already six different species of Grouse found
in the United States, and the territories belonging to it,
viz. the Ruffed Grouse—the Pinnated Grouse—the Spot-
ted Grouse—the Dusky Grouse—the Sharp-tailed Grouse
—and the Cock of the Plains. The most common on
this list is the Ruffed Grouse, and is much better known
throughout the country than any of the other species. It
is that bird which is usually called and known as the Phea-
sant, and is found in every state of the Union, more par-
ticularly in the northern, middle, and western states. It
is a bird at all times difficult of access, except when it is
met in an undisturbed state in the wilds of the country,
and it sees man for the first time; but in populous parts, it
generally seeks the most dense thickets of low lands, and
difficult parts of hills and mountains,—and its shy and
solitary disposition renders it one of the most difficult
birds to shoct, as it always shuns the traveller or sports-
man, and seeks shelter in places almost inaccessible.

To hunt the Ruffed Grouse successfully, two persons
should be employed, and with but one good, careful old
dog, that will not run far ahead; and as these birds mostly
resort to swampy thickets in the midst of woods, it will be
well for one to go on each side of the same, while the dog
is cautiously hunting the centre. You must not suffer
your dog to range too far from you, as the bird, before it

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 23

takes flight, will frequently run a short distance, and then
dart off with incredible velocity. Should you be hunting
on hill sides, one should always hunt at the base, and the
other some distance up, or on the hill-top,—the former
keeping in advance of his companion and dog, for it often
occurs, that the bird will rise some distance ahead of the
object that appears to be following it, and an opportunity
is thus afforded to the advanced Sportsman of getting a
favourable shot, while the other can view the course the
bird may take, in case it should escape.

A Pheasant will always fly in an opposite direction to
its pursuer; but if two are thus hunting, it is more than
probable the bird will make its line of flight direct be-
tween them, and give, perhaps, both shooters an opportu-
nity of killing it. These birds will sometimes settle in
trees or bushes, when driven up by a dog, merely to avoid
the same, as it would every other enemy of the brute
kind; but if the bird does this, you may rest assured it is
either insensible of human presence, or ignorant as yet of
its nature. For in almost every instance, the bird rushes
from the voice and footsteps of man, as its most dreaded
enemy.

Although this Grouse is a solitary bird, it often hap-
pens, late in the fall, two, or even more, will associate to-
gether,—and whenever the Sportsman, at this time, should
spring one bird, he should always be on the alert for
another.

At the close of September, and until the middle of Octo-
ber, I have found these birds yet congregated in flocks,
under the parental care, even in some cases until they are
fully grown; but this has generally been in those parts
where they have remained unmolested in the enjoyment
of social intercourse. At such a time they may be fol-
lowed very successfully; but when disturbed repeatedly
by a human creature, the flock becomes separated, and they
never again unite. In shooting these birds I have always
employed an ordinary size double gun, and never larger
than No. 5, but generally No. 6 shot. For a more parti-
cular account of the Ruffed Grouse, the reader is referred
to page 13, Vol. I. of the ‘* Cabinet of Natural History.’’

The Pinnated Grouse, however, has usually ranked
first in the list of our feathered game, and whenever you
hear Sportsmen talk of Grouse shooting, they always al-
lude to this bird.

Most Sportsmen know only of the existence of this one
species asa Grouse,—as the former bird is usually called
the Pheasant, (by some the Partridge,) and the four latter,
by their remoteness, seem only to be known to natural-
ists, and a few travellers. Therefore, when the Sports-
man or public are speaking of Grouse, they mean the
Pinnated Grouse.

This bird exists no where but on plains and barren moun-
tains, protected only by high grass and small shrubbery,
and is seldom seen in the neighbourhood of water. Its thirst
is satisfied by dew-drops and rain; and in consequence of
this habit, it is rendered an object of laborious pursuit
both to Sportsmen and dogs, as the excessive fatigue in
hunting creates violent thirst, and no water being at hand
to relieve them, the dogs often are obliged to give over,
frequently before half of the day is expended. To remedy
this, Sportsmen are obliged to carry water for themselves
and dogs to some spot convenient on the ground they in-
tend to range.

The Pinnated Grouse is found in New-Jersey, within
twenty-five miles of Philadelphia, but not in numbers.
They have been persecuted and killed, and almost exter-
minated, by Sportsmen from Philadelphia, the townsof New
Jersey, and the immediate neighbourhood of the plains,
who destroy them so early in the season, that they be-
come easy and sure victims to the rapacity of these un-
feeling men.

In consequence of the labour and expense attending
Grouse shooting, and the uncertainty of success, most
Sportsmen shrink from the pursuit, and it is confined, in
the Atlantic states, to but comparatively a few indivi-
duals, and these are inhabitants of New-York, New-Jer-
sey, and Pennsylvania; and the parts now resorted to
by them, are the Plains of Long Island, and those of
Gloucester, Burlington, and Monmouth counties of New-
Jersey, and the Pocono and Broad Mountains, of Penn-
sylvania, and the whole range of high lands east of them
to the river Delaware. It is ascertained that these birds
are found in small numbers also on Martha’s Vineyard.

The prairies of the west, however, are the chief abode
of this interesting bird, where they exist in multitudes,
and often become nuisances to residents in those parts, in
consequence of the numbers which visit farms and other
settlements, in particular seasons of the year, and are fre-
quently destroyed, not for any value attached to the bird,
but to prevent the injury which might otherwise accrue
from their great numbers.

To hunt Grouse properly, you should always be sup-
plied with a reserve of dogs, not having less than four, and
from that number to eight, according to the strength of
your company. This number should be divided so as to
hunt them on alternate days. For this hunting, the
Pointer is superior to the Setter, as he can sustain heat
and thirst much better.

In the whole range of our sports there is none so fatiguing,
or that tests theenergies of the hunter and his dogs so much
as Grouse shooting, for it occurs during that season when the
sun is yet in its full power, (September and beginning of

24

October,)—the country over which you roam is either
barren mountains or endless plains,—no shelter from the
sun, nor supplies of water to slake the thirst,—and a con-
tinued growth of scrub bushes to pass through, injurious to
the dogs, and exceedingly difficult for the Sportsmen to
overcome. Besides, you often wander a day or more with-
out seeing a bird; and, after exhausting all this time, your
strength, and patience, you are obliged to return many
miles, on foot, to some habitation for the night. It re-
quires, also, that you should hunt with great caution and
quietness; the human voice should never be heard, espe-
cially if your dogs have struck a trail, and are in the
vicinity of the game. You must then be on the alert,—
and when your dogs draw to a steady point, your chief
object must be to kill the first bird that rises—for a pack
of Grouse may be at hand, and by silence, and killing the
first bird, you stand a fair chance of getting the remainder.

The bird which usually rises first, is the leader of the
whole, and is the parent cock bird,—and if he is not
killed before he challenges or alarms the others, you may
lose several fine chances, because the remainder, on hear-
ing the cry of alarm from their leader, will immediately
take wing, and escape. But if, on the contrary, the alarm is
prevented, the others will remain in their seclusion, until
you can at leisure drive them up one by one, and get the
whole. The report of your gun will not alarm them,—
but a single word spoken, will spoil your sport. It is to
be understood, however, that your dogs must he of the
first order—perfectly staunch—and which will not break
away on your fire; at this time the birds may be scattered
about, either wallowing in the earth, or in search of food,
and forms one of the most propitious periods for the
Sportsman.

Should you be successful in the early part of the day,
or on your outward range, by bagging several birds, it
will be advisable to disencumber yourself from your
burthen—provided you calculate to return nearly the same
route. In doing this, you must first select a cool spot,
under the shadow of some rocks, or the most dense shrub-
bery you can find, and after scraping away the surface of
the earth, there deposit your game. You must cover it
with moss, if you can get it, or green leaves, and on this,
or around it, place two or three pieces of tow, with burnt
powder on it, which you can procure by wiping your gun.
The object of this is to preserve the game from vermin,
particularly foxes, which it will effectually do. One im-
portant point to observe, is, that you should tie the neck
of each bird so completely tight as to admit no air; and
plug the vent with charcoal, prepared for the purpose by
being cut into a form somewhat like a sugar-loaf, only ta-
pering toa sharp point. This will preserve the birds a

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

much longer time than if omitted; and no Sportsman
should think these preparations too troublesome, on an
expedition of that kind. The difficulty of killing the
birds, and the labour and expense attending these excur-
sions, make it desirable that all means should be resorted
to, to bring your game home in a good state of preservation.

The Pinnated Grouse describes a straight, but very
long line of flight. You must, therefore, mark their
course, as correct as you can, and after you have adjusted
matters, follow immediately in their wake. You thereby
not only stand a fair chance of coming on the same birds
again, but of finding others in your route.

In respect to the size of shot to be employed, many
Grouse hunters use larger sizes than are necessary, say B,
1, 2, 3. But in this, as in other cases, I have a great
aversion to large shot. Grouse are generally hunted be-
fore they are matured, or fully fledged, and much
smaller shot is capable of destroying them, than either of
the above sizes. I would recommend you never to use
larger than No. 3, but of choice No. 4 or 5.

If your gun is of 11-16ths calibre, and proportionakly
heavy, she will be found suitable for the purpose; but you,
of course, must use more powder and shot at Grouse than
you would at smaller game.

I have often wondered why Sportsmen should so sel-
dom hunt the Ruffed Grouse. In size, it nearly equals
the Pinnated Grouse, and, in the fall, I think is quite as
good eating. And what appears more strange, is, that
gentlemen will incur great expense,—travel fifty or a
hundred miles, with a train of dogs,—spend one or two
weeks in pursuit, and generally return with no more than
four or five brace of the latter. Whereas half the time and
expense will answer, with two good dogs, to insure thrice
the success with the former, from grounds more adjacent.

The Spotted Grouse is less known than either of the
foregoing species, as they are not to be found in any of the
middle, southern, or western states; they inhabit the north
part of Maine, the Canadas, and the regions of the Rocky
Mountains. To the north they are called the Spruce
Partridge and Canada Grouse; but larger and more valua-
ble game exists in such abundance there, that the Spotted
Grouse is thought unworthy of the hunter’s notice. The
portrait and history of this bird will be given in No. 4,
Vol. III. page 85, of this work.

The other three species are found only in the far west,
particularly the Cock of the Plains, which inhabits that
country beyond the Rocky Mountains, particularly the
low lands along the Columbia river, and in size is as large
as the female Turkey. These of course cannot be objects
of pursuit, by the Sportsmen of this or the next genera-
tion. I.

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AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 25

GOLDEN-WINGED WARBLER.
SYLVIA CHRYSOPTERA.

[Plate III. Vol. 3.]

Epw. 299.—Le jfiguier aux ailes dorees, Burr. vy. 311.—
Lara. 1. 492.—/4rct. Zool. 403, No. 295. Ib. No.
296.—Motacilla chrysoptera, Turr. Syst. 1. 597.—
Motacilla flavifrons, Yellow-fronted Warbler, Id.
601.—Parus alis aureis, Bartram, p. 292.—Mota-
cilla chrysoptera, Linn. Syst. 1. p. 333.—Gmnet. Syst.
1. p. 971.—Motacilla flavifrons, Guezt. Syst. 1. p. 976.
—Sylvia chrysoptera, Lats. Ind. Orn. u. p. 541.—
Virity. Ois. de ?Am. Sept. pl. 97. Sylvia flavifrons,
Lata. Ind. Orn. u. p. 527.—Collection of L. J. Sa-
LAIGNACc, Esq.

[On a branch of Dog-wood.]

Tuts is another spring passenger through the United
States to the north. This bird, from the particular form of
its bill, ought rather to be separated from the Warblers,
or, along with several others of the same kind, might be
arranged as a sub genus, or particular family of that tribe,
which might with propriety be called Wormeaters, the
Motacilla vermivora of Turton, haying the bill exactly
of this form. The habits of these birds partake a good
deal of those of the Titmouse, and in their language and
action they very much resemble them. All that can be
said of this species is, that it appears in Pennsylvania for a
few days, about the last of April or beginning of May,
darting actively among the young leaves and opening buds,
and is rather a scarce species.

The Golden-winged Warbler is five inches long, and
seven broad; the crown golden yellow; the first and second
row of wing coverts of the same rich yellow; the rest of
the upper parts a deep ash, or dark slate colour; tail
slightly rounded, and, as well as the wings, edged with
whitish; a black band passes through the eye, and is sepa-
rated from the yellow of the crown by a fine line of white;
chin and throat black, between which, and that passing
through the eye runs a strip of white, asin the figure;
belly and vent white; upper mandibill black, gradually
tapering to a sharp point; legs dark ash; irides hazel.

Pennant has described this species twice, first as the
Golden-winged Warbler, and immediately after as the
Yellow-fronted Warbler. See the synonymes at the be-
ginning of this article. —Wutson.

G

INDIGO BIRD.
FRINGILLA CYANEA.
[Plate III. Vol. 3.]

Tanagra cyanea, Linn. Syst. 1. 315.—Le Ministre,
Burrow, tv. 96.—Indigo Bunting, Arct. Zool. u. No.
235.—Latu. Syn. 1. 205, 63.—Blue Linnet, Epw.
273.—Linaria cyanea, Bartram, p. 290.—Collection
of L. J. Sauatewac, Esq.

[On a branch of Dog-wood.]

Tuis is another of those rich-plumaged tribes, that visit
us in spring from the regions of the south. It arrives in
Pennsylvania on the second week in May, and disappears
about the middle of September. It is numerous in all the
settled parts of the middle and eastern states; in the Caro-
linas and Georgia it is also abundant. Though Catesby
says that it is only found at a great distance from the sea;
yet round the city of New-York, and in many places along
the shores of New-Jersey, I have met with them in plenty.
I may also add, on the authority of Mr. William Bartram,
that “they inhabit the continent and sea-coast islands,
from Mexico to Nova-Scotia, from the sea-coast west be-
yond the Apalachian and Cherokee mountains.”” They
are also known in Mexico, where they probably winter.
Its favourite haunts, while with us, are about gardens,
fields of deep clover, the borders of woods, and road
sides, where it is frequently seen perched on the fences.
In its manners it is extremely active and neat; and a
vigorous and pretty good songster. It mounts to the high-
est tops of a large tree, and chants for half an hour at a
time. Its song is not one continued strain, but a repeti-
tion of short notes, commencing loud and rapid, and fall-
ing by almost imperceptible gradations for six or eight
seconds, till they seem hardly articulate, as if the little
minstrel were quite exhausted; and after a pause of half a
minute or less commences again as before. Some of our
birds sing only in spring, and then chiefly in the morning,
being comparatively mute during the heat of noon; but
the Indigo bird chants with as much animation under the
meridian sun, in the month of July, as in the month of
May; and continues his song, occasionally, to the middle
or end of August. His usual note, when alarmed by an
approach to his nest, is a sharp cfzp, like that of striking
two hard pebbles smartly together.

Notwithstanding the beauty of his plumage, the vivacity
with which he sings, and the ease with which he can be

26 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

reared and kept, the Indigo bird is seldom seen domesti-
cated. The few I have met with were taken in trap-
cages; and such of any species rarely sing equal to those
which have been reared by hand from the nest. There is
one singularity, which as it cannot be well represented in
the figure, may be mentioned here, viz. that in some cer-
tain lights his plumage appears of a rich sky-blue, and in
others of a vivid verdigrise green;* so that the same bird, in
passing from one place to another before your eyes, seems
to undergo a total change of colour. When the angle of
incidence of the rays of light, reflected from his plumage,
is acute, the colour is green, when obtuse, blue. Such I
think Ihave observed to be uniformly the case, without beiug
optician enough to explain why it is so. From this, how-
ever, must be excepted the colour of the head, which being
of avery deep blue, is not affected by a change of position.

The nest of this bird is usually built in a low bush
among rank grass, grain or clover; suspended by two
twigs, one passing up each side; and is composed outward-
ly of flax, and lined with fine dry grass. I have also
known it to build in the hollow of an apple tree. The
eggs, generally five, are blue, with a blotch of purple at
the great end.

The Indigo bird is five inches long, and seven inches in
extent; the whole body is of arich sky blue, deepening
on the head to an ultramarine, with a tinge of purple; the
blue on the body, tail, and wings, varies in particular lights
to a light green, or verdigrise colour, similar to that on the
breast of a peacock; wings black, edged with light blue,
and becoming brownish towards the tips; lesser coverts
light blue; greater black, broadly skirted with the same
blue; tail black, exteriorly edged with blue; bill
black above, whitish below, somewhat larger than
Finches of the same size usually are, but less than
those of the genus Hmberiza, with which Pennant has
classed it, though I think improperly, as the bird has
much more of the form and manners of the genus Frin-
gilla, where I must be permitted to place it; legs and feet
blackish brown. The female is of a light flaxen colour,
with the wings dusky black, and the cheeks, breast, and
whole lower parts a clay colour, with streaks of a darker
colour under the wings, and tinged in several places with
bluish. Towards fall the male while moulting becomes
nearly of the colour of the female, and in one which I kept
through the winter, the rich plumage did not return for
more than two months; though I doubt not had the bird
enjoyed his liberty and natural food under a warm sun,
this brownness would have been of shorter duration. The
usual food of this species is insects and various kinds of
seeds.—/0.

* See figuro in Plate III. Vol. 3.

DOG-WOOD.

CORNUS FLORIDA.

A Branch, with Leaves and Flowers of the natural size. Plate III. Vol. 3.

Amone the eight species of Dog-wood, which have
been observed in North America, this alone is entitled, by
its size, to be classed with the forest trees. It is the most
interesting, too, for the value of its wood, the properties
of its bark, and the beauty of its flowers. In the United
States at large, it is known by the name of Dog-wood, and
in Connecticut it is also called Box-wood.

The Dog-wood is first seen in Massachusetts, between
the 42° and 43° of latitude, and in proceeding southward,
it is met with uninterruptedly throughout the eastern and
western states and the two Floridas, to the banks of the
Mississippi. Over this vast extent of country, it is one
of the most common trees, and it abounds particularly in
New-Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia,
wherever the soil is moist, gravelly, and uneven; farther
south, in the Carolinas, Georgia, and the Floridas, it is
found only in the borders of swamps, and never in pine
barrens, where the soil is too dry and sandy to sustain its
vegetation. In the most fertile regions of Kentucky,
and West Tennessee, it does not appear in the forest,
except where the soil is gravelly, and of middling quality.

The Dog-wood sometimes reaches thirty or thirty-five
feet in height, and nine or ten inches in diameter; but it
does not generally exceed the height of eighteen or
twenty feet, and the diameter of four or five inches. The
trunk is strong, and is covered with a blackish bark,
chapped into many small portions, which are often in the
shape of squares, more or less exact. ‘The branches are
proportionably less numerous than on other trees, and are
regularly disposed nearly in the form of crosses. The
young twigs are observed to incline upwards in a semi-
circular direction.

The leaves are opposite, about three inches in length,
oval, of a dark green above, and whitish beneath; the
upper surface is very distinctly suleated. ‘Towards the
close of summer, they are often marked with black spots,
and at the approach of winter they change to a dull red.

In New-York and New-Jersey, the flowers are fully
blown about the 10th or 18th of May, while the leaves
are only beginning to unfold themselves. The flowers
are small, yellowish, and collected in bunches, which are
surrounded with a very large involuere, composed of
four white floral leaves, sometimes inclining to violet.
This fine involuere constitutes all the beauty of the flow-
ers, which are yery numerous, and which, in their season,

AND AMERICAN

robe the tree in white, like a full blown apple tree, and
render it one of the fairest ornaments of the American
forest.

The seeds, of a vivid, glossy red, and of an oval shape,
are always united; they remain upon the trees till the
first frosts, when, notwithstanding their bitterness, they
are devoured by the Robin, (Turdus Migratorius,)
which about this period arrives from the northern re-
gions.

The wood is hard, compact, heavy, and fine grained;
and is susceptible of a brilliant polish. The sap is perfectly
white, and the heart is of chocolate colour. This tree is
not large enough for works which require pieces of consi-
derable volume; it is used for the handles of light tools,
such as mallets, small vices, &c. In the country, some
farmers select it for harrow teeth, for the frames of horses’
collars, and also for lining the runners of sledges; but to
whatever purpose it is applied, being liable to split, it
should never be wrought till it is perfectly seasoned. The
shoots, when three or four years old, are found proper for
the light hoops of small, portable casks; but the consump-
tion in this way is inconsiderable. In the middle states
the cogs of mill wheels are made of Dog-wood, and its di-
vergent branches are taken for the yokes which are put
upon the necks of swine, to prevent their breaking into
cultivated enclosures. Such are the profitable uses of this
tree; it affords also excellent fuel, but it is too small to be
brought into the markets of the cities.

The liber, or interior bark of the Dog-wood, is extreme-
ly bitter, and proves an excellent remedy in intermitting

RURAL SPORTS. 27

fevers. It has been known and successfully used by the
country people, as a specific in these maladies, for more
than fifty years. Its medicinal properties were made the
subject of a thesis sustained in the College of Physic at
Philadelphia, in 1803; in which was presented an analysis
of the bark of the Dog-wood, and the blue berried Dog-
wood, compared with the Peruvian bark. By the experi-
ment made on the occasion, the Dog-wood bark was shown
to have a close analogy to the Peruvian bark, and to be
capable, in many cases, of supplying its place with suc-
cess. The author of this excellent piece cites a Physician
of Pennsylvania, who, during twenty years, had constant-
ly employed it, and who estimated 35 grains of it to be
equivalent to 30 grains of the Peruvian bark. The only
inconvenience accompanying its use was, that if taken
within a year after being stript from the tree, it sometimes
occasioned acute pains of the bowels; but this evil was
remedied by adding to it five grains of Virginia snake
root, (aristolochia serpentaria.)

The same author gives a receipt for making an excel-
lent ink, in which this bark is substituted for gall nuts:—
Put half'an ounce of Dog-wood bark—2 scruples of sul-
phate of iron—and 2 scruples of gum arabic, into 16
ounces of rain water; during the infusion shake it repeat-
edly.

The Dog-wood merits the attention of Europeans, for
the value of its wood, and especially for the brilliancy of
its flowers,—by which it is better adapted than almost any
other North American tree, to the embellishment of
forests, parks, and extensive gardens.—Michauz.

THE BEAVER—(Concluded from page 9.)

AUTHENTIC HISTORY—Continued.

‘¢The beaver is an animal which cannot keep under
water long at a time; so that when their houses are broke
open, and all their places of retreat discovered, they have
but one choice left, as it may be called, either to be taken
in their houses or their vaults: in general they prefer the
latter; for where there is one beaver caught in the house,
many thousands are taken in their vaults in the banks.
Sometimes they are caught in nets, and in the summer
very frequently in traps. In winter they are very fat
and delicious; but the trouble of rearing their young, the
thinness of their hair, and their constantly roving from
place to place, with the trouble they have in providing
against the approach of winter, generally keep them very
poor during the summer season, at which time their flesh

FICTITIOUS HISTORY—Contlinued.

*¢ Hach tribe has its peculiar territory. If any foreigner
be taken in the act of marauding, he is delivered over to
the chief, who, on the first offence, chastises him with a
view to correction; but, for the second, deprives him of
his tail, which is considered as the greatest disgrace to
which a Beaver can be exposed; for the tail is the carriage
on which he conveys stones, mortar, provisions, &e. and
it is also the trowel (the figure of which it represents ex-
actly) which he uses in building. This violation of inter-
national rights, however, is considered among them as so
great an outrage, that the whole tribe of the mutilated
culprit take up arms in his cause, and proceed immedi-
ately to obtain vengeance.

‘In this conflict, the victors, availing themselves of the

28 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

AUTHENTIC HISTORY.—Continued.

is but indifferent eating, and their skins of so little value,
that the Indians generally singe them, even to the amount
of many thousandsin one summer. They have from two
to five young, at atime. Mr. Dobbs, in his account of
Hudson’s Bay, enumerates no less than eight different
kinds of beaver; but it must be understood that they are
all of one kind and species; his distinctions arise wholly
from the different seasons of the year in which they are
killed, and the different uses to which their skins are ap-
plied, which is the sole reason that they vary so much in
value.

‘¢ Joseph Lefranc, or Mr. Dobbs for him, says, that a
good hunter can kill six hundred beaver in one season, and
can only carry one hundred to market. If that was
really the case in Lefrane’s time, the canoes must have
been much smaller than they are at present; for it is
well known that the generality of the canoes which have
visited the Company’s Factories for the last forty or fifty
years, are capable of carrying three hundred beaver-skins
with great ease, exclusive of the Indian’s luggage, pro-
visions, &c.

«eIf ever a particular Indian killed six hundred beaver
in one winter, (which is rather to be doubted,) it is more
than probable that many in his company did not kill
twenty, and perhaps some none at all; so that by distri-
buting them among those who had bad success, and others
who had no abilities for that kind of hunting. there would
be no necessity of leaving them to rot, or for singing them
in the fire, as related by that author. During my resi-
dence among the Indians I have known some individuals
kill more beaver, and other heavy furs, in the course of
a winter, than their wives could manage; but the overplus
was never wantonly destroyed, but always given to their
relations, or to those who had been less successful; so that
the whole of the great hunter’s labours were always brought
to the factory. It is indeed too frequently a custom among
the southern Indians to singe many otters, as well as
beaver; but this is seldom done, except in summer, when
their skins are of so little value as to be scarcely worth the
duty; on which account it has been always thought im-
politic to encourage the natives to kill such valuable ani-
mals at a time when their skins are not in season.

‘¢ The white beaver, mentioned by Lefranc, are so rare,
that instead of being ‘blown upon by the Company’s
Factors,’ as he asserts, I rather doubt whether one-tenth of
them ever saw one during the time of their residence in
this country. In the course of twenty years experience
in the countries about Hudson’s Bay, though I tra-
yelled six hundred miles to the west of the sea-coast,

FICTITIOUS HISTORY—Continued.

customary rights of war, expel the conquered from their
home, take possession of it themselves, appoint a provi-
sional garrison for the occupation, and eventually estab-
lish in it a colony of young Beavers. In this connexion,
another circumstance relating to these truly wonderful
creatures will appear not less astonishing.

‘©The female Beaver whelps usually in the month of
April, and produces as many as four young ones. She
sustains, and carefully instructs them for a year, that is,
till the family are on the eve of a new increase; and then
these young Beavers, compelled thus to make room for
others, build a new home by the side of the paternal man-
sion, if they be not very numerous; but if there should be
too many to admit of this, they are obliged to go, with
others, to a new spot, forming a new tribe anda new estab-
lishment. If, then, about this season the enemy should
happen to be driven from his quarters, the conquerors
install in them their own young ones of the current year,
provided they be duly qualified for emancipation; or, in
other words, capable of managing for themselves.

«¢ The Indians have related to me asa positive fact, ano-
ther circumstance respecting the conduct of these ani-
mals; but it is so extraordinary, that I leave you to credit
it or not, as you may think proper.

‘¢ They allege, and some will even assert themselves to
have been eye-witnesses of such a fact, that the two chiefs
of hostile tribes sometimes terminate the quarrel by asingle
combat, in presence of the two opposing armies, instances
of which have occurred in various nations; or by a con-
flict of three with three, like the Horatii and Curatii of
antiquity.

‘¢ Beavers practise the usage of matrimony, and death
alone separates the parties. They inflict heavy punish-
ments on their females for infidelity, and sometimes even
death itself.

“In cases of sickness, they mutually and anxiously
take care of each other; and the sick express their pain by
plaintive sounds and tones like the human race.

‘¢The Indians hunt the Beaver in the same way in
which I formerly described them to you as hunting the
musk-rat: indeed the latter animal may be considered asa
Beaver of a secondary order. It is of the same shape, only
smaller, and resembles it in many of its qualities, but its
fur is very inferior in beauty and fineness. It may be
added, that in winter the Indians make holes in the ice
which covers the ponds surrounding the habitation of the
Beavers, and, carefully watching for the moment when
they lift up their heads to take breath, instantly shoot
them.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 29

AUTHENTIC HISTORY—Conitinued.

I never saw but one white beaver-skin, and it had many
reddish and brown hairs along the ridge of the back, and
the sides and belly were of a glossy silvery white. It
was deemed by the Indians a great curiosity; and I offered
three times the usual price for a few of them, if they
could be got; but.in the course of ten years that I re-
mained there afterward, I could not procure another;
which is a convincing proof there is no such thing as a
breed of that kind, and that a variation from the usual
colour is very rare.

«¢ Black Beaver, and that of a beautiful gloss, are not
uncommon: perhaps they are more plentiful at Churchill
than at any other Factory in the Bay; but itis rare to get
more than twelve or fifteen of their skins in the course of
one year’s trade.

“ Lefranc, as an Indian, must have known better than
to have informed Mr. Dobbs that the Beaver have from ten
to fifteen young at a time; or if he did, he must have
deceived him wilfully: for the Indians, by killing them
in all stages of gestation, have abundant opportunities of
ascertaining the usual number of their offspring. I have
seen some hundreds of them killed at the seasons favour-
ble for those observations, and never could discover more
than six young in one female, and that only in two in-
stances; for the usual number, as I have before observed,
is from two to five.

«“ Besides this unerring method of ascertaining the real
number of young which any animal has at a time, there
is another rule to go by, with respect to the Beaver, which
experience has proved to the Indians never to vary or de-
ceive them, that is by dissection; for on examining the
womb of a beaver, even at a time when not with young,
there is always found a hardish round knob for every young
she had at the last litter. This is a circumstance I have
been particularly careful to examine, and can affirm it to
be true, from real experience.

<¢ Most of the accounts, nay, I may say all the accounts
now extanf, respecting the Beaver, are taken from the
authority of the French who have resided in Canada; but
those accounts differ so much from the real state and ceco-
nomy of all the Beaver to the north of that place, as to
leave great room to suspect the truth of them altogether.
In the first place, the assertion that they have two doors
to their houses, one on the Jand side, and the other next the
water, is, as J have before observed, quite contrary to fact
and common sense, as it would render their houses of no
use to them, either as places of shelter from the incle-
mency of the extreme cold in winter, or as a retreat from
their common enemy the quiquehatch. The only thing

FICTITIOUS HISTORY—Continued.

“¢ Great Hare, at Bloody Lake, confidently assured me
that, on reaching the spot where two tribes of Beavers
had just been engaged in battle with each other, he had
found upon the field fifteen, dead or dying; and other
Indians, both Sioux and Cypowais, have equally declared
that they have occasionally obtained capital prizes on the
like occasions. It is perfectly correct that they are some-
times taken without a tail. I have seen one in that state
myself, which corroborates the history of the punishment
inflicted by them on obstinate offenders. In short, these
animals are deemed so very extraordinary, even by In-
dians, that they consider them as men metamorphosed
into Beavers; and killing them is regarded as conferring
upon them a very essential service, as it is conceived to
be a restoration of them to their original state of being.
Here, again, my dear Countess, is a puzzle for those who
are desirous of compacting the religion of these tribes into
a system!”’—Beltrami.*

‘¢ Itoftentimes happens that asingle Beaver lives retired,
and it is then styled by furriers, a hermzé; they say it is turn-
ed out from the family because it is lazy and will not
work. All hermit Beavers have a black mark on the in-
side of the skin upon their backs, called a saddle, which
distinguishes them. Fidelity is supposed to cause her-
mit Beavers, as they are very faithful creatures to their
mate; and by some accident or other losing that mate,
they either will not pair again, or remain single until they
can find another hermit of the contrary sex; and that the
saddle proceeds from the want of a partner to keep their
back warm!”?—4 Story of the Hunters.

(Concluded.)

* This author, who styles himself “ J. C. Beltrami, Esq. formerly Judge
of a Royal Court in the Ex-kingdom of Italy,” is what may truly be called a
“romancing traveller,” who, after making a tour through several kingdoms of
Europe, came to America, and, as he says, discovered the sources of the
Mississippi!!!

This looks very much like the affair of those Dutch navigators, who,
some time since, were exulting because they had discovered some new
islands in the Pacific,—and, after having christened them—went home re-
joicing to their master, the king, with the glad tidings. It however turned
out afterwards, that these islands had been known and visited, many years
before, by some Yankee whale ships.

But Beltrami wrote his work entirely for the ladies of Italy, to whom he
dedicated it, through a favourite Italian Countess, and therefore had to
make out some marvellous tales. But the best of the joke is, that this
author was not only most inquisitive, but credulous of every thing re-
lated to him; and his notice of the Beaver, which is inserted above, was
told with great gravity to the above author, by an officer of the
United States army, and some Indian hunters, merely to see how much he
could swallow! This took place in the camp at Council Bluffs, under Ma-
jor Long’s expedition, which place Beltrami often visited, while he travel-

30

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

AUTHENTIC HISTORY—Continued.

that could have made M. Du Pratz, and other French
writers, conjecture that such a thing did exist, must have
been from having seen some old beayer-houses which had
been taken by the Indians; for they are always obliged
to make a hole in one side of the house before they can
drive them out; and it is more than probable that in so
mild a climate as Canada, the Indians generally make
those holes on the land side, which without doubt gave
rise to the suggestion. The Northern Indians think that
the sagacity of the Beaver directs them to make that part
of their house which fronts the north much thicker than
any other part, with a view of defending themselves from
the cold winds which generally blow from that quarter
during the winter; and for this reason the northern In-
dians generally break open that side of the Beaver-houses
which exactly front the south.

‘‘¥In respect to the Beaver dunging in their houses, as
some persons assert, it is quite wrong, as they always
plunge into the water to do it. Iam the better enabled
to make this assertion, from having kept several of them
till they became so domesticated as to answer to their name,
and follow those to whom they were accustomed, in the
same manner as a dog would do, and they were as much
pleased at being fondled, as any animal I ever saw. I had
a house built for them, and a small piece of water before
the door, into which they always plunged when they
wanted to ease nature; and their dung being of a light
substance, immediately rises and floats on the surface,
then separates and subsides to the bottom. When the
winter sets in so as to freeze the water solid, they still
continue their custom of coming out of their house, and
dunging and making water on the ice; and when the
weather was so cold that I was obliged to take them into
my house, they always went into a large tub of water
which I set for that purpose: so that they made not the
least dirt, though they were kept in my own sitting-room,
where they were the constant companions of the Indian
women and children, and were so fond of their company,
that when the Indians were absent for any considerable
time, the Beaver discovered great signs of uneasiness, and
on their return showed equal marks of pleasure, by fond-
ling on them, crawling into their laps, laying on their
backs, sitting erect like a squirrel, and behaving to them
like children, who see their parents but seldom. In

led, as far as he could, under the protection afforded by the United States
The above facts were related to the writer by one of the most emi-
nent men on this expedition, only last summer; and these remarks are
made to show how often the world is deluged by fabulous stories on mat-
ters which should be preserved in entire purity.—[Ep.]

forces.

general, during the winter they lived on the same food as
the women did, and were remarkably fond of rice and
plum-pudding: they would eat partridges and fresh veni-
son very freely, but I never tried them with fish, though
I have heard they will at times prey on them. In faet,
there are few of the granivorous animals that may not be
brought to be carniverous. It is well known that our do-
mestic poultry will eat animal food: thousands of geese
that come to London market are fattened on tallow-craps;
and our horses in Hudson’s Bay would not only eat all
kinds of animal fogd, but also drink freely of the wash, or
pot-liquor, intended for the hogs.

‘¢ With respect to the inferior, or slave-beaver, of which
some authors speak, it is, in my opinion, very difficult
for those who are best acquainted with the economy of
this animal to determine whether there are any that de-
serve that appellation or not. It sometimes happens, that
a Beaver is caught, which has but a very indifferent coat,
and which has broad patches on the back, and shoulders
almost wholly without hair. This is the only foundation
for asserting that there is an inferior, or slaye-beaver,
among them. And when one of the above description is
taken, it is perhaps too hastily inferred that the hair is
worn off from those parts by carrying heavy loads: where-
as it is most probable that it is caused by a disorder that
attacks them somewhat similar to the mange; for were
that falling off of the hair occasioned by performing extra
labour, it is natural to think that instances of it would be
more frequent than there are; as it is rare to see one of
them in the course of seven or ten years. I have seen a
whole house of those animals that had nothing on the
surface of their bodies but the fine soft down; all the long
hairs having molted off. This and every other deviation
from the general run is undoubtedly owing to some par-
ticular disorder—Hearne’s Journey to the Northern
Ocean, and through the country west of Prince of Wales
Fort, Hudson Bay, 4. D.1771.

‘© As all the accounts which I have hitherto read of
Beavers, are very erroneous, I shall here communicate my
observations on those animals. I suppose that none of
the writers who have mentioned them, ever saw a Beaver-
house, but related only the tales of illiterate furriers,
whose veracity is not to be depended upon. I tremble at
feeling myself under the necessity of contradicting that
celebrated natural historian, Compt de Buffon; yet I must
take the liberty to do it. Hesays, ‘A Beaver has a scaly
tail, because he eats fish;? I wonder much that Monsieur
Buffon had not one himself for the same reason; for ] am

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 31

AUTHENTIC HISTORY.—Cotinnued.

sure that he has eaten a great deal more fish, than all the
Beavers in the world put together. Beavers will neither
eat fish, nor any other animal food; but live upon the leaves
and bark of such trees and shrubs as have not a resinous
juice, and the root of the water-lilly. I have known them
eat black spruce; and they will sometimes cut down
silver-fur; but I believe that is only to build with when
other trees are scarce. When they eat, they hold their
food in their fore-paws, and sit up like monkeys. In the
summer time they ramble about very much, paying little
regard to their houses, and will make a bed of sticks shred
fine, under a bush near the water-side, and there sleep:
the first bed of this kind which I found, I took te be the
nest of a goose. Ifthe pond which they lived in the last
winter, has plenty of such food as they like, growing by
the side of it, and they have not been disturbed by man,
they will seldom quit it; but if there bea scarcity of food,
they will wander about in search of another, where they
can be more plentifully supplied: and it has been long ob-
served, that of all the trees which grow in Newfoundland
or Labrador, they like the aspen best, and next to that the
birch. Having found a place convenient for the purpose,
they commonly begin early in August to erect their
house. The sticks which they make use of on this occa-
sion, are of all sizes, from the thickness of a man’s ancle
to his little finger, but very seldom of larger dimensions.
They pile up these materials in the form of a dome, some-
times to the height of six or seven feet above the level of
the ground, but commonly not more than four. The base
is generally of an oval form; the height ten or twelve
feet, and eight or nine in width. As they raise this pile
above, they hollow it out below, taking care that their bed,
or lodging-place, shall be above the reach of floods, and
sufficiently roomy to contain the whole family. From the
fore part of the house, they build a projection into the
pond, sloping downwards all the way, and under this they
enter into their house. This entrance is called by the
furriers, the angle ; nor do they always content themselves
with one, but more commonly will have two, and some-
times three. They have but one apartment, which is
termed the lodging, and which is shaped in the inside
like an oven, the bottom of which is covered with the
shreds of sticks, resembling fine narrow shavings. Ata
little distance from the angle, is their magazine of provi-
sions, which consists of the roots of water-lilly, and the
branches of trees; the but-ends of the latter they stick into
the mud where there is any. The whole is termed writh,
and I have seen as much as a cart would hold; great part
appearing above water. They are very industrious crea-

tures, for even amidst a superabundance of provisions,
they will continue to add to the store; and though their
house be completely built, they will still carry on fresh
works, until the pond is frozen firm over; they will even
keep a hole open to work on the house for some nights
after; provided the frost is not very severe; and as they
will enter every old house and do a little work upon it,
young furriers are frequently deceived thereby, supposing
those houses to be inhabited. Although they will some-
times continue in the same pond for three or four years or
more, yet they will frequently build themselves a new
house every year; at other times they will repair an old
one, and live in that, and they often build a new
house upon or close adjoining to an old one, making
the two tops into one, and cut a communication be-
tween the lodgings: hence, I presume, arose the idea
of their having several apartments. When the pond
is not deep enough for them, they will throw a dam across
the mouth of the brook by which it discharges its water,
to raise it to a sufficient height; making use of sticks, stones,
mud, and sand, for this purpose. Some of these I have
seen of great length and strength, insomuch that I have
walked over them with the greatest safety, though not
quite dry-shod, if they be new, as the water always sheds
over them, being on an exact level from end toend. But
if, notwithstanding the stint, they cannot raise the water
to a proper depth, near the bank, they build their house
inthe pond, at a few yards distance from the shore, be-
ginning at the bottom and hollowing it out as they go on,
for they must have about three feet depth over the end of
the angle, or the water would freeze in it, and they could
go neither in nor out. If there be an island in the pond, they
generally make their house on that, being the safest place,
and by far the greatest number of houses are on the north
shore, for the advantage of the sun. They have no opening
from their house, on the land side, and for these reasons;
because the frosty air would enter at that hole, and freeze
up the water in the angle, whereby they would be cut off
from their magazine; the wolves likewise, and other ene-
mies, might enter thereat, and kill them; and the cold
would be greater than they could bear.

‘Beavers generally bring forth two young ones ata
time, which are most commonly male and female; yet
they will often have but one, especially the first time of
breeding; and sometimes three or four. The first year,
they are called pappooses—the second, small medlers—
the third, /arge medlers—the fourth, Beaver—and, after
that, old or great Beaver. They copulate in May, and
bring forth towards the end of June. The young ones

$2 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

AUTHENTIC HISTORY—Continued.

continue to live with their parents until they are full three
years old; then pair off, build a house for themselves, and
begin to breed. Yet sometimes, and not uncommonly, if
they are undisturbed and have plenty of provisions, they
will continue longer with the old ones, and breed in the
same house.

‘¢Whether they do ordo not make use of their tails as
trowels to plaster their houses with, I cannot say, though
I am inclined to believe they do not; because their tail is
so heavy, and the tendons of it so weak, though numerous,
that I do not think they can use it to that effect; and that
therefore they daub the earth on with their hands, for I
must call them so. When they dive, they give a smack
on the water with their tails as they go down; but that
appears to me to proceed from the tail falling over with
its own weight. They move very slowly on land, and
being also a very cowardly creature, are easily killed there
by any man or beast that chances to meet with them: yet,
being defended by Jong fur, and a thick skin, and armed
with long strong teeth, firmly set in very strong jaws, they
are capable of making a stout resistance. I have heard
of an old one, which cut the leg of a dog nearly off at one
stroke, and I make not the least doubt of the truth of the
information. Still I have been informed, that otters will
enter their houses and kill them; but I believe it must
only be the young ones, when the old ones are from home;
for I hardly think that an old Beaver would suffer itself to
be killed by an otter.

«« These creatures begin to grow fat after the middle of
July, arein tolerable case by the end of August, and by
the end of September are at their best, provided they have
good living, and are not disturbed. Those which feed
upon brouze, particularly on birch, are the most delicious
eating of any animal in the known world; but the flesh of
those which feed upon the root of the water-lilly, although
it makes them much fatter than any other food, hasa strong
taste, and is very unpleasant. After Christmas they begin
to decline, and by May are commonly poor; in these par-
ticulars they resemble the poreupine, as they do in many
other respects.

<< Buffon and others say, that they make use of their tails
as sleds to draw stones and earth upon: I cannot contra-
dict their assertions, as I have never seen these ani-
mals work; but I do not believe it, because, their tails
being thickest at the root and down the centre part, it
would be almost impossible for them to keepa stone on it,
unless held there by another. Nor have I ever observed,
that they had taken any stones off the ground; but they
bring them from the sides and bottoms of the water, and

must make use of their hands for those purposes, as they
could easier shove and roll them along, than draw them on
their tails: besides, the skin of the under part of the tail
would be rubbed off by the friction on the ground; which
never yet has been observed to be the case with them, and
is astronger proof, that they never do make use of them
for that purpose. Those who compare this account with
the writings of Buffon and others, will find a great differ-
ence, but it must be remembered, that they wrote entirely
from hearsay, and I, from experience chiefly.—Cart-
wright’s Journal of Transactions on the Coast of La-
brador, 4. D. 1783.

‘¢ The Indians inhabiting the countries watered by the
tributaries of the Missouri and Mississippi, take the Beavers
principally by trapping, and are generally supplied with
steel-traps by the traders, who do not sell, but Jend or
hire them, in order to keep the Indians dependant upon
themselves, and also to lay claim to the furs which
they may procure. The name of the trader being stamped
on the trap, it is equal to a certificate of enlistment, and
indicates, when an Indian carries his furs to another trad-
ing establishment, that the individual wishes to avoid the
payment of his debts. The business of trapping requires
great experience and caution, as the senses of the Beayer
are very keen, and enable him to detect the recent pre-
sence of the hunter by the slightest traces. It is neces-
sary that the hands should be washed clean before the
trap is handled and baited, and that every precaution
should be employed to elude the vigilance of the animal.

«¢The bait which is used to entice the Beaver is pre-
pared from the substance called castor (castoreum,) ob-
tained from the glandulous pouches of the male animal,
which contain sometimes from two to three ounces. This
substance is called by the hunters Jark-stone, and is
squeezed gently into an open-mouthed phial.

‘¢The contents of five or six of these castor bags are
mixed with a nutmeg, twelve or fifteen cloves, and thirty
grains of cinnamon, in fine powder, and then the whole is
stirred up with as much whiskey as will give it the con-
sistency of mustard prepared for the table. This mixture
must be kept closely corked up, and in four or five days
the odour becomes more powerful; with care it may be
preserved for months without injury. Various other
strong aromatics are sometimes used to increase the pun-
gency of the odour. Some of this preparation, smeared
upon the bits of wood with which the traps are baited,
will entice the Beaver from a great distance.

‘¢ The different appearances of the fur, caused by age,

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 33

AUTHENTIC HISTORY.—Continued.

season, disease, or accident, has at times led individuals to
state the existence of several species of Beaver in this
country. No other species, however, has yet been disco-
vered, but that whose habits we have been describing.
Beavers are occasionally found nearly of a pure white,
which is owing to the same cause that produces albino vya-
rieties of various animals.

<¢ The Beaver is about two feet in length, having a thick
and heavy body, especially at its hinder part. The head
is compressed and somewhat arched at the front, the up-
per part being rather narrow, and the snout at the extre-
mity, quite so; the neck is very short and thick. The eyes
are situated rather high up on the head, and have rounded
pupils; the ears are short, elliptical, and almost entirely
concealed by the fur. The whole skin is covered by two
sorts of hair; one which is long, rather stiff, elastic, and of
a gray colour for two-thirds of its length next the base, and
terminated by shining, reddish, brown points, giving the
general colour to the pelage; the other is short, very fine,
thick, tufted and soft, being of different shades of silver
gray or light lead colour. On the head and feet the hair
is shorter than elsewhere. The tail, which is ten or
eleven inches long, is covered with hair similar to that of
the back, for about one-third of its length nearest the base,
the rest of it iscovered by hexagonal scales, which are not
imbricated.’’—Godman.

The Beaver appears to inhabit, at present, the northern
and western regions of America, although there are evi-

dent traces that they were once dispersed over all the parts.

which now constitute the United States; nearly every
state has its traditionary remains of the Beaver in certain
locations, as Beaver dams, Beaver falls, Beaver creeks,
Beaver rivers, Beaver lakes, &e. But now, the encroach-
ment of the human species has driven them to more remote
places, where they are still pursued by the persecuting
hand of avarice and rapacity, until the complete extermina-
tion of this valuable creature may be expected with cer-
tainty.

The parts in which these animals may be said more to
abound, are, the country about Hudson’s Bay, extending
from the coast of Labrador, through the interior, to the
Pacific Ocean; and on all of the streams tributary to the
Upper Miveouti and Mississippi rivers, the north fork
of the river Platte particularly, and the standing waters
throughout that section of country. These are the

I

great fields for trapping and hunting, and are resorted to
by those tribes of Indians residing east of the Rocky
Mountains. Immense numbers are taken and disposed of
by. them to the different trading establishments in various
parts of the north and west. Some idea may be formed
of the quantity taken, by the fact, that from the years
1793, to 1802, one million four hundred and fifty-one
thousand nine hundred and eighty-four Beaver skins
were shipped from the port of Quebec alone;* and in 1820
sixty thousand skins were sold by the Hudson’s Bay
Company. Now, if we were to add to these the number
taken by those tribes of Indians extending through that
vast expanse of country lying between Lake Michigan, and
the Rocky Mountains, and from the 38th to the 52d paral-
lel, embracing an extent of continent, eight hundred by
twelve hundred miles, we must suppose that in less than
a century, scarcely a representative of that interesting
race of animals will be left. Although the Beaver is a
very prolific animal, yet the manner of destroying them
evidently tends to their final extermination. No regard
is paid by some reckless hunters to the situation of the
old female Beavers, which are often killed within a few
days of their littering season, whereby not only the indi-
vidual, but her whole progeny are destroyed. Multitudes
of young are also killed, before they attain an age to make
them of any value. How then can a race of beings exist,
through any extent of time, when such an annihilating
war is constantly waged against them ?

Thus it will be seen, even when divested of intellec-
tual properties, the Beaver is an exceedingly interesting
animal, whether we view it during its life, or in its death.

“The short period of its existence, which, at most, seldom

exceeds fifteen years, is a scene of industry, providence,
and perseverance. Its habits as regards their own com-
munities, is social and peaceful; it never destroys life or
commits violence for its own sustenance; nor does it ag-
gress the rights of a neighbouring animal. Its death is
sought by the hunter for the value of its skin, which be-
comes subject to many changes and a succession of owners.
In the first place the skins of the Beaver form a basis for
the hunter’s livelihood; then passing to the traders, become
a source of profit which causes them to forego civilization
and its attending benefits; from these in numbers they find
their way to the cities of America and Europe, and form
an article of merchandise so vast in amount as to engage
the attention of large capitalists; and then again, passing

* Jenning’s Cyclopedia.

34

from these, they are scattered over various parts of the
world, until the factors make the final change, by convert-
ing them into fashionable and necessary ornaments of
dress.

In appearance the Beaver much resembles the rat, par-
ticularly the musk-rat, having the same actions on land
and in the water, and at a short distance would be taken
for the latter; but on a closer view, the difference is at
once seen, by the proportionably larger head, and the
broad, flattened, and scaly tail of the Beaver.

NOTES OF A NATURALIST.
BY JACOB GREEN, M. D.

PROFESSOR OF CHEMISTRY, IN JEFFERSON COLLEGE.

The Early Settlement of our Village.

In many of the newly settled districts of the United
States, their physical and literary character is undergoing
continual, rapid, and important changes. A short inter-
val of time will there often sweep away the external ves-
tiges of things; the fields, the forests, the village, and
the population, are sometimes all quickly succeeded by a
new order of affairs, and with them the memory of the past
is frequently lost forever. A few years will sometimes
effect more in this country, in these respects, than whole
centuries often produce, in the old world.

There are many interesting facts connected with the
early settlement of our village, now fresh in the recollec-
tions of some of the older inhabitants, and which would
be highly interesting to those who may come after us, to
collect and preserve. The rude log cabin is still in ex-
istence in our neighbourhood, from which the light of
science first emanated, west of the Alleghanies, a spot
where the early settler first received the benefits of know-
ledge, and where he was taught the elements and the bless-
ings of religion, ‘That spot will ever be held in honoured
remembrance by the genuine lover of science and piety; and
many a future antiquary will no doubt visit it, with more
enthusiasm, than the lofty domes and splendid halls of
science in the Eastern World. My present object is
merely to notice two or three anecdotes relating to the
first habitable edifice erected in this vicinity, and which
was the commencement of our flourishing town. The
facts I shall state were received from the venerable
and virtuous companion of the first settler himself, a

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

few hours only before her lips were sealed in eternal
silence.

The first partial clearing of land made in the heart of
the vast forest, which then covered all our surrounding
hillsand vallies, was the identical spot where our Lyceum
of Natural Science now holds its sessions. . But little more
than fifty years since, the wigwam of the Indian may have
occupied the spot where now stands this hall of science.
I was informed, if it were practicable to point out the ex-
act metes and bounds of the first enclosure of ground made
in this town, it would exactly include the foundation on
which our new and noble college edifice is now erected.
The house first built here was formed in the usual manner,
of logs—but the roof, instead of being made with boards
in the way commonly practised by our first settlers, was
constructed with shingles. In that early day the uses of
iron were but rarely applied to buildings west of the moun-
tains, except by the more opulent settlers, as the want of
beaten roads, and the great weight of the materials, rendered
it very expensive to transport them from the distant At-
lantic states. All the nails and iron work of this our first
dwelling-house, were, however, brought in packs by horses
over the mountains. The roof, I was told, was the only
one constructed with nails and shingles in all this neigh-
bourhood for a cunsiderable time.

When our first college hall was erected, the old house
which was the commencement of the town, was remoyed
from its first site about fifty yards, to the place where it
now stands. It has undergone but little change since it
was first erected, and long may it be preserved as a monu-
ment of the enterprise and industry of the founder of our
village.

The second dwelling was, except the roof, of the same
rude architecture, as the one we have just described. It
stood some distance down the hill, just at the north-east
corner of the main street and the turnpike road. It was
built for the person who managed the mill, which is on the
creek at the foot of the town. The old mill has been long
removed; but the one now in operation is exactly on the
same site the original one occupied. All the hill side be-
tween the first and second dwelling house was, till within
a few years, covered with a multitude of flowering native
shrubs and trees. The briar and hazle here spread their
branches in wild luxuriance—and many persons now
alive among us can recollect when the tall trees of the
forest, with vines clustering round their branches, shaded
the path from one house to the other.

The romantic hills and vallies of our neighbourhood ap-
pear to have been in former times the scene of frequent
savage contention; for numberless arrow-heads and other
implements of Indian warfare are now found in several

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

places. In some spots the council-fire seems to have been
suddenly extinguished, and the yell and the war-whoop
to have immediately succeeded. Near the summit of one
of our hills there is a number of Indian graves, in which
the bodies seem to have been interred singly, and in the
modern style of sepulture.

These few anecdotes will be sufficient to demonstrate
the wonderful changes which often occur in some parts of
our country, even when uninfluenced by peculiar local
advantages, or by the all-pervading stimulus of commer-
cial speculation. The same individual might have here
seen the same spot of earth, at one time a wild forest,
the haunt of the Indian and the resort of beasts of prey,
and at another the site of a flourishing town, and a distin-
guished abode of science and the liberal arts. Along the
same path where he once pursued the deer, the bear, and
the panther, he might now on either side behold the com-
modiousdwellings ofa refined society, and spacious temples
devoted toa pure religion. He might have seen the wily
Indian paddling his rude canoe gently over the surface of
our creek, to surprise his game in the tangled brake, where
now he hears the ceaseless splashing of the mill wheel, or
beholds the highly cultivated field rich with the golden
harvest. In a word, ‘‘he might here have seen all the in-
termediate stages through which a people pass. frou) ilic
most simple to the highest degrees vf clvilization.”” How
important, then, isit if we wish to preserve accurate anec-
dotes of our early history, to seize upon all existing facts,
and all present authentic reminiscences, before every ves-
tige of the past is hurried to hopeless oblivion.

On some of the Reptiles of our neighbourhood.

No department of the animal kingdom has furnished so
much amusement to my leisure hours, as the class called
Reptilia; and in the vast assemblage of animals grouped
by naturalists under this name, those familiarly known by
the name of the Tortoise, have been peculiarly interesting.
Count De Cepede happily remarks, ‘‘that the tortoise
has every where been the type of laziness; that it has fur-
nished the philosophers with speculations, the poet with
images, and the vulgar with proverbs.”? The lover of na-
ture will frequently meet with much obloquy from the ig-
norant, and will sometimes be thrown into a little diffi-
culty in consequence of his favourite pursuit. On one
occasion, while searching for these animals in the neigh-
bourhood of a remote, unfrequented town, my motions
through the woods, and along the streams, were narrowly
and secretly watched, and on returning to the village,
while sitting at the tea-table, with one of the officers of the
peace and his family, the judge was called from the par-

35

lour to make out a warrant for my apprehension, the in-
former testifying that I was a suspicious person,—that he
had seen, in my room at the inn, a number of vials of
‘¢ poticary stuff,”’ and that I had been lurking in the fields
and woods after no good. The judge could scarcely pa-
cify him by acknowledging me as his friend, and by stat-
ing that my visit was to analyze their mineral waters, and
to search for natural objects.

The American tortoises, both land and aquatic, are quite
numerous, and have as yet been but very imperfectly de-
scribed. The species which inhabit the streams in the
immediate vicinity of our town, are probably seven in
number. The Testudo Pennsylvania, and T. odorata,
(Kinosternon,) I have not seen, though I am informed that
they inhabit our ditches and muddy streams. The Tes-
tudo Punctata, or Guttata, (Emys.) is not very common,
and rarely reaches the length of three inches. . The Tes-
tudo Picta, is also small, and not often seen. Major Le
Conte observes of this animal, ‘that it is always found
in ponds, and neyer in streams of running water. Here
they may be seen in great numbers, basking in the sun,
on rocks or logs, and plunging instantaneously into the
water on the approach of any one.”” The above remark
of this accurate and experienced observer of nature, is no
deupt true in general, but I have seen and captured the
Punctata and the Picta, on the same spot, in one of our
clear running streams of watc.. These two species are
perhaps the most beautiful of our tortoises; their colours
and markings are striking and peculiar; in young speci-
mens, these are the most brilliant and well detined. The
Testuda Serpentina, (Chelydra,) inhabits our creek, aoc
reaches a very considerable size. It is the most irritable,
furious, and voracious of reptiles; it snaps at every thing,
and will not ‘let go its hold even when the head is sepa-
rated from the body.’’ It is often very destructive to our
young ducks, seizing them, as Mr. Say remarks, by the
feet, and dragging them under water for the purpose of
devouring them; in its turn, however, it is eaten by our
villagers, with great gout, forming, as every one knows, a
most delicious and nutritive soup. ‘The Testudo Geogra-
phica, (Hmys.) I have not, as yet, been able to detect in
our creek; but I captured a small one in the Ohio, not far
from its junction with that river.* The tail was destitute

* J take this opportunity to describe a fine shell found last summer near
the banks of the Ohio, some distance lower down, by Mr. W.'T. R. Smith,
a young limner of great promise, and which he kindly presented to me.

Helix Pomum-adami.—Shell, reddish-brown, with a metalliferous hue,
lighter round the base; spire, convex; whorls, eight or nine, with regular
elevated transverse lines, forming deep grooves between them; sutures, deep,
aperture rather narrow ; lip, not reflected; within the aperture on the outer
lip, there are two parallel white teeth, the upper one is broad, flattened, and

alt

36 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

of the yellow rings, noticed by Mr. Le Sueur, in the spe-
cimen he first discovered on the borders of Lake Erie. The
Testudo Ferox, (Zrionyzx,) is quite abundant, and arrives
at avery considerable size. The boys of the village fre-
quently take it with the hook and line; being excellent
food, it isnot uncommon to find it in our little market,
which cannot boast of many delicacies. It is said that this
animal ¢¢ is not found in any of the streams which empty
immediately into the Atlantic ocean, to the northward of
Savannah.” This is very remarkable, for they are cer-
tainly very abundant in most of the tributaries of the Mis-
sissippi, in the Ohio, and in all the streams which flow into
this mighty river. Why this animal should have been called
the fierce tortoise, by way of distinction, no one can tell,
for they seem less disposed to bite than any of the other
species.

Testudo Clausa, or Carolina, (Cistuda.) I have been
quite surprised and disappointed to find, that the /and tor-
Zoise, so common throughout the United States, should in
our village be a total stranger. I have never seen it in
our woods myself, and upon showing one, which I brought
with me from the east of the Alleghanies, to a number of
the inhabitants, they declared that it was not to be found
in the neighbourhood. I have but little doubt, however,
that it may occasionally be seen, I have examined mul-
titudes in other places, and will here give the result of my
observations. It would be very difficult to describe all the
varieties of colour, and markings, found in the different indi-
viduals of this Protean species. The predominant colours
are, heweyer, yellow and brown. In most instances the
number of segments, or pieces which compose the upper
shell, are thirteen central, and twenty-five marginal ones;
but, in one instance, I found only eleven scutellz on the
centre; this remarkable variety is now in the cabinet
of the College at Princeton. ‘‘ The shell is so hard, and
the animal so strong, that it can easily walk with a weight
of sixty pounds on his back.”? When surprised, or alarm-
ed, he withdraws his head and limbs, and closes the upper
and under shells with great muscular foree; he thus shuts
himself in his castle, where he will often remain for hours
in perfect quietude. Many individuals, either through age
or corpulence, are unable to withdraw all the parts of
the body, and accurately to close the upper and under
shell together, and thus avail themselves of this natural
defence. Some persons keep these animals in cellars to
destroy troublesome insects; but I have found that after

rather bifid, the other is thin and sharp. Base of the shell near the coller
mella very much depressed ; wnbilicus very small. Breadth, more than one-
fourth of an inch.

It resembles slightly the H. gularis of Mr. Say, but cannot, I think, be
confounded with that small species.

two or three years confinement, in such situations, they
commonly die. I sent a box of our land tortoises, well
packed in straw, across the Atlantic, to my friend, J. E.
Gray, Esq. of the British Museum, {where they all ar-
rived, after a voyage of about forty days, in health and
safety, and are now living, I understand, in the Zoological
Gardens at London.

The land tortoise, though apparently so unworthy of at-
tention, has been for ages the chosen favourite of the cu-
rious. Derham, and other writers of eminence, have no-
ticed the memorable tortoise introduced into the Arch-
episcopal gardens at Lambeth, in the time of Archbishop
Laud, where it lived one hundred and twenty years, and at
last died, not apparently from the effects of age, but owing
to accidental neglect on the part of the gardener. The
Rey. Mr. White, in his Natural History of Selbourne, has
given a very amusing account of a domestic land tortoise,
to which I shall occasionally refer in my account of the
manners and private history of our own animal, which
follows. The European tortoise, of Archbishop Laud, and
of the Rey. Mr. White, is the T. Greea, and differs much
in its habitsfrom ours. I received a fine large specimen of
the Greca, from the Prince of Musignano, now residing
near Rome; and have thus had an opportunity of com-
paring the two animals.

About the first of May I confined, in a small enclo-
sure near to my office window, an old tortoise, (7: Clausa,)
which had been loitering about the garden for two or three
years.* Within the enclosure there was a small box, or
house, to shelter him from the sun and rain, and a little

* The length of my tortoise, from the end of the nose to the extremity of
the tail, is exactly eight inches. The breadth of his shell, three inches, and
his weight one pound. His upper shell is of an oval form, composed of
thirteen scutellez, or middle pieces, and twenty-four marginal ones, with a
small elevated oval scale in front; an elevated ridge running through the
middle. The under shell is composed of twelve distinct pieces, and is di-
vided nearly in the middle into two parts, joined together by a tough skin.
These two pieces are moveable, and when the animal is surprised, these are
drawn close to the upper shell. The under shellis of a very pale yellow,
with dark lines, where the twelve different pieces meet each other, and the
upper one has a ground of pale yellow, with dusky brown marks. ‘The up-
per part of the head, which is covered with a hard scaly substance, is of the
same colour with the back. The legs, which are surrounded with ovate
scales, are of the colour of the under shell, though of a brighter hue. He
has five stout curved claws on his fore feet, and but four, having less eurva-
tures, on his other feet. His tail is about one-third the length of his legs,
and is not covered with scales. His skin, on the sides and throat, is yellow-
ish, sprinkled with minute bright vermillion spots; that part which sur-
rounds the neck when extended, envelopes the head when withdrawn. His
nostrils are placed above the beak; and his eyes, which seem to be scarcely
moveable in their sockets, are remarkably intelligent. The iris is of a red-
dish hazel, and the pupil, which he cannot dilate or contract, is of a shining
brown.

ait

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

cave excavated in the ground for his retreat from the cold.
In this last place I expected he would have passed most of
his time, but in this I found myself mistaken. From the
circumstance of finding my tortoise so early in the spring,
T conclude that he generally comes forth from his winter
retreat, or revives from his torpid state, about the latter end
of April. His time of appearance must, however, be in
some measure regulated by the temperature in different
years. I was agreeably disappointed to find that his ap-
petite, at this season, was very good, for I had supposed
that, so shortly after his long sleep, he would have disco-
vered but little inclination for food, and that he would re-
serve himself for the height of summer, when I expected
to find him voracious. I kept a pretty accurate account of
his diet, and I found but little variation in his appetite
during the whole season, till the beginning of October,
when the most delicate morsel would scarcely tempt him
to eat. Some writers say, that the tortoise will live a
year and a half without any kind of nourishment; whatever
may be the fact in the case, I cannot say, but I found that
a short abstinence considerably increased the disposition
of my favourite for food. Major Le Conte remarks, that
the land tortoise feeds “on fruit, insects, and edible fungi,
particularly the different species of clavaria.’’? The land
tortoise of Europe, it is said, lives almost wholly on vege-
tables, and that it seldom makes its prey of snails and worms
unless other food is not found im grateful plenty. I am
disposed to think that our animal is“almost wholly carni-
vorous. I never knew but one instanceof its ever tasting
any kind of vegetable, except a mushroom, which} ‘itis well
known, approaches nearer to animal substance than any
other plant. Neither am I quite sure that the instance
alluded to forms an exception, for the tortoise was only
seen near a mushroom, which, upon examination, seemed
to have been bitten by it. The peculiar structure of the
jaws favours, I think, the idea that it is carnivorous; these
are armed with bony plates and not with teeth, which
seem, in most cases, essential to animals that support life
with vegetable nourishment. On one occasion, after an ab-
stinence of a week, I threw into my tortoise many kinds
of vegetables, such as purslain, lettuce, clover, and dande-
lion, but he did not fancy them in the least, and would
not eat a mouthful; but animal food of any kind, either raw
or cooked, he swallowed with avidity; the common earth-
worm appeared to be his favourite dish.*

* The account which I have given of the diet of my land tortoise, and his
predilection for animal food, is strictly correct ; but my friend Mr. Titian R.
Peale informs me, that in two or three individuals of the testudo clausa
which he had domesticated, one seemed to prefer fruits and esculent plants,
and another, animal food, a difference of taste probably arising from the
greater or less abundance of the kind of food in their natural haunts, This

K

37

The Rev. Mr. White, in the history of his tortoise, re-
marks, “that no part of its behaviour ever struck him more
than the extreme timidity it always expressed with regard
to rain; for though it has a shell that would secure it
against the wheel of a loaded cart, yet does it discover as
much solicitude about rain, as a lady dressed in all her
best attire, shuffling away on the first sprinkling, and run-
ning its head up inacorner. If attended to, it becomes
an excellent weather-glass, for as soon as it walks elate,
and, as it were, on tip-toe, feeding with great eagerness
in the morning, so sure will it rain before night.” Now
my mute favourite was the reverse of all this,

He hears the fearful tempest sing,

Yet seeks no shelter to avoid the storm ;
whenever a shower fell, he was sure to be in the midst of
it, though immediately before I have observed him asleep
under his roof. On such occasions he was remarkably
active, elevating his head and showing every symptom of
pleasure and expectation. I supposed, that, at these wet
seasons, he was in search of earth-worms, of which, I have
before noticed, he was exceedingly fond, and which gene-
rally come from their hiding places during showers. From
his love for this kind of food, I also expected to find him not
altogether a diurnal animal, but that he would wander
about late in the evening, or early in the morning, in
search of it, but I never found him away from home after
dark, or fairly awake before sun-rise.

Spirit and activity were, certainly, not among the quali-
fications of my interesting captive. Often have I seenhim,
for hours together, stand motionless as a statue, riveted,
apparently, to the spot—his eyes fixed on vacancy, and so
absorbed in his contemplations, that no sound would dis-
turb his tranquillity. He seemed to sleep, and certainly
remained inactive many hours during every day; this he
did at one time in a horizontal position, with his hinder feet

appetite for different kinds of food is very remarkable in the ophidian
race. In the Philadelphia Museum I saw, some years since, two rattle-
snakes, (Crotali,) in different cages—one of the snakes would devour nothing
but mice or other small quadrupeds, and never eat a bird dead or alive;
while the other fed on nothing but birds. In the cage with the first rattle-
snake, there wasa canary bird kept, and it was surprising to see how fear-
lessly and familiarly the little songster would perch on the back and head
of the reptile, pick at his eyes, and scrape his bill against his scales. ‘The
bird and the snake were kept together a long time. Mr. Peale informs me,
that he once possessed a fine large black-snake, (coluber constrictor,) which
refused all the ordinary food of which that species of reptile is commonly so
fond; birds, mice, and almost every other kind of food, was tried in vain—
nothing could provoke him to eat; it seemed as if he would rather starve to
death, than relieve his hunger by any thing that was offered. At last a land
lizard, the agama undulata, was placed in his cage; this he seized and de-
voured with great avidity. He was kept alive with the same kind of food
for along time. The snake was captured in the woods of New-Jersey, where
the agama is very abundant.

38 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

thrown out of his shell on the ground, where they seemed
to lie paralized; or at another time, with his shell inclined
against the walls of his chamber. Though I do not wish
to abate any thing from the natural talents of my favourite,
I cannot assign this inclination of his shell, in hours of
repose, to the same cause as that ascribed by the Rey. Mr.
White to his domesticated tortoise; he observes on this
subject ‘¢ that though he has never read that planes inclin-
ed to the horizon received a greater share of warmth from
an autumnal sun, he inclines his shell, by tilting it against
the walls, to collect and admit every feeble ray.’’? I found
that my animal chose this position oftener in the shade
than in the sunshine, and I concluded that this was done
to relieve the pressure from the under shell, his whole
weight being then supported by the wall, and the ground,
which acted like the abutments of an arch, of which his
upper shell was the curvature.

He often betrayed a very considerable share of sagacity.
After making many fruitless efforts to seale the walls of his
prison, I detected him more than once endeavouring to
make his escape by undermining the foundation. Mr.
White observes, that his animal quickly recognized those
persons who bestowed upon it kind attentions, and that
as soon asthe good old lady came in sight, who had wait-
ed on it for more than thirty years, it hobbled towards
her with awkward velocity; some such expression of gra-
titude and recognition I more than once noticed in my
little friend. Mr. T. R. Peale, who has kept a number
of the Z. clausa in his garden, informs me, that when-
ever the plate on which their food was brought to them
was seraped with a knife, they would all scamper to the
usual spot, like so many chickens. One good quality
in my old tortoise I must not forget to notice; he would
not, on any occasion, be ruffled in his temper, but always
preserved an unvarying equanimity; still, however, he
maintained a superiority over one I procured for his
companion in captivity. I once, however, saw him de-
liberately take a piece of meat out of the mouth of the
other, who submitted to his loss with tacit acquiescence.
It has been said, that the males of this species have fre-
guent contests, butting against each other with such force,
as to be heard at a considerable distance; but as my animals
were not of a quarrelsome temper, I never witnessed any
such exhibitions.

In the early part of October, he seemed to prepare him-
self for his long winter’s sleep—he would eat nothing,
and I often noticed him descending into the little sub-
terraneous excavation I had prepared for him for this pur-
pose. I now weighed him with great accuracy. The
length of his shell was nearly six inches, and the breadth
just half the length ; these proportions, I suppose, gene-

rally prevail, as I found them the same in several instances.
His weight was just one pound. From the observations
of Dr. George Ent, made, during a series of years, on the
weight of a land tortoise, at the time of his retiring un-
der ground in the autumn, compared with its weight on its
re-appearance in the spring—the animal was found to
lose not more than about a drachm in the pound; my ob-
servations have confirmed this statement. Very shortly
after losing his appetite, my amusing friend finally bu-
ried himself in his cavern, and in that situation remained
undisturbed, passing the cold winter months in one of the
most profound of all slumbers, till a genial vernal sun
‘*awoke his torpid life.”

I cannot close the history of my domestic tortoise with-
out recording his melancholy fate. The early part of the last
winter of his life was remarkably wet, so that the cavern
in which he reposed during the cold weather, became, as
I afterwards discovered, completely filled with water,
During some fine sunny weather in the latter part of the
succeeding April, I anxiously expected his re-appearance
from his protracted slumber, as usual—but I waited for
him in vain. One day of disappointment was succeeded
by another, and I became at last so anxious and impatient
that I dug into his cave, and, to my surprise, found it filled
with a solid block of ice, in the centre of which my poor
testudo clausa lay perfectly frozen up, like an insect in
amass of amber. I carefully broke away, with a hatchet,
the ice in which he was encrusted. This operation was
somewhat difficult, as his feet and legs were not with-
drawn beneath his shell. I then placed him in a cold
water bath, and in a few minutesI had the pleasure to ob-
serve that he manifested symptoms of returning life. Ina
few minutes more he exhibited vigorous activity, and
walked abroad in the sunshine, with all the bouyancy of
former days. The weather suddenly changing to intense
cold, in the course of the afternoon, I brought my rescued
pet into the house, and kept him for some weeks in my
study; but I could not tempt him to taste the most deli-
cate morsel, and after yawning and dragging through the
room at intervals, he at last died about the first of June.

That the life of the tortoise considerably exceeds the
period of a century, many well-attested examples might
be produced, and, as observations of this kind have been
made on the animal, when in a state of captivity, we may
reasonably conclude, that, if at liberty, he would reach a
still greater age. Major Le Conte justly remarks, that the
testudo clausa ‘has been cited as an example of longevity
among animals of the lower classes; but the finding of an
individual witha name and date engraved on its sternum,
proves nothing—the idle and the foolish are fond of in-
scribing their names every where, and may as well ante-

a

* OONINV' Ta GAY

we 2 WD enya, .
avy . = : VL PA) Hayy

we tat

+4,

Pew

- ire, An,
— “—

Sasa

ADT TTPION

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

date the time by half a century, as state the true year of
their attempts at immortality.’? In conclusion, we cannot
help remarking, that Providence, as it were, to show us the
small value of animal existence, abstractly considered, has
bestowed great longevity on a reptile that squanders
away more than two-thirds of its life in the most pro-
found torpor, and in joyless stupidity.

Hints respecting the Domestic Cat.—As it is not my
intention to write the natural history of the domestic cat, I
shall not assert with many authors, that the wild cat, which
is confined to the woods of Europe and Asia, is the parent
stock of the whole race; nor will I attempt to decide on
that particular species which was brought by the Indians
to Columbus, when he discovered America. Thus much,
however, I may say, that wild cats are found in almost
every country and climate. My present design confines
me to the common house cat, called by the familiar name
of tortoise-shell,* tabby, or puss. Though Soninit has
given puss traits of character which place him ina most
amiable and interesting point of view, I feel compelled,
though I do it with great reluctance, to pronounce him un-
grateful, ungenerous, and deceitful; though with all these
abominable qualities, an important domestic. But this is
all foreign to the subject: My present intention is to in-
quire into the cause of some signs which the cat exhibits,
at particular stages of the weather.

Linneus gives, as one of the specific characteristics of
the domestic cat, that he washes his face and behind his
ears with his fore feet at the approach of astorm.+ How-
ever strange or fanciful this may appear, there is, I think,
no doubt of the fact. I have observed it often, and have
found it an unerring prognostic of falling weather ; in
winter, of snow, and in summer, of rain. J shall now offer
what I think a sufficient explanation of this remarkable
fact. We know that some animals have a greater capacity
for electricity, and exhibit much stronger signs of it, than
others. The gymnotus electricus, or electrical eel, will
give a shock to any number of persons, in the same man-
ner as the leyden jar. The electrical properties of the
torpedo, or cramp-fish, are so remarkable, that for a long
time they were considered fabulous. Some other fish
might be mentioned, as possessing this property. The ex-
periment of producing sparks of electrical fire, by rubbing
the back of a cat, is familiar to almost every one;§ the glit-

* It has been asserted that the tortoise-shell cat is indigenous to Spain and
that it constitutes a distinct variety of the common species; this opinion, I
have good reason to believe, has no sufficient ground for its support.

7 See Sonini’s Traves in Egypt.

+ See Turton’s, Linnays, vol. i. p. 49.

§ It is said that black cats give out more electric fire than those of any
other colour. If this be a fact, may it not lead to some important results in

39

tering of the eyes by night, may, I think, be also stated —
as another proof of the presence of the fluid. The ears of
the cat, and some portions of the face, are without hair;
such places are good conductors of electricity; but the
whole body of the animal being enveloped in a hairy co-
vering, isanon-conductor. If, therefore, the fluid escapes,
or passes off in any considerable quantity, it must be at
the ears or face. This can be proved by experiment:
Upon rubbing the back of the animal in favourable wea-
ther, and presenting your knuckle to the ear, a spark will
be received;—a spark, however, cannot be obtained from
any part of the body, a few scintillations only following
the hand in the act of rubbing. Cats, we know, have a
natural antipathy to water and moist air, and delight in dry
and warm situations, It is hardly necessary to state, that
a damp atmosphere is one of the best conductors of elec-
tricity, or that a dry one is necessary for its collection and
retention. From what has now been advanced, the con-
clusion is obvious. The vapour or humidity of the air,
serving as a conductor, draws off or absorbs the electric
matter from the animal, and the fluid passing off with more
readiness, and in the greatest quantity, at the ears, must
occasion sensationsin that particular part, either agreeable
or troublesome, which induces the motion of the fore foot as
above stated. That some animals are more readily affect-
ed by changes in the atmosphere than others, and that they
exhibit signs of these variations, cannot be doubted. The
difficulty is, to explain with clearness and precision how
this takes place. Mr. J. Taylor, in an interesting little
volume, called the Complete weather guide, has given a
chapter on the common and familiar signs exhibited by
animals which indicate approaching changes of weather;
in this chapter, he passes without notice, our friend, the car.

RED FLAMINGO.
PH@NICOPTERUS RUBER.
[Plate IV. Vol. 3.]

Le Flammant, Briss. vi, p. 533, pl. 47, fig.1.— Burr.
vin, p. 475, pl. $9. Pl. Enl. 63.—Laru. Syn. 111, p.
299.—Arct. Zool. No. 422.—Phenicopterus Baham-

4

ensis, Carrssy, 1, pl. 73, 74.—Philadelphia Museum.

Tus singular but beautiful plumed bird, strictly belongs
to the North American Ornithology, although it is found

the construction of electric machines. It has been found that the power of
a white glass cylinder, is considerably increased by coating the inner surface
with a coloured electric, such as rosin, or bees-wax.

40

only in eke canst southern districts of the country. On the
coast of Florida, and in the Gulf of Mexico, it is frequently
seen, but not in numbers equal to those that congregate on
the West India islands, and particularly the shores and
lagoons, bordering the Caribean Sea.

The specimen from which the annexed drawing was
made, belongs to the Philadelphia Museum, and is one of
the most perfect of its kind. This was shot by Mr. T. R,
Peale, on the sea-shore of Colombia, during his late visit
to that country, but owing to the great shyness of these
birds, he was unable to procure more than the one specimen,
although, he said, several hundreds associated together; but
the parts they resort to were so difficult of access, and the
timidity of the birds so great, rendered it impossible, with-
out too great exertion, to be more successful. This bird was
shot at night time by the aid of lightning, and secured only
on the following day.

American Naturalists have not been able to furnish any-
thing new relative to this remarkable bird, and among
foreign authors, Dr. Latham, in his Synopsis, has given
the most authentic and interesting particulars, which are
here introduced.

‘¢ This remarkable bird has the neck and legs in a greater
disproportion than any other bird; the length from the end
of the bill to that of the tail is four feet two or three inches,
but to the end of the claws, measures sometimes more than
six feet. The bill is four inchesand a quarter long, and of
a construction different from that of any other bird; the
upper mandible very thin and flat, and somewhat move-
able; the under thick, both of them bending downwards
from the middle; the nostrils are linear, and placed in a
blackish membrane; the end of the bill as far as the bend
is black, from thence to the base reddish yellow, round
the base quite to the eye covered with a flesh coloured
cere; the neck is slender, and of a great length; the tongue
large, fleshy, filling the cavity of the bill, furnished with
twelve or more hooked papillz on each side, turning back-
wards; the tip a sharp cartilaginous substance. The bird
when in full plumage is wholly of a most deep scarlet,
(those of Africa said to be the deepest) except the quills,
which are black; from the base of the thigh to the claws
measures thirty-two inches, of which the feathered part
takes up no more than three inches; the bare part above
the knee thirteen inches, and from thence to the claws
sixteen; the colour of the bare parts is red, and the toes
are furnished with a web as in the duck genus; but it is
deeply indented. Zhe legs are not struight, but slightly
bent, the shin rather projecting.

“ These birds do not gain their full plumage till the
third year. In the first they are of a grayish white for the
most part; the second of a clearer white, tinged with red,

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

or rather rose colour; but the wings and scapulars are red;
in the third year a general glowing scarlet manifests itself
throughout; the bill and legs also keep pace with the gra-
dation of colour in the plumage, these parts changing to
their colours by degrees as the bird approaches to an adult
state.

‘¢ Flamingoes prefer a warm climate, in the old conti-
nent not often met with beyond forty degrees north or
south. Every where seen on the African coast, and adja-
cent isles, quite to the Cape of Good Hope, and now and
then on the coasts of Spain, Italy, and those of France
lying in the Mediterranean sea; being at times met with
at Marseilles, and for some way up the Rhone. In some
seasons frequents Aleppo, and parts adjacent. Seen also
on the Persian side of the Caspian sea, and from thence
along the western coast as far as the Wolga; though this at
uncertain times, and chiefly in considerable flocks, coming
from the north coast mostly in October and November; but
so soon as the wind changes they totally disappear. They
breed in the Cape Verd isles, particularly in that of Sal.
The nest is ofa singular construction, made of mud, in shape
ofa hillock, with a cavity at top; in this the female lays ge-
nerally two white eggs,” of the size of those of a goose, but
more elongated. The hillock is of such an height as to
admit of the bird’s sitting on it conveniently, or rather
standing, as the legs are placed one on each side at full
length.t The young cannot fly till full grown, but run very
fast.

‘<¢Flamingoes, for the most part, keep together in flocks;
and now and then are seen in great numbers together, ex-
cept in breeding time. Dampier mentions haying, with
two more in company, killed fourteen at once; but this
was effected by secreting themselves; for they are very
shy birds, and will by no means suffer any one to approach
openly near enough to shoot them.t Kolben observes
that they are very numerous at the Cape, keeping in the
day on the borders of the lakes and rivers, and lodging
themselves of nights in the long grass on the hills. They
are also common to various places in the warmer parts of
America, frequenting the same latitudes as in other quar-
ters of the world; being met with in Peru, Chili, Cayenne,§
and the coast of Brazil, as well as the various islands of
the West Indies. Sloane found them in Jamaica; but par-
ticularly at the Bahama islands, and that of Cuba, where

* They never lay more than three, and seldom fewer, Phil. Trans.

+ Sometimes will lay the eggs on a projecting part of a low rock, if it be
placed sufficiently convenient so as to admit of the legs being placed one on
each side. Linn.

+ Davies talks of the gunner disguising himself ‘a an ox hide, and by this
means getting within gun-shot. Hist. Barbad. p. 88.

§ Called there by the name of Tococo.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. dl

they breed. When seen at a distance they appear asa re-
giment of soldiers, being arranged alongside of one another,
on the borders of the rivers, searching for food, which
chiefly consists of small fish, or the eggs of them, and of
water insects, which they search after by plunging in the
bill and part of the head; from time to time trampling with
their feet to muddy the water, that their prey may be
raised from the bottom. In feeding are said to twist the
neck in such a manner that the upper part of the bill is
applied to the ground; during this, one of them is said to
stand sentinel, and the moment he sounds the alarm, the
whole flock take wing. This bird when at rest stands on
one leg, the other being drawn up close to the body, with
the head placed under the wing on that side of the body
it stands on.

‘¢ The flesh of these birds is esteemed pretty good meat;
and the young thought by some equal to that of a partridge;
but the greatest dainty is the tongue, which was esteemed
by the ancients an exquisite morsel. Are sometimes caught
young and brought up tame; but are ever impatient of cold,
and in this state will seldom live a great while, gradually
losing their colour, flesh, and appetite; and dying for want
of that food which in a state of nature, at large, they were
abundantly supplied with.”

For the Cabinet of Natural History.

A NOTICE OF THE DUCKS, AND SHOOTING OF
THE CHESAPEAKE BAY.

Mr. Editor:—As it is of great importance to the cause
of science, that a correct natural history of our country
should be established and preserved, every erroneous
assertion that remains uncontradicted by those on this side
of the Atlantic, will inevitably be credited in Europe;
and let our minds, manners, or institutions, be misrepre-
sented as they may, we must maintain truth, if possible,
in the history of our natural productions.

A writer over the signature of S. H. in the Turf Regis-
ter, for August, 1833, in an interesting account of the
habits of the Ducks that are found in the Chesapeake Bay,
and of the different modes of destroying them, makes two
or three statements that require notice, as they may mis-
lead naturalists at a distance, and produce wrong impres-
sions at home.

He says, there are two varieties of Canvass-back Duck;
‘¢one has a shorter neck than the other, and its breast,
(unlike the other’s,) is of a dark red colour.”” Having

L

been a visitor to those waters for many years on Duck-
shooting expeditions, I have closely observed the variety
of water fowl that frequent them during the fall and win-
ter. I have on several occasions been accompanied by
naturalists of great industry and intelligence, and neither
them nor myself have ever been able to discover more
than the single species of Canvass-back, (Anas valisi-
neria.)

The writer must certainly have mistaken birds of dif-
ferent ages for different varieties, the yearling being ge-
nerally of a lighter colour in the marking than the more
advanced bird. The old Red-heads resemble, in tint, the
Canvass-back, and it is only by the shape and colour of the
bill, that a partial observer can distinguish them. The
male Canvass-back is also much darker than the female, and
may have occasioned the error. Mr. Titian R. Peale,
Mr. George Ord, and Mr. C. L. Bonaparte, all ornitholo-
gists of great eminence, and accustomed to visiting the
Chesapeake, particularly Mr. Peale, support Wilson in
the belief of the existence of but one variety.

Thesamewriter also states, that the “ Canvass-backs breed
in great abundance with other Ducks on the sea marshes
and small islands that are not habitable, along the shores
of the Gulf of Mexico. Large patches of ground are taken
up with their nests, which are about four feet apart.??—
In ¢his assertion he is undoubtedly mistaken. The Black
Duck, (Awas odsceura,) and the Summer Duck, (A. sponsa,)
are the only Ducks that breed to any extent in the United
States. It occasionally happens that crippled Ducks of
other species consort together, and remain through the
warm season, but this is so alien to their usual habits, that
it cannot be regarded as natural to them.

What have been mistaken for the nests and eggs of the
Canvass-backs, have no doubt been those of other birds,
perhaps a species of Gull, some of which tribe deposit
eggs not very unlike the Duck’s and quite as edible.
He also asserts, that ‘‘ Ducks of different species never
associate—never roost together, nor fly in the same flock,
when they are scared up together from the feeding ground.”’
If I was not convinced by his general correctness, that the
author has witnessed the habits of these birds himself, to
a certain extent, I should suppose he had taken the obser-
vations of very superficial observers for his guide. I have,
certainly, hundreds of times, seen Canvass-backs, Red-
heads, Black-heads, and Bald-pates, roosting, feeding, and
flying together; the latter, on many occasions, when they
had not been alarmed from their feeding ground, but mak-
ing their morning and evening flight, and when it must
have been a matter of choice. I have myself, times be-
yond number (and also witnessed the same in others)
killed at one discharge two species out of the same flying

42 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

or sitting flock. This, I should presume, had been the
experience of most Duck shooters on the Chesapeake.

The Red-head and Canvass-back are most accustomed to
associate in feeding and flying, and nothing is more com-
mon than to hear the whistle of the Bald-pate in a flock of
some scores of the kinds just mentioned, which whistle, in
a flying flock, is always dreaded by the gunner as indicative
of an alarm in these watchful birds, which soon extends to
the rest, and prevents the possibility of a close shot.

The writer above alluded to, has named the species of
Ducks usually found on the Chesapeake and its tributary
streams; but as he has given different names for the same
birds, it may mislead. For example, he speaks of the
Widgeon and Bald Pate as two varieties, when they are
the same species. It is the same with the Bull or Buffel
head, and the Dipper; and the Coote or Surf Duck, I
presume, to be one of his varieties of Black-head. He does
not mention the little Ruddy Duck, or Heavy-tail, as it is
ealled, although they abound in every nook and cove.

The following is a correct table of the Ducks that are
found on those waters:—

Swan, (Cygnus Americanus.) Goose, (Anas Cana-
densis.) Brant, (A. bernicla.) Canvass-back, (A. valisi-
neria.) Red-head, (A. ferina.) Bald-pate, or Widgeon,
(A. Americana.) Blue-bill, or Black-head, (A. maria.)
Scoter Duck, (A. nigra.) Tufted Duck, (A. fuligula,
Wilson and Futreura rufitorques, Bonaparte.) Blue-
wing Teal, (A. discors.) Green do. do. (A. crecca.)
Mallard, (A. doschas.) Black Duck, (A. obscura.) Butf-
fel-head, Butter-box, or Dipper, (A. albeola.) Gadwall,
or Grey Duck, (A. strepera.) Spoon-bill, or Shoveller,
(A. clypeata.) Sprig, or Pin-tail, (A. acwta.) Golden-
eye, (A.clangula.) Velvet, or Channel Duck, (A. fusca, )
Ruddy Duck, or Heavy-tail, (A. rwbidus.) South South-
erly, Long-tailed Duck, or Old Wives, (A. glacialis.)
Surf Duck, (A. perspicillata.) Water Witch, or little
Grebe, (Popicers Carolinensis,) and the Horned Grebe,
sometimes called Water Witch, (P. cornutus,) Goosander,
(Mereus merganser,) and the Red-breasted Merganser,
Hairy-crown, or Fisherman, (M. serrator.)

I will close my strictures on the Register corres-
pondent, and give the result of a few days shooting on
the Chesapeake, last fall, by a party of four gentlemen, of
which I wasone. We were landed on our Point, from the
Port Deposit steam boat, at 2 P.M. Weather cool; little
wind, and that favourable; a small flight—

1 Swan.
By detk—thegame was - - 18 Canvass-backs and Red-heads,
2d day—wind and weather fair,

flight pretty good, - 653 do. do,
3d day—sultry—not a breath of air,

and a poor flight, - 61 do. do. do.

do. etc.

1 Swan.

4th day—same weather, flight -
- 38 Canvass-back, etc-

still less - -
5th day, till 9 A. M:—weather and
flight good, - =" 39 do. do.

201

Of this number, there were, 2 Swans—92 Canvass-backs—86 Red-
necks—13 Black-heads—4 Buflel-heads—1 Golden-eye—1 Black Duck—
1 Mallard, and 1 Fisherman.

I do not give this statement as great success; but it was
good,—considering the space of time,—that all were shot
on the wing, from the points,—and that during two days
every thing was unfavourable, and exactly that combina-
tion of circumstances that would prevent a resident on the
Bay from even loading his gun.

Being a thorough Sportsman yourself, Mr. Editor, you
are fully aware that the pleasure of such amusements does
not depend solely upon the quantity of game bagged; for
if so, the ¢oling, or skiffing shots, procuring more birds,
would consequently produce more delight. But ¢Aaé mur-
derous mode being deficient in the great cause of plea-
sure, excitement, it is rarely practised by the real Sports-
man. Any person, who can holda gun to his shoulder, can
kill Ducks on the water; but to strike them at 60 or 80
yards distance, when flying at the rate of 87 feet ina second
of time, requires a dexterity in the use of the gun that
every man cannot boast of; and to do with even compara-
tive certainty, what few can attain to, isa pleasure that the
indolent foder cannot conceive.

To have a shot, occasionally, even without killing, is an
agreeable mode of passing a certain time, somewhat like
Dr. Franklin’s nibbling fisherman; for you have leisure
to calculate the value of your gun, the range of your shot,
and your deficiencies, preparatory to the next bird. But
when you have a good point, —fine weather, —fair wind, —
handsome flight, —industrious dog,—trusty gun,—genuine
Pigou or Dupont,—Sparkes’ single B., and a friend to
praise a good and excuse a bad shot,—no man can
want a doctor, or, for the time, an additional pleasure in
the world. ileal GN

DEER HUNTING.

Tur different modes of destroying Deer are probably
too well understood, and too successfully practised, in the
United States; for, notwithstanding the almost incredible
abundance of these beautiful animals in our forests and
prairies, such havoc is carried on amongst them, that, in a
few centuries, they will probable be as scarce in America,
as the Great Bustard now is in Britain.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

We have three modes of hunting Deer, each varying, in
some slight degree, in the different states and districts.
The first is termed S¢il/ Hunting, and is by far the most
destructive. The second is called Pire-light Hunting,
and is next in its exterminating effects. The third, which
may be looked upon as a mere amusement, is named
Driving. Although many Deer are destroyed by this
latter method, it is not by any means so pernicious as the
others. These methods I shall describe separately.

Still Hunting is followed as a kind of trade by most of
our frontier men. To be practised with success, it re-
quires great activity, an expert management of the rifle,
and a thorough knowledge of the forest, together with an
intimate acquaintance with the habits of the Deer, not only
at different seasons of the year, but also at every hour of
the day, as the hunter must be aware of the situations
which the game prefers, and in which it is most likely to
be found, at any particular time.

Illustrations of any kind require to be presented in the
best possible light. We will therefore suppose that we
are now about to follow the ¢frwe hunter, as the Still Hunter
is also called, through the interior of the tangled woods,
across morasses, ravines, and such places, where the game
may prove more or less plentiful, even should none be
found there in the first instance. We will allow our
hunter all the agility, patience, and care, which his occu-
pation requires, and will march in his rear, as if we were
Spies, watching all his motions.

His dress, you observe, consists of a leather hunting-
shirt, and a pair of trowsers of the same material. His
feet are well moccasined; he wears a belt round his waist;
his heavy rifle is resting on his brawny shoulder; on one
side hangs his ball-pouch, surmounted by the horn of an
ancient Buffalo, once the terror of the herd, but now con-
taining a pound of the best gunpowder; his butcher-knife
is scabbarded in the same strap, and behind is a tomahawk,
the handle of which has been thrust through his girdle.
He walks with so rapid a step, that probably few men
could follow him, unless for a short distance, in their
anxiety to witness his ruthless deeds. He stops, looks at
the flint of his gun, its priming, and the leather cover of
the lock, then glances his eye towards the sky, to judge of
the course most likely to lead him to the game.

The heavens are clear, the red glare of the morning sun
gleams through the lower branches of the lofty trees, the
dew hangs in pearly drops at the top of every leaf. Al-
ready has the emerald hue of the foliage been converted
into themore glowing tintsof our autumnal months. A slight
frost appears on the fence-rails of his little corn-field. As
he proceeds, he looks to the dead foliage under his feet, in.
search of the well known traces of abuck’s hoof. Now he

43

bends toward the ground, on which something has attracted
his attention. See! he alters his course, increases his
speed, and will soon reach the opposite hill. Now, he moves
with caution, stopsat almost every tree, and peeps forward
as if already within shooting distance of the game. He ad-
vances again, but how very slowly! He has reached the
declivity, upon which the sun shines in all its growing
splendour. But mark him! he takes the gun from his
shoulder, has already thrown aside the leathern cover of
the lock, and is wiping the edge of his flint with his tongue.
Now he stands like a monumental figure, perhaps mea-
suring the distance that lies between him and the game,
which he hasin view. His rifle is slowly raised—the re-
port follows—and he runs. Let us run also. Shall I
speak to him, and ask him the result of this first essay ?
Assuredly, reader, for I know him well.

«Pray, friend, what have you killed?’ for to say,
“¢ what have you shot at ?”? might imply the possibility of
his having missed, and so might hurt his feelings. —
<¢ Nothing but a buck.’? «* And where is it?” “Oh, it
has taken a jump or so, but I settled it, and will soon be
with it. My ball struck, and must have gone through his
heart.””? We arrive at the spot, where the animal had laid
itself down among the grass in a thicket of grape-vines,
sumachs, and spruce-bushes, where it intended to repose
during the middle of the day. The place is covered with
blood, the hoofs of the Deer have left deep prints in the
ground as it bounced in the agonies produced by its wound;
but the blood that has gushed from its side, discloses the
course which it has taken. We soon reach the spot.
There lies the buck, its tongue out, its eye dim, its breath
exhausted; it isdead. The hunter draws his knife, cuts
the buck’s throat almost asunder, and prepares to skin it.
For this purpose he hangs it upon the branch of a tree.
When the skin is removed, he cuts off the hams, and aban-
doning the rest of the carcass to the wolves and vultures,
reloads his gun, flings the venison, enclosed by the skin,
upon his back, secures it with a strap, and walks off in
search of more game, well knowing that, in the immediate
neighbourhood, another at least is to be found.

Had the weather been warmer, the hunter would have
sought for the buck along the shadowy side of the hills.
Had it been the spring season, he would have led us
through some thick cane-brake, to the margin of some re-
mote lake, where you would have seen the Deerimmersed to
his head in the water, to save his body from the tormenting
attacks of moschettoes. Had winter overspread the earth
withacovering ofsnow he would havesearched the low damp
woods, where the mosses and lichens, on which at that
period the Deer feeds, abound, the trees being generally
crusted with them for several feet from the ground. At

44 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

one time, he might have marked the places where the Deer
clears the velvet from his horns, by rubbing them against
the low stems of bushes, and where he frequently scrapes
the earth with his fore-hoofs; at another, he would have
betaken himself to places where persimons and crab-apples
abound, as beneath these trees the Deer frequently stops to
munch their fruits. During early spring, our hunter would
imitate the bleating of the doe, and thus frequently obtain
both herand the fawn; orlike some tribes of Indians, he would
prepare a Deer’s head, placed ona stick, and creeping with
it amongst the tall grass of the prairies, would decoy the
Deer within reach of his rifle. But we have seen enough
of the séz// hunter. Lit it suffice for me to add, that by
the mode pursued by him, thousands of Deer are annually
killed, many individuals shooting these animals merely
for the skin, not caring for even the most valuable portions
of the flesh, unless hunger, or a near market, induces them
to carry off the hams.

The mode of destroying Deer by /ire-light, or, as it is
named in some parts of the country, forest-light, never
fails to produce a very singular feeling in him who wit-
nesses it for the first time. There is something in it which
at times appears awfully grand. At other times a certain
degree of fear creeps over the mind, and even affects the
physical powers of him who follows the hunter through
the thick undergrowth of our woods, having to leap his
horse over hundreds of huge fallen trunks, at one time
impeded by a straggling grape-vine crossing his path, at
another squeezed between two stubborn saplings, whilst
their twigs come smack in his face, as his companion has
forced his way through them. Again, he every now and
then runs the risk of breaking his neck, by being suddenly
pitched headlong on the ground, as his horse sinks into a
hole, covered over with moss. But I must proceed ina more
regular manner, and leave my reader to judge whether
such a mode of hunting would suit his taste or not.

The hunter has returned to his camp or his house, has
rested and eaten of his game. He waits impatiently for
the return of night. He has procured a quantity of pine-
knots, filled with resinous matter, and has an old frying-
pan, that, for aught I know to the contrary, may have been
used by his great-grandmother, in which the pine-knots are
to be placed when lighted. The horses stand saddled at
the door. The hunter comes forth, his rifle slung on his
shoulder, and springs upon one of them, while his son, or
a servant, mounts the other, with the frying-pan and the
pine-knots. Thus accoutred, they proceed towards the
interior of the forest. When they have arrived at the spot
where the huntis to begin, they strike fire with a flint and
steel, and kindle the resinous wood. The person who
earries the fire, moves in the direction judged to be the

best. The blaze illuminates the near objects, but the dis-
tant parts seem inyolved in deepest obscurity.. The hun-
ter who bears the gun keeps immediately in front, and
after a while discovers before him two feeble lights, which
are procured by the reflection of the pine fire from the
eyes of an animal of the deer or wolf kind. The animal
stands quite still. To one, unacquainted with this strange
mode of hunting, the glare from its eyes might bring to
his imagination some lost hobgoblin that had strayed
from itsusual haunts. The hunter, however, nowise intimi-
dated, approaches the object, scmetimes so near as to dis-
cern its form, when raising the rifle to his shoulder, he
fires and kills it on the spot. He then dismounts, se-
cures the skin and such portions of the flesh as he may
want, in the manner already described, and continues his
search through the greater part of the night, sometimes
until the dawn of day, shooting from five to ten Deer,
should these animals be plentiful. This kind of hunting
proves fatal, not to the Deer alone, but also sometimes to
wolves, and now and then to a horse or a cow, which may
have straggled far into the woods.

Now, reader, prepare to mount a generous, full-blood
Virginian Hunter. See that your gun is in complete order;
for, hark to the sound of the bugle and horn, and
the mingled clamour of a pack of harriers! Your friends
are waiting you, under the shade of the wood, and we
must together go driving the light-footed Deer. The dis-
tance over which one has to travel is seldom felt, when
pleasure is anticipated as the result; so, galloping we go
pell-mell through the woods, to some well-known place,
where many a fine buck has drooped its antlers under the
ball of the hunter’s rifle. The servants, who are called the
drivers, have already begun their search. Their voices
are heard exciting the hounds, and unless we put spurs to
our steeds, we may be too late at our stand, and thus lose
the first opportunity of shooting the fleeting game as it
passes by. Hark again! the dogs are in chase, the horn
sounds louder and more clearly. Hurry, hurry on, or we
shall be sadly behind!

Here we are at last! Dismount, fasten your horse to
this tree, place yourself by the side of that large yellow
poplar, and mind you do not shoot me! The Deer is fast
approaching; I will to my own stand, and he who shoots
him dead wins the prize.

The Deer is heard coming. It has inadvertently cracked
a dead stick with its hoof, and the dogs are now so near it
that it will pass ina moment. There it comes! How beau-
tifully it bounds over the ground! What a splendid head
of horns!’ How easy its attitudes, depending, as it seems
to do, on its own swiftness for safety! All is in vain, how-
ever: a gun is fired, the animal plunges and doubles with

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

incomparable speed. There he goes! He passes another
stand, from which a second shot, better directed than the
first, brings him to the ground. The dogs, the servants,
the sportsmen, are now rushing forward to the spot. The
hunter who has shot itis congratulated on his skill or good
luck, and the chase begins again in some other part of
the woeds.

A few lines of explanation may be required to convey a
clear idea of this mode of hunting. Deer are fond of fol-
lowing and retracing the paths which they have formerly
pursued, and continue to do so even after they have been
shot at more than once. These tracks are discovered by
persons on horseback in the woods, or a Deer is observed
crossing a road, a field, or a small stream. When this has
been noticed twice, the Deer may be shot from the places
called stands by the sportsman, who is stationed there,
and waits for it, a line of stands being generally formed so
as to cross the path which the game will follow. The per-
son who ascertains the usual pass of the game, or disco-
vers the parts where the animal feeds or lies down during
the day, gives intimation to his friends, who then pre-
pare for the chase. The servants start the Deer with the
hounds, and, by good management, generally succeed in
making it run the course that will soonest bring it to its
death. But, should the Deer be cautious, and take ano-
ther course, the hunters, mounted on swift horses, gallop
through the woods to intercept it, guided by the sound of
the horns and the cry of the dogs, and frequently succeed
in shooting it. This sport is extremely agreeable, and
proves successful on almost every occasion.—4udubon.

ON THE PRESERVATION OF THE PARTRIDGE.

Tux favourite game bird of the Sportsman, is the
Partridge, and towards it he always manifests feelings of
solicitude, to preserve it from undue destruction, whether
by the severity of our winters, or the rapacity of its ene-
mies; and the expense which he frequently incurs, to-
wards the accomplishment of this object, evidently proves,
that he regards this interesting bird altogether as a source
of pleasure, and not of profit, and when he pursues them
for recreation, although he is anxious to secure a full bag,
and prove that he is worthy of the title he claims, he is
often checked, in the midst of his success, by feelings
which prompt him to forbear further destruction. Has
not every ¢rue Sportsman, sometime in the course of his
experience,—when, on the close of asuccessful day’s hunt
found himself in the midst of a well scattered covey, and

M

45

while he was working destruction to the right and left, —
felt such sensations creeping over him, as to cause him
suddenly to desist from further pursuit? And what
is it that checks him in the harvest he is gathering ?—
It is not consciousness of doing wrong, that bids him for-
bear, for there is no moral responsibility attached to the
action; but itis from a conviction, that further prosecution
of his success on that covey, will dry up the source of
his future pleasure, and leave none to produce offspring
for the next season.

No Sportsman will visit the remaining part of a covey,
after he has reduced it to four or five birds. This is one
method of preserving game, and may be called protection
by forbearance.

Some years since, a large number of Partridges were
purchased and kept through the winter season, by the
united efforts of a number of Sportsmen in Philadelphia,
and the neighbouring parts of New-Jersey. The number
of birds, I think, exceeded two thousand, and when set at
liberty, in the following spring, were let off in pairs over
a very extensive part of the neighbourhood. ‘The benefit
arising from this course, was manifested during the fol-
lowing season; but this plan, which one would think
should conciliate the friendship of the farmers, and excite
good will towards those gentlemen who effected this ob-
ject, had on the minds of many a contrary effect, although
the birds were bought of them in the winter, and returned
again in March.

In the succeeding fall, many landholders came to a re-
solution to prevent Sportsmen from shooting on their
grounds; and accordingly printed notices were signed by
them, and circulated throughout the neighbourhood, warn-
ing all gunners from trespassing on their farms, under the
severest penalties of the law. This, of course, was a
check to like operations in future years; and I believe it
has never been attempted, to any extent, since. Many
Sportsmen, however, purchase all the living birds to be
met with on sale, and keep them over the winter, and re-
lease them again in the spring. This may pass, then, as
the second method of preserving game, viz. protection
by sustenance.

The last manner of preserving the Partridge, is by per-
secution. Yes, strange as it may appear, moderate perse-
cution has a tendency to protect game. It is natural for
inferior animals to avoid the persecution of their superiors,
and there are none whose timidity is more easily excited
than that of the Partridge. When undisturbed, these
birds will visit the stackyards and gardens, and even mix
with the domestic fowls, to share their food. But a little
persecution will soon drive them to seek shelter in the
brakes and thickets of the neighbourhood; before, they

46 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

were unsuspicious and familiar—now they are cautious and
exceedingly vigilant; formerly, they fed on open ground,
could be seen by the road-side, or in the foot-path of the
passenger—but now, every noise alarms them, and they
glean their simple fare only in the tall grass and stubble,
or among the bushes. A few shots at acovey of Partridges
will put them more on the alert than the visitations of their
natural enemies, and in this way the Sportsman destroys
that state of domesticity in these birds which may be ob-
seryable on all those farms prohibited to the footsteps of
the shooter. He drives them from open grounds into
greater security against various other enemies; and while
those birds, which have heen fostered and protected in the
eovetousness of the farmer, fall an easy prey to the snares
and traps abounding on such farms, the others are suspi-
cious of every thing, and will avoid the most ingenious
devices laid to entrap them; and by reason of their seek-
ing constant shelter in better cover, they more readily
escape the vigilance of hawks.

Landholders are greatly mistaken, when they suppose
that they afford sure protection to their Partridges by ex-
excluding Sportsmen from visiting their grounds. Many
of these will tell you, that ‘‘ they wish their birds pre-
served, and do not wish you to shoot them.”? And yet
if you will visit the nooks and corners of their fields and
thickets, you will find an abundance of traps and snares.
Their prohibition does not, therefore, arise from any re-
spect to the welfare of the birds, so much as to gratify
their avaricious dispositions, by catching the birds them-
selves, and vending them in market. Their mode of
eatching these birds, too, is often attended with much
cruelty. The writer has often, in his rambles, found traps
and snoods, containing birds; and in several instances, when
confined in the former, they appeared in a half-starved
condition; and in the latter, the poor prisoners, half
choked, had been dangling by the neck fer days. But so
long as avarice is the ruling principle of these men, it is
all in vain to talk of preserving game on farms adjacent to
any good market.

It is much to be regretted that the price of Partridges
is so high. Fifty cents a pair can be readily obtained for
them, at this time, in the Philadelphia market; and while
such inducements are held out to covetous farmers and
others to destrey Partridges, it is not to be wondered at,
that Sportsmen should be forbidden to visit places where
these birds are found. If farmers sincerely wish to
have a due proportion of these truly interesting birds at all
times on their plantations, let them first destroy all the
snares and traps about them, and then drive poachers, or
gunners, from their premises, especially during that pe-
riod when the earth is covered with snow. ‘The latter

persons will oftentimes destroy an entire covey of Part-
ridges at a single shot; and, if even two or three should
escape the destructive fire, they will more than likely pe-
rish by the severity of the weather, for want of sufficient
company to keep them warm at night, as it is known, by
their manner of roosting, they impart equal warmth to
each other. During the first snows of the season, I have
known some reckless gunners to follow the trail of Part-
ridges along hedge-rows, until the birds would huddle
together in a space not eighteen inches in diameter, when,
with a deadly fire, they would kill two-thirds of their
number. And on one occasion, I knew a man, after he
had thus sueceeded in getting a covey huddled up, to fire
on them, and on going up, finding one bird escaped, and
thirteen dead, he expressed great dissatisfaction that he
did not get the whole of them.

I think, then, it is by no means the interest of farmers
to exclude Sportsmen from shooting on their grounds, if
visited by them in moderation. A Sportsman may be
known by his dogs, manner of hunting, and the seasons he
appropriates to that amusement. No Sportsman will hunt
in the snow, and all others gunning on Partridge grounds,
at that time, should be driven off.

I have strictly observed, for some years, that prolected
grounds abound with fewer Partridges than those parts
hunted over season after season by Sportsmen, and sim-
ply for the reason before stated, that their half-domesticity
renders them an easy prey to their enemies. I have had
my favourite districts, within a short distance to a day’s
ride of Philadelphia; over these I have hunted successfully
every year for a number of years; and every succeeding
season brought along with it the same plenitude of birds.
Two spots, one within seven, and the other forty miles of
this city, have been my favourites. These I have visited,
the former nearly every week during the sporting season;
and the latter, every day or two for several weeks at a
time. On the first, (sometimes with a companion,) I have
invariably bagged from fifteen to forty birds, and on one
occasion sixty! Sixty Partridges, or fully four coveys, off
of one district, in a single hunt; and yet the next season, the
number of birds seemed undiminished. On the latter
ground, I have even been more successful, from which I
have never bagged less than twenty, and from that num-
ber up to forty-five birds; perhaps the general average
would be twenty-five, and I seldom commenced my
shooting season until the 15th of October. With this
continued success, I have never found the number of birds
less on the succeeding season, until the inclemeney of the
weather, a few winters ago, nearly depopulated all of the
middle and northern states of Partridges.

I think most Sportsmen will agree with me in these ob-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. AT

servations. There isno doubt, that if they will consult
their experience, they will find they have realized the
truth of these leading points.

I willventure to assert, that if landholders,in some favour-
able portion of the country—say a considerable area in any
cultivated part of New-Jersey, for instance—will make the
experiment, and place the whole of their gameunder the pro-
tection of a givennumber of Sportsmen, the increase of birds
will be much greaterthan by any other method. I would not
destroy the traps and snares of the farmers’ boys, but let
them catch as many as they can. The Sportsman is to
be unrestrained in regard to the number of days he wishes
to hunt; but every other individual, with a gun, found tres-
passing, must be turned off of the privileged spot; and I
feel confident, that thts district would produce, every sea-
son, a greater number of Partridges than any other of the
same magnitude throughout the state. D.

January 27, 1834.

THE SCOTCH DOCTOR AND THE JACKALLS.

Docror S was on board a Company’s ship lying
at or near Diamond Harbour; and being short of amuse-
ment, and feeling the bump of destructiveness more
strongly developed than usual on the surface of his peri-
cranium, he took up his gun, and went on shore to lay
wait for the Jackalls. In his walk along the beach he en-
countered the carcase of a dead buffalo—and, thinking
himself sure of sport, lay down behind some bushes, and
waited till the moon rose. Jackalls poured down from the
woods by dozens, and began to pick the buffalo’s bones.
The Doctor cocked his percussion—and thought to him-
self, «‘The de’il my coveys!—boot I ha’ thee noo!—
here gooes for wha’s the best mon, a Scot or a Jackall!’’
No sooner said than done,—the Doctor blazed away right
and left, and through the cloud of his own smoke, dashed
down the beach to bag his game! Alas! not a Jackall’s
brush was singed!—and, to the Doctor’s consternation,
instead of running away, the animals stood looking at him
with much coolness; and though frightened by the report at
first, they now began to collect round him, in great num-
bers, as if unwilling to be choused of their booty. Dr.
Ss thought they might relish a bonny Scotsman more
than a carrion buffalo, and fumbled for his ammunition.
But, unlike a wise general, he had left his powder-flask un-
der the bushes; and the gaunt bony forms of the Jackalls were
now stealing down towards him from that quarter. ‘¢ The
de’il!—the de’ill!—but my retreat is cut ooff!”” wailed the

Doctor; ‘‘ and the varmints look as if they would na
mind abit o’ Christian flesh!”’

Strange and almost unparalleled as the incident may
appear—and I had it from the Doctor himself—the hun-
gry Jackalls, when a cloud passed over the moon, began
to encompass him around, and yelping and grinning with
their long fangs, forced the Doctor to back as they ad-
vanced.

Dr. S brandished his firelock, and shouted, “ Hoot
awa! Hoot awa’ !” with all his vigour; but the cunning
animals seemed aware of his being out of powder, and as the
buffalo lay at the edge of the water, they fairly drove him
into the river up to his chin, shrieking, ‘* Hoot awa!—
hoot awa!—the de’il damn your mither’s sons!”*—and
being unwilling to lose his powder-horn, and yet afraid to
attack such a host of ‘‘hoongry beasts,?? he waited shi-
vering in the limpid element for many hours, till the
gray of morning induced his conquerors to retire.

Nothing annoys the Doctor so much as the question:
‘¢ Which is the best mon, Doctor, a Scot or a Jackall 2”
I believe it was S$ *s first and last sporting excursion.

He left off shooting on the wise principle of a cele-
brated tiger-shot, who having killed nine, and narrowly
escaped being torn in pieces by the tenth, relinquished the
sport for ever : and, when jeered for his timidity, he coldly
replied, «‘ Tiger-hunting is a delightful recreation while
you hunt the z¢ger, but not quite so agreeable when the
tiger takes it into his head to hunt you.”

[London Sport. Mag.

THE HUMMING BIRD.

BY MRS. TURNER.

Say, feather’d gem, of rain-bow dyes,
With ruby breast and emerald wing,

Gay glittering in the sunny skies,
Like flitting flash of lightning.

Say—is that busy, busy hum,
Thy joyous song of love ? or fear
Lest some rude rival bee, should come,
Thy favourite flowers too near?

Or canst thou from that tiny bill,
A silvery lay of sweetness pour,

The bosom of thy mate to thrill
With fairy lover’s lore ?

And can that little breast e’er beat
With passion’s ardent glow?
Feel anger’s stern, impetuous heat
Or love’s fond fervour know ?

48 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

As hov’ring o’er the scarlet bloom,
Or resting on a lily’s stem,

Does fancy in the rich perfume
Bring thoughts of love with them?

And when I see thee quickly dart

On whirring wing from flower to flower,
Say, is thy little constant heart

Quick beating for thy true love’s bower?

Go, haste thee, then, sweet bird of love,
And quickly sip the rich repast ;

For birds, as well as mortals, prove
That joys the sweetest, seldom last.

Go, sparkle on thy short-lived day,
*Mid Frora’s treasures bright,

Like zephyrs wing thy wanton way,
For ah! too swiftly comes thy night.

And when at eve thou leay’st my porch,
Go lead thy little love to rest ;

The fire-fly be thy hymen’s torch,
A full blown rose thy tiny nest.

TO PREVENT HYDROPHOBIA.

Tur saliva of the mad dog, has the property, when in-
serted under the skin, of communicating hydrophobia to
other animals, and to man. M. Coster has been able, by
the use of Chlorine, to decompose this deadly poison, and
render it harmless, preventing the approach of hydropho-
bia in animals bitten by dogs decidedly rabid. There
can be no doubt of the accuracy of the experiment on
which this statement is predicated.

From this the most important practical results follow:

Make a strong wash by dissolving two table-spoonfuls
of the chloruret of lime in halfa pint of water, and instantly
and repeatedly bathe the part bitten. The poison will
in this way be decomposed. It has proved successful
when applied within six hours after the animal has been
bitten.

From what we now know of the powers of Chlorine, it
is not too much to hope for, that it may prove an antidote
to every case of poison, provided it be applied in season,
and before the system is fatally affected.

It appears highly probable that hydrogen, from its being
the lightest and most subtle of all known ponderable
bodies, may enter into the composition of such active
agents as poison. Fontana examined the poison of the
viper and of other animals, but we know not whether, as
in prussic acid, hydrogen is the active principle. In the
present No. it appears that Chlorine destroyed the effect

of prussic acid, the most active poison known, even after it
had gone far towards producing death. It is therefore credi-
ble, that it may destroy other poisons, having a similar
constitution; and we can readily understand the modus
operandi in such cases; for Chlorine takes hydrogen from
every combination, and of course destroys the peculiar
character of the compound. Prussic acid itself consists of
nothing but the ordinary elements of animal matter, such
as are daily used for food; but in the acid they are
combined in a peculiar manner, and the withdrawing of
hydrogen from it, at once subverts the combination, and
renders it harmless.

The practical use which we would make of the facts
which we know, and of the theoretical views which we en-
tertain is, that Chloride of Lime should be kept in every
family ready for instant use in the multiplied cases in
which it is applicable.-—Stlliman’s Journal.

EFFICACY OF AMMONIA IN CURING THE STINGS OF BEES,
AND COUNTERACTING OTHER POISONS.

BY DR. CHURCH, OF COOPERSTOWN, N. ¥.

A young man in this place had accidentally overset a
hive of bees, and before he could escape, they had settled,
in great numbers, on different parts of his body and limbs,
and stung him very severely. It was about halfan hour after
the accident happened, when he came to my office in
great agony, and he had searcely time to give an account
of it before he fainted. JI immediately applied the ammo-
nia to the parts that had been stung, his legs, arms, and
breast. He directly recovered from his faintness, and ex-
perienced no pain or other inconvenience afterwards.

It is several years since I first used the aqua ammoniz,
to counteract the effect of the bites of insects and stings
of bees, and it has invariably produced instant relief—gene-
rally complete. I have often seen children crying in ex-
cessive pain from the sting of a bee, and on the application
ofthe ammonia they would immediately cease complaining
and become cheerful; so complete and sudden is the relief
it produces. I always use it for musquito bites, and they
never trouble me farther. I was led to the use of it in these
cases, from the instantaneous effect it was said to have in
counteracting the operation of prussic acid. In the second
number of the American Journal of Medical Sciences,
(Philadelphia,) for last year, it will be seen that Dr. Moore,
of Alabama, used it with great success in the cure of ve-
nomous serpents. JI have sometimes noticed that the ap-
plication is more efficacious than at others, and I think it
must be on account of its being sometimes carbonated and
at others not.—Jé.

PLY. Vol. UH.

Printed by Chuas & Lehman

Drawn on Stone by A. Prder-

vad

PRONG- HORNED ANTILOPE.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

PRONG-HORNED ANTILOPE.
ANTILOPE AMERICANA.
ERlates Va Violas]

Antilope, Lewis & CLARKE, 1. 75, 208, 369; 11. 169.—
“intilope Americana, Orv, GurTuriz’s Geography,
Philad. ed. 1815.—.4ntilope Furcifer, Smita. Trans.
of Linnzn Society, x1. pl. 2.—Prong-horned /nte-
lope, Sas. App. p. 667.—Teuthlalmacame, Hernan-
pEz, Noy. His. p. 324, 325, Fig. 324, an. 1651.—Le
Squenoton, Hist. de ?Amerique, p. 175, an. 1723.—
Aintilocapra Americana, Orv, Jour. de Phys. 1818.
Hartan, Fauna, p. 250.—Cervus Hamatus, Buain-
viLLE, Nouv. Bull. Societ. Phil. 1816, p. 80.—4ntilope
Palmata, Smiru, Opere Citato. Desmarest, Mam. p.
476.—Cervus Bifurcatus, Ravinesque.—“peestat-
Chekoos, Cres Inptans.—Philadelphia Museum.

Tur Prong-horned Antilope, was first discovered and
described by Lewis and Clarke, while on their journey
across the Rocky Mountains. Previous to this, it was un-
known to naturalists, excepting only a slight notice given
by Hernandez, of a similar animal, said to inhabit Califor-
nia, under the appellation of Zewthlalmacame. The only
preserved specimen of the animal, existing at present in
this country, was brought by the above-mentioned gentle-
men from the Missouri, and deposited in the Philadelphia
Museum. To these, therefore, we are indebted for all the
information we possess respecting this beautiful quadruped,
which has since been confirmed by Dr. Richardson in his
observations on the Northern Zoology, appended to Frank-
lin’s Journey to the Polar Sea.

In noticing the Prong-horned Antilope, Lewis & Clarke
give the following facts:—

‘¢ Of all the animals we had seen, the Antilope seems to
possess the most wonderful fleetness; shy and timorous,
they generally repose only on the ridges, which command
a view of all the approaches of an enemy. The acuteness
of their sight distinguishes the most distant danger, the
delicate sensibility of their smell defeats the precautions of
concealment, and when alarmed their rapid career seems
more like the flight of birds than the movements of an
earthly being. After many unsuccessful attempts, Captain
Lewis at last, by winding around the ridges, approached
a party of seven, which were on an eminence, towards
which the wind was unfortunately blowing. The only
male of the party frequently encircled the summit of the
hill, as if to announce any danger to the females, who
formed a group at the top. Although they did not see

N

49

Captain Lewis, the smell alarmed them, and they fled
when he was at the distance of two hundred yards: he
immediatuly ran to the spot where they had been, a ravine
concealed them from him, but the next moment they
appeared on a second ridge at the distance of three miles.
He doubted: whether it could be the same; but their num-
ber, and the extreme rapidity with which they continued
their course, convinced him that they must have gone
with a speed equal to that of the most distinguished race-
horse.

‘‘The chief game of the Shoshonees, is the Antilope,
which when pursued retreats to the open plains, where
the horses have full room for the chase. But such is its
extraordinary fleetness and wind that a single horse hasno
possible chance of outrunning it, or tiring it down; and
the hunters are therefore obliged to resort to stratagem.
About twenty Indians, mounted on fine horses, and armed
with bows and arrows, left the camp; in a short time they
descried aherdof ten Antilopes; they immediately separated
into little squads of two or three, and formed a scattered cir-
cle round the herd for five or six miles, keeping ata wary
distance, so as not to alarm them till they were perfectly
inclosed, and usually selecting some commanding eminence
asastand. Having gained their positions, a small party
rode towards the herd, and with wonderful dexterity the
huntsman preserved his seat, and the horse his footing, as
he ran at full speed over the hills, and down the steep ra-
vines, and along the borders of the precipices. They were
soon outstripped by the Antilopes, which on gaining the
other extremity of the circle, were driven back and pur-
sued by the fresh hunters. They turned and flew, rather
than ran in another direction; but they found new enemies.
In this way they were alternately pursued backwards and
forwards, till at length, notwithstanding the skill of the
hunters, they all escaped, and the party, after running for
two hours, returned without having caught any thing, and
their horses foaming with sweat. This chase, the greater
part of which was seen from the camp, formed a beautiful
scene; but to the hunters is exceedingly laborious, and so
unproductive, even when they are able to worry the ani-
mal down and shoot him, that forty or fifty hunters will
sometimes be engaged for half a day without obtaining
more than two or three Antilopes.

‘¢The Antilope inhabits the great plains of the Colum-
bia, and resembles those found on the banks of the Mis-
souri, and indeed in every part of the untimbered country,
but they are by no means so abundant on this as on the
other side of the Rocky Mountains. The natives make
themselves robes of their skins, and preserve the hair en-
tire. In the summer and autumn, when the salmon begin
to decline, the majority of the natives leave the sides of the

50 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

river, and reside in the open plains, to hunt the Antilope,
which they pursue on horseback, and shoot with their
arrows.”

During the last expedition to the Rocky Mountains,
under Major Long, the following incident occurred, which
eminently displays the wonderful fleetness of the Antilope.
‘¢ One afternoon, while the expedition halted, two soldiers,
mounted on excellent horses, went out to hunt. After
going some distance, they discovered, afar off, a female
Antilope, feeding on the prairie. They immediately dis-
mounted, and, after some ingenuity, succeeded in approach-
ing sufficiently near to fire at and wound the animal,
which fled at once. ‘They then returned to their horses,
remounted, and gave chase; but, on arriving at the spot
where the animal had been wounded, they discovered its
fawn, and as their object was diversion, they gave chase to
the fawn in preference to the wounded mother. This they
followed with the most rapid speed for upwards of two
hours, before they succeeded in making it captive, and this
was only effected, when by its exertions it sank exhausted
on the ground, and had nearly worn out the horses and
riders. The little prisoner was taken to the camp almost
lifeless, but being fed on bread and milk, it was soon re-
vived. The next day, as the expedition was moving for-
ward, one of the party led it by his handkerchief; but to
his surprise, instead of making any resistance, or attempts
to escape, it kept pace with his footsteps, and evinced so
much familiarity, that at length he concluded to untie it,
and sce if it would follow of its own accord. This it did
for the greater part of the day, when it gave out, and was
left behind, being no doubt greatly weakened by the exer-
tions of the previous day.” From this fact, it may be
inferred, that the Antilope, iftaken young, would, like the
common deer, (Cervus Virginianus,) leave its kind, and
abide in the habitations of man.

‘¢ The most northerly range of the Prong-horned Anti-
lope,’”’ says Dr. Richardson, “is latitude 53°, on the banks
of the north branch of the Saskatchewan. Some of them
remain the whole year on the south branch of that river,
but they are merely summer visitors to the north branch.
They come every year to the neighbourhood of Carlton-
house, when the snow has mostly gone; soon after their
arrival the females drop their young, and they retire to
the southwards again in the autumn as soon as the snow
begins to fall. Almost every year a small herd linger
on a piece of rising ground not far from Carlton-house,
until the snow has become too deep on the plains to per-
mit them to travel overthem. Few or none of that herd,
howeyer, survive until the spring, as they are persecuted
by the wolves during the whole winter. They are found

in the summer season in the fifty-third parallel of latitude,
from longitude 106° to the foot of the Rocky Mountains.

“<The Prong-horned Antilope appears on the banks of
the Saskachewan sometimes a solitary animal, sometimes
assembled in herds of ten or twelve. Its sight and sense
of smell are acute, and its speed is greater than that of
any other inhabitant of the plains, although I have been
informed by Mr. Prudens, who has resided forty years in
that quarter, that when there is a little snow on the ground
it may, with some little management, be run down by a
high bred horse. The Indian hunters have no difficulty
in bringing an Antilope within gun-shot, by various strata-
gems, such as lying down on their backs and kicking their
heels in the air, holding up a white rag, or clothing them-
selves in a white shirt, and showing themselves only at
intervals. By these and similar manceuvres, the curiosity
of a herd of Antilopes is so much roused that they wheel
round the object of their attention, and at length approach
near enough to enable the hunter to make sure of his
mark. From this disposition of the prong-horned Anti-
lopes, they are more easily killed than any of the deer of
the district which they inhabit. They are, however, ob-
jects of little interest to the Indians, who eat their flesh
only when the bison, moose or wapiti are not to be pro-
cured, and their skins are of no value as an article of trade.
The Mandans on the Missouri are said to capture them in
pounds.

‘¢ This animal has a graceful form, a slender head, with
large eyes, and long and delicate limbs. The nostrils
turn obliquely upwards from the raphe of the upper lip,
and are separated by a small, tumid, triangular, naked
space. The naked margins of the dips are blackish, but
the lips and chin are covered with white hair. The nose
is nearly straight, or very slightly arched, narrow, and is
clothed towards its tip with short hair of a liver-brown
colour, which gradually mingles towards the fore-head
with yellowish brown hair. The orbits haye a narrow,
blackish-brown margin, and the eye-lashes, composed of
a row of stiff, erect hairs, are black. The cheeks are
covered with short hair, mostly of a wood-brown colour,
and the forehead is clothed with longer bushy hair, and
presents two white marks, one extending from ear to ear,
the other a little anterior to it; the latter mark is slightly
tinged with brown. The ears are upwards of six inches
high, narrow, and have the inner side curving in for half
their height; from thence to their acute tips they are flat.
They are covered posteriorly by a smooth coat of short
hair, of a yellowish-brown colour, mixed with dark
umber, the latter colour prevailing near the tip. They
are lined interiorly with longer hair, of a grayish
white colour. There is a dark blackish-brown spot

AND AMERICAN

at the angle of each jaw, which exhales a strong
hircine odour, and between this spot and the ear the
hair is pale, or nearly white. There are no external
indications whatever of a crumen or lachrymal opening.
The horns are black, rise directly upwards and outwards,
without any inclination either forwards or backwards, and
curve sharply in towards each otherat their tips. At the
base the distance between themis 83 inches; within 2 inches
of the tip, where they begin to curve inwards, the dis-
tance between them is 103 inches, and the tips are 7
inches apart. The horns are much compressed, in a
lateral direction, to about half their height, where they
give out a thin, triangular, or bracket-shaped process,
which projects directly forwards for more than an inch.
The surface of the lower half of the horns is striated, and
is rough, with small warts and knobs, two or three of
which project from a quarter to half an inch. The situa-
tion of these larger knobs varies in different specimens.
The horns above the flat snag have a shining, striated sur-
face, are nearly round, and taper considerably. The
upper parts of the body are of a clear, yellowish-brown
colour, deepening on the ridge of the back into blackish-
gray. The hairs are much longer between the ears, and
on the back of the neck, where they form an erect mane,
of a blackish-brown colour on its tips. The sides and
thighs are paler than the back, and approach in colour to
a clear wood-brown. The under jaw has a very pale
yellowish-brown colour, fading to white. The hair is
bushy about the angle of the lower jaw, and has a wood-
brown colour. This colour forms three belts across the
throat, which differ from each other in breadth, and are
separated by two patches of pure white. The chest,
belly, insides of the thighs, and legs, the tail, and a large
patch round it, which includes the rump, and upper part
of the buttocks, are pure white. There is a pale yellow-
ish mark at the root of the tail. The tail is 4% inches
long. The /egs are slender, with long shank-bones; the
fur, covering their anterior surfaces, is yellowish-brown.
It has only two hoofs, there being no vestige of the pos-
terior supplementary ones.

‘¢The hair which clothes the body, resembles that of
a moose or rein-deer in its structure. It is long, round,
tapering from the root to the point, waved, and of a soft
and brittle texture, particularly towards the root, where it
is easily compressed, and does not regain its round form
again. Its interior is white and spongy, like the pith of
rush. When the hair makes its first appearance in the
summer, it forms a smooth coat, and has the ordinary
flexibility and appearance of hair; but as it lengthens it
acquires the brittle, spongy texture, at its roots, and in-
creasing at the same time in diameter, it becomes ercct,

RURAL SPORTS. 51

and forms a very close coat. As the spring approaches
the fine and flexible points are rubbed off, particularly on
the sides, where the hair appears as if it had been clipped.
The mane on the hind-head and neck retains its darker
points, even when the winter coat is dropping off. The
nose, cheeks, part of the lower jaw, ears, and legs, are
clothed at all times with short flexible hairs, which lie
smoothly.

“The females are stated, by some American writers,
to have horns like the males, although smaller; but in
gravid, and, therefore, at least nearly full-grown indivi-
duals, which I have examined, there was merely a short,
obtuse process, of the frontal bone, scarcely to be felt
through the fur, and not covered with horn.

“<The young, at birth, are covered on the upper parts
with short hair of a clove-brown colour, more or less
hoary. The situation of the mane is marked by a dark
line. The tail is yellowish-brown, and the buttocks are
pure white. The dark mark on the nose, the one behind
the angle of the jaw, and the bands across the throat,
exist as in the adult. The legs are of a pure wood-
brown colour.

DIMENSIONS.
Feet, Inches.

Length from the nose to the root of the tail, - 4 4
Height at the fore shoulder, - - - - - 3 0

& « haunches, - 5 S o a 3 0
Girth behind the four legs, - - - - - 3 0

“before the hind legs, - = - - 2 10
Length of the tail, with the hair, - - - - O 4}

MIGRATION OF MAMMIFEROUS QUADRUPEDS.

AxtTuoueH in speculating on ‘ philosophical possibili-
ties,”’ said Buffon, the same temperature might have been
expected, all other circumstances being equal, to produce
the same beings in different parts of the globe, both in the
animal and vegetable kingdoms, yet it is an undoubted
fact, that when America was discovered, its indigenous
quadrupeds were all dissimilar from those previously
known in the old world. The elephant, the rhinoceros,
the hippopotamus, the cameleopard, the camel, the drome-
dary, the buffalo, the horse, the ass, the lion, the tiger,
the apes, the baboons, and a number of other mammalia,
were nowhere to be met with on the new continent; while
in the old, the American species, of the same great class,
were nowhere to be seen—the tapir, the lama, the pecari,
the jaguar, the couguar, the agouti, the paca, the coati, and
the sloth.

52 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

These phenomena, although few in number relatively to
the whole animate creation, were so striking and so posi-
tive in their nature, that the French naturalist caught
sight at once of a general law in the geographical distribu-
tion of organic beings, namely, the limitation of groups of
distinct species to regions separated from the rest of the
globe by certain natural barriers. It was, therefore, in a
truly philosophical spirit, that relying on the clearness of
the evidence obtained respecting the larger quadrupeds,
he ventured to callin question the identifications announced
by some contemporary naturalists, of species of animals
said to be common to the southern extremities of Ame-
rica and Africa.

The migration of quadrupeds from one part of the globe
to the other, observes one of our ablest writers, is prevent-
ed by uncongenial climates, and the branchesof the ocean
which intersect continents. ‘* Hence, by a reference to
the geographical site of countries, we may divide the earth
into a certain number of regions fitted to become the abodes
of particular groups of animals, and we shall find, on in-
quiry, that each of these provinces, thus conjecturally
marked out, is actually inhabited by a distinct nation of
quadrupeds.”’

Where the continents of the old and new world approxi-
mate to each other towards the north, the narrow straits
which separate them are frozen over in winter, and the
distance is further lessened by intervening islands. Thus
a passage from one continent to another becomes practica-
ble to such quadrupeds as are fitted to endure the intense
cold of the arctic circle. Accordingly, the whole arctic
region has become one of the provinces of the animal king-
dom, and contains many species common to both the great
continents. Butthe temperate regions of America, which
are separated by a wide extent of ocean from those of
Europe and Asia, contain each a distinct nation of indige-
nous quadrupeds. There are three groups of tropical
mammalia, belonging severally to America, Africa, and
continental India, each inhabiting lands separated from
each other by the ocean.

In Peru and Chili, says Humboldt, the region of the
grasses, which is at an elevation of from twelve thousand
three hundred to fifteen thousand four hundred feet, is in-
habited by crowds of lama, guanaco, and alpaca. These
quadrupeds, which here represent the genus camel of the
ancient continent, have nct extended themselves either to
Brazil or Mexico, because, during their journey, they
must necessarily have descended into regions that were too
hot for them.

New Holland is well known to contain a most singular
and characteristic assemblage of mammiferous animals, con-
sisting of more than forty species of the marsupial family,

of which no congeners even occur elsewhere, with the
exception of a few American opossums. This exclusive
occupation of the Australian continent by the kangaroos
and other tribes of pouched animals, although it has justly
excited great attention, is a fact, nevertheless, in strict
accordance with the general laws of the distribution of
species; since, in other parts of the globe, we find pecu-
liarities of form, structure, and habit, in birds, reptiles,
insects, or plants, confined entirely to one hemisphere, or
one continent, and sometimes to much narrower limits.

The southern region of Africa, where that continent
extends into the temperate zone, constitutes another sepa-
rate zoological province, surrounded as it is on three sides
by the ocean, and cut off from the countries of milder
climate, in the northern hemisphere, by the intervening
torrid zone. In many instances, this region contains the
same genera which are found in temperate climates to the
northward of the line; but then the southern are different
from the northern species. Thus in the south we find the
quagga and the zebra; in the north, the horse, the ass, and
the jiggetai of Asia.

The south of Africa is spread out into fine level plains
from the tropic to the Cape; in this region, says Pennant,
besides the horse genus, of which five species have been
found, there are also peculiar species of rhinoceros, the
hog, and the hyrax, among pachydermatous races; and
amongst the ruminating the giraffe, the Cape buffalo, and
a variety of remarkable antelopes, as the springbok, the
oryx, the gnou, the leucophoé, the pygarga, and several
others.

The Indian archipelago presents peculiar phenomena in
regard to its indigenous mammalia, which, in their gene-
ric character, recede in some respects from that of the
animals of the Indian continent, and approximate to the
African. The Sundaisles contain a hippopotamus, which
is wanting in the rivers of Asia; Sumatra, a peculiar spe-
cies of tapir, and a rhinoceros resembling the African
more than the Indian species, but specifically distinguish-
able from both.

Beyond the Indian archipelago, is an extensive region,
including New Guinea, New Britain, and New Ireland,
together with the archipelago of Solomon’s Islands, the
New Hebrides, and Louisiade, and the more remote
groups of isles in the great southern ocean, which may be
considered as forming one zoological province. Although
these remarkable countries are extremely fertile in their
vegetable productions, they are almost wholly destitute of
native warm-blooded quadrupeds, except a few species of
bats, and some domesticated animals in the possession of
the natives.

Quadrupeds found on islands situated near the conti-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

nents, generally form a part of the stock of animals be-
longing to the adjacent main land; ‘‘but small islands re-
mote from continents are in general altogether destitute of
land quadrupeds, except such as appear to have been
conveyed to them by men. Kerguelen’s Land, Juan Fer-
nandez, the Gallapagos, and the Isles de Lobos, are exam-
ples of this fact. Among all the groups of fertile islands
in the Pacific Ocean, no quadrupeds have been found, ex-
cept dogs, hogs, rats, and a few bats. ‘The bats have been
found in New Zealand and the more westerly groups; they
may probably have made their way along the chain of
islands which extend from the shores of New Guinea
far into the southern Pacific. The hogs and the dogs
appear to have been conveyed by the natives from
New Guinea. The Indian Isles, near New Guinea, abound
in oxen, buffaloes, goats, deer, hogs, dogs, cats, and rats;
but none of them are said to have reached New Guinea,
except the hog and the dog. ‘The New Guinea hog is of
the Chinese variety, and was probably brought from some
of the neighbouring isles, being the animal most in request
among savages. Ithasrun wildin New Guinea. Thence
it has been conveyed to the New Hebrides, the Tonga
and Society Isles, and to the Marquesas; but it is still
wanting in the more eastern islands, and, to the southward,
in New Caledonia.

‘Dogs may be traced from New Guinea to the New
Hebrides and Fijii Isles; but they are wanting in the
Tonga Isles, though found among the Society and Sand-
wich islanders, by some of whom they are used for food:
to the southward they have been conveyed to New Cale-
donia and New Zealand. In Waster Island, the most
remotely situated in this ocean, there are no domestic ani-
mals except fowls and rats, which are eaten by the natives:
these animals are found in most of the islands; the fowls
are probably from New Guinea. Rats are to be found
even on some desert islands, whither they may have been
conveyed by canoes which have occasionally approached
the shores. It is known, also, that rats occasionally swim
in large numbers to considerable distances.

It is natural to suppose that the geographical range of
the different species of cetacea should be less correctly
ascertained than that of the terrestrial mammifers. It is,
however, well known, that the whales which are obtained
by our fishers in the South Seas, are distinct from those of
the North; and the same dissimilarity has been found in all
the other marine animals of the same class, so far as they
have yet been studied by naturalists.

Let us now inquire what facilities the various land quad-
rupeds enjoy of spreading themselves over the surface of
the earth. In the first place, as their numbers multiply,
all of them, whether they feed on plants, or prey on other

O

53

animals, are disposed to scatter themselves gradually over
as wide an area as is accessible tothem. But before they
have extended their migrations over a large space, they
are usually arrested, either by the sea, or a zone of uncon-
genial climate, or some lofty and unbroken chain of moun-
tains, or a tract already occupied by a hostile and more
powerful species.

Rivers and narrow friths can seldom interfere with their
progress, for the greater part of them swim well, and few
are without this power when urged by danger and press-
ing want. Thus, amongst beasts of prey, the tiger is seen
swimming about among the islands and creeksin the delta
of the Ganges, and the jaguar traverses with ease the
largest streams in South America. The bear, also, and the
bison, stem the current of the Mississippi. The popular
error, that the common swine cannot escape by swimming
when thrown into the water, has been contradicted by
several curious and well-authenticated instances during the
recent floods in Scotland. One pig, only six months old,
after having been carried down from Garmouth to the bar
at the mouth of the Spey, a distance of a quarter of a mile,
swam four miles eastward to Port Gordon, and landed
safe. Three others, of the same age and litter, swam at
the same time five miles to the west, and landed at Black-
hill.

In an adult and wild state, these animals would doubtless
have been more strong and active, and might, when hard
pressed, have performed a much longer voyage. Hence,
islands remote from the continent may obtain inhabitants
by casualties which, like the late storms in Morayshire,
may only occur once in many centuries, or thousands of
years, under all the same circumstances. It is obvious that
powerful tides, winds, and currents, may sometimes carry
along quadrupeds capable, in like manner, of preserving
themselves for hours in the sea to very considerable dis-
tances, and in this way, perhaps, the tapir, ( Tapir Indicus,)
may have become common to Sumatra and the Malayan
peninsula.

To the elephant in particular, the power of crossing
rivers is essential in a wild state, for the quantity of food
which a herd of these animals consumes renders it neces-
sary that they should be constantly moving from place to
place. ‘The elephant crosses the stream in two ways. If
the bed of the river be hard, and the water not of too
great a depth, he fords it. But when he crosses great
rivers, such as the Ganges and the Niger, the elephant
swims deep, so deep that the end of his trunk only is out of
the water; for it is a matter of indifference to him, whether
his body be completely immersed, provided he can bring
the tip of his trunk to the surface, so as to breathe the
external air.

54

Animals of the deer kind frequently take to the water,
especially in the rutting season, when the stags are seen
swimming for several leagues at a time, from island to
island, in search of the does, especially in the Canadian
lakes; and in some countries where there are islands near
the sea-shore, they fearlessly enter the sea, and swim to
them. In hunting excursions, in North America, the elk
of that country is frequently pursued for great distances
through the water.

The large herbiverous animals, which are gregarious, can
never remain long in a confined region, as they consume
so much vegetable food. The immense herds of bisons
which often, in the great valley of the Mississippi, blacken
the surface near the banks of that river and its tributaries,
are continually shifting their quarters, followed by wolves
which prowl about in their rear. ‘It is no exaggera-
tion,’’ says Mr. James, ‘‘ to assert, that in one place, on
the banks of the Platte, at least ten thousand bisons burst
on our sight in an instant. In the morning, we again
sought the living picture, but upon all the plain, which last
evening was so teeming with noble animals, not one re-
mained.””

Besides the disposition common to the individuals of
every species slowly to extend their range in search of
food, in proportion as their numbers augment, a migratory
instinct often developes itselfin an extraordinary manner,
when, after an unusually prolific season, or upon a sudden
scarcity of provisions, great multitudes are threatened by
famine. We shall enumerate several illustrations of these
migrations, because they may put us upon our guard
against attributing a high antiquity to a particular species,
merely because it is diffused over a great space; they
show clearly how soon, in a state of nature, a newly-created
species might spread itself, in every direction, from a sin-
gle point.

In very severe winters, great numbers of the black
bears of America migrate from Canada into the United
States; but in milder seasons, when they have been well
fed, they remain and hybernate in the north. The rein-
deer, which in Scandinavia can scarcely exist to the south
of the sixty-fifth parallel, descends, in consequence of the
greater coldness of the climate, to the fiftieth degree, in
Chinese Tartary, and often roves into a country of more
southern latitude than any part of England.

In Lapland, and other high latitudes, the common
squirrels, whenever they are compelled, by want of provi-
sions, to quit their usual abodes, migrate in amazing num-
bers, and travel directly forwards, allowing neither rocks,
forests, nor the broadest waters, to turn them from their
course. Great numbers are often drowned in attempting
to pass friths and rivers. In like manner, the small Nor-

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

way rat sometimes pursues its migrations in a straight line
across rivers and lakes; and Pennant informs us, that
when, in Kamtschatka, the rats become'too numerous, they
gather together in the spring, and proceed in great bodies
westward, swimming over rivers, lakes, and arms of the
sea. Many are drowned or destroyed by water-fowl or
fish. As soon as they have crossed the river Penchim, at
the head of the gulf of the same name, they turn south-
ward, and reach the rivers Judoma and Ochot by the mid-
dle of July, a district surprisingly distant from their point
of departure.

The lemings, also of Scandinavia, often pour down in
myriads from the northern mountains, and devastate the
country. They generally move in lines which are about
three feet from each other, and exactly parallel, and they
direct their march from the north-west to the south-east,
going directly forward through rivers and lakes, and when
they meet with stacks of hay or corn, gnawing their way
through them instead of passing round.

Vast troops of the wild ass, or onager of the ancients,
which inhabit the mountainous deserts of Great Tartary,
feed, during the summer, in the tracts east and north of
Lake Aral. In the autumn they collect in herds of hun-
dreds and even thousands, and direct their course towards
the north of India, and often to Persia, to enjoy a warm re-
treat during winter. Bands of two or three hundred quag-
gas, a species of wild ass, are sometimes seen to migrate
from the tropical plains of southern Africa to the vicinity
of the Malaleveen river. During their migrations they
are followed by lions, who slaughter them night. by
night.

The migratory swarms of the springbok, or Cape ante-
lope, afford another illustration of the rapidity with which
a species, under certain circumstances, may be diffused
over acontinent. When the stagnant pools of the immense
deserts south of the Orange river dry up, which often hap-
pens after intervals of three or four years, myriads of
these animals desert the parched soil, and pour down like
a deluge on the cultivated regions nearer the Cape. The
hayoe committed by them resembles that of the African
locusts; and so crowded are the herds, that ‘‘the lion has
been seen to walk in the midst of the compressed pha-
lanx with only as much room between him and his victims
as the fears of those immediately around could procure by
pressing outwards.”

Dr. Horsfield mentions a singular fact in regard to the
geographical distribution of the Mydaus meliceps, a kind
of polecatinhabiting Java. This animal is confined exclu-
sively to those mountains which have an eleyation of more
than seven thousand feet above the level of the ocean:
on these it occurs with the same regularity as many

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 55

plants. The long-extended surface of Java, abounding
with conical points which exceed this elevation, affords
many places favourable for its resort. On ascending these
mountains, the traveller scarcely fails to meet with this
animal, which, from its peculiarities, is universally known
to the inhabitants of these elevated tracts, while to those
of the plains it is as strange as an animal from a foreign
country. In my visits to the mountainous districts, I
uniformly met with it, and, as far as the information of
the natives can be relied on, it is found on all the moun-
tains.””

Now, if we were asked to conjecture how the Mydaus
arrived at the elevated regions of each of these isolated
mountains, we should say that before the isle was peopled
by man, by whom their numbers are now thinned, they
may occasionally have multiplied so as to be forced to col-
lect together and migrate; in which case, notwithstanding
the slowness of their motions, some few would succeed in
reaching another mountain, some twenty, or even, per-
haps, fifty miles distant: for although the climate of the
hot intervening plains would be unfavourable to them,
they might support it for a time, and would find there
abundance of insects on which they feed. Volcanic erup-
tions, which at different times have covered the summits
of some of these lofty cones with sterile sand and ashes, may
have occasionally contributed to force on these migrations.

[Lyell’s Geology.

CAVE OF GUACHARO, NEAR CUMANA.

Tuer greatest curiosity in this beautiful and salubrious
district is a cavern inhabited by nocturnal birds, the fat
of which is employed in the missions for dressing food. It
is named the Cave of Guacharo, and is situated in a valley
three leagues distant from the convent.

On the 18th of September our travellers, accompanied
by most of the monks and some of the Indians, set out for
this aviary, following for an hour anda halfa narrow path,
leading across a fine plain covered with beautiful turf;
then, turning westward along a small river which issues
from the cave, they proceeded during three-quarters of an
hour, sometimes walking in the water, sometimes on a
slippery and miry soil, between the torrent and a wall of
rocks, until they arrived at the foot of the lofty mountain
of Guacharo. Here the torrent ran in a deep ravine, and
they went on under a projecting cliff, which prevented
them from seeing the sky, until at the last turning they
came suddenly upon the immense opening of the recess,

which is eighty-five feet broad and seventy-seven feet
high. The entrance is towards the south, and is formed
in the vertical face of a rock, covered with trees of gigantic
height, intermixed with numerous species of singular and
beautiful plants, some of which hang in festoons over the
vault. This luxuriant vegetation is not confined to the
exterior of the cave, but appears even in the vestibule,
where the travellers were astonished to see heliconias nine-
teen feet in height, palms, and arborescent arums. They
had advanced about four hundred and sixty feet before it
became necessary to light their torches, when they heard
from afar the hoarse screams of the birds.

The Guacharo is the size of a domestic fowl, and has
somewhat the appearance of a vulture, with a mouth like
that of a goatsucker. It forms a distant genus in the order
Passeres, differing from that just named in having a
stronger beak, furnished with two denticulations, though
in its manners it bears an affinity to it as well as to the
alpine crow. Its plumage is dark bluish-gray, minutely
streaked and spotted with deep brown; the head, wings,
and tail being marked with white spots bordered with
black. The extent of the wings is three feet and a half.
It lives on fruits, but quits the cave only in the evening.
The shrill and piercing cries of these birds, assembled in
multitudes, are said to forma harsh and disagreeable noise,
somewhat resembling that of a rookery. The nests, which
the guides showed by means of torches fastened to a long
pole, were placed in funnel-shaped holes in the roof. The
noise increased as they advanced, the animals being fright-
ened by the numerous lights.

About midsummer every year the Indians, armed with
poles, enter the cave, and destroy the greater part of the
nests. Several thousands of young birds are thus killed,
and the old ones hover around, uttering frightful cries.
Those which are secured in this manner are opened on the
spot, to obtain the fat which exists abundantly in their
abdomen, and which is subsequently melted in clay ves-
sels over fires of brushwood. ‘Thissubstance is semifluid,
transparent, destitute of smell, and keeps above a year
without becoming rancid. At the convent of Caripe it
was used in the kitchen of the monks, and our travellers
never found that it communicated any disagreeable smell
or taste to the food.

The Guacharoes would have been long ago destroyed,
had not the superstitious dread of the Indians prevented
them from penetrating far into the cavern. It also appears,
that birds of the same species dwell in other inaccessible
places in the neighbourhood, and that the great cave is re-
peopled by colonies from them. The hard and dry fruits
which are found in the crops and gizzards of the young
ones are considered as an excellent remedy against inter.

56 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

mittent fevers, and regularly sent to Cariaco and other
parts of the lower districts where such diseases prevail.

The travellers followed the banks of the small river
which issues from the cavern as far as the mounds of cal-
careous incrustations permitted them, and afterward de-
scended into its bed. The cave preserved the same direc-
tion, breadth, and height as at its entrance, to the dis-
tance of 1554 feet. The natives having a belief that
the souls of their ancestors inhabit its deep recesses, the
Indians who accompanied our travellers could hardly be
persuaded to venture into it. Shooting at random in the
dark, they obtained two specimens of the Guacharo. Hay-
ing proceeded to a certain distance, they came to a mass
of stalactite, beyond which the cave became narrower,
although it retained its original direction. Here the rivu-
let had deposited a blackish mould resembling that ob-
served at Muggendorf in Franconia. The seeds which the
birds carry to their young spring up wherever they are
dropped into it; and M. Humboldt and his friend were
astonished to find blanched stalks that had attained a
height of two feet.

As the missionaries were unable to persuade the Indians
to advance farther, the party returned. The river, spark-
ling amid the foliage of the trees, seemed like a distant
picture, to which the mouth of the cave formed a frame.
Having sat down at the entrance to enjoy a little needful
repose, they partook of a repast which the missionaries
had prepared, and in due time returned to the convent.

[ Humboldt.

NOTES OF A NATURALIST.
BY JACOB GREEN, M. D.

PROFESSOR OF CHEMISTRY IN JEFFERSON COLLEGE,

Our Village—The Blue-bird.

Every one who rambles through our fields and woods
during the spring, summer, or autumn, must be familiar
with the plaintive song, the gentle manners, and the peace-
ful disposition of our own little Blue-bird, called by mo-
dern ornithologists the Syfia Sialis. Some how or
other I have, from early youth, entertained an attachment
for this little songster, which all the gayer and more ex-
pert musicians of the grove, cannot rival. Though his
plumage is simple, and his warblings brief, and perhaps to
some ears monotonous, he hasalways maintained with me
the pre-eminence. I always anxiously wait for his arri-

val, and listen with delight to his first mild and oft repeated
chirpings, towards the end of February, knowing that
spring’s ‘‘ ethereal mildness” is at hand. During the sum-
mer he animates the woods and hedges with his most
cheerful song, though it is frequently lost in the general cho-
rus; but, in the autumn, the meadow and the grove would
be unharmonious but for his plaintive notes. Often in the
bright sunny mornings of this variable season of our year,
when all his companions in the feathered choir have depart-
ed to milder climates, he may be noticed perched ona fence
rail, or on the branches of the leafless hedge,—then spring-
ing into the air at your approach, he pipes his final autum-
nal farewell. Nothing can be more graphic than Wilson’s
account of this interesting bird. He observes that ‘‘in
his motions and general character, he has great resem-
blance to the Robin Red-breast of Britain; like him he is
known to almost every child, and shows as much confi-
dence in man by associating with him in summer, as the
other by his familiarity in winter.’? I have heard and
have been pleased with the notes of the English Robin in
his native haunts, and perhaps many would prefer them to
those of our Blue-bird; but if what is told of his insidious
and pilfering disposition be true, I cannot consent to make
him a companion of my little favourite. The author of
‘©The Journal of a Naturalist,”’ associates the Robin,
(Motacilla rubecola,) with the Bull-finch and other plun-
derers of the English garden, in company, where, he re-
marks, it would not generally be sought; ‘‘ but sad truths
must be told of it. It might be called pugnacious, jea-
lous, selfish, quarrelsome, did I not respect ancient feelings
and long-establishedsentiments. A favourite by commisse-
ration, itseeks an asylum with us; by supplication and
importunity it becomes a partaker of our bounty in a sea-
son of severity and want,—and its seeming humbleness
and necessities obtain our pity; but it slights and forgets
our kindness the moment it can provide for itself, and is
away to its woods and its shades.’”? Now, our bird is pro-
verbially peaceful in his manners, useful in his habits,
confident and familiar in his disposition, and when with
open quivering wings, he pours forth his sweetest melody,
I think, is unrivalled in his song. The Robin Red-breast of
England has furnished a theme for some of her most gifted
poets, and for many of her nursery songs. I shall never
lose the impressions made upon my youthful mind when
hearing the words and the music of the little ballad called
‘©The Wood Robin.”? But no pastoral muse has yet
arisen in this western woody world to do justice to the
name of the Blue-bird, and to endear him still more, as
Wilson continues to remark, by the tenderness of verse.
A few lines are then offered as a tribute to our little songs-
ter, by the gifted biographer of American birds; and, as a

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 57

feeble acknowledgment ofa similar kind, I must insert the
following stanzas.

THE APPEARANCE OF THE BLUE-BIRD.

What sounds now fill the wintry air,
What music floats upon the breeze,

Whilst all the fields are bleak and bare,
And verdure breaks not from the trees ?

Oh! ’tis the bird with plumage blue,
The herald of approaching spring,
Still to his native forests true,
The echoing woods his welcome ring.

No opening violet’s perfume

Now scents for thee the chilly air,
No lone anemonies in bloom

A downy couch for thee prepare.

But yet I hail thee, beauteous bird,

For soon will come the time of flowers,
When thousand warblers will be heard,
- Filling with song the budding bowers.

Say, what impelled thy venturous wings
To bear thee here from southern skies,

Where never-ceasing verdure springs,
And ever-blooming flowerets rise ?

Oh, it was that same tireless arm

Which holds the sun—guides every sphere,
That Power whose influences warm

To life and light the opening year !

Yes—it was that same kindly hand,

Which marked thy path through trackless air,
And bid thee to this distant land,

Thy native home,—in haste repair !

Thrice welcome to those wonted haunts !
Endeared to thee by love and song,
Where erst I’ve listened to thy chaunts,
Speeding the gladsome hours along.

THE DEPARTURE OF THE BLUE-BIRD.

I hailed thee first among the throng
Of warblers in the feathered choir ;

Then tune for me a parting song,
And thus to milder climes retire.

Where are thy gay companions now,
That filled with music every dell?

All lonely on the leafless bough,
Thy plaintive voice proclaims farewell.

Farewell !—and haste to other lands—
Which brighter, kindlier suns illume—
Where rosy Flora’s liberal hands
Scatter around perennial bloom!

Haste, haste away !—nor linger here;
The forest leaves are falling fast,

The frowns of Winter now appear,
And soon will come the icy blast!

No chill December knowest thou,
Thy year is filled with sun and song;
Then fare thee well, and leave me now,
For frost and storms to me belong.

But should the Spring for me, once more
Return, and breathe her rich perfume,
Revisit, then, thy native shore,
Thy plaintive song again resume.

Though the Blue-bird is occasionally seen in many of
our northern states, during the warm and sunny days
which almost always occur in our winters, the great body
of them migrate to the more genial regions of the south.
My own little experience corresponds with that of Mr.
Wilson. I have scen them in the beginning of the
autumn, passing high over head, from the north; little
groups of them descending from great altitudes, and set-
tling on the tops of the leafless trees. After pausing there
for a few minutes, as if resting from a weary journey, they
would again reascend high in the air, and speed away to-
wards the south. It seems to be proved that their winter
retreat is in Jamaica, Cuba, the Bahamas, and other neigh-

_ bouring regions.

The whole subject of migration is exceedingly curious
and perplexing. One can easily comprehend why some
birds should pass from a colder to a milder climate; the
greater abundance of food, and the facilities for rearing their
young, might account for it. But why our little Blue-
bird, with many other of its migratory companions,
should leave the mild regions where they have passed the
winter, where an abundant supply of insects and other
food is no doubt always to be procured, and subject them-
selves to along, fatiguing, and perilous journey to revisit
our apparently less congenial climate, I have never been
able to assign any adequate cause, except imperious in-
stinct, or rather the influence of that great Power which I
have noticed in my stanzas. One of the sacred writers has
said all that can be said on this subject: —‘‘ The stork in
the heavens knoweth her appointed times; and the turtle
and the crane, and the swallow, observe the time of their
coming.’ (Jer. viii. 7.) Pope’s beautiful lines, in allusion
to the migration of the stork, deserve to be often quoted.

Who bid the stork, Columbus-like explore,
Heavens not its own, and worlds unknown before ?
Who calls the council, states the certain day,
Who forms the phalanx, and who points the way !

58

A Fossil Plant.

I have already noticed that our village stands on the
precipitous slope of a very lofty hill, at the foot of which
our sluggish creek pursues a circuitous course towards the
Ohio river. In its way, this stream fertilizes some rich
but not very extensive meadow land. A few miles to the
north-west of the town there is quite an extensive patch of
low ground, not far from the creek. One of the farmers,
a short time since, on this tract, discovered, while plough-
ing, a curious stone, carved in a very strange manner, as
he supposed, by the old Indians. Expressing a great de-
sire to sce it, being at the time occupied with the Indian
antiquities of the west, he brought me, in a few days, the
carved stone. I instantly perceived that the figures upon
it were not the work of human hands, but were the im-
pressions of vegetable reliquiz. This fossil vegetable im-
pression is in sand stone, and in the beauty and regularity
of its configurations, is not very unlike some of the orna-
ments of ancient architecture. It is no doubt the remains
of a vascular cryptrogamic plant, and belongs to the genus
lepidodendron, or lycopodium. These gigantic reliques
of ancient vegetation are very abundant in the sand stone
of the valley of the Mississippi, which accompanies the
coal, and are thought by geologists to be coeval with the
consolidation of our coal strata. I have seen a large num-
ber of these fossils, many of which were of an enormous
size. Most of these stupendous fossil stems are not circu-
lar, like our present race of plants, but are of an ovate
form, as if they had been compressed during the process
of petrifaction. How these stems are flattened by the
pressure of the superincumbent weight, I think has not yet
been satisfactorily explained. But I will not at this time
enumerate the objections which occur. Other difficulties,
with regard to settling the species, have lately been pre-
sented by Mr. Lukis, an able physiological botanist, and
which have deterred me from giving a specific name to the
fossil plant found in our neighbourhood. That gentleman
has ascertained, by a series of observations, made on the
drying and shrivelling of certain succulent plants, most
analogous to fossil species, that a great variety of patterns
or configurations may be produced, in a single individual,
during the process of its drying and decomposition. If,
therefore, fossil plants have undergone similar changes be-
fore or in the process of mineralization, it is evident that
the same species will often appear under different aspects.
It was before remarked by Mr. Steinhauer, speaking of the
epidermal, cortical, and ligneous appearance of the Phy-
tolithus cancellatus, that the first or epidermal configura-
tion is formed of rhombs, giving it a net-work appearance;

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

that the cortical figure differed essentially from this, and
that in its ligneous aspect the rhombs were entirely lost.

Our Springs.

Our village, and its vicinity, abounds with springs of
water. In a country where salt and coal are so frequent, a
great variety of what are called mineral springs might be
expected to exist. It is well known that the ingredients
found in mineral waters, are commonly derived from the
soil, or owe their properties to the rocks through which
they flow; the water, by dissolving the soluble salts which
it meets with in its passage, thus frequently acquires pe-
culiar and highly important characters. There is no
spring yet discovered in our neighbourhood, which can
be distinguished for its great medical virtues. The most
remarkable is, perhaps, a copious fountain of sulphurous
water, near the bank of the creek, about half a mile west
of the town. The well from which it is procured, is exca-
vated in a shaley lime-stone rock, in ‘the strata of which
thin seams of bituminous coal are visible. The presence
of sulphuretted hydrogen is readily noticed by its odour,
as the water is pumped from the well; a few drops of the
acetate of lead also indicated the same gas. <A piece of
silver was covered with a film of the sulphuret, when left
for a short time in a tumbler of the water. Iron was as-
certained to be an ingredient by the juice of the oak leaf.
With the oxalic acid, and with the nitrate of silver, I ob-
tained but slight precipitates, and therefore conclude that
the water contains little lime, and but a trace of some mu-
riatic salt. Sulphur and iron are no doubt the principal
solid ingredients contained in this spring. It has been
thought beneficial in slight cutaneous diseases, but except
as a means of cleanliness, it probably possesses no very im-
portant properties as a discutant. Most of our religious
societies among the scattered population of the great west,
have their houses of worship in the woods, an artificial
well, or a natural spring of water being always at hand,
for the use of the people during the intervals of their pub-
lic services. The well just noticed is one of this descrip-
tion. As the mouth of it is uncovered, and the water
used but sparingly except once a week, it is commonly of
a black colour, owing no doubt to the leaves of the forest
falling into the well, and forming, with the iron, a kind of
ink, or in chemical language, a gallate of iron.

All the springs and wells in our village contain large
quantities of lime-stone, which is precipitated when the
water is boiled, the free carbonic acid which is always
present, and by which it is dissolved, being expelled by
the heat. In some neighbouring towns, where the steam

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 59

engine is used in factories, the lime-stone water is very
troublesome, for their boilers are soon clogged by masses
of the carbonate of lime precipitating in them. The tem-
perature of the well water in the village varies from 50°
to 56° of Fahrenheit’s thermometer. The coldest spring
is just under my study window; but unfortunately it is
highly charged with the lime-stone, and is thus rendered
very unpleasant to me as a drink. Persons, however,
brought up in these lime-stone regions become very fond
of the water, and even complain when they are obliged to
use a purer liquid found in other districts. It has been
thought by many, that those horrid tumors, called goztres,
which are so common among the peasantry of Switzer-
land, are occasioned by the calcareous matter in the wa-
ter which they drink. I have never seena case of this ma-
lady with us, but I have been informed that instances of it
have been noticed; particularly when the country was
first settled.

Curious Instinct of the Common Hog.—(Sus Scrofa—
Lin.)

It is customary with farmers who reside in the thinly
settled tracts of the United States, to suffer their hogs to
run at large. ‘These animals feed upon acorns, which are
very abundant in our extensive forests, and in this situation
they often become wild and ferocious. A gentleman of
my acquaintance, while travelling some years ago, through
our unfrequented district, perceived at a little distance
before hima herd of swine, and his attention was arrested
by the agitation they exhibited. He quickly perceived a
number of young pigs in the centre of the herd, and that
the hogs were arranged about them in a conical figure, hav-
ing their heads all turned outwards. At the apex of this
singular cone, a huge boar had placed himself, who, from
his size, seemed to be the master of the herd. The travel-
ler now observed that a famished wolf was attempting by
various manceuvres to seize one of the pigs in the middle;
but wherever he made an attack, the huge boar at the apex
of the cone presented himself—the hogs dexterously ar-
ranging themselves on each side of him, so as to preserve
the position of defence just mentioned. The attention of
the traveller was for a moment withdrawn, and, upon
turning to view the combatants, he was surprised to find
the herd of swine dispersed, and the wolf no longer to be
seen. On riding up to the spot, the wolf was discovered
dead on the ground, a rent being made in his side, more
than a foot in length—the boar having, no doubt, seized a
favourable opportunity, and with a sudden plunge despatch-
ed his adversary with his formidable tusks.

It is a little remarkable that the ancient Romans, among

the various methods they devised for drawing up their
armies in battle, had one exactly resembling the position
assumed by the swine above mentioned. This mode of
attack they called the Cuneus, or Caput porcinum.

Blue- Yellow Bird.—(Fringilla tristis.)

To those but little*acquainted with Natural History,
the assertion that a white black-bird, (oriolus Pheeniceus, )
and a black swan, (Anas Atrata) are animals really in exist-
ence, appears too paradoxical for belief. Black swans,
however, are found in New-Holland and some other places,
possessing all the graceful attitudes of the European spe-
cies; and white black-birds, or albinos, are of no very
uncommon oceurrence.

I have observed another anomaly among the feathered
tribes no less striking. A bird of precisely the same size,
habits, and general appearance as our common Yellow-
bird, (Fringilla tristis,) associating with it, and differing
only in colour; this bird was of a dark indigo in the places
where the male (F. tristis) is yellow; the black bands on
the wings, and the spot on the head, were the same in
both.

The following hints are offered by way of theory to ex-
plain these anomalies:—

If there be any truth in the opinion entertained by
many, that the imagination of the parent, or that cer-
tain casualties during gestation, have an influence on the
offspring of the class Mamalia—why may not the like
circumstances affect the embryo in the egg of birds? Again,
we know that when the eye becomes fatigued with be-
holding the glare of one colour, it is relieved by changing
the colour; or if a colour be viewed for some time, the
opposite will be painted on the retina. Thus when we
look on the bright light thrown by a burning-glass on any
object, a black spot is produced in the eye; and if we look
steadfastly on a black spot made with ink on a white sheet
of paper, on moving the eye a little, a luminous spot will
be seen on the paper, much brighter than the surrounding
part.* Will not these two particulars, taken together, ac-
count for the above anomalies ?

The causes which have produced the varieties in the
human species, are but little understood. Too much is
perhaps attributed to the influence of climate. There are
many reasons to satisfy an unprejudiced mind, besides the
unerring testimony of the Bible, that the whole race of
man has sprung from one and the same stock. The five
principal varieties mentioned by Blumenbach, the Cauca-

* If we gaze long upon a bright yellow spot, a blue colour will be painted
on the retina. Many curious particulars on this subject may be found im
the first volume of Darwin’s Zoonomia.

60 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

sian, Mongolian, Ethiopian, American, and Malayan, may
all have arisen from some such accidental causes as those
noticed above, or such as occasion the albinos of our
species. That species can be continued from such
accidental varieties, appears from the following ac-
count published in Edwards’ Gleanings of Natural
History, and in the 424th No. of the Philosophical
Transactions. Edward Lambert, or the Porcupine man,
was at his birth like other children; but in eight or
nine weeks his skin turned yellow, and then blackish, co-
vered with conical protuberances, which formed a rugged
covering all over him, except his head, palms, and the soles
of his feet. This man had six children, whose skin exactly
resembled his own. Edwards then remarks—‘‘ It appears
to me beyond all doubt, that a race of people may be pro-
pagated by this man, having such rugged coats or cover-
ing as himself, which if it should ever happen, and the acci-
dental original be forgotten, it is not improbable they may
be deemed a different species of mankind; which consider-
ation should almost lead one to imagine, that if mankind
were all produced from one and the same stock, the black
skins of the Ethiopians, &c. might possibly be owing origi-
nally to some such accidental cause.’”,-—See Edwards’
Plate 212.

WILLOW OAK.
QUERCUS PHELLOS.

[Plate VI. Vol. 3.]

[A Branch, with leaves and acorns of the natural size.)

Tus species, which is very remarkable for its foliage,
begins to appear as you go from the north southward, in
the environs of Philadelphia; but it is not so multiplied,
and does not attain the same degree of expansion there,
as in the more southern states, Virginia, the two Caroli-
nas, and Georgia, where the temperature, less cold in
winter, appears evidently to have a favourable influence
on its vegetation. It is, however, only in the maritime
part of the middle and southern states, that the Willow
Oak is observed; it seems to be unknown in the interior
of those very states, where the land is hilly, and the tem-
peraturecolder. It is most probably to be found in lower
Louisiana, which, for the climate and nature of its soil,
very much resembles the lower part of the southern states
which I have just mentioned. I did not remark it beyond
the Allegheny Mountains, in the states of Kentucky and
Tennessee,

The Willow Oak commonly grows in very moist, and
even wet soils, and united with the tupelo, the small mag-
nolia, the red flowering maple, the red bay, and the water
oak, it borders the numerous swamps which exist in the
maritime parts of the southern states. In these situations,
which, as I have said, are such as suit it best, it rises to
the height of fifty or sixty feet, with a diameter of twenty
or twenty-four inches. ‘The trunk, even in the old trees,
is covered with a smooth bark, of which the cellular tex-
ture is very thick. The leaves are from two to three
inches long, of a light green, smooth, narrow, entire, and
resemble those of the willow, for which reason it is called
the Willow Oak, the only name given to it throughout all
the parts of North America in which it grows.

Ihave just said that the Willow Oak is rarely met with
but in very humid situations. This assertion admits of
exceptions. In fact, from some cause difficult to assign, it
is sometimes found near the sea, amid live oaks, in very
dry and sandy soils. It then, seen from afar, has all the
appearance of the latter species, both with respect to its
form and its foliage, which remains green several years
together; but, on closer examination, it is soon distin-
guished by its leaves, which are shorter and much nar-
rower, as well as by the texture of its timber, which is
very porous.

The acorns of the Willow Oak, seldom abundant, are
small, rather round, of a dark brown, and very bitter.
The cups are shallow, and somewhat scaly. When kept
in a cool place, they preserve their germinating faculty
several months without shooting.

The timber of the Willow Oak is reddish, the grain
coarse, and the pores are very open; for which reason the
staves made of this wood cannot serve for barrels or pipes,
destined to contain spirituous liquors, or even wine; the
staves made of it, are therefore ranked with those made of
red oak, and used for the same purposes. The quantity
made of itis, however, very inconsiderable; for this tree,
confined to certain local situations, is very little multiplied
compared to many others; and I will even venture to say,
that the whole of what exists of it in the United States,
would not be sufficient, if used alone, to supply the de-
mand of the country, and those of trade, during the
course of two years. In some parts of lower Virginia,
and particularly in the county of York, experience seems
to have proved that the wood of the Willow Oak pos-
sesses great strength and tenacity, and that it is less apt to
split than that of the white oak; and it is on account of this
property, that after being dried, it is used for making fel-
loes for cart and chair wheels. This use, and that before
mentioned, are the only ones to which I have found this
wood adapted; nor do I think it so fit for them as choice

ae ry

“aAaETaAUVM GQGaAdCIS LONSAHD

AYWOWIL TV a

apg ir py Pena ny Mig

*“WTOLHO

uopaypuay Ao pe

UOISOT

el LAS TAD exe Td

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 61

pieces of post oak, or white ash. YetI have seen the fields
of several habitations, in the environs of Augusta, in Geor-
gia, of which the fences were, in part, made of Willow
Oak; but they last, at most, eight or nine years, while
those made of chesnut white oak last fourteen or fifteen.
The Willow Oak yields but very indifferent fire-wood;
and, when felled for this purpose, is always ranked with
what is sold at the lowest price.

From the foregoing remarks, it may be considered, that
this tree, with respect to the advantages which arts and
trade can derive from it, cannot much interest Huropeans,
nor even the inhabitants of the United States, who, in clear-
ing their lands, ought not to take any care for its preser-
vation.— Michauz.

CHESNUT-SIDED WARBLER.
SYLVIA PENNSYLVANICA.

[Plate VI. Vol. 3.]

Linn. Syst. 333.—Red-throated Flycatcher, How. 301.—
Bloody-side Warbler, Turton, Syst. 1. p. 596.—La
Jiguier a poitrine rouge, Burr. y. 308.—Briss. pp.
105.—Larn. 11. 490.—rct. Zool. p. 405. No. 298.—
Motacilla icterocephala, Linn. Syst. 1. p. 325.—GMeEt.
Syst. 1. p. 980.— Sylvia icterocephala, Latu. Ind. Orn.
mm. p. 538.—Viein. Ois. de lm. Sept. pl. 90.—Sylvia
Pennsylvanica, Gueu. Syst. 1. p. 971.—Lata. Ind.
Orn. 11. p. 540.—Ficedula Canadensis icterocephalas,
Briss. 1. p. 517, 64, ¢. 27, f. 2.—Zd. 8vo. 1. p. 451.—
Ficedula Pennsylvanica icterocephalas, Briss. pp. p.
105.—Jd. 8vo. 1. p. 458, 78.—Collection of L. J. Sa-
LArGnac, Hsq.

Or this bird I can give but little account. It is one of
those transient visitors that pass through Pennsylvania in
April and May, on their way farther north to breed.
During its stay here, which seldom exceeds a week or ten
days, it appears actively engaged among the opening buds
and young leaves, in search of insects; has no song but a
feeble chirp or twitter, and is notnumerous. Asit leaves
us early in May, it probably breeds in Canada, or perhaps
some parts of New-England, though I have no certain
knowledge of the fact. Ina whole day’s excursion, it is
rare to meet with more than one or two of these birds,
though a thousand individuals uf some species may be seen

Q

in the same time. Perhaps they may be more numerous
in some other parts of the continent.

The length of this species is five inches, the extent
seven and three quarters. The front, line over the eye,
and ear feathers, are pure white; upper part of the head
brilliant yellow; the lores, and space immediately below,
is marked with a triangular patch of black; the back, and
hind head, is streaked with gray, dusky, black, and dull
yellow; wings black, primaries edged with pale blue, the
first and second row of coverts broadly tipt with pale yel-
low, secondaries broadly edyed with the same; tail black,
exteriorly edged with ash, the inner webs of the three ex-
terior feathers with each a spot of white; from the extre-
mity of the black at the lower mandible on each side, a
streak of deep reddish chesnut descends along the sides of
the neck, and under the wings to the root of the tail; the
rest of the lower parts are pure white; legs and feet ash;
bill black; irides hazel. The female has the hind head
much lighter, and the chesnut on the sides is considera-
bly narrower and not of so deep a tint.

Turton, and some other writers, have bestowed on this
little bird the singular epithet of bloody-sided, for which I
was ata loss to know the reason, the colour of that part
being a plain chesnut; till on examining Mr. Edwards’s
coloured figure of this bird in the public library of this
city, I found its side tinged with a brilliant blood colour.
Hence, I suppose, originated the name!—Wirson.

BALTIMORE ORIOLE.
ICTERUS BALTIMORUS.

[Plate VI. Vol. 3.]

Linn. Syst. 1. p. 162, 10.—Jcterus minor, Briss. 11. p.
109, pl. 12., fig. 1.— Le Baltimore, Burr. 1. p. 231.
Pl. Enl. 506, fig. 1— Baltimore Bird, Catess. Car.
1, 48.— rect. Zool. 1. p. 142.—Lartu. Syn. u. p. 432,
19, Bartram, p. 290.—Collection of L. J. Satarenac,
Esq.

Tuts isa bird of passage, arriving in Pennsylvania,
from the south, about the beginning of May, and departing
towards the latter end of August, or beginning of Septem-
ber. From the singularity of its colours, the construction
of its nest, and its preferring the apple-trees, weeping-
willows, walnut and tulip-trees, adjoining the farm-house,
to build on, it is generally known, and, as usual, honored
with a variety of names, such as Hang-nest, Hanging-bird,
Golden Robin, Fire-bird, (from the bright orange seen

62 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

through the green leaves, resembling a flash of fire,) &e.
but more generally the Baltimore-bird, so named, as
Catesby informs us, from its colours, which are black and
orange, being those of the arms or livery of Lord Balti-
more, formerly proprietary of Maryland.

The Baltimore Oriole is seven inches in length; bill
almost straight, strong, tapering to a sharp point, black,
and sometimes lead coloured above, the lower mandible
light blue towards the base. Head, throat, upper part of
the back and wings, black; lower part of the back, rump,
and whole under parts, a bright orange, deepening into
vermillion on the breast; the black on the shoulders is also
divided by a band of orange; exterior edges of the greater
wing-coverts, as well as the edges of the secondaries, and
part of those of the primaries, white; the tail feathers, un-
der the coverts, orange; the two middle ones thence to
the tips are black, the next five, on each side, black near
the coverts, and orange toward the extremities, so disposed,
that when the tail is expanded, and the coverts removed,
the black appears in the form of a pyramid, supported on
an arch of orange, tail slightly forked, the exterior feather
on each side a quarter of an inch shorter than the others;
legs and feet light blue or lead colour; iris of the eye,
hazel.

The female has the head, throat, upper part of the neck
and back, of a dull black, each feather being skirted with
olive yellow, lower part of the back, rump, upper tail-
coverts, and whole lower parts, orange yellow, but much
duller than that of the male; the whole wing feathers are
of a deep dirty brown, except the quills, which are exte-
riorly edged, and the greater wing-coverts, and next supe-
rior row, which are broadly tipt, with a dull yellowish
white; tail olive yellow; in some specimens the two mid-
dle feathers have been found partly black, in others wholly
so; the black on the throat does not descend so far as in
the male, is of a lighter tinge, and more irregular; bill,
legs, and claws, light blue.

Buffon, and Latham, have both described the male of
the bastard Baltimore, (Oriolus spurius,) as the female
Baltimore. Pennant has committed the same mistake; and
all the ornithologists of Europe, with whose works I am
acquainted, who have undertaken to figure and describe
these birds, have mistaken the proper males and females,
and confounded the two species together in a very con-
fused and extraordinary manner, for which indeed we
ought te pardon them, on account of their distance from
the native residence of these birds, and the strange altera-
tions of colour which the latter are subject to.

Almost the whole genus of Orioles belong to America,
and with a few exceptions build pensile nests. Few of
them, however, equal the Baltimore in the construction of

these receptacles for their young, and in giving them, in
such a superior degree, convenience, warmth, and secu-
rity. For these purposes he generally fixes on the high
bending extremities of the branches, fastening strong
strings of hemp or flax round two forked twigs, correspond-
ing to the intended width of the nest; with the same ma-
terials, mixed with quantities of loose tow, he interweaves
or fabricates a strong firm kind of cloth, not unlike the
substance of a hat in its raw state, forming it into a pouch
of six or seven inches in depth, lining it substantially with
various soft substances, well interwoven with the outward
netting, and lastly, finishes with a layer of horse hair; the
whole being shaded from the sun and rain by a natu-
ral pent-house, or canopy of leaves. As to a hole being
left in the side for the young to be fed, and void their ex-
crements through, as Pennant and others relate, it is cer-
tainly an error: I have never met with any thing of the
kind in the nest of the Baltimore.

Though birds of the same species have, generally speak-
ing, a common form of building, yet, contrary to the
usually received opinion, they do not build exactly in the
same manner. As much difference will be found in the
style, neatness, and finishing of the nests of the Baltimores,
as in their voices. Some appear far superior workmen ta
others; and probably age may improve them in this as it
does in their colours. I havea number of their nests now
before me, all completed, and with eggs. One of these,
the neatest, is in the form of a cylinder, of five inches
diameter, and seven inches in depth, rounded at bottom.
The opening at top is narrowed, by a horizontal covering,
to two inches and a half in diameter. The materials are
flax, hemp, tow, hair, and wool, woven into a complete
cloth; the whole tightly sewed through and through
with long horse hairs, several of which measure two
feet in length. The bottom is composed of thick tufts of
cow hair, sewed also with strong horse hair. This nest
was hung on the extremity of the horizontal branch of an
apple-tree, fronting the south-east; was visible one hundred
yards off, though shaded by the sun; and was the work of
a very beautiful and perfect bird. The eggs are five, white,
slightly tinged with flesh colour, marked on the greater
end with purple dots, and on the other parts with long
hair-like lines, intersecting each other in a variety of di-
rections. I am thus minute in these particulars, from a
wish to point out the specific difference between the true
and bastard Baltimore, which Dr. Latham and some others
suspect to be only the same bird in different stages of
colour.

So solicitous is the Baltimore to procure proper mate-
rials for his nest, that, in the season of building, the women
in the country are under the necessity of narrowly watch-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. . 63

ing their thread that may chance to be out bleaching, and
the farmer to secure his young grafts; as the Baltimore,
finding the former, and the strings which tie the latter, so
well adapted for his purpose, frequently carries off both; or
should the one be too heavy, and the other too firmly tied,
he will tug at them a considerable time before he gives up
the attempt. Skeins of silk, and hanks of thread, have
been often found, after the leaves were fallen, hanging
round the Baltimore’s nest; but so woven up, and entan-
gled, as to be entirely irreclaimable. Before the intro-
duction of Europeans, no such material could have been
obtained here; but with the sagacity of a good architect,
he has improved this circumstance to his advantage; and
the strongest and best materials are uniformly found in
those parts by which the whole is supported.

Their principal food consists of caterpillars, beetles, and
bugs, particularly one of a brilliant glossy green, frag-
ments of which I have almost always found in their sto-
mach, and sometime these only.

The song of the Baltimore is a clear mellow whistle, re-
peated at short intervalsas he gleams among the branches.
There is in it a certain wild plaintiveness and naiveté, ex-
tremely interesting. It isnot uttered with the rapidity of
the ferruginous thrush, (Turdus rufus,) and some other
eminent songsters; but with the pleasing tranquillity of a
careless plough-boy, whistling merely for his own amuse-

-ment. When alarmed by an approach to his nest, or any
such circumstances, he makes a kind of rapid chirruping,
very different from his usual note. This, however, is
always succeeded by those mellow tones, which seem so
congenial to his nature.

High on yon poplar clad in glossiest green,

The orange, black-capp’d Baltimore is seen,

The broad extended boughs still please him best ;
Beneath their bending skirts he hangs his nest;
There his sweet mate, secure from every harm,
Broods o’er her spotted store, and wraps them warm ;
Lists to the noontide hum of busy bees,

Her partner’s mellow song, the brook, the breeze ;
These, day by day, the lonely hours deceive,

From dewy morn to slow descending eve.

Two weeks elaps’d, behold a helpless crew !

Claim all her care and her affection too;

On wings of love th’ assiduous nurses fly,

Flowers, leaves, and boughs, abundant food supply ;
Glad chants their guardian as abroad he goes,

And waving breezes rock them to repose.

The Baltimore inhabits North America, from Canada to
Mexico, and is even found as far south as Brazil. Since
the streets of our cities have been planted with that beau-
tiful and stately tree, the Lombardy poplar, these birds
are our constant visiters during the early part of summer;

and amid the noise and tumult of coaches, drays, wheel-
barrows, and the din of the multitude, they are heard
chanting ‘‘their native wood notes wild;’? sometimes too
within a few yards of an oysterman, who stands bellow-
ing with the lungs of a Stentor, under the shade of the
same tree; so much will habit reconcile even birds to the
roar of the city, and to sounds and noises, that in other cir-
cumstances, would put a whole grove of them to flight.

These birds are several years in receiving their com-
plete plumage. Sometimes the whole tail of a male indi-
vidual, in spring, is yellow, sometimes only the two mid-
dle feathers are black, and frequently the black on the
back is skirted with orange, and the tail tipt with the same
colour. Three years, I have reason to believe, are neces-
sary to fix the full tint of the plumage, and then the male
bird appears as already described.

The males generally arrive several days before the fe-
males, saunter about their wonted places of residence, and
seem lonely and less sprightly than after the arrival of
their mates. In the spring and summer of 1811, a Balti-
more took up its abode in Mr. Bartram’s garden, whose
notes were so singular as particularly to attract my atten-
tion; they were as well known to me as the voice of my
most intimate friend. On the thirtieth of April, 1812, I
was again surprised and pleased at hearing this same Bal-
timore in the garden, whistling his identical old chant;
and I observed that he particularly frequented that quar-
ter of the garden where the tree stood, on the pendant
branches of which he had formed his nest the preceding
year. This nest had been taken possession of by the
House Wren, a few days after the Baltimore’s brood had
abandoned it; and curious to knew how the little intruder
had furnished it within, I had taken it down early in the
fall, after the Wren herself had also raised a brood of six
young in it, and which was her second that season. J]
found it stript of its original lining, floored with sticks, or
small twigs, above which were laid feathers; so that the
usual complete nest of the Wren occupied the interior of
that of the Baltimore.

The chief difference between the male and female Balti-
more Oriole, is the superior brightness of the orange co-
lour of the former to that of thelatter. The black on the
head, upper part of the back and throat, of the female, is
intermixed with dull orange; whereas, in the male, those
parts are of a deep shining black; the tail of the female also
wants the greater part of the black, and the whole lower
parts are of a much duskier orange.

I have observed that these birds are rarely seen in
pine woods, or where these trees generally prevail. On
the ridges of our high mountains, they are also seldom to

64 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

be met with. In orchards, and on well cultivated farms,
they are most numerous, generally preferring such places
to build in, rather than the woods or forest.—J0.

———

EXTRACT FROM THE DIARY OF AN ORNITHOLOGIST
DURING A SOUTHERN TOUR.

(Concluded from p. 284, Vol. IL.)

Ar Savannah, I had the pleasure to become acquainted
with some of the leading Sportsmen of that place, and
joined them in several excursions after Partridges, which
abound in the greatest plenitude throughout that region.
These birds are mostly found in fields covered with Indian
grass, or, to use a southern phrase, in ‘straw fields,’?—
which generally are so extensive that the game seldom
leaves them to take shelter in the adjoining woods. In
consequence of this, the sporting is not attended with
much fatigue, and the success is greater than at the
north, where the numberless thickets protect this species
of game. On an excursion of a few hours, in the immedi-
ate vicinity of Savannah, a small party bagged forty-three
Partridges from one field, and out of seven coveys. I
have observed that these birds are much stronger in the
markings of their plumage, than those of the north; and I
ean account for it only from the fact, that the weather is
so much milder at the south, that it does not check the
increasing beauty of the plumage, at any period be-
tween the moulting seasons. On a comparison of my
southern specimens with those shot in the vicinity of Phi-
ladelphia, the contrast is very evident. In this latitude
these birds do not pair until the middle of April, for the
above excursion was madeaboutthe 28th of March, and they
were yet congregated in coveys of about a dozen each; in-
deed they are so numerous that the southern Sportsmen
have no set period to refrain from shooting them, only that
which is defined by the appearance of the Moccasins,
(venomous serpents,) which become dangerous about the
first of April. Saw several on the day above mentioned.
Also heard some hounds in full ery after deer, in an ad-
joining wood. Endeavoured to get a shot at a White
Ibis, (Tantalus Albus,) which had settled on a large
magnolia tree in the centre of the field, but did not suc-
ceed. I afterwards heard of four of these birds being
exposed for sale in the Savannah market, but, much
to my regret, they were disposed of before I had an oppor-
tunity of securing them.

Savannah can boast of some first rate Sportsmen; two
of these, Messrs. L and M » with whom I be-
eame acquainted, are of this order. Mild and polite in

their manners, it is truly a pleasure to accompany them on
an excursion after game; and on several occasions I expe-
rienced from them the strongest testimonials of a generous
and hospitable spirit.

I was struck with the singular actions of anold pointerdog
belonging to Mr. M , aremarkable fine animal, which,
on approaching game, would crouch on his belly, and drag
himself to the desired spot. I have now and then seen the
same actions in other dogs of the setter breed, but not to
the extent as manifested in this dog. Mr. L— had one
of the most promising young dogs I ever saw, which reco-
vered some wounded birds under the most difficult cireum-
stances.

Having expressed a desire to visit some of the sea
islands, and part of the coast of Georgia, I received an invi-
tation tomake my homeat aplantation on Wilmington Island,
which borders Warsaw Sound, and is within a few miles
of the ocean. I accordingly, (March 3lst,) visited this
place, and was most politely received at the landing by Mr.
B » who offered me the hospitality of his house, and
any facilities I might require in furtherance of the objects
which brought me there. Wishing to secure some speci-
mens of the southern-shore birds, I availed myself of his
kind offers, and accepted, (April 2d,) the services of four
negroes and a boat, and made an excursion among the inlets
and islands along the coast. Sawnumbers of the Blue Crane,
Snowy Heron, (4rdea Candidissima,) Great White He-
ron, (4. Egrefta,) Long-billed Curlew, (Numenius Lon-
girostris,) Great Marbled Godwit, (Scolopax Iedoa,)
Black-bellied Plover, (Charadrius Apricarius,) Tell-
tale Snipe, (S. vociferus ;) and among the high grass
which bordered the different inlets, vast quantities of the
Sea-side Finch, (Mringilla Maritima.)

I witnessed among the Fish-Hawks, (Falco Halizxtus,)
this day, a sight truly interesting and grand. The tide
was ebbing fast, and leaving the numerous sand-bars in
Warsaw Sound exposed to view, while in the shallow
water between these bars, multitudes of fish could be seen
sporting, enlivened as it were by the exhilarating influence
of a vernal sun. To one of these spots more than any other,
was the attention of the Fish Hawks drawn. High over
this, sailing and counter-sailing, in circles, I counted thirty-
seven of these noble birds, watching, with anxious eyes,
the finny tribe sporting beneath them. For a considera-
ble time, nota plunge was made by a single Hawk. They
would soar to an immense height, and then descend as if
anxious to strike their prey, and reap the reward of their
efforts; but some counteracting power prevailed, and they
continued their graceful evolutions in the air for a consider-
able length of time. I thought my presence might be the
cause of this, and [ withdrew; and, ata distance, seated

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

myself on a fragment of an old wreck, which lay imbed-
ded in the sand on the beach. But human presence was
not the obstacle which interfered with their favourite em-
ployment of fishing. I suspected, then, that their great
enemy, the Hagle, was somewhere within their view;
nor was [| mistaken, for, far above the Hawks, and almost
beyond the power of human vision, I discovered an object
floating in the air, which, by its regular evolutions, I judged
to be an Hagle, but the height was so great that I could
not, with certainty, identify the character of the bird.
The mystery was now solyed,—for the presence of the
Eagle was a restraint upon the Hawks; and, finding his
surveillance so operating against his interest, he steered his
course north, and was soon lost to sight.

Now, the Hawks began to plunge, and strike their prey
so successfully, that four or five could be seen struggling
on the surface of the water, with the ill-fated fishes within
their powerful grasp; and, contrary to any thing I had
eyer seen before, instead of resorting to a dead tree to de-
your their food, (their usual practice,) each, as it secured
its prey, would carry it to a neighbouring sand-bar, and
there enjoy its feast. One, however, attempted to cross
the sound with a fish in its talons, when its course was
arrested by the return of the Hagle which immediately
gave chace in order to secure the fish. The Hawk, find-
ing its adversary gaining on him, instead of rising, as they
usually do, in order to gain an ascendancy over the Eagle,
darted down nearly to the water, and flew rapidly just
above its surface; but its ingenuity would not avail, and it
relinquished the fish from its grasp, which fell into the
water. It is an opinion among many naturalists, that the
Eagle will not descend to the water to recover a fish in a
case like the above; but this Eagle stood upon no such
niceties, for it darted to the water, and after securing its
prize, went off at a moderate flight, to devour it at its lei-
sure. There is much to admire in the Fish Hawk, when
seeking its finny prey. ‘There is a majesty in its flight
as it cleaves the air, with motionless pinions, that scarcely
belongs to any other bird. There is an interest excited by
its hovering over the object before it strikes, and in the
boldness and unerring certainty with which it does strike
its prey, that cannot be attached to the actions of any
other of the feathered tribe.

Saw numbers of the Fish Crow, (Corvus Ossifragus,)
and the Marsh Tern, (Sterna 2ranea,) but not an indivi-
dual of the Lesser Tern, (8. MWinwta.) Reached Warsaw
Island,—felt somewhat fatigued, —and ordered the negroes
to gather some oysters for my dinner, which, with some
bread and wine, formed an excellent repast. The atten-
tion of a stranger cannot but be arrested by the quantities
of oysters which line all the shores of the rivers and inlets

R

65

of this region. They grow on all of the muddy spots, as
high up as the top of the highest tides, but these are not so
large and good, as those which constantly remain under
water.

The negroes, during our progress down the Sound, had
collected a large quantity of conchs, which afforded me
much amusement to see them eaten, with greediness and
relish. They were cooked as follows: The negroes made
a fire out of pine-knots, over which a number of these
shell-fish were placed, to be roasted; they would then
break the shell with a billet of wood, and eat the contents.
This animal substance appeared so tough and gristly, that
it required a sharp knife and much strength to cut it; and,
T should think, would defy the gastric powers of man to
digest. But, to the negroes, it was so delicious a mor-
sel, that they consumed nearly three hours before they got
through their repast.

Took a stroll along the beach for several miles with a
view open to the sea. Gave my gun and ammunition to
the negroes to carry. Saw no birds, but a few females of
the Red-breasted Merganser, (Mergus Serrator.) Left
the beach, and went to the higher part of the island; and
when passing through some tall grass, one of the negroes
immediately in front of me jumped a deer within fifteen
yards; could have killed it with duck shot had I been in
possession of my gun; but before it could be handed to me
by the man who was carrying it, the deer was out of view.
This animal was no doubt driven on this very small
island by some hunters from one of the neighbouring
islands. These deer differ greatly in size from those of
the north. South of the above spot, the deer are found
still smaller, and north of it larger; and this difference is
more manifest according to greater distances. JI think
naturalists must have noticed, that the largest deer are
found far north, and the smallest far south, or until you
reach the equinox. The largest deer, as well as their con-
geners, the rein-deer, the elk, and the moose, are inhabi-
tants of the colder regions. The largest buck perhaps ever
seen in this city, is in the Philadelphia Museum; this was
killed in one of the northern districts of Maine, and is
said to have weighed 300 pounds; beside it stands one
from New-Jersey, and is what may be called a fair sam-
ple of those which inhabit the middle states. A good sized
buck of the middle states will weigh from 150 to 190
pounds. In North Carolina, it is a rare circumstance to
find a buck that will weigh over 130 pounds, and in
Georgia 120 pounds. And thus if we go south, we will
find them still decreasing in size, until we come to the
small Cervus Mexicanus of Central America.

On my return to my friend, Mr. B » I procured
some yaluable specimens of birds, also the nest and eggs

66

of the Loggerhead Shrike. This bird has been represent-
ed as very suspicious, shy, and watchful, but I found it
quite the contrary; its nest was built on an orange tree in
my friend’s yard, not more than nine feet from the
ground, under which the family and servants passed
hourly. This and the Blue-bird are the earliest which
incubate in the southern states. Noticed other birds just
building their nests, among which were the Mocking-bird
and Yellow-throat Warbler. These sea islands abound
with the ground Dove, sometimes to an injurious extent.

5th. Entered a dark grove of pines, which were made
more sombrous by being shrouded with moss, ( Zil/andsia
Usneoides.) Here I very fortunately succeeded in shoot-
ing a male and female Chuck-wills-widow, (Caprimulgus
Carolinensis,)—birds hard to be procured, because they
seclude themselves during the day time in the most dense
and silent retreats, and only appear on wing at night.

The mournful appearance of the woodsin many parts of
the south, occasioned by the vast quantities of moss ap-
pended to every branch of the trees, affords but a gloomy
aspect, and tends to impart melancholy feelings to a stran-
ger travelling through these lonely parts. Nature seems
enshrouded in eternal mourning, from which the eye can
get no relief by resting on objects of a more enlivening
kind. The moment you enter these almost endless depths,
the mind is wrapt in solemnity, as though you were
treading the mansions of the dead, and, as you proceed
farther into these gloomy recesses, the feelings involun-
tarily accord with the melancholy silence which every
where surrounds you. No noise save that of your own
footsteps, and the monotonous notes of the ivory-billed
Woodpecker, break through the dreary silence, and no
animated being disturbs the reigning solitude, but the
Owl and the Chuck-wills-widow in their noiseless flight.
The pendulous shreds of moss of a dark grayish-olive co-
lour, hang in dense masses, alike from the topmost, middle,
and lowermost branches of the trees, until they trail the
ground, and frequently form festoons from limb to limb of
the same as well as the neighbouring trees. Such is the
abode of the birds of night, and those timid animals which
shun the face of man.

Saw a Fish Hawk take its prey to a large dead tree for
the purpose of devouring it, and with much caution suc-
ceeded in shooting it. Before I had left the spot a large
white-headed Eagle settled on the same tree, drawn thither
no doubt by the appearance of the hawk, but it shared the
same fate. Returned to the house, and prepared these two
birds, and next morning departed for Sayannah.

On my passage between Savannah and Charleston, saw
numbers of water birds, especially the Cormorants, which

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

were arranged in multitudes on the sand-bars in the differ-
ent sounds through which the steam-boat plyed her way;
was more particularly interested by seeing several flocks
of the Scarlet Ibis, (Tantalus ruber,) which, while skim-
ming the dark green wave, afforded a beautiful contrast
between it and their brilliant plumage.

The vicinity of Charleston affords a vast field for
scientific research; and it is often explored by resi-
dent naturalists, as well as those who are mere transi-
tory visiters. Among the most scientific and enterprising
of the former is the Rey. J. Backman, whose unceasing
efforts in the cause of the natural sciences has done much
to increase and sustain the love and pursuit of these studies
in other members of that community. Mr. Backman has
discovered several new birds and quadrupeds not hitherto
known, and furnished details of their histories to some of
the scientific journals now in course of publication. On the
entrance of a stranger into Charleston, his attention will
immediately be attracted by the number of the Black Vul-
tures, (Vultur jota,) which may be seen perched on
the tops of the houses in different parts of the city. As far
as my observation went, I did not discover a single Tur-
key Buzzard, (Vudtur Mura,) in the thickly settled
part of the city. Witnessed the actions of one in the out-
skirts of the town, which convinced me, that these birds
are not altogether dependant on sight to direct them to
their food. I believe they are governed by both the
senses, sight and scent, but more particularly by the for-
mer in eight cases out of ten. In the instance above
alluded to, I saw the bird skimming the surface of a mud
flat, which the tide had left bare, and then rise and make
a circle over the same spot for several minutes. At
length the Buzzard descended, and settled within twenty-
five yards of where I was standing, and drew from be-
neath the surface of the mud the carcase of a cat. It was
impossible that the bird could have been directed to this
object by sight, as from the manner it was imbedded it was
hidden entirely from view.

While at Charleston, I procured several specimens of
the great Crow Black Bird, the nest, and eggs. This bird,
I believe, is never found north of the Roanoke; their song,
when congregated, is not unlike that of the Purple Mar-
tin, (Hirundo Purpurea,) but much louder. The male
bird is very shy, but the female manifests much concern
when an enemy approaches her nest, and will at times
settle on a limb of the same tree during this encroachment.
The nest I procured was taken from the top of a wild
orange tree, and contained five eggs; there were on this
and five other adjoining trees, thirty-six nests, containing
from one to five eggs each.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 67

HAWKING AND TIGER-HUNTING IN INDIA.

Tue Rajah had promised his hawks and cheetahs for a
morning’s amusement, and at day-light we sallied out.
We were not out long before some royal curlews were dis-
covered feeding in a field, quite unconscious of the array
against them; but upon being put up, they were fully
aware of their danger. It may prove interesting to those
unacquainted with Indian field-sports, to have that which
relates to hawking described; and the present day’s sport
is instanced to commemorate as gratifying a specimen of
this particular kind as ever was witnessed. ‘The curlew
being roused, and seeing its enemies, screamed loudly,
and began to mount almost perpendicularly. The hawk,
which was of the long-wing soaring kind, named a bhyree,
proceeded in chase.. Aware of his inability to rise so fast
as his quarry, he went away, as if not disposed to come
back, but imperceptibly ascending. Having gone far
enough, he tacked, and continued to do so until he was
above the curlew. ‘These turns which the hawk makes
are very- beautiful, and evince great sagacity. In the
mean time, the curlew had got so high as scarcely to be
within ken, having also gained a considerable distance
from where it rose. It is necessary, therefore, that those
following this sport should ride very hard, and the eye
and mind being intent on the birds in the skies, renders
the wark of a hazardous nature. The hawk continues his
tacking, though far away from the curlew, until he finds
himself above the level of his prey, and then off he goes
with the speed of lightning. ‘The curlew perceives his
disadvantage, and hastens to get over water, as the
hawk knows that he is then in great danger, and refuses to
strike. If, however, no water is near, the curlew makes
for the ground as fast as he can fly, and it is only known
by his descending that the hawk is above him, both are so
high and so far away. At this moment the greatest de-
light is experienced. The hawk closing his wings rushes
down in the pursuit with a velocity incredible toe those
who have not witnessed it, and such is it that his passage
through the air sounds like a mighty wind. The curlew
cannot escape, and before he has time to reach the earth
the hawk has stricken him senseless. The latter is too
careful to come with all his own force with the curlew to
the ground, as he would most likely be killed; but he in-
stinctively drops him when within a few yards, and then
follows and secures his prey. The keepers and amateurs
come up and prevent the hawk being injured by the
fluttering or pecking of the curlew. The proceedings are
similar to those in European countries after the flight and
capture, such as breaking the poor creature’s wings, and
permitting the hawk to find his own way to the victim’s

heart through his breast, and having the marrow of the
legs drawn out by a feather of his wing, and givenasa sop
of reward for his success. It was seldom the keeper had
the kindness to ease the curlew’s sufferings by killing it
at once.

The riding, the hawk’s maneuvring, and the attempts
of the curlew to escape, make this sport one of great excita-
tion. If the hawk can merely see his quarry, and he is a
staunch bird, there is no fear of his quitting it, though he
may set off in a contrary direction. Aid must be at hand
to free him from water, or any birds such as kites or
crows, who invariably attack him if without defence.

After breakfast we accompanied the Rajah in some boats
upon the lake to hawk for water-fow]; there were plenty of
teal, ducks, and coots; these were pursued by the baz, or
short-winged hawk, and brought toland. It wasamusing
to see the hawk get upon the body of a bird, if they both
fell into the water; for some of the coots and ducks were
too heavy for them to carry. This was rather dull sport.
In the evening we dined with the Rajah in the tent.

March \.—To the right bank of the Ganges, (eight
miles.) From two to three miles before reaching camp
we quitted the high grounds, and came down into what are
termed kader lands, z. e. those flooded in the rains, and
yielding nothing but long grass, used in thatching
houses, and such like purposes. This belt of land is
on both sides of the river; it varies in width from half a
mile to two miles, and continues for a great distance.
There are a few scattered villages where a higher patch of
ground offers some chances of harvest for the toil of cul-
ture, but for the most part, being low and swampy, with
very thick grass and bushes, it is almost in the undisputed
possession of tigers; and myriads of other game.

In the forenoon, flying rumours were about that sundry
bullocks had been killed over night by a party of maraud-
ing tigers; nothing certain of their being near came in till
three o’clock, when it was decided to mount and go in
quest of them. Out the party sallied, his Excellency at
its head. ‘There were nine elephants with sportsmen
in howdahs, and twelve others with pads only; these
twenty-one made a good line, and we bent our course to
the remains of the deceased bullocks. We beat up and
down for an hour, putting up quantities of black partridge,
hog-deer, and other game. The grass had been set on fire
in some places by the herdsmen, for the purpose of their
flocks being able to get at the young sprouts underneath:
these fires, from the high wind, burnt with amazing fury,
and the roaring noise was almost alarming; it required some
ingenuity to get out of its course. After beating about
for some time in the swamp we came upon a tiger. When
the elephants found out what sort of play we were after,

68 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

they began to pipe and trumpet, with their trunks, and off
they all scampered, with the exception of that on which his
Excellency sat, and one other. What with digging the iron
hook into their heads; and by dint of kicks, coaxing, and
abuse, several were brought to the scratch, and among
them the one belonging to the writer of these lines.

Coming to where the tiger lay, we saw him in the atti-
tude of springing, his eyes glaring through the grass.
After some few shots, among which, by monstrous luck,
was one from my own gun, he yielded up his life, which
till to-day had doubtless passed far from the busy haunts
of man, shunning all but the society of his own immediate
family, and stained with the slaughter of a thousand bullocks,
Packing the dead, or, in sporting phrase, ‘‘bagging”’ the
tiger, on the top of a pad elephant, we commenced a
search for another. In a few minutes we roused two, and
off they bolted; it was beautiful to see them cantering
away, and now and then standing on their hind feet to see
whereabout the enemy was. These two soon separated;
the largest took to the right, and seemed disposed to force
our line, as he came back towards us: he effected his pur-
pose, but was felled by a shot; other shots followed
quickly, and he soon was despatched. Of this fight I saw
but little, having gone alone after my ‘‘own bird;’’ there
were two small pad elephants with me; the beast was
hunted backwards and forwards, when, on getting close to
him, he charged one of the small elephants, upon which
there was a man with a spear; with this weapon the man
beat him off, the elephant running away as fast as he could.
Quitting this, he attacked the other elephant, and in the
hurry to get away, a man that was on his back fell off
almost at the tiger’s feet: I was obliged to stop and pick
him up.

Having the misfortune to break the loose ramrod while
ramming downa ball, nothing remained to me but patience,
which of all virtues is less known or understood in tiger-
shooting than in any other pursuit, and all that could be
done was to keep the animal in view till the rest of the
party came up from the conquest of the second. His entry
into some thick grass being marked, the line advanced, and
soon came upon him in some deep water, which he could
not cross without swimming. Upon being disturbed, he
turned and sprang up,"seizing an elephant by the root of
the tail; off they both went, amid the shouts and shots of
the party. We had no regard to the person on the ele-
phant, to the cooly or assistant who was standing with his
feet within an inch of the tiger’s teeth, or to the elephant
himself, but, with a stoical indifference to the safety of all
three, crack, crack, went the guns; it was in all ways a
feu-de-joie.

After the tiger had ridden en croupe for twenty yards

or thereabouts, he fell dead, pierced by eight or ten balls.
He proved to bea young male, not full grown: the other
two, a full grown male and female, were most likely his
respected parents. While he was hanging on by the tail,
the elephant, not liking his outside passenger, tried all
means to dislodge him; he kicked with all his might, and
put out a hind leg to pull him under his body: these
kicks and cuffs must have been as serviceable to the tiger
as a fall from the seventh heaven. The infinite dexterity
with which so unwieldy an animal as the elephant can
hook in a tiger, wild hog, or deer, with his hind leg is in-
credible. When once within the chancery limits of his
four legs, no ingenuity or force can extricate the unlucky
object from the process which it undergoes. A ball in the
hands of a juggler does not change sides with greater cele-
rity, nor is there any bread in Christendom more tho-
roughly kneaded. A full grown tiger is reduced, by this
operation, toameremummy. After the termashu or sport
was over, the elephant was inspected, to ascertain if he
had been wounded; no marks were discernible, which to
all of us seemed the oddest thing in the whole business.

No one, save the tiger himself, was less pleased at the
recklessness of our proceedings, than the gentleman on the
elephant, whose situation was not, by any train of reason-
ing, an enviable one; but how he, or any other person,
could expect that such a batch of bumpkins in the myste-
ries of tiger shooting should be able, on their first finding,
to behave with the least leaven of reflection, or approach
to decorum, is certainly beyond all comprehension. The
party returned to the camp at sunset, having left it at half
past three, thus doing all our work in an hour and a half,
and within a mile of camp. I have been, perhaps, too dif-
fuse on this subject, but it was the coup d’essai of every
one of the party, and its proving so good, and serving,
though in an imperfect manner, to show what tiger shoot-
ing is, will, it is to be hoped, plead in excuse for the pro-
lixity of the narration.

The little elephant, whose rider fell off his back, ran
away to the jungles, and no tidings of the truant have
since been gained.—rcher’s Tour in India.

SPORTING IN BENGAL.
From the London Sporting Magazine.

On Sunday, Sept. 9th, 182-, I bade farewell to my
Calcutta friends with a dark feeling of presentiment,
which told me that most of us had parted to meet no
more; and which foreboding time has but too well con-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. : 69

firmed. But having to get all my things on board the
budjrow, and arrange them for the voyage up the river,
little time was allowed for moping meditation: and more-
over, our fleet, consisting of eight or ten budjrows, with a
cooking-boat attached to each, I did not much apprehend
that the trip would be a melancholy one. Nine people
out of ten know what a dudjrow is; but, for the benefit of
the tenth, I will describe it:—Imagine a nondescript sort
of vessel, like Peter’s fishing-boat, low before and high
behind, with two capital apartments running from the
stern to midships, and enclosed with green venetians;
the roof flat, upon which the manjee, or steersman, is
perched; the rudder, resembling a pole, with a river-hatch
tied to the extremity; imagine a figure-head of Lord
Clive, or Lord Amherst, in turban, red coat, and buck-
skin breeches; a bamboo mast, and paddles of the same
tied to the gun-wale; and you have the budjrow complete.

My destination was not very distant, being only to
Dinnapore, in Bahar, a large central station, 500 miles
from Calcutta by water; and I sent a favourite Arab, in
charge of two servants, oyer-land, whilst a Persian hack
accompanied me in the cook-boat—the sides of the boat
being lined with bundles of rush, to prevent his heels
from demolishing the crazy planks, and sending the whole
concern to the bottom of the river.

Soon lost sight of Calcutta, and the taper flag-staff of
Fort-William; but at a sudden turn of the river the cur-
rent became so strong as to induce our lazy dandies to halt
early in the evening. We were all of us, except the cap-
tain, freshmen, or, in the Anglo-Indian tongue, griffs,
(perhaps so called from our similarity to fiery griffins, in
our new red flaming jackets, ) and thought tigers in Bengal
were necessarily as plentiful as pepper-corns: so on shore
we went at twilight, Ensign S and myself making for
a beautiful woodland on our right. After beating till dark,
without finding any thing but a few turtle doves, and jun-
gle-crows, we espied a bangalow, (a snug kind of thatched
villa, belonging to mofassil, 7. e. country residents,) and
near it the owner taking a quiet stroll on the lawn. Sup-
posing that no man in his senses could live in so lonely
a place, and one so gamish in appearance, without being a
sportsman, we made our salaam to him, and inquired what
part he would recommend for our morning’s sport. I
shall never forget the frigid look of the Missionary, as he
answered, ‘‘ Sir! Z never indulge in swch recreations!”’
We bowed to the earth and decamped, wishing that we
had brought a bottle of claret with us, for that gelid tone
would have cooled it far better than could any saltpetre.

Wednesday, 12th.—Stayed all day at Barrackpore.
Jemmy G resolved on sport, loaded himself and two
doriyas (dog-keepers) with ammunition—yiz. powder,

s

shot, brandy, and cheroots, and went ashore; where he
entered the sacred purlieus of the Governor-General’s
park—popped away at some tame antelopes—maimed a
gold pheasant for life—and at last narrowly escaped being
ripped up by the nasal horn of Lord Amherst’s pet rhino-
ceros. Luckily for Jemmy, before he had committed
much devastation amongst this forbidden game, a native
sentry caught sight of the intruder, and fired a ball-cart-
ridge over his head. Jemmy took the hint, faced to the
right about, and was slinking quietly back to his boat,
when, as the devil, or Sheittaun, would have it, his blood-
thirsty eye caught sight of a tall and stately adjutant, (not
a spurred militaire, but a bird of the crane kind, six feet
high; and without delay, he saluted it with both barrels,
ball and buck-shot. The bird dropped dead, and poor
Jemmy revelled in glory, and had to pay fifty rupees for
destroying it—that being the fine for the death of this use-
ful scavenger.

Thursday, 13th.—Got under way a little before sun-
rise, that most lovely period of a tropical day, which we
enjoy with the greater zest, because we know that in ano-
ther hour we shall all be gasping for breath, like shoals of
cray-fish in a basket. As we tracked past a village a
beautiful Brahminy-kite, with its rich chesnut plumage
and snowy bosom, came floating above my head. It isa
bird esteemed sacred by the Hindoos, but the temptation
was tco strong for a griff. I was sitting on deck with my
double-barrel loaded, and as the kite sailed over the budj-
row, I sent a bullet whistling through her heart. Nearly a
hundred Indians were bathing and praying in the river,
according to custom, and the yell uttered by them on this
Occasion was quite startling, on witnessing the death of
their favourite bird. Juno would not have been more
wrathful to have lost one of her peacocks. Jt was a fool-
ish thing to offend the prejudices of a conquered people
in any way; but whoever wore a gold-laced cap, and thought
of consequences? In fact, even now I am given to do
first, and think afterward. Many of the plebeians rushed
into the water with menaces and execrations. This inso-
lence on the dlackeys part might not be endured; I point-
ed my gun at them, and cried, ‘‘jow, begone.”? They
hesitated, but on shouting ‘‘ cropedar, beware,”’ in a louder
tone, they one and all gave back, and retired muttering
amongst themselves. Such is the habitual and fearful re-
spect which natives of India entertain for Englishmen—it
is that which alone upholds us in the Hast, and it is that
which at present we are labouring to destroy.

After getting several miles above Chinsurah, the country
became more promising for a shot; and an hour before sun-
set I landed with a setter and pointer, near an extensive
morass, where I shot a brace of wild-ducks, and saw a

70 4

great abundance of white cranes and paddy-birds, which
are, however, unfit for the pot, and, therefore, safe from
Indian sportsmen, to whom patent shot and powder are
expensive articles.

The paddy-bird, so called from its frequenting paddy,
or rice-fields, is a species of crane, light in body, but stand-
ing nearly eighteen inches; the wings, back, and neck, are
of a light olive-brown; the breast, belly, and sides, white;
so that it appears a white bird when flying, and a brown
one whilst on the ground. This bird, as well as the white
crane, another elegant species of the same genus, abounds
every where throughout the Indian plains and marshes, and
feeds principally on small fish, grubs, mosquito-eggs, &c.

The Bengal morasses are most disagreeable places to
wade through, being generally up to one’s knees in mud
and stagnant water; and every now and then the unfortu-
nate sportsman comes to ‘fa green and smiling spot,”
which he hails with rapture after losing his shoes and pa-
tience in the mud,—and no sooner steps upon than he
sinks up to his chin in the treacherous bog,—there to
remain, the scorn of gnats and mosquitoes, till succour may
chance to arrive. I always found it the better plan to
leave my shoes and stockings at home, and go the bog-
trotter’s pace; a few rushes and light feet will form a
bridge over the vilest quicksand.

This evening I had some excellent shooting on the bor-
ders of an immense tank, or artificial lake, which was sur-
rounded by a dense mass of underwood and tassel-grass.
The tank, having long been neglected, was overgrown
with weeds and lotus plants, and full of a large species of
water-hen, of a beautiful bluish-green, with scarlet head,
twice the size of the European kind, and tolerable eating.

After shooting a few I was wading in up to my arm-pits
to pick up another, when I observed a long undulating
furrow on the calm surface of the lake advancing towards
me. After watching the motion in the water for a moment
I faced about, and quickly regained ¢erra-firma—not
wishing to find myself on a sudden in an alligator’s maw,
and being unprovided with the expedient which saved
Baron Munchausen from a like fate.

Saturday, 15th.—All this day the country was one
wild extent of endless plain, covered with the swrpat or
tassel-grass, twelve feet in height, with a white silky
blossom. These parts are entirely uncultivated, and har-
bour an immense number of leopards, antelopes, and wild
buffaloes.

We were now many miles distant from Calcutta, and
considered the campaign as opened. I killed several cou-
ple of snipes and wild-pidgeons this afternoon, and re-
marked some birds different from our European ones, and
which I shall describe as I happen to recollect them.—1. A

THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

beautiful bird of the jay kind, of more brilliant plumage,
though in shape resembling our own.—2. The little spotted
Indian dove, with back and wings mottled like tortoise-
shell, (hence, perhaps, called twrtle-dove,) the breast of a
delicate pink, red eyes and legs, and not larger than a
blue-bird.—3. The mina; as good a talker as our star-
ling, and of the same genus, though much larger, and
of a dark brown mixed with yellow and white; common
to all India; is a gregarious bird, and resembles the star-
ling in its habits and movements more than in shape or
colour.—4. A light brown bird, with yellow beak and legs,
as large as a thrush, but resembling an immense hedge-
sparrow. I forget the native name.

Soon after dark, the jackals came down to the boats in
such numbers as to require a general turn-out against
them. The poor dandies, cooking their suppers on the
beach, could not turn their heads without missing a por-
tion of their meal, and several were bitten by these rayen-
ous animals, which are naturally very cowardly; but hun-
ger and strong temptation will make even a craven bold.
Between the yells of the jackals, the shouts of the differ-
ent black crews, the blazing fires, and report of the fre-
quent shots fired at the enemy, the scene put me in mind
of Pandemonium. No jackals, however, fell on the ocea-
sion, from the darkness of the night; and, after one of our
dandies had narrowly escaped being shot through the
lungs, it was deemed prudent to desist firing, and leave
the ground in quiet possession of the enemy.

Sunday, 16th.—Throughout India there are not, I be-
lieve, more than thirty-five or forty chaplains, and not

half that number of churches: therefore, it may be ex-

pected that Anglo-Indians grow somewhat negligent of
forms, and particularly ignorant of the days of the week—
few knowing whether it is our Saturday, Sunday, or Mon-
day! Having neither bell nor padré to give our memories
a jog, we landed at noon in a likely spot, where the coun-
try was diversified with patches of cultivation and rushy
jeels. All the morning vast flocks of wild ducks and
widgeon had been winging their way over-head, in such
countless multitudes, that I am afraid to state the amount
at which we calculated them. They flew in troops of from
eighty to one hundred ducks in each, the troops following
one another in regular succession; and a space of ¢wo hours
intervened between the coming of the first and the last
flight, although there was not a break of thirty yards be
tween any one troop! In all probability they were bound for
the inundation, which was now beginning to subside to

the N. E. of the Sunderbunds, where the marshy delta

of the Megna and Ganges would afford them a fine harvest.

Many stragglers were left behind, and I managed to
kill five ducks, two widgeons, three couple of wild pigeons,

AND AMERICAN AURAT SECU.

and@@ Pariah dog, which last had the
my English Pointer. 4

A fine setter, belonging to my companion, had a nar-
row estape this evening; he swam into the Hoogly, to-
wards some black object moving on the water, and which
turned out to be a Hindoo corpse with a koomer, or bull-
headed alligator feasting upon it. The dog turned tail
immediately, like a very prudent general, readily acknow-
ledging himself inferior to the enemy: but the oomer—
the most savage and fearless of the crocodile kind—would
not let him offf$@ easily; but, leaving the black carrion,
darted after poor Don without delay. Don was ina devil
of a funk, and almost drowned himself through fright and
conglomeration of ideas; and though he was close to the
bank in a minute, and within ten paces of us, the alligator
would undoubtedly have shortened his tail a few inches,
if not his body also, had notS rapped away both bar-
rels into the koomer’s eyes, and I joined him in the cour-
teous salute. Thealligator gave a whisk with his long jag-
ged tail, and disappeared. Never was dog so happy as
Don, or man as his master, for I think S gave more
than a hundred rupees for the brute.

Setters, pointers, terriers, and bull-dogs, are seldom
worth their keep in Bengal. Game is too plentiful,
and lies too well to require the aid of the two former,
which seldom live long, or retain their noses. Terriers
are useful as pets only, or for catching bandycoots. When
or where bull-dogs are useful, | have never been able to
discover.

Shooting in India is pursued in three kinds of country
—the jungles, either grass or underwood; the paddy, or
rice field; and the fens, or rushy banks of rivers and nudlas.
For the first, a couple or two of stout active spaniels may
be very serviceable; especially in the tangled coverts
which human beaters cannot penetrate, but which are hol-
low at the roots of the bushes. The sportsman may fol.
low the windings of the deer or buffalo tracks with his
ears and gun at full cock; and, if his dogs are alert, and
water not too distant, pea-fowl, jungle-fowl, and very pro-
bably a wild buck, will reward a few hours toil. For the
paddy-fields no dogs are required; a good double-barrel,
plenty of dust shot, a bottle of brandy, straw hat, a sound
liver, clear conscience, and a will ready made, fit him for
the sport. After the rains, when the rice-grounds are
partially overflowed, or still moist, the delightful recrea-
tion of snipe-shooting is most advantageously pursued.
The snipes throughout India are nearly as numerous as
mosquitoes, fly lazily, and would, perhaps, be more shy,
but for the danger which ever attends their destruction.
If the snipe-shooter intends to fill his bag, he must start
when the sun is hottest, trudge across the plains up to

audacity to attack

%

* 71
his middle in water, whilst his brainsgare addled by
the solar heat. Few snipe-shots live tho in beecossee
but still *tis sport—glorious sport!! In the fens, and on
banks of rivers—which are generally covered with masses
of rush or grass, twelve and fourteen feet high—a well-
trained spaniel may again be useful, espetially if he is a
good retriever. Kyery dog is glad enough to take the
water in India; but they should not be allowed to indulge
too often in a bath when heated, or it will speedily beget
liver and canker in the ears.

Coursing and antelope shooting are the only healthful
sports to be enjoyed in India—which I have found to my
cost—if we except, perhaps, those grand field days, which
can be enjoyed but seldom, as they require extensive pre-
parations, hosts of beaters, and a troop of elephants. Sin-
gle sportsmen cannot venture to rouse the tiger, leopard,
or wild buffalo, from their lairs in the heavy jungle.

Jackals bite very hard, and not unfrequently spoil deli-
cate gray-hounds, which have not been used to such rough
treatment: the most savage and hard-mouthed dogs should
therefore be preferred, if they are expected to run at
every thing. Many men slip their gray-hounds after
hares, foxes, and spotted deer only. Gihink that speedy
lurchers would be found of great service; a brace of good
ones would turn upa hyzna, an animal frequently encoun-
tered when beating for jackals in a jungle country. Many
also, from fear of disheartening their dogs, never slip them
at the large red antelopes, whose po ising speed and
stoutness will beat most gray-hounds with the greatest
ease. In the sands of the Mahanuddy, and on the flats
bordering the Chilka Lake, these animals lose their supe-
riority, by reason of their cloven ‘4 sinking into the
sand, whilst the spongy feet of the dogs buoy them up,
like camels, on the surface. During the dry season, when
the white sands of the river Mahanuddy lie exposed on
either side the channel, to a great extent, we used to ride
down the deer and antelopes with our horses alone, and
transfix them, en passant, with hog-spears.

Monday, \7th.—This night, which happened to be a
clear starlight one, but without a moon, S- and myself
determined to sit up for the jackals, a sport by no means
exhilarating to an old Indian, but from its novelty and
singularity peculiarly adapted to freshmen, who are not
afraid of the night air.

I cannot imagine how we should get 6n in India with-
out that useful animal the jackal: he is positively bread
and cheese to sportsmen of all degrees; he is not, indeed,
food for the body, but he is for the mind; andis esteemed
by fox-hunters, coursers, shots, and badger-baiters, alike!
Nor must his universal services as a scavenger and de-
vourer of the village filth be overlooked. We hunt him,

eo «@

72 eo

course him, | bi him, bait him, entrap him, and skin
him; and ye is, without exception, the most useful lit-
tle wretch in Hindoostan. Without him, the kite, and the
argeela, in all probability that horrid scourge, the plague,
would, before now, have paid us a visit.

The night ‘was a clear twilight, and taking up our guns,
we left the budjrow at ten o’clock, and took up a position
behind some felled timber, which lay on an open common,
between the river and a vast track of woodland in front.

We waited in silence and suspense for nearly an hour,
though the spirit of locomotion was evidently stirring
amongst the quadrupeds of the forest. First a few solitary
howls were heard from the distant jungle; then the yelp-
ing became louder and louder; and finally settled into one
general chorus:

THE am a OF NATURAL HISTORY,

deep mark of his fangs will remain impressed on itypill it
ceases to be a g eagl! bj
From the da rests around, the wild yellings of the ani-
mals onyall sides, and the lonely solitude of the. hour,
Peakat. shooting, by twilight, is not without its charms. ,
SH1kaREE.

wa
SHEEP KILLED BY OmIr's.

Tue last Lancaster Pa. Examiner says:—‘ Incredible
as this may sound, we have good authority for saying the
deed has actually been perpetrated in this county. Seve-

«T'was uproar all,
From Niger eastward, to the affrighted Nile.” ‘

ral cats of the common species, with their progeny, hovel
for three or four years past made an old stone quarry in
Martic township their abiding place, and in that time, it

This dreary discord, which nightly disturbs the Indian
woods, is so wild and melancholy, that it is not by any
means agreeable to a stranger. Louder and louder grew
the yells of the jackals,—and the long whining moan of
the hyzna on tight left, and to the front; they seemed
to encompass us; we cocked both barrels, knelt down, and
prepared for action. On reaching the skirt of the jungle,
the different packs appeared to separate in various direc-
tions; and a troop of more than fifty made directly for our
ambuscade, cyto and yelling like a legion of
devils. It wa 1oment of delightful and thrilling sus-
pense; we could not see the approaching enemy, but we
could hear the hoarse barks of the old, and the shrill tre-
ble of the youngijones, coming down upon us like the
wind. They were evidently on the scent of something—
whether of ourselves, or otherwise, we could not guess;
but we rested our guns over the trunk of a tamarind tree,
and made ready to dispute the passage. In a second we
could desery the dusky figures of the jackals, galloping
towards us through the gloom; they drew nearer and
nearer—three were a-head, the rest in a compact body
behind—their noses to the ground, and their pace a long
slouching gallop. <¢ A little nearer yet,” said I. «+ Fire!”
Four barrels flashed and thundered through the darkness
in a sharp and sudden volley:—the yells were hushed in a
moment on every side; and we sallied from our ambush
to return a list 6f the killed and wounded.

One jackal lay» struggling upon the ground, and soon
gave up the ghost;—another lay motionless a few yards
off, apparently quite dead; but when I went to pick him
up, the cunning brute gave a desperate gripe at my
leg. Luckily for me, he seized the gun-barrel, and the

would seem, have relapsed to the wild state, and ac-
quired the ferocious and predatory habits natural to their
tribe. A short time ago some of them were seen in pur-
suit of a full-grown sheep belonging to the flock of Mr.
Martin Herr, of that vicinity. They soon overtook it,
dragged it to the ground, and before the person who wit-
nessed the scene could reach the spot, they succeeded in
so lacerating the poor animal’s throat, that it bled to death
in a short time. It required considerable exertion to
drive them off. A dog, subsequently sent in pursuit of
them, caught one, but would probably have been himself
worsted in the conflict that ensued, had not the owner
come to his rescue. It is said they also pursued a small
boy some time ago, and followed him a considerable dis-
tance, as is now supposed, with deadly intent.’’

RECIPE TO CURE THE MANGE IN DOGS.
Take 7 parts flower of sulphur,
2 do. carbonate of ammonia,
1 do. sulphate of copper.

Pulverize the two latter ingredients to a fine powder,
and mix the whole together with hog’s lard, to the consist-
ency of soft paste. The dog should be rubbed well with
this over all the parts affected with the mange, and repeat-
ed on the third day. Once rubbing will generally suffice;
but a second application of the ointment will certainly ef-
fect a cure. D.

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 78

FOX HUNTING.

DEATH OF THE FOX.
[Plate VII. Vol. 3.]

The morn is rising bright and red,

(As Venus blushed from Neptune’s bed,)

And throwing by her dusky veil,

Descends into the lowland dale.

Light mist-wreaths round her forehead curl,

Her neck is gemmed with liquid pearl ;

And hosts of fragrant flowers display

Their beauties in her shining way.

The radiant stars that came with night
To sing the chorus of the sky,

Now “ pale their ineffectual” light,
Before the day-god’s beaming eye,

And shrinking one by one away,
Leave the blue vault without a stain,

With here and there a cloud to stray
Like lonely wanderers o’er the plain.

The rosy tinge that marks the east
With beauty art can never show,

With morning’s rise is still increased,
Until it breaks into one glow

Of rich and burning golden light,

Too glorious for the dazzled sight.

How still is all the sleeping earth !
And not a sound in heaven is heard,

Save now and then a note of mirth
Bursting from some awakening bird,

That in the ecstacy of life,
Up from its leafy quiet springs,
And with its mate in lovely strife,
Soars in the joyous beam, and sings. t

All else is silent as the night,
And breathless as the early dew,
That sleeps in drops of glittering light
Upon the wild flowers rosy hue.

Frail things of earth that spring to life,
And drink the sun, and shine and die—
And yet with being’s glory rife,
Aye wonderful to human eye.

But hark !—a distant sound I hear,
It comes like music on mine ear—
Again !—it is the bugle’s note,

Borne on the misty air along—
It seems upon the breeze to float

As if some spirit woke its song.
Again it breathes—and nearer now—

A louder and a clearer strain—
And echo answers soft and low,

As though she deemed her effort vain.

QO! at the hour of early morn,
Earth has no such inspiring sound,

4

As that of the resounding horn

That wakes the silence all around.
How sweetly on the ear it thrills,
Bounding from o’er the distant hills,
Bearing the mind in fancy back
To chaste Diana’s rosy track,
When thro’ the summer woods she flew,
And scarce disturbed the honey’d dew.

But louder now the echoes swell—

And hark! I hear the distant yell

Of eager hounds that scent their prey

Thro’ fields and fallow far away—

They come—they come—the clam’rous pack
Lifting their voices in full cry,

And close upon the fox’s track,
Like mountain-torrent, they sweep by—

And horse and huntsman follow near,
Dashing thro’ ditch, thro’ briar and brake—

He strikes the spur, the bank they clear—
The whip is raised, they swim the lake.

Away—away—with careless speed,
Strained to the task, they onward bound—
Away—away—go man and steed—
Away—away—go horn and hound.

The wearied prey begins to faint,

He turns and doubles, all in vain—
The eager dogs defy restraint,

And hunt him to the open plain.

But safer ’mid the sheltering trees,

Back to the woods he speeds his way,
Yet still his scent is on the breeze,

And yelling hounds pursue their prey.

In vain he strives, with swifter pace,
To leave his ravening foes behind—

Tn vain he would their scent misplace,
And bid them snuff the vacant wind.

In vain his toil—-in vain his care—
For bursting in with furious sound,
Like thunder on the summer air,
His fierce pursuers close him round.

From front to rear the gathering clan
Send their proud echo to the skies—

And ’mid the shouts of brute and man,
At length the hapless victim dies.

The early mists have rolled away,

And high in heaven careers the sun—
While in the face of garish day,

The horn proclaims the conquest won.

O did we take for heaven above,
(So sings the bard of melody,)
The pains we take for woman’s love,
What very angels should we be.

74 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

O did we run vur better race,

(Thus may the muse conclude her strain,)
With half the zeal we give the chase,

What endless honours should we gain.

Asacorrect knowledge of Horsemanship is necessary
to those who pursue the manly and invigorating sport of
Fox Hunting, the following hints are selected, which may
prove interesting and instructive.

The great secret, or the very essence, I may say, of
the art of riding, consists in assuming or taking a corres-
ponding motion to that of the horse ; or, in other words,
the rider should accommodate himself, with a pleasant
pliability to every motion of the horse : whenever it is
otherwise, his seat will be unpleasant, unsafe, and indeed
dangerous. This may be regarded, not only as the es-
sence of horsemanship (as I have already observed,) but
as the fundamental principle, from which subsequent ex-
cellence or proficiency must arise; and cannot be too deep-
ly impressed on the minds of those who feel any inter-
est in the subject. On this account, I would advise those
who wish to become excellent horsemen to practice with-
out stirrups, which they will find of the greatest possible
service in forming a close secure seat. Respecting the
close seat, it may not be amiss here to remark, that there
are to be found advocates for the Joose seat. On this
subject, I had, some few years ago, a conversation with a
riding master, who seemed to think that a /oose seat in
hunting was to be preferred: on expressing my surprise
at such a notion, he endeavoured to prove the correctness
of his position by observing, that, in case of a fall, the
horse would not be so likely to roll on the rider, as the
latter would most probably be thrown several yards from
him. The man who reasoned thus is a good rider in the
school, and has an elegant seat on horseback; but, like
some others of his fraternity whom I have met with, he is
timid; and his remarks on this subject were evidently the
offspring of fear rather than philosophy ; nor, when duly
considered, can any thing be more remote from truth.
Admitting that a loose seat will be the cause of precipitat-
ing the rider to a distance in case of the horse falling,
the very circumstance itself appears to me more pregnant
with danger than the chance of the horse rolling upon his
rider. The most imminent danger, I conceive, of a horse
rolling upon his rider, is when, in jumping timber, a wall,
or other fence with a stiff top, the horse catches it with
his fore feet, and goes ‘‘ bwll-neck over,”’ to use a very ex-
pressive phrase of a sporting friend; and I am in doubt
whether in this case the loose rider is not in more danger
than the close rider. At all events, a loose rider must
calculate on a great number of falls, since, with a seat of
this description, he must be liable to be unhorsed on every

trifling irregularity, circumstances which are constantly
occurring, in following hounds across a country.

But it does not always happen, that a horse comes
“bull-neck over,” if he tips the top of a gate or style;
since one which I at present possess, a good hunter, too,
and has carried me many times after hounds, has frequent-
ly carried off the top bar of a gate, but kept his legs, ne-
vertheless ; indeed such a circumstance, when a strong
horse comes thus in contact with a weak or rotten gate or
rail, is sure to happen.

In advising a young sportsman to practice riding with-
out stirrups, it must not be understood, that I consider the
stirrups as useless: on the contrary, the ease of the sports-
man depends mainly upon them, and frequently his safety
also. Jam aware that riding masters pretend (and Adams
among the rest) that the use of the stirrup adds no secu-
rity to the seat; but, if they mean to apply this maxim
to riding after hounds, it is not only untrue, but a positive
absurdity. The knee and the calf of the leg are the main
holds of the horseman in riding over fences, and, indeed,
in riding over a country in general, and these cannot be
applied with half their embracing force to the sides of the
horse, without the use of the stirrups: the experiment is
easily made ; and those who choose to take the trouble of
making it will not only perceive the evident utility of the
stirrup, but be fully convinced, that a short stirrup rather
than a long one, and the foot home in it, is, of all posi-
tions, that which enables the rider to embrace his horse
most firmly, and consequently is the most conducive to
his safety.

In speaking of short stirrups, it will be necessary to
define more particularly what I mean by the term; and
this I will endeavour to do, in language sufficiently clear,
so as to avoid, or prevent, even the possibility of miscon-
ception. The seat upon horseback may be compared to
the seat upon a common chair; and, therefore, for hunt-
ing, I would have the stirrup of that precise length as
would allow the rider to sit fairly upon the saddle: if,
for instance, it be taken up so short that it pushes or re-
moves the rider towards the cantle of the saddle (which
he will easily perceive on trying the experiment) it is then
too short ; but, while the rider can sit fairly down in the
saddle, I am of opinion the stirrup cannot be too short.

The instructions of riding masters are to keep the body
erect, with the shoulders well back, and the chest thrown
out; as general directions, these are correct enough ; but,
as in hunting, so many incidental or unforeseen cireum-
stances occur, these instructions, though kept in mind,
must be made subservient accordingly. Therefore, upon
the incidental irregularities which occur in hunting, I must
once more observe, that the rider must make his motions

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 75

eorrespond with those of the horse, and by keeping this
maxim steadily in view, he will seldom be ata loss. It
sometimes happens that a steep bank opposes the sports-
man’s progress, which it is not possible to jump, (and
banks indeed present very frequently, awkward jumps,
even when jumping is practicable,) but every perfect
hunter will make his way over such places, and the rider
must suit himself to the motion accordingly.

Riding to Hounds is a business where courage is regard-
ed as an indispensable qualification ; but, although I am
quite willing to allow to courage whatever may justly be
its due; yet it cannot be denied that getting well over a
country depends much more upon the judgment ; and he
that would be a good workman, must unite the two as
much as possible, never forgetting that the former ought
to depend on the latter :—‘* The better part of valour is
discretion. ”’

The pursuit of the fox was formerly a work of three
or four hours ; and frequently extended to a much greater
length of time. According to the modern system, the bu-
siness is generally completed in about an hour ; and the fox
is often killed, but more frequently lost, in half that time.
The old English hunter wasa large, heavy, powerful horse,
whose excellence consisted principally in his leaping or
jumping; and, in fact, it may be justly observed, that he was
very well calculated for the hounds which he had to follow;
but, with modern hounds, he would have been run out of
sight in a very few minutes. ‘¢ J¢ ts the pace which kills,”
an observation common enough in the mouth of a sports-
man ; one that merits the deepest consideration, and which
cannot do otherwise than carry conviction to every re-
flecting mind. If a horse be pressed, and continued but
only for a short time at the top of his rate, he becomes so
exhausted that he cannot clear his jumps ; and he thus en-
dangers his rider’s neck, to say nothing of losing the
sport; but, as far as relates to the old English hunter, as
the slowness of the pursuit allowed him to go within him-
self, or at his ease, so he was generally able to clear his
leaps ; and although he might not be able to gallop half as
fast as the modern hunter, he might perhaps be as good a
fencer, if not better, since even cart horses have been
known to clear enormous jumps.

In modern hunting, however, it is indispensable that
the horse should possess great speed, if his rider is to en-
joy the diversion ; and as the business of the chase is so
much more rapid than formerly, it requires more judg-
ment in the sportsman in riding to hounds ; yet, since no
blown horse can be trusted even at a moderate jump, the
necessity of keeping the horse’s wind in him must appear
so obvious as to need no further elucidation.

That the horse is as fond of the chase as the rider is evi-

dent, since his eye will be seen to sparkle with pleasure
the moment he perceives the preparations for hunting. A
horse, on his way to the place of meeting, will frequently
manifest the pleasure he feels by a variety of antics; and
when the hounds have been thrown into cover, and are
trying for a fox, his impatience for the run is evinced by
characteristic indications which are too clear and too ex-
pressive to be misunderstood. Nor under any other cir-
cumstances will a horse make the same desperate exer-
tions, as in following hounds. In the latter end of the
season of 1825, I had been hunting for a short time with
Sir H. Mainwaring’s hounds ; and, upon my return home,
was mounted upon a mare, which, from haying been much
overworked, seemed scarcely able to go more than four
or five milesan hour. I had something more than twenty
miles to ride, and commenced my journey about nine
o’clock in the morning. Whitley Gorse, the fixture for
that day, for Sir H. Mainwaring’s hounds, lay in my road,
and as I proceeded, the hounds, with their attendant hunts-
man and whippers-in, overtook me. The mare perceived
the approach of the hounds, before I was aware of the
circumstance, and the first signal I reeeived was her lifting
up behind so high and so unlooked for, that I was thrown
upon her neck. I accompanied the hounds to the cover,
which was within a few score yards of the road, and they
were no sooner thrown in than my mare manifested a de-
gree of impatience which I had not expected to experience
in her jaded state. In a few seconds, a fox was found ;—
he broke away in gallant style with the hounds at his brush,
and my mare testified so strong an inclination to follow,
that I indulged her. I was never better carried ; and after
a brilliant thing of one hour and five minutes, I witnessed
the death of the fox. I mention this merely to show what
that generous creature, the horse, will perform under such
an excitement as hunting.

Having noticed the impatience which the horse mani-
fests immediately prior to the run, it follows, as a necessa-
ry consequence, that, if this impatience ke not judiciously
restrained and his powers properly used, he must be blown
very early in the run. The fact is, the commencement of
the run is the most difficult part of the business—it is that
which puts the judgment and skill of the rider to the se-
verest test ; and the horse should be so managed as to pre-
vent him from exhausting his strength in what may be
called the first burst, and yet keeping him well with the
hounds. Indeed, it appears to me that the horse goes much
more pleasantly to himself as well as to his rider, when
he has got what is called second wind ; and the same re-
mark is susceptible of a more extensive application. The
fox gets second wind, the hounds get second wind, as well
as the horse, and the run, which up to this period might

76 THE CABINET OF

be considered as an impetuous dash, becomes steady, as it
were, and every thing proceeds with more regularity. At
the commencement of the run, however, young fiery spi-
rits are often as impetuous as their steeds, and, to say no-
thing of distressing their horses unnecessarily, sometimes
mar the sport by riding too forward, or amongst the hounds
—perhaps before them. When the hounds have found,
they should be suffered to go away with their fox, and get
well settled to the scent, without the least interruption—
(and yet how often have I witnessed the contrary, in defi-
ance of the entreaties, prayers, and ultimately of the deep
curses, of the huntsman.) Nor, indeed, after this period
should they be ridden too near or pressed by the sports-
man: there should always be a sufficient space between
the pack and the sportsmen for the hounds to turn; and,
indeed, the sportsman may he said to be sufficiently near
so long as he can distinctly observe the working of the
hounds. As I have already observed, a horse should be
restrained at the commencement of the run ; but it is the
judicious application of this restraint that renders it effec-
tive: horses shouid not be pulled about as they frequently
are by ignorant horsemen, since the remedy then becomes
as bad, if not worse, than the disease ; and for the proper
management of the horse at this juncture, good hands will
easily perform what nothing else can properly accomplish :
the sympathetic sensibility of the hand may be said to
give the rider a complete controul over the powers of his
horse, and this excellence can never be more beneficially
applied, than during the first maddening impetuosity of
the run :—and this, particularly, where the animal hap-
pens to be high spirited, or of a hot and fiery tempera-
ment. Horses of this disposition, like impetuous riders,
are anxious to lead ; and indeed, it must be admitted that
they go more pleasantly when placed in the front rank ;
and therefore, when such an enviable situation can be ob-
tained, it is advisable to occupy it. Unfortunately, this
taking the lead often produces injudicious, and indeed in-
jurious, rivalry ; inasmuch as sportsmen thus approach too
near the hounds, force them beyond the scent perhaps, and
create the most vexatious confusion. It is no wonder that
huntsmen are sometimes unable to restrain their temper
within due bounds.

ON LEAPING.

The act of leaping or jumping requires more than ordi-
nary exertion in the horse ; and, of course, the extra exer-
tion will be regulated by the nature or extent, or both, of
the jump.

Generally speaking, I would advise sportsmen to avoid,
as much as possible, all jumps with stiff or unbending tops,
since, however perfect a horse may be, mistakes, or mis-

NATURAL HISTORY,

footings may occur ; and as an elastic or weak fence will
give way to the weight of a horse, so I consider it prefer-
able to a gate, style, rail, or wall. It is true, there are
many horses very clever at jumping timber and walls ;
yet, for the reasons already stated, I should prefer the elas-
tic fence, and only put the horse’s abilities to the test in
regard to the former, where it appeared absolutely neces-
sary.

A horse indeed is sure to excel in that species of leap-
ing to which he has been the most accustomed. Brooks,
when the banks are sound, are no serious obstacles, unless
wider than the horse can cover; but the worst of brook-
jumping is, the banks are seldom to be depended on, and
hence serious accidents sometimes result—to the horse at
least, if not to the rider. If the bank happens to give way,
on the side from which the horse is taking his spring, he
is very liable to break his back or receive some serious or
incurable injury. If in crossing a brook, the sportsman
can contrive to put his horse at it where the banks slope
towards the water, he is more likely to get safe over, as
in such places, the banks are seldom undermined by the
action of the water—the hollow banks are, of course, the
most to be dreaded. In going ata brook, it is the most
advisable to put the horse very smartly and vigorously at
it; the same remark is equally applicable to a gate ; and
indeed any large and rasping leap. In regard to gates, I
honestly confess I am seldom disposed to jump one, where
I can conveniently open it ; and there are few horses that
will not, with alittle practice, become very handy at open-
ing gates.

In crossing a country, the sportsman should keep a look
out forward : as soon as he is over one fence, he should
cast his eye to the next, and direct his horse to the most
convenient spot to get over, consistently with keeping his
place.

As to the best mode of teaching a horse to leap, which
is intended for hunting, I have little hesitation in asserting
that the bar is of very little service. In the first instance,
I should feel no objection to put a young horse over the
bar, to teach him to bend his knees ; but, it is in the fields
where he must acquire a knowledge of his business ; and
on this account he should receive his instruction in the
fields. His lessons, however, should never be unreasona-
bly extended, or he will become disgusted ; a horse seldom
jumps willingly unless after hounds. When a young horse
takes his exercise, he may be put over a few fences, and
this perhaps is the best way of imparting the necessary in-
struction.

ON THE SEAT WHEN LEAPING.

«« The place of the legs must be perpendicular from the
knee ; if you place them backwarder, the action which

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 77

the body must take, would loosen them, and then you
have no hold.”’? Now, I am inclined to think, that the situ-
ation of the leg should not be exactly ‘perpendicular
from the knee,”’ but gently inclining backwards, such a
position of the leg enabling the rider to make use of more
compressive or adhesive power, and consequently ena-
bling him to sit more closely and more firmly on the sad-
dle; nor have I the least doubt, that, if the reader will
take the trouble to try the experiment, he will find I am
borne out in such a conclusion. _It is true, in a small or
ordinary leap, there is no necessity for any excess of ad-
hesive power, but when a rasper is to be got over, the ne-
cessary violence in the action of the horse is so great that
the firmest hold with the legs and thighs becomes indis-
pensable; and the position (of the legs) which I have
pointed out will be found to be that which is the best cal-
culated to accomplish the object with ease and safety both
to the horse and rider. -

Young riders can scarcely be induced to lean the body
backward enough when the horse has taken his spring,
and for this very reason they cannot preserve a motion in
consonance or correspondence with that of the horse, and
the consequence is, that their seat becomes disordered or
disturbed ; they are thrown forward and sometimes com-
pletely unhorsed. They should lean freely and fearlessly
backward ; since they may rest assured, it is not possible
for them to overshoot the mark or lean too much back-
ward.

Experienced sportsmen, in leaping, frequently elevate
the whip hand as the horse is descending, a practice which
the professed riding master will by no means tolerate. Ac-
cording to the doctrine of the riding master, the body
should be kept square and the whip hand low, as (says he)
if the whip hand be raised, the body of the rider must be
pulled out of the square, and the balance destroyed. So
far it may be said to be all very well ; but yet it will scarce-
ly, I think, bear the test of examination. When the horse
has taken his spring, and is descending or coming to the
ground, the left or bridle hand is necessarily drawn for-
ward ; and if, at the same moment, the whip hand be ele-
vated and thrown back, the balance at least of the body is
preserved, however it may be drawn out of the square.
And here it may be very justly observed, that some horses,
when descending, bring their noses lower than others, and
these consequently require the accommodation of the bri-
dle hand to a greater extent. In the season of 1824-5, I
rode a fine grey mare, that in descending brought her nose
very low indeed, and consequently was apt to pull a strange
rider out of his seat. Some months before she came into
my possession, a gentleman’s huntsman (a youth) mounted
her for the purpose of following his harriers, but she, in

leaping, pulled him over her head ; and though this lad at-
tempted to ride her several times, he never completely
succeeded in accommodating her peculiar mode of bring-
ing down her nose. Nevertheless, she was not difficult to
ride, and, as a hunter, never perhaps had a superior.

If, however, I feel no disposition to censure the practice
of elevating and throwing back the whip hand in the leap,
there is another purpose to which I have sometimes seen
the same hand applied, in the same operation of the horse,
which cannot be too severely censured : I allude to taking
hold of the cantle of the saddle, a method which some few
sportsmen adopt, either from ignorance, fear, awkward-
ness, or from some other motive equally reprehensible. —
To say nothing of the unsightly appearance which such a
position presents, the object of the rider is frustrated by
the very means which he puts in practice to accomplish it.
Taking hold of the cantle of the saddle with the whip hand,
renders it impossible for the rider to make use of his bri-
dle hand in a proper manner ; consequently he endangers
the safety of the horse, and renders his own seat as inse-
cure as possible. A person who adopts this highly injudi-
cious method of riding, is constantly exposed to serious
accidents.

A good sportsman will, as often as possible, ride parallel
with the pack ; not after them, unless, by short turns, he
is obliged to do otherwise ; by which means he can see
every thing that is going on, and anticipate the probable
cause of hounds coming to a fault: and I believe a good
huntsman and a minute observer, will, twice out of three
times, discover the object in the line of the hounds that
caused it, and, as soon as he suspects it, pull up his horse :
for instance, a church, a village, a farm-house, a team at
plough, men at work, sheep, and, above all, cattle, are the
things most likely to impede the scent : (be it remember-
ed, that the breath of one cow will distract hounds more
than a hundred sheep :) when any of these objects present
themselves in the face of the hounds, you may then anti-
cipate a stop ; and by pulling up your horse, and observing
which way the pack inclined before the check, you will
be able (without casting) to hold them to the right or left
accordingly.

Every person should, if possible, take his place and keep
it; and after the bustle of the first five minutes every thing
assumes a degree of regularity, of which before it was not
susceptible.

In a fair country, and hounds in condition, it is my
opinion, that if the above observations could be carried
into effect, few foxes would escape. Patience is the best
performer in the chase! All hounds in these times are
well enough bred, and all hounds have power enough to
kill their fox.

78 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

NOTES OF A NATURALIST.
BY JACOB GREEN, M. D.

PROFESSOR OF CHEMISTRY IN JEFFERSON COLLEGE.
Our Village.-—Music of Birds, &c.

In the country, the early morning hours, and those of
closing day, are peculiarly interesting to the naturalist.
When rosy morning first appears, all around seems fresh
and unsullied; and in the spring and summer months the
air is peculiarly invigorating and elastic. very one who
delights in the music of nature, must listen,

When the song of the grove hails the rising of day.

The fresh fragrance of the fields and gardens, and the
cheerful carolling of our tuneful birds, cannot fail to be
grateful to the senses, and to be perfectly in unison with
the feelings and sentiments of every well-regulated mind.

Tt was a strange and wild theory of Buffon, to say the
least of it, that men and other animals degenerated in the
climate of America. Among the examples which he
brings forward in support of this notion, is our sweet
Wood Thrush, (7: Melodius,) which he imagines to be
the same species of bird as the Song Thrush, (7. Musicus,)
of Europe. Our Thrush he then represents as destitute of
any note but a single scream, having so far degenerated by
food and climate from his progenitors in Europe, as now
to utter nothing but harsh and unpleasant sounds, like the
eries, he says, of all birds that live in wild countries inha-
bited by savages. There is more poetry than natural his-
tory in all this. Who, that has devoted any attention to
this subject, does not know, that the lonely exile in the
unfrequented and dreary forests of Siberia and Lapland, is
often cheered with the music of the Grosbeak; or that the
cannibal of New-Zealand, reposing in his wigwam, may
hear the mellow song of many warblers of the night?
With regard to the Wood Thrush, Wilson refutes the fan-
ciful theory of Buffon, by giving usa beautiful description
of its habits and song. After remarking that the voice,
energy, and expression, of birds of the same species, dif-
fer as widely from each other, as the voices of different in-
dividuals of the human race, he observes of the Wood
Thrush: ‘‘ 1 remember one, whose notes I could instantly
recognize on entering the woods, and with whom I had
been, as it were, acquainted from his first arrival. The
top of a large white oak, that overhung part of the glen,
was usually the favourite pinnacle from whence he poured
the sweetest melody, to which I have frequently listened,
till night began to gather in the woods, and the fire-flies
to sparkle among the branches.’? This sweet and solitary
songster arrives in Pennsylyania about the latter end of

April, and soon announces his presence. ‘With the
dawn of the succeeding morning, mounting to the top of
some tall tree, that rises from a low, thick shaded part of
the woods, he pipes his few clear and musical notes in a
kind of ecstacy, the prelude, or symphony to which,
strongly resembles the double tongueing of a German
flute, and sometimes the tinkling of a small bell; the
whole song consists of five or six parts, the last note of
each of which is in such a tone, as to leave the conclusion
evidently suspended; the finale is finely managed, and with
such charming effect, as to soothe and tranquillize the
mind, and to seem sweeter and mellower at each successive
repetition. During the burning heat of the day he is com-
paratively mute; but in the evening the same melody is re-
newed, and continued long after sun-set. Even in dark,
wet, and gloomy weather, when scarce a single chirp is
heard from any other bird, the clear notes of the Wood
Thrush thrill through the drooping woods from morning
to night, and it may be truly said that the sadder the day
the sweeter is his song.” Every school-boy in the village
who rambles over our woody hills, and along the margin
of the creek, on Saturday afternoon, can testify to the truth
of this beautiful description. The clear, mellow, flute-
like notes of the Wood Thrush, always recall to my mind
many interesting little adventures,—a thousand pleasing
scenes and youthful sports in by-gone days; some of which
I must be indulged in here repeating. A great portion of
my holyday pastime, when at boarding-school, at Prince-
ton, in New-Jersey, was passed with my hook and line,
on the margin of Stony brook, not very far from the spot
where the gallant Mercer fell during our revolutionary con-
flict. The quiet and retired situation of this gentle stream,
the romantic and uncultivated solitudes by which it was
then surrounded, and the marvellous adventures with the
Indians, which are aaid to have happened along its peace-
ful banks in the early periods of American history, ren-
dered ¢he brook, as we used to call it, an oft-frequented
and a deeply interesting place of resort. A considerable
stretch of the stream passed through the estate of my grand-
father, where I usually passed my holyday time, in joyous,
unrestrained, and | hope innocent revelry. As I have al-
ways experienced an uncontrollable antipathy to strange
dogs, whether

Mongrel, puppy, whelp, or hound,
Or curs of low degree,

for this reason, I rarely ever crossed the boundaries of
the estate; but I could wander in these extensive and se-
cluded retreats, without fear of molestation from any quar-
ter. When the mowers were to be engaged in the neigh-
bouring meadow; when the boys drove the cattle into these

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 79

pastures, distant from the family mansion; or when the
woodman spent the day in the forest, preparing for our
winter’s fire, I followed in their train as far as this delight-
ful spot. Then, while stealing alone along the borders of
the bubbling brook, would I start up the little noisy bittern,
whose protracted scream filled the forest with its echoes;
the lazy tortoise, basking in the sunshine on the mossy
rocks, alarmed, would slide into the smooth water; or the
piping frog, hopping among the weeds, along the impend-
ing bank, would dash headlong into the stream, at my ap-
proach. Here, for hours, haye I reposed on some fallen
tree—my little red cork floating before me in the water—
waiting patiently for some ‘glorious nibble.”? It was on
such occasions, when the solemn stillness was only inter-
rupted by the monotonous chirpings of the insects in the
tall grass, the drowsy tinklings of the bells on the cattle,
or the hollow, remote sound of the woodman’s axe, that I
remember first to have listened to the sweet song of the
Wood Thrush. <¢ The time has long past, and the scene
is afar,’’ but at this moment his notes seem to echo in my
ear, and rise in my memory like the music of Carril. I
will close this digression, by copying from an old manu-
script some stanzas, suggested to my mind by his peculiar
habits and his remarkable song.

THE WOOD THRUSH.

When bright Aurora gilds the morn,
And music bursts from brake and bush,
And lofty oak, and lowly thorn;
Oh then is heard the thrilling Thrush.

He, from some branching, aged tree,
The early breeze with rapture fills,

The joyous notes sweep o’er the lea,
And echo from the grassy hills.

The plough-boy blithe at peep of dawn,
Whistling along his wonted way,
Now pauses on the dewy lawn,
To catch the warblings of his lay.

But when the sun in glowing car

Rolls glittering o’er the panting plain,
Then deep in shadowy glens afar,

He whispers there a lonely strain.

But at pale evening’s pensive hush,

When the gay glow-worm trims his lamp,
Again is heard the thrilling Thrush

In dewy dells and vallies damp.

There is another species of Thrush, which we used to
eall the Thrasher, (T. rufus,) which appears to be much
more numerous, and is certainly better known than the one
just noticed. It is often domesticated as a cage-bird,

and his song is, to my taste at least, far superior to
that of the ever-varying Mocking-bird.

As I have attempted to give a sketch of the scenery
where the Wood Thrush is commonly found, I will now
notice an assemblage of circumstances, always connected
in my mind with the song of the Brown Thrasher, or as
he is sometimes called, the Virginia Mocking-bird.

Though the days of my boyhood were principally passed
in a large city, there was a beautiful spot in the neighbour-
hood, called Rose Hill, where I spent some of my happi-
est hours. This spot was distinguished for its rural scenery;
a fine green lawn sloped gently in front of the mansion-
house; and clumps of trees, hedges of briar and hawthorn,
and parterres of flowers, tastefully arranged through the
pleasure-grounds, all combined to render it highly pictur-
esque, beautiful, and enchanting to my youthful imagina-
tion. There were two large griffins, or huge china dogs, in
the shrubbery on the lawn, to which I became wonderfully
attached. It was while stretched on the grass, near one of
these figures, watching the graceful motions of my kite
floating high up in the clear blue sky, that the music of the
grove fell with peculiar rapture on my ear. The rapid war-
bling of the social little house wren, there mingled with
the notes of the robin, and numberless other songsters;
some in the branches over my head, and others in remote
thickets. Above all, the loud and cheerful song of the
Brown Thrush could be heard; the whole chorus produced
‘¢a soul-soothing and almost heavenly music, breathing
peace, innocence, and mental repose.’”? My fancy’s eye
can now discover this Thrush pouring forth his melody
from the summit of an apple or a cherry tree, or the tops
of the hedge-rows, and then, as if in modesty, plunge into
the thick bushes, his long and graceful tail-feathers being
spread out like a lady’s fan.

I visited this sequestered spot a short time since; and
found it, alas, how changed. The venerated friends of my
childhood have long been gathered to their pious ances-
tors. The once hospitable and elegant mansion was now
silent, dilapidated, and forsaken. The public highway
now passed over the lawn; a vulgar substantial bridge
erossed the little stream, instead of the light rural frame-
work, near which I used to angle, and some ragged, roys-
terous, ill-fayoured urchins, appeared to be the only inha-
bitants of this retreat, once the abode of so much refine-
ment, domestic comfort, and literary seclusion.

It has been observed that there is something peculiarly
remarkable in the adaptation of the music of birds to the
human ear; quadrupeds seem to derive no pleasure from
it; and birds themselves, of different species, notice but
little the warblings of each other. Their various cries, or
screams of distress and alarm, seem to be quickly under-

80 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

stood by all. Many a time have I been assailed by all the
birds in the neighbourhood darting out of the bushes, and
from the trees, in consequence of the shrieks of a young
robin, which I have been endeavouring to place beyond
the reach of a cat. To give another instance. While
sitting at the door of a farm-house, in the vicinity of our
village, just as the shades of evening began to gather; the
birds were all hymning their little vespers, and the domestic
fowls, one after another, were settling on the low branches
of the trees for the night—when suddenly a dead pause in all
these sounds and motions occurred; this was quickly sue-
ceeded by loud and various screams of alarm from every
quarter. The smaller birds dashed into the briars and bushes
for safety, and the domestic fowls dropped suddenly from
the trees; some concealing themselves under the fences,
while others cowered and trembled close to my very feet.
The cause of all this hurry and alarm, was a prowling
hawk, that swept swiftly over the spot, and had made a
fruitless attempt to seize with his talons one of the chick-
ens on the outermost limbs of a neighbouring tree. These
examples will be sufficient to prove that the cries of one
species are understood and attended to by other species.
Whatever may be the truth with regard to musical sounds,
it seems to be certain that the language of fear, or note
of alarm, is universally comprehended by all the feathered
tribes.

Singing birds are undoubtedly, for the most part, found
near the habitations of man, and commonly follow in the
track of cultivation. This is in part owing to the protec-
tion which he affords, and the greater facility in obtaining
food. In the extensive deserts of land, or of ocean, their
warblings, I think, are never heard. The Peterel, which
is found far out on the sea, in almost every latitude, utters
nothing but a monotonous squeak; yet I must confess that
his notes to my ear were not disagreeable. I will close
these desultory remarks, with an extract from my journal
kept at sea, and which relates to this curious bird.

April 24. I was very much interested to-day in obsery-
ing the habits of a little bird, which keeps principally in
the wake of our ship, no doubt to pick up any aliment
which may be thrown over-board. This bird is the Stormy
Peterel, or Procellaria Wilsonii. It is called Peterel, from
the Apostle Peter, because it seems to walk on the surface
of the water. For hours I have stood at the taffrail, watch-
ing the motions of hundreds of these birds; some of them
skimming gracefully over the surface of the waves, and
curiously preserving the same ever-varying curves; some
climbing up the hills of water, and others, in clusters, ap-
parently at rest round an article of food. The sailors are
very superstitious with regard to these birds, which they
eall Mother Cary’s chickens, probably after some old witch

or fortune-teller of that name. It is supposed by many
that the Peterel, as it is seen in almost every part of the
ocean, lives on the water entirely, and hatches its eggs
under its wings. There is, of course, no truth in this opin-
ion. It is surprising, however, what a length of time
they continue on the wing; they have been the last ob-
jects which the darkness of the night concealed, and the
first which the morning dawn enabled me to discover.
They utter a low note, something like weet, weet, which
is quite audible when they are near the ship. This some
of the sailors translate into wet, wet, and say that it indi-
cates stormy weather. It is generally supposed that the
same species of Peterel inhabits both the European and
American portions of the Atlantic. There are, however,
two species. That which sweeps over the vast range of the
European ocean is called the Pelagic Peterel, and that
which inhabits the American Atlantic is called Wilson’s
Peterel, after our own great ornithologist. There is no
one perhaps who crosses the ocean, but must feel indebted
to these interesting little wanderers of the deep for many
hours of amusement. At seaevery thing, which tends to
break the dreadful monotony of the wide waste of water
and sky, amuses the mind. From the peculiar habits and
the superstitious notions entertained by many with regard
to the Peterel, it might suggest to the imaginative some fine
fancyings; but with the exception of two or three allusions,
it seems to have been entirely overlooked by the poet.
The following lines served to amuse a tedious, and what
would have otherwise been an unoccupied hour.

THE PETEREL.

What airy forms are on the deep ?
Now dancing on her heaving breast,

Now sinking with the surge’s sweep,
Now rising on its snowy crest.

Tis th’ stormy Peterel, ocean ranger,

Warning the sea-boy of his danger.

Ere morning rises from the sea,
Their ceaseless gambols they begin,
And the pale evening’s fitful breeze,
Still wafts them in their wandering.
Oh speak not to me, thou phantom bird,
Of rocks unseen and of storms unheard.

Whether in sunshine or in storms,
These sports mysterious they pursue,
Still I behold their fairy forms,
Flitting amidst the briny dew.
Oh speak not to me, thou phantom bird,
Of rocks unseen and of storms unheard,

The live long day I’ve stood to gaze,
Marking these spectres of the sea,

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 81

Glancing in many a giddy maze,

O’er the green waters, merrily,
Speak not to me, thou bird of the billow,
Of a coral bed and wavy pillow.

Through the wide ocean’s vast expanse,
Where e’er the billow bursts in foam,
These spectre birds lead on the dance,
And find in every wave a home.
False Peterel farewell, thy tale’s untrue,
Danger is past—our port is in view.

HABITS AND MANNERS OF A FEMALE BORNEO ORANG-
UTAN, AND A MALE CHIMPANZEE.

By J. E. Warwick.

TuE great interest and curiosity excited by the recent
exhibition of the Chimpanzee and the Borneo Orang-
Utan; and a suggestion which has been made to me, that
the opportunity I possessed of being constantly with them
should be made productive of some result, have induced
me to mark and note down the manners and dispositions
of these interesting specimens of the animal kingdom; and
I now submit the following, in the hope that it may be
acceptable to many of your readers, very few of whom,
probably, have ever seen the animals whose singular ha-
bits I am here attempting to describe.

On the first sight of the two specimens, the difference
was so remarkable as almost to excite a doubt whether
they belonged to the same genus. The most striking
points of distinction were the length of the facial angle in
the female, or Borneo Orang (Simia Sityrus;) the singular
smallness of the ear, and its close resemblance to that of
the human species; the pear-shaped head; the nose but in
a slight degree elevated; the nostrils narrow and oblique;
the extreme length of the arms, the use made of them in
walking, the animal resting the hands on the ground, and
swinging as if on crutches; the hair of a reddish brown,
very short, and but slightly scattered over the body; the
abdomen exceedingly protuberant; the feet long, with the
largest toe peculiarly short, but exhibiting a perfect nail;
these were the striking peculiarities on the first sight of
the female; while the Chimpanzee (Simia Troglodytes)
exhibited a marked contrast in the general character of
its form, presenting a much nearer approach to that of the
human race. Its conformation comprises all those points
of resemblance which characterise the Orang-Utan, be-
sides other instances of approximation which in that ani-
mal are not observable. The form of the head, the intel-
lectual superiority that distinguishes the cast of the fea-
tures; the proportionate length of arm to that of the body;
the larger and perfect thumb; the roundness of the thigh;

x

the perfect feet, and the consequent upright mode of
walking; the complete formation of the last joint of the
great toe; the quality of the sounds which it occasionally
utters;—all these are points which at once strike the
observer, denoting the superiority of the Chimpanzee
over the Borneo Orang-Utan, as well as the widely differ-
ent characters that distinguish them.

I must here confess myself unable to give you a scienti-
fic description of the animal: it is simply my intention to
detail some of those peculiarities and habits, which few
but myself have had an opportunity of observing.

On the occasion of their introduction to each other, it
was curious to notice in what way they would act; not
having seen any of their class for many months, and being
so distinct in character, and natives of different quarters of
the globe. On their being placed on the floor together in
a private apartment, they stood at some distance from each
other, resting on their knuckles, in evident contempla-
tion of the new form they now saw for the first time.
They then approached nearer, smelling each other very
sensibly; the female protruded her prominent lower
lip, touching the lip of the male, but without any smack or
noise. This was done apparently without any expression
of joy or mutual attachment, but merely as an act of re-
cognition of two of the same tribe meeting in a foreign
land; nor was I ever afterwards able to discover the least
sign of tenderness or attachment to each other; but, on the
contrary, a decided inclination to keep aloof, especially on
the part of the female, whose timidity allowed the male to
take from her hands any dainty that might have been
given to her, with great reluctance on her part, but with
evident fear of repelling the insult. On the experiment
being tried of forcing them to sleep in the same cage, a
battle took place, of which it was not afterwards deemed
advisable to risk a repetition.

The companionable and sociable habits of the Chimpan-
zee far exceeded those of the female, as did his knowledge
of persons whom he was in the habit of seeing. On first
approaching him on a morning, or after being absent from
him a short time, he would utter a loud cry of recognition;
and, running towards you, would stand perfectly erect,
spreading his arms to be taken up, when he wouid put
them round your neck in the manner of the fondest em-
brace; nor was it an easy task, for those to whom he was
attached, to leave the room, except by stealth. Food, on
the other hand, was the only object that would cause any
attachment, or even locomotion, in the female; of whom
it might be said, that her appetite was the mainspring of
all her actions, to which a protuberance and rotundity
bore ample testimony. In feeding, the greediness of the
female was evinced by her laying her body over the dish,

82 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

securing the choicest morsels both with hands and feet,
and then feeding with her mouth in the dish, using her
lips in the manner of the horse, and evincing the greatest
fear lest any portion should be taken from her; while the
Chimpanzee sat perfectly upright, taking small portions
gracefully between his thumb and forefinger, in the most
placid and gentle manner; nor was his rage ever excited
except by refusing him a part of an orange, of which he
might have caught a glimpse, or that he knew (which he
evidently did by the smell) was contained in your pocket.
Neither of these animals ever secured portions of food in
the cheek or pouch; nor did they appear to smell their
food before eating, as most of the monkeys do, except it
was some uncommon substance which they had not been
accustomed to eat. Both were in the habit of using a
glass in drinking, but they were never known to throw it
down; they invariably either gave it back, or set it down
in the most careful manner. The Chimpanzee, in parti-
cular, was attracted by the brilliancy of colours, always
getting up on the approach of any female whose dress was
distinguished by the gaiety of its hues.

He likewise evinced great joy in being placed at a win-
dow, and would uttera scream of delight at the passing of
horses and carriages; but nothing could exceed his rage
when placed in a confined cage. He would then stand
erect, crying, and shaking the bars with all his strength,
until he obtained his release, when he would immediately
fly to the arms of his liberator; and, such was his love of
the society of those he knew, that the temptation of the
choicest fruits would not entice him to remain in the room
alone; for, if at liberty he would run towards the door,
and try to get out first, or would embrace your knees, and
cry in the most piteous manner to be taken with you.
During the whole time they were together, I never knew
them attempt the least gambol or amusement of any kind,
either together or individually; nor did they take any no-
tice of other animals, as cals. monkeys, squirrels, &c.,
that were placed with them; but would sit for hours with
the utmost gravity, as if absorbed in the most intense
thought. At other times the male would examine your
person, pockets, and hands, with the most minute atten-
tion. Confinement seemed to be the most dreaded punish-
ment; and, when threatened with that, he would cling to
any one present for protection; and, at night, actual force
was required to confine him to his bed, the female gene-
rally retiring of her own accord many hours before him.
When called to by name, (Buck,) he generally answered
with a short ery, putting out his hands to be taken up.

The instinct of providing and placing warm materials
for her bed was the most marked in the female, who
would be engaged for two hours at a time in dragging

blankets from various parts of the room, smoothing and
changing their position, and beating any raised part down
with her knuckles; assuming at the same time a look of
gravity and an appearance of wisdom. This capacity of
providing and preparing a nightly lodging, seemed-to be
almost extinet in the Chimpanzee, possibly from his so-
ciality and confidence in man, as he took no care in this
particular; but if no place were provided for him, and,
even when provided, if he did not like it, he would climb
into the bed of his keeper. The timidity of both animals
was remarkable, they being exceedingly alarmed even at
inanimate objects; a toy-dog, or a cast of one of their own
species, that was in the room, if removed the least towards
them, was sufficient to drive them to the farthest extremity
of the apartment, in ¢heir most nimble, though not very
quick pace; and the fear exhibited by the female, at the
sight of her deadly enemy, a boa constrictor, was most
acutely evinced. It would appear as if they had not the
power of distinguishing between the real and artificial, as
a toy-snake shown to her produced the same results.

The hearing of both animals was remarkably acute,
catching the most indistinct noise at a considerable dis-
tance; and their knowledge of sounds was accurately
shown; as, on hearing the footsteps, on the stairs, of per-
sons with whom they were acquainted, they ran towards
the door before it was opened.

They were in the daily habit of riding in a coach, and
on being seated, before the vehicle moved, they would se-
cure themselves by getting a firm grasp of the hold-straps
attached to the side of the coach.

It would seem that they had some knowledge of time;
for, as the hour approached at which they were removed
to their nightly residence, they would of their own accord
get the blankets, and enfold themselves, in readiness to
depart; and if their removal were protracted beyond the
usual time, it required force to prevent them from going
to the door. The Chimpanzee having caught a cold,
which ultimately caused his death, he had a violent cough,
that in sound was remarkably human; and as, when a fit
of coughing came on, he was usually given some sweet-
meat or cordial to stop it, he soon adopted the cough as a
mode of obtaining those additional luxuries.

Nothing more evinced the impression which the ap-
pearance of the two animals made upon the persons who
saw them, than the exclamation that usually followed the
first sight of them. The universal cry on secing the
Chimpanzee, was, ‘* What a nice little fellow!” or,
‘¢ What a little darling!”” while his less favoured partner,
although of the softer sex, was generally saluted with,
‘¢What a disgusting beast!” &c. During his illness, his
pitiable looks and evident sufferings, with his placidity and

AND AMERICAN

gentle habits, endeared him to all who saw him: and
when he could no longer swallow food, the quiet manner
of putting the hand that offered it on one side, and uttering
a peculiarly mournful ery, was painfully touching. When
bled, he evinced not the least alarm or uneasiness, but put
out his forefinger to touch the blood that was trickling
from his arm; he even allowed a blister on the chest to re-
main, after having been scolded once or twice fer attempt-
ing to remove it.

Without placing entire credence, then, in the many
wonderful tales related of these animals, enough has sure-
ly been said to excite our curiosity and interest, and even
to awaken our admiration.—Mag. Nat. Hist.

ON PRESERVING INSECTS SELECTED FOR CABINETS.

By C. Waterton.

I onty know of two methods to guard prepared insects
from the depredation of living ones. The first is, by poi-
soning the atmosphere; the second is, by poisoning the
preserved specimens themselves, so effectually that they
are no longer food for the depredator. But there are
some objections to both these modes. A poisoned atmos-
phere will evaporate in time, if not attended to, or if ne-
elected to be renewed; and there is great difficulty in poi-
soning some specimens on account of their delicacy and
minuteness. If you keep spirits of turpentine in the
boxes which contain your preserved specimens, J am of
opinion that those specimens will be safe as long as the
odour of turpentine remains in the box; for it is said
to be the most pernicious of all scents to insects. But
it requires attention to keep up an atmosphere of spi-
rit of turpentine. Ifit be allowed to evaporate entirely,
then there is a clear and undisputed path open to the in-
roads of the enemy: he will take advantage of your ab-
sence or neglect; and when you return to view your trea-
sure you will findit in ruins. Spirits of turpentine, poured
intoa common glass inkstand, in which there is a piece of
sponge, and placed in a corner of your box, will create a
poisoned atmosphere, and kill every insect there. The
poisoning of your specimens, by means of corrosive subli-
mate in alcohol is a most effectual method. As soon as
the operation is properly performed, the depredating in-
sect perceives that the prepared specimen is no longer
food for it, and will for ever cease to attackit. But, then,
every part must have received the poison; otherwise those
parts where the poison has not reached will still be ex-
posed to the enemy; and he will pass unhurt over the poi-

RURAL SPORTS. 83

soned parts, till he arrive at that part of your specimen
which is still wholesome food for him. Now, the diffi-
culty lies in applying the solution to very minute speci-
mens, without injuring their appearance; and all that can
be said is, to recommend unwearied exertion, which is
sure to be attended with great skill, and great skill will
insure surprising success. The result has been astonishing
success, and a perfect conviction that there is no absolute
and lasting safety for prepared specimens in zoology from
the depredations of insects, except by poisoning every
part of them with a solution of corrosive sublimate in al-
cohol. I put a good large teaspoonful of well pounded
corrosive sublimate into a wine-bottle full of alcohol. I
let it stand over night, and the next morning draw it off
into a clean bottle. When I apply it to black substances,
and perceive that it leaves little white particles on them,
I then make it weaker by adding alcohol. A black feather,
dipped into the solution, and then dried, will be a very
good test of the state of the solution. If it be too strong,
it will leave a whiteness upon the feather.

A preparation of arsenic is frequently used; but it is very
dangerous, and sometimes attended with lamentable con-
sequences. I knew a naturalist, by name Howe, in Cay-
enne, in French Guiana, who had lost sixteen of his
teeth. He kept them in a box, and showed them to me.
On opening the lid:—‘‘ These fine teeth,”’ said he, ‘‘ once
belonged to my jaws; they all dropped out by my making
use of the savon arsenetique for preserving the skins of
animals. I take this opportunity of remarking that it is
my firm conviction, that the arsenetical soap can never
be used with any success, if you wish to restore the true
form and figure to askin.

I fear that your correspondent may make use of tight
boxes and aromatic atmospheres, and still, in the end, not
be completely successful in preserving his specimens from
the depredation of insects. The tight box and aromatic
atmosphere will certainly doa great deal for him; but they
are liable to fail, for this obvious reason, viz. that they do
not render, for ever, absolutely baneful and abhorrent to
the depredator, that which in itself is nutritious and grate-
ful to him. In an evil hour, through neglect in keeping
up a poisoned atmosphere, the specimens collected by
your correspondent’s industry, and prepared by his art,
and which ought to live, as it were, for the admiration of
future ages, may fall a prey to an intruding and almost in-
visible enemy: so that, unless he appiy the solution of cor-
rosive sublimate in alcohol, he is never perfectly safe from
a surprise. Ihave tried a decoction of aloes, wormwood,
and walnut leaves, thinking they would he of service, on
account of their bitterness. The trial completely failed.

[Z.

84 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

AN ATTEMPT TO NATURALIZE THE VIRGI-
NIAN PARTRIDGE IN ENGLAND.

A Few years ago I purchased two brace of these elegant
little birds from Mr. Cross, of Exeter Change, London, and
brought them home with me in the coach. I have a small
garden, walled round and covered over with wire, into
which I turned them, but each brace separated from the
other by a wire partition. Towards the latter end of May
I perceived one of the cock birds carrying straws, and
twisting them about over his head; and J found they were
making a nest within a bundle of pea-sticks, which were
placed in the garden for them to run under and hide them-
selves.

This nest was the joint production of male and female;
it was placed on the ground within the pea-sticks, and
shaped much like a wren’s, with a hole on one side, and
covered over attop. After the hen had laid about twelve
eggs she began tn sit, and with as much assiduity as our
common hen. When I thought it was her time to hatch
I examined the nest, and found it deserted, and the egg-
shells, which had evidently contained young birds, lying
about. Much pleased with this circumstance, I went cau-
tiously about to find the dam with her little ones, and,
after searching a considerable time, the first intimation I
had of her presence was from her flying in my face with
great agitation, like our common hen. I retired much
gratified, and observed the young ones, nine in number,
collect again under the wings of their mother. The assi-
duity of this excellent parent was truly exemplary,
and her attention unremitting, and she reared them
all with very little trouble. What is very singular,
there were eight cocks and but one hen, all of whom
were reared till they moulted, and got their adult plum-
age; when, from some cause which I could never as-
certain, they began to droop one after another, and before
Christmas all the young birds died. Though I examined
the stomachs and gizzards of most of them, yet I never
could find out the cause of their deaths; but I have little
doubt of its being some deleterious substance picked up in
the place where I separated them from the old ones, soon
after they became full-fledged, as the old birds escaped
this mortality, and the cock-bird is now living, (October,
18380.)

The other pair never bred, but it was easily accounted
for, as the hen was unwell from the first time I turned
them down, and she lingered on to October, and then died.

Previously to and during the time the hen was sitting
the cock serenaded her with his harsh and singular notes,
some of them yery similar to the mewing of a cat. He

had alsoa peculiarity of constantly running round in a cir-
cle, till the ground whereon he performed his evolutions
was worn as bare as a road, and the turf trodden down
much in the same way as it is by the ruff in the fens dur-
ing the season of incubation.

Nothing could be more cordial and harmonious than this
happy family. When the shades of evening approached,
they crowded together in a circle on the ground, and pre-
pared for the slumbers of the night by placing their tails
all together with their pretty mottled chins facing to the
front in a watchful round-robin.

When food was thrown in for them, which consisted
chiefly of spirted barley and wheat, and occasionally
bread, the male bird would peck at the grain, but not eat
any himself until he had called his family around him, first
to partake of the food; which he did with many soft blan-
dishments, and with much strutting and spreading of the
wings and tail.

I was much disappointed at the loss of this interesting
family; and I waited with some impatience for the result
of another season. The season at length arrived: they
built their nest again as usual; the hen laid about sixteen
eggs; when, to my great mortification, just as she had be-
gun to sit, I found her dead one morning, and can no
otherwise account for the circumstance than by supposing
that something must have frightened her in the night, and
caused her to fly up with violence against the wires,
which proved fatal to her. Thus ended my hopes of do-
mesticating this elegant little bird, as I have never been
able to procure another female; though I have applied in
London for that purpose. The guard of a coach informed
me that he had the care of a basket of these birds by his
coach; that they all, by some accident, got out and flew
away; and that in the part of the country where they
made their escape (which I have now forgotten) they had
bred and increased exceedingly. I have also heard of their
doing well in some parts of the south of this kingdom. I
know that a quantity were turned down upon the large de-
mesne of Edward John Littleton, Esq. M. P., at Teddes-
ley, in Staffordshire, and that they did not breed at all,
but straggled away, and some of them were shot ten or
fifteen miles from his estate.

I should feel much obliged by any of your correspon-
dents informing me where I could procure some living
specimens of this bird, as I should much wish to breed
some more, and turn them out, if I became successful, as
they lay many eggs, and are much more easily reared
than either pheasants or partridges.

J. C.

Staffordshire, October, 1830. [ Zo.

Ss ath. TH)

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“ASNOUD GuLLods

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PANN YEN NYMWANS CREA Tre

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 85

SPOTTED GROUS.

TETRAO CANADENSIS.
[Prats VIII. Vol. 3.—half size. ]

Tetrao Canadensis, Cu. Bonararte’s American Orni-
thology, Vol. 11. p. 47, pd. xx1.—Linn, Syst. 1. p. 207.
sp. 3.—Gmeu. Syst. 1. p. 749, sp. 3.—Larn. Ind. p.
637, sp. 6.—Forstmr, in Phil. Trans. xu. p. 389.—
Temm. Ind. Gall. in Hist. Pig. et Gall. 11. p. 702.—
Vie1tt. Novio. Dict. Hist. Nat.—Sasinen, Zool. app.
Frank. Exp. p. 683.—Nos. Cat. birds, U. 8. sp. 207.
Ip. Syn. Birds, U. S. sp. 108.

Lagopus Bonasa Freti Hudsonis, Briss. Orn. 1. p.-
201. sp. 6.—Kuzn. 4. p. 117, sp. 6.—La Gelinotte du
Canada, Burr. Ois. u. p. 279—Black and Spotted
Heath Cock, Exw. Glean.p. 71, pl. 118.—Brown and
Spotted Heath Cock, Huis. Hudson Bay, t. t. p. 50.

Spotted Grous, Penn. ret. Zool. sp.182, Lata. Syn.
Iv. p- 735, sp. 6. In Suppl. p. 214.—The small
Speckled Pheasant, Lewis and Cuarx Exp. 1. p. 182.
—Philadelphia Museum.

‘¢Tue Spotted Grous,” says M. Bonaparte, ‘is well
characterized by its much rounded tail of but sixteen
broad and rounded feathers, and may be at once distin-
guished from all others by the large and conspicuous
white spots, ornamenting the breast, flanks, and under
tail-coverts.

“Jt has been inaccurately compared with the European
Tetrao bonasia, from which it differs very materially, not
even being of the same subgenus, and approaching nearer,
if indeed it can be compared. with any, to the Tetrao
urogallus.

<¢This bird is common at Hudson’s Bay throughout
the year—there frequenting the plains and low grounds,
though in other parts of America it is found on moun-
tains, even of great elevation. It inhabits Canada in win-
ter, and was seen by Vieillot in great numbers, during
the month of October, in Nova Scotia. Lewis and Clark
met with it on the elevated range of the Rocky Moun-
tains, and brought back from their western expedition a
male specimen, now deposited in the Philadelphia
Museum, where it has been long exhibited under the
name of Louisiana Grous. This, as truly observed by
Say, first entitled it to rank among birds of the United
States. But the Rocky Mountains are not the only re-
gion of the United States territory where the Spotted
Grous isfound. We have traced it with certainty as a
winter visitant of the northern extremity of Maine, Michi-
gan, and eyen the state of New-York; where, though

Yi;

very rare, it is found in the counties of Lewis and Jeffer-
son. On the frontiers of Maine it is abundant, and has
been seen by Professor Holmes of the Gardiner Lyceum,
near Lake Umbagog, and others. Jn these countries the
Spotted Grous is known by the various names of Wood
Partridge, Swamp Partridge, Cedar Partridge, and
Spruce Partridge. The American settlers of Canada dis-
tinguish it by the first. In Michigan and New-York
it generally goes by the second. In Maine it bears the
third ; and in other parts of New-England, New-Bruns-
wick, &c., more properly the last. We have been inform-
ed by Gen. Henry A. S. Dearborn, that they are sent
from Nova Scotia and New-Brunswick to Boston in a
frozen state ; as in the north they are known to be so kept
hanging throughout the winter, and when wanted for use,
they need only be taken down and placed in cold water
to thaw. General Dearborn, to whom we are much in-
debted for the information which his interest for science
has induced him voluntarily to furnish, mentions, that he
has heard from his father, during the progress of the
expedition under Arnold through the wilderness to Que-
bee in 1775, these Grous were occasionally shot between
the tide waters of the Kennebeck river, and the sources
of the Chaudiere, now forming part of the state of Maine.
Five specimens of the Spotted Grous have been sent to
the Lyceum of Natural History of New-York from the
Sault de ste Marie, by Mr. Schoolcraft, whose exertions in
availing himself of the opportunities which his residence
affords him for the advancement of every branch of
Zoology, merits the highest praise. He informs us that
this bird is common from Lake Huron to the sources of
the Mississippi, being called in the Chipeway language
Mushcodasee, i. e. Partridge of the Plains.

“The favourite haunts of the Spotted Grous are pine
woods, and dark cedar swamps; in winter resorting to
the deep forests of spruce to feed on the tops and leaves
of these ever-greens, as well as on the seeds contained in
their cones, and on juniper berries. Hence their flesh,
though at all times good, is much better in summer, as in
winter it has a strong flavour of spruce. At Hudson’s
Bay, where they are called indifferently Wood or Spruce
Partridge, they are seen throughout the year. Like other
Grous, they build on the ground, laying perhaps seven
eggs; these are white, yellow, and black. They are easily
approached, being unsuspicious, and by no means so shy
as the common Ruffed Grous, and are killed or trapped
in numbers without much artifice being necessary for this
purpose. When much disturbed, like their kindred species,
they are apt to resort to trees, where, by using the pre-
caution of always shooting the lowest, the whole terrified
flock may be brought down to the last bird.

86 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

‘¢ The Spotted Grous is smaller than the common Par-
tridge or Pheasant; being but fifteen inches in length.
The bill is black, seven-eighths of an inch Jong. The
general colour of the plumage is made up of black and
gray mingled in transverse wavy crescents, with a few of
grayish rufous on the neck. The small feathers covering
the nostrils are deep velvetly black. The feathers may
all be called black as to the ground colour, and blackish
plumbeous at the base; on the crown, upper sides of the
head above the eye, and the anterior portion of the neck,
they have each two gray bands, or small crescents, and
tipped with a third; these parts, owing to the gray mar-
gin of the feathers being very broad, appear nearly all
gray. These long feathers of the lower part of the neck
above, and between the shoulders, are more broadly and
deeply black, each with a reddish band, and gray only at
the tip; the lowest have even two reddish bands, which
pass gradually into grayish; afew of the lateral feathers of the
neck are almost pure white; all the remaining feathers of the
upper parts of the body have two grayish bands, besides a
slight tip of the same colour; some of the lowest and largest
having even three of these bands besides the tips. The very
long upper tail-coverts are well distinguished, not only by
their shape, but also by their colours, being black, brown,
thickly sprinkled on the margin with grayish rusty, and
a pretty well defined band of that colour towards the
point, then a narrow one of deep black, and are broadly
tipped with whitish gray, more or less pure in different
specimens; their shafts, also, are brownish rusty. ‘The
sides of the head beneath the eyes, together with the
throat, are deep black, with pure white spots, the white
lying curiously upon the feathers, so as to form a band
about the middle, continued along the shaft and spreading
at the points; but the feathers being small on these parts,
the white spots are not very conspicuous.

«¢ The breast also is deep black; but each feather broad-
ly tipped with pure white, constituting the large spots by
which this species is so peculiarly distinguished. On the
flanks, the feathers are at first from their base waved with
black and grayish rusty crescents, but these become gra-
dually less pure and defined, and by getting confused,
make the lowest appear mottled with the two colours; all
are marked along the shaft with white, dilating at the tip,
forming on the largest a conspicuous spot. The vent is
for a space pure white, the tips of its downy feathers being
of that colour; the under tail-coverts are deep black, pure
for half an inch at their tip, and with a white mark along
the shaft beside. ‘The wings are seven inches long, the
fourth primary alone being somewhat longer than the rest.
The upper coverts and scapularies are blackish; waved and
mottled with grayish rusty; the longest scapularies have a

small terminal spot of pure white along the shaft. The
smaller coverts are nearly edged with grayish rusty, and
in very perfect specimens they are even plain; the under
wing-coverts are brownish dusky, edged with grayish,
some of the largest, as well as the long axillary feathers,
having white shafts, dilating into a terminal spot; the re-
maining inferior surface of the wing is bright silvery
gray: the spurous wing and the quills are plain dusky
brown, the secondaries being slightly tipped and edged
externally with paler, and those nearest the body some-
what mottled with grayish rusty at the point on the inner
vane; the primaries, with the exception of the first, are
slightly marked with whitish gray on their outer edge, but
are entirely destitute of white spots. The tail is six inches
long, well rounded, and composed of only sixteen feathers.
These are black, with a slight sprinkling of bright red-
dish on the outer web at base, under the coverts, which
disappears almost entirely with age—all are bright dark
rusty for half an inch at their tip, this colour itself being
finely edged with black.

“ The tarsus measures an inch and a half, its feathers, to-
gether with the femorals, are dusky gray, slightly waved
with dusky; the toes are dusky; the lateral scales dingy
whitish, and the nails blackish.

‘¢ The female is smaller than the male, being more than
an inch shorter. ‘The general plumage is much more
varied, with less of black, but more of rusty. There is a
tinge of rufous on the feathers of the nostrils. Those of the
head, neck, and upper part of the back, are black, with two
or three bright bands of orange rusty, and tipped with two
gray; there is more of the gray tint on the neck, on the
lower part of which above the orange bands are broader;
all the remaining parts of the body above, including the
tail-coverts, are more confusedly banded and mottled with
duller rusty orange and gray, or a blackish ground, these
colours themselves being also sprinkled with a little black.
The sides of the head, the throat, and all the neck below,
are dull rusty orange, each feather varied with black; on
the lower portion of the breast the black bands are broad
and very deep, alternating equally with the orange rusty,
and even gradually encroaching upon the ground colour.
The breast is deep black, each feather, as well as those of
the under parts, including the under tail-coverts, are
broadly tipped with pure white, forming over all the in-
ferior surface very large and close spots, each feather hay-
ing besides one or two rusty orange spots, much duller
and paler, on the belly, and scarcely appearing when the
plumage lies close: the feathers of the flanks are blackish,
deeper at first and barred with very bright orange, then
much mottled with dull grayish rusty, each having a
triangular white spot near the tip. ‘The wings and tail

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS.

are similar to those of the male; the variegatives of the
seapulars and upper coverts being only of a much more
rusty tinge, dull orange in the middle on the shaft, all the
larger feathers having moreover a white streak along the
shaft, ending in a pure white spot, wanting in the male.

‘¢The outer edge of the primaries is more broadly
whitish, and the tertials are dingy white at the point,
being also crossed with dull orange; the tail feathers,
especially the middle ones, are more thickly sprinkled
with rusty orange, taking the appearance of bands on the
middle feathers, then orange coloured, tip being moreover
not so pure, and also sprinkled.”

Those specimens from the Rocky Mountains somewhat
differ from those of the north, being larger in size, having
the tail black to the end, and the toes not so strongly pecti-
nated, and the tail-coverts are pure white at tip.

A WOLF HUNT.

Many of the inhabitants of the Wyalusing Valley re-
member Isaac H. Metcalf, who moved from that neigh-
bourhood to Tioga county, a few years ago. Isaac is a
tall, active, hardy fellow, and as good a hunter as is to be
found within an hundred miles of Brookfield township.
It is not probable that any foreign foe will ever invade
Brookfield; but if Isaac should get a sight of such a fel-
low’s head within two hundred yards of him, I would
not give six-pence for his chance of escaping a rifle bullet.
But although two legged foes are not likely to invade
Brookfield, four legged ones, in the shape of wolves and
foxes, are, unfortunately for sheep and poultry, too fre-
quently to be traced by their ravages. One of the for-
mer—who found, to his cost, that he had mistaken his
man—took the liberty of invading Isaac’s sheep-fold,
one morning just after he had foddered his flock, and on
Isaac’s return a few minutes afterwards, he found him,
without the ceremony of ‘¢ by your leave, sir,’’ regaling
on some of his fattest mutton. Indignant at the affron-
tery of the transaction, Isaac ran into the house for his
rifle; but the wolf, in the midst of his gluttony, kept an
eye for his safety, and on the hunter’s return, he could
only fire a shot at the flying marauder, which grazing the
animal’s belly, passed through his forefoot, as it was raised
in his gallop, and deranged, in some degree, the regulari-
ty of his race.

Isaae, who, though self-taught, appears to have acted on
the principle of Napoleon, never to suffer a flying enemy
to have any rest, ran back to the house, seized a loaf of
bread, with a laudible precaution, which the celebrated
Captain Dugald Dalgetty would have approved, and, with

87

his dog, started in pursuit. The dog liked the sport, and,
the wolf’s speed being somewhat impaired by the accident
which had happened to his foot, in an hour or too over-
took him, and had a slight scuffle with him ; but consi-
dering that ‘‘ the better part of valour is discretion,’ he
merely endeavoured to delay the enemy till the arrival of
his master. The wolf, however, appeared to be well aware
of the dog’s intention, or, in the hunter’s phrase, was
“up to trap,” and before Isaac could get within long shot
of him, would take to his heels. In this way, with re-
peated skirmishes, the first day passed; and at night man
and dog laid down on some brush made into a bed by the
hunter. They found the loaf of bread a very useful arti-
cle in the campaign. At day light they “ took the track”’
again, and two other days and nights passed like the first,
the dog frequently overtaking the wolf, occupying his at-
tention and skirmishing with him till the near arrival of
his master, of which the wolf contrived to take sufficient
notice, and always to be off before the hunter could get
within rifle shot. Each morning it was ascertained, that
at bed time, the wolf had been too tired to hunt for food,
and remained where he had laid down till roused by the
dog in the morning. In the afternoon of the fourth day
he was fairly worn out and exhausted, and the hunter com-
ing up, the dog seized the wolf, and as they rolled over each
other, the hunter clapped his rifle to the wolf’s neck, dis-
charged the load through it, and broke the bone to pieces.

Isaac had not asked himself where he was during the
four days’ chase. He had seen nobody, and he passed
through no clearing or improvement, but as a true hunter
is not to be lost by all the turnings and twistings of such
a devious route as he had been led, going, at one time,
right ‘¢ a-head,”’ as Col. Crockett says, or ‘‘bock again,”
as Sawney said, and as some of our politicians do, or wish
they could do; but he ‘‘ guessed’? he was somewhere
south-west from his house; and so, after he had taken the
enemy’s scalp, with as much of the skill of an artiste
as any of the Black Feet or Dog-Ribbed Indians could
have shown, he ‘‘ laid his course,” as he said, to the north-
east, and found that when he was ‘‘in at the death,”’ he
was in Potter county, about twelve miles from his house;
but supposes that he must have travelled, during the chase,
nearly an hundred and fifty miles.

DOMESTIC PIGEONS, THEIR VARIETIES AND
MANAGEMENT.

Tue Pigeon is monoganous, that is, the male attaches
and confines himself to one female, and the attachment is

88 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

reciprocal; the fidelity of the dove to its mate being pro-
verbial. Young pigeons are termed squeakers, and begin
to breed at about the age of six months, when properly
managed: their courtship, and the well known tone of
voice in the cock, just then acquired and commencing,
are indications of their approaching union. Nestlings,
whilst fed by the cock and hen, are termed squads, and
are at that age sold and used for the table. The dove-
house pigeon is said to breed monthly, being well supplied
with food, more particularly when the ground is bound by
frost, or covered with snow. At any rate, it may be de-
pended on, that pigeons of almost any healthy and well-
established variety, will breed eight or ten times in the
year; whence it may be conceived how immense are the
quantities which may be raised.

The first step towards pigeon keeping, is, undoubtedly,
to provide a commodious place for their reception, of
which I shall afterwards speak; the next, to provide the
pigeons themselves. These will be had in pairs, but if
not actually matched, pains must be afterwards taken, to
that end, that no time be lost; indeed, they may be match-
ed according to the fancy of the keepers, for the purpose
of varying the colours, or with any other view. But it is
necessary to give a caution on the subject of old pigeons,
of which a bargain may offer, since the difficulty of retain-
ing them is so great, indeed insuperable, without the strict-
est vigilance. Nothing short of cutting their wings, and
confining them closely until they have young to attach
them to the place, will be a security; and even after-
wards, they have been known to take flight with the first
use of their wings, and leave their nests. I have had se-
veral examples of this. Thence it is always preferable to
purchase sqgueaker's, or such as have not yet flown; these,
being confined, in a short time, well fed, and accustomed
gradually to the surrounding scenery, before they have ac-
quired sufficient strength of wing wherewith to lose them-
selves, will become perfectly domesticated.

The dove-cote, or pigeon-loft, as to its situation or ex-
tent, will necessarily depend on convenience, one general
rule, however, must be invariably observed,—that every
pair of pigeons have two holes, or rooms, to nest in.
Without this indispensable convenience there will be no
security, but the prospect of constant confusion, breaking
of eggs, and destruction of the young. Pigeons do well
near dwellings, stables, bake-houses, brew-houses, or such
offices; or their proper place is in the poultry-court. A
dove-cote is a good object situate upon an island, in the
centre of a piece of water: indeed, such is a proper situa-
tion for aquatic poultry, and rabbits also; and may be ren-
dered extremely beautiful and picturesque by planting, and
a little simple ornamental and useful building. Where

pigeons are kept in a room, some persons prefer making
their nests upon the floor, to escape the danger of the
young falling out; but in all probability this is to guard
against one risk, and incur a great number, particularly
that of rats and other vermin.

Cleanliness is one of the first and most important consi-
derations: the want. of it in a dove-cote will soon ren-
der the place a nuisance not to be approached; and the
birds, both young and old, will be so covered with vermin,
and besmeared with their own excrement, that they can
enjoy no health or comfort, and mortality is often so in-
duced. Ours were cleaned daily, thoroughly once a week,
a tub standing at hand for the reception of the dung, the
floor covered with sifted gravel, often renewed. Pigeons
are exceedingly fond of water, and, having a prescience of
rain, will wait its coming until late in the evening, upon
the house-top, spreading their wings to receive the re-
freshing shower. When they are confined in a room,
they should be allowed a wide pan of water, to be often
renewed, as a bath, which cools, refreshes, and assists
them to keep their bodies clear of vermin. In the attend-
ance upon pigeons, caution is necessary with respect to
their fighting, to which they are more prone than might
be expected, often to the destruction of eggs or young, or
driving the weakest away.

The shelves should be placed sufficiently high, for secu-
rity against vermin, a small ladder being a necessary ap-
pendage. The usual breadth of the shelves is about
twenty inches, with the allowance of eighteen between
shelf and shelf, which will be sufficient not to incommode
the tallest pigeons. Partitions between the shelves may
be fixed at the distance of about three feet, makinga blind,
by a board nailed against the front of each partition,
whence there will be two nests in the compass of every
three feet, so that the pigeons will sit in privacy, and not
liable to be disturbed. Or a partition may be fixed be-
tween each nest; a good plan, which prevents the young
from running to the hen, sitting over fresh eggs, and perhaps
occasioning her to cool and addle them: for when the
young are about a fortnight or three weeks old, a good
hen will leave them to the care of the cock and lay again.

Some prefer breeding-holes entirely open in front, for
the greater convenience in cleaning the nests; but it is
from those that the squabs are likely to fall, thence a
step of sufficient height is preferable. The tame pigeon
seldom taking the trouble to make a nest, it is better to
give her one of hay, which prevents her eggs from rolling.
Or a straw basket, or unglazed earthen pan, may be placed
in every nest, apportioned to the size of the pigeons you
breed. A pan of three inches high, eight inches over the
top, and sloping to the bottom like a basin, will be of suf-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 89

ficient size for a tumbler, or a small pigeon, whilst one of
double those dimensions will be required for a large runt.
A brick should always be placed in contiguity to the pan,
to enable the cock and hen to alight with greater safety
upon the eggs.

Food and water should be given in such way, as to be
as little as possible contaminated with the excrement, or
any other impurity. Our pigeons having been con-
stantly attended, we have never found the need of any
other convenience than earthen pans; but there have been
ingenious inventions for this purpose, of which the mea¢-
box and water-bottle are specimens. The meat-box
is formed in the shape of a hopper, covered at the top to
keep clean the grain, which descends into a square shal-
low box. Some fence this with rails or holes on each side,
to keep the grains from being scattered over; others leave
it quite open, that the young pigeons may the more easily
find their food.

The water-bottle is a large glass-bottle, with a long
neck, holding from one to five gallons, its belly shaped
like an egg, that the pigeons may not light and dung upon
it. It is placed upon a stand, or three-footed stool, made
hollow above, to receive the belly of the bottle, and let the
mouth into a small pan beneath: the water will so gradu-
ally descend out of the mouth of the bottle as the pigeons
drink, and be sweet and clean, and always stop when the
surface reaches the mouth of the bottle.

To match or pair a cock and hen, it is necessary to
shut them together, or near and within reach of each
other; and the connexion is generally formed in a day or
two. Various rules have been laid down, by which to
distinguish the cock from the hen pigeon; but the mascu-
line forwardness and action of the cock, is for the most
part distinguishable.

Incubation.—The great increase of domestic pigeons
does not proceed from the number of eggs laid by them,
but from the frequency of their hatching. The hen lays
but two eggs and immediately proceeds to incubation.
Having laid her first egg, she rests one day, and, on the
next, lays her second egg. They usually stand over the
first egg, not sitting close until they have two, whence,
both the young are hatched nearly at the same time:
there are some exceptions, however, to this rule of nature,
and the hen haying sat close at first, one young bird may
be hatched a day or two before the other. They often
spoil their first eggs from inexperience.

The period of incubation is nineteen or twenty days
from laying the first egg, and seventeen or eighteen from
the last. The labour of sitting is equally divided between
the cock and hen, excepting that the hen always sits by
night. She is relieved in the morning by the cock, which

Z

sits during the greater part of the day. The business of
feeding the young is also divided between the parents;
and the cock has often brought up the young, on the acci-
dental loss of his mate. Should not the eggs be hatched
in due time, from weakness, some small assistance may
be necessary to extricate the bird from the shell; or should
they be addled, it is generally held necessary to provide
the cock and hen with a borrowed pair of young, or at
least one to feed off their soft meat, which else may stag-
nate in their crops and make them sick: but as young
ones for this purpose may not always be at hand, the ex-
ercise of flying, fresh gravel, and those saline compositions
generally given to pigeons, are the proper remedy. Ad-
dled, or rotten eggs, should be immediately removed.

Pigeons are extremely liable to be lost by accident, and
that which is unaccountable, although they will find their
home from such great distances, they nevertheless often
lose themselves in their own neighbourhood. Should a
cock or hen be lost during incubation, the eggs will be
spoiled in twenty or thirty hours, and may then be taken
from the nest; but if the accident happen after hatching,
the single parent left will feed the young. Should both
parents be lost, the young are very easily accustomed to
be fed by hand with small peas or tares, much preferable
to barley. We did not find any necessity of recourse to
the old housewife’s instrument, the hollow reed.

Soft meat is a sort of milky fluid or pap, secreted in
the craw of pigeons, by the wise providence of nature,
against the time when it will be wanted for the nourish-
ment of their young. In all probability, from instinct,
the pigeons eat a greater quantity at this time, and the
grain goes through a certain process in their crops, which
produces the soft meat or pap in question. This they
have the power of throwing up at will; and, in feeding,
they inject it from their own bills into those of the young
ones, the bills of which are taken into theirown. This
kind of feeding continues six or seven days, when the old
ones begin to mix some harder food with it, until at length
they feed with whole grain. When the time approaches
for the hen to lay, the cock is often seen driving her from
place to place, not suffering her to rest any where but in
her nest, apparently from an instinctive apprehension that
she may drop her egg in an improper place.

Food.—Pigeons are entirely granivorous, and very de-
licate and cleanly in their diet; they will sometimes eat
green vegetables, in particular warm salads, and are ex-
tremely fond of seeds. ares, and the smallest kind of
horse beans, commonly called pigeon beans, are both the
best and cheapest food for pigeons, but the pulse should
always be old, that is to say, of the previous year; as the
new will scour pigeons as well as any other kind of live

90 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

stock. Seeds are occasionally given to pigeons, as a
warming and stimulant diet, but according to my expe-
rience they greatly prefer rape and canary to hemp seed.
It has been remarked, that beans, sodden in salt-water,
scour pigeons equally with new beans, and, in a voyage,
suffering them to drink sea-water will soon kill them; al-
though so generally benefitted by salt, an excess of it is
fatal, as it is also to vegetation, promoted as that is by a
moderate quantity.

In most publications on the subject of pigeons, a danger-
ous mistake has been made in a term applied to beans.
Small fick beans are recommended instead of small horse-
beans. Now, the ¢ick or kidwell, (in the western phrase, )
are the larger of the two common field varieties, and be-
side being inferior in quality, are too large for pigeons,
which have been sometimes choked even with the com-
mon-sized horse beans; on which account, the smallest
possible should be procured, whence such are termed in
the market accounts, ‘pigeon-beans.’ Pease, wheat, and
buck-wheat, or brank, are eaten by pigeons; but should
be given only in alternation, not as a constant diet. The
same of seeds. They yet prefer wheat. The strong scent
of cummin and flavour of coriander seeds are said to have
an alluring effect upon the olfactory nerves and palate of
these birds; as also the scent of asafetida, and other
powerfully odoriferous drugs; and that the use of fumiga-
tions of such, in the dove-cote, will not only attract the
pigeons to their home, but allure strangers, which may be
wandering in search of a habitation.

The last dietetic, or rather, perhaps, medicinal article
necessary to be described, is the salt-cat, so called from
some old fancy of baking a real cat with spices, for the
use of pigeons, which, however, I never observed to eat
animal food. In compliance with this custom, I caused to
be placed in the middle of the pigeon-loft, a dish of the
following composition: loam, sand, old mortar, fresh lime,
bay-salt, cummin, coriander, caraway seed, and allspice,
moistened into a consistence with urine. The pigeons
were constantly pecking at this, and were in a constant
state of good health; how much of which may be attri-
buted to the use of the cat, I cannot determine; but, cer-
tainly, they are extremely fond of it, and if it have no
other merit, it prevents them from pecking the mortar
from the roof of the house, to which otherwise they are
much inclined. The cat was mixed and heaped up in the
dish, a peace of board being placed upon the summit, to
prevent the birds from dunging upon it; when become too
hard it was occasionally broken for them.

The regular old formula for this cat is as follows:
gravel or drift-sand, unctuous loam, the rubbish of an old
wali, or lime, a gallon of each—should lime be substituted

for rubbish, a less quantity of the former will suffiice—
one pound of cummin-seed; one handful of bay-salt; mix
with stale urine. Inclose this in jars, corked or stopped,
holes being punched in the sides, to admit the beaks of
the pigeons. These may be placed abroad.

Many fanciful and groundless tales may be found in old
books, relative to the medicinal and remedial properties
of almost every part of the pigeon; thus much, however,
may be relied on, their flesh, when young and in good
condition, is a nourishing and stimulant diet; that of the
full aged pigeon more substantial, but harder of digestion,
and, in a considerable degree, heating. ‘The general rule
of colour affecting quality in the flesh, holds good in tame
pigeons. The black and dark feathered are proportional-
ly dark or brown fleshed, of high flavour, inclining to the
game bitter of the wild pigeon. The light colour in the
feathers, denotes light and delicate flesh. Their dung is
of an extremely heating and drying quality, whether as a
manure, or for medicinal purposes. It was, in former
days, a principal ingredient in nitre-beds, when that arti-~
cle was almost entirely manufactured at home.

Carriers, horsemen, and dragoons, are travellers or mes-~
sengers, and I have occasionally seen ¢wmb/ers turned off, at
the distance of forty miles from home. The carrier, it is,
said, has performed a journey of forty miles in an hour and a
half, and of even ninety miles in three hours. A dra-
goon has flown seventy-six miles in two hours and a half:
this ancient fancy of flying pigeons had declined, but has,
it seems, revived within a few years. The admired quali-
ties in the ¢wmbler are excessive high flight, so as to be
almost imperceptible to the keenest eye, in fine and clear
weather; perseverance in their flight for many hours to-
gether, and tumbling over and over repeatedly during their
ascent and descent.

In 1825, the Society of Amateurs at Antwerp sent ninety
earriers to Paris, to fly for a prize. They were started
from the French capital at seven in the morning, and by
noon of the same day, thirteen of them had reached home.
The first arrived at half-past eleven o’clock.

By what kind of natural qualification birds are able to
explore their way across such immense distances of land
and sea, seems to mock all human powers of inquiry: and
granting the accuracy of ancient relations in respect to the
regular and successful use of pigeons as messengers, it ap-
pears to be one of those ancient arts said to be buried in
the grave of time, which has not hitherto encountered
resurrection. The present price of a pair of carriers is
about six guineas.

By my memoranda, in 1801, I observe, that sixty-five
pairs of old pigeons, and one hundred and forty squeakers
of all sizes, regularly fed, consumed in one week, five

AND AMERICAN

pecks of the smallest beans, and ten quarts of seeds. The
above old stock, without any young, consumed about half
the quantity.

From the same. Fantails or Shakers, the head al-
ways in motion, are a beautiful stock, and good breeders,
but so stupid and silly, as scarcely to be capable of taking
care of themselves, or finding their home. Runts,
although so much larger, breed as fast and equally forward
as Tumblers. The duration of life in the pigeon is said
to extend to about twenty years, and it is deemed full
aged when the wings are full of the quill feathers.

The chief objects of the faney have hitherto been those
varieties styled almond (probably ermine) tumblers, car-
riers, and the birds with great crops, the most fashionable
variety of which is the pouting horseman. The specific
merits of these breeds are indicated by their names. The
tumbler exercises that faculty in the air, but is chiefly
valued for his peculiar form and variegated plumage. The
carrier, as a messenger, cuts the air with almost incon-
ceivable swiftness. This is the Colwmba tabellaria, the
famous carrier or messenger, between leppo, and Alex-
andria in Egypt. The pouter distends his crop to a
size attractive to curiosity, and by his grotesque attitudes
and familiarity with man, engages his attention.

«¢The common dove house pigeon is the best to keep.
They breed oftenest, and feed their young ones best.
They begin to breed at about nine months old, and, if well
kept, will give you eight or nine pair in a year. Any
little place, a shelf in the cowshed; a board or two under
the eaves of the house; or in short, in any place under
cover, they will sit and hatch and breed up their young
ones.

«¢Jt is not to be supposed that there could be much
profit attached to them; but they are of this use; they are
very pretty creatures, very interesting in their manners;
they are objects of delight to children and to give them
the early habit of fondness for animals, and of setting a
yalue on them, which, as I have often had to observe, is
a great thing.” —Moubray on Poultry.

For the Cabinet of Natural History.

THE YANKEE PEDLAR, AND THE HUNTERS.

‘¢Why is that you, all alive yet, Seth ?” said a stout
woodsman to a slender, modest looking youth. ‘¢ Have
you had any more painter scrapes since I saw you? I
guess those tarnal fellows will make a meal of you some
day, if you come to such close grips.’’? ‘Let them, if
they can,” replied the lad, **I a’nt much fear’d on em.”’

RURAL SPORTS. 91

<¢ Have you killed any panthers lately 2” asked I. “Yes,
some.’ ‘*Some ! how many does that mean in this part
of the world.” ‘I killed five or six—six it was.’’ ‘¢ Yes,”
said the woodsman, ‘and that last one had a nation mind
to kill you.”” Why, I suppose, may be, it would have
tried, if I had been minded tolet it.” ‘¢ Tell me how it
was, master Seth; for I should like to hear it.’’

‘Why, sir, I wanted to have a hunt, and so I went
over to one of the branches of the Sinnemahoning. It
is a mighty wild place, and jist fit for bears and pain-
ters—up one hill and down another, all the way. I had
shot a deer, and wounded it badly, and was following
its track, when a she painter, with two young ones,
came across the track, just before me. I suppose she
smelt the blood, and wanted the deer for her young
ones, and wished to drive me off: but that was not
fair; for the deer, according to hunters’ law, always
belongs to him who first draws blood; and when I saw
her coming right at me, I up with my rifle, and the blamed
thing missed fire. The painter sprung right at me, and I
made with my rifle a motion to strike her, which, I sup-
pose, startled her; for she stopt all at once, and so near
that I could have reached her with my gun—and such a
grin as she gave, you never seed! I heard a fellow once
sing a song how Davy Crockett grinned a coon off of a
tree; but I’ll be blamec if he could grin like that painter.
I have thought since, that I wonder I was not skeered a lit-
tle; but I wasn’t skeered a bit; and as she kept grinning at
me, I jist said to myself, why now, I’ll be shot if this var-
mint’s teeth are not longer than that old one’s that I killed
last; and then, I jist thought, if she’d only keep grinning for
half a minit longer, I could puta prime in my gun; and so I
took my powder horn, but I kept all the time staring her in
the face, fo: it wouldn’t do to take my eyes off of her, and
so I primed all by guess; but I was quick about it, J tell you;
and as soon as I had my rifle primed, I hada ball through
her in a wink. You never seed sich a jump as she made!
And hen I cracked away at one of the young ones, and
over ittumbled ; but it was almost dark, and so I let them
both lay, and went back tomy camp. The next morning,
bright and early, I went back again, and found the two that
I had killed lying where I left them, and the other young
one was lying by its mother. When it was lying down,
it didn’t seem much bigger than a fox, and it seem’d to be
asleep; and so I thought if I could get round a tree jist by
it, [could jump right on it, and catch it alive; and so I did.
I believe it was asleep, for it never stirred till I fell right
a top of it; and then if we hadn’t a tight scuffle, I never
had one! It wasn’t big, but it seratched like all natur; and
when I mastered him, it cost me a powerful site of trouble
to tie his feet, so that he couldn’t scratch; and atlast, when

92 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

I had got him home, I didn’t know what to do with him,
and so I sold him to this fellow in the white hat for fifteen
dollars, and he sold him to a yankee pedlar for fifty dol-
Jars—them yankee pedlars will buy any thing; but the
pedlar paid for the painter in wooden clocks; and after the
pedlar went away, none of the clocks would go. Tom—
him in the white hat—said they all acted as if they were
bewitched, and he got so mad at them, that he said he had
a great mind to knock them all to pieces. But all this
wouldn’t have been so bad as it is, if the pedlar, when he
was going to take the young painter away, hadn’t made a
bargain with Tom for a buck elk—I think he took the
bark off of you there, Tommy. Tom don’t like to tell that
story, and so, I suppose, since you have made me tell mine,
I must tell his’n.

“« May be you know that there is stilla heap of elks in
that tract of country, away across from the Sinnemahoning
to Toby creek. Well, the pedlar told Tom, when he bought
the young painter, that he would give him a hundred and
fifty dollars, and may be, two hundred dollars, if he would
bring him a live buck elk, away to where he lived, at Ro-
chester, in New-York state; and so Tom and another chap
agreed to go halves in what they could make; and the first
chunk of asnowstorm that came, they set out on a hunt-like,
and got ropes and dogs with them, and when they got on the
track of some elks, they picked for the biggest track, and
run a great buck elk so, that at last he took to fight the
dogs till the men come up, and they got their ropes about
his horns and tangled him so, that finally they got him
down and secured him; and Tom thought it so fine an op-
portunity to make a fortin, that when they had got the elk
tied to a tree, he offered the other chap fifty dollars for his
chance, and he took him up at his offer at once. So Tom,
as soon as he got ready, streaked it off with his elk to go
to Rochester—a horse, with a long rope to the eik’s horns
before, to pull him along if he wanted to keep back; and
two men, with each a rope to his horns, to hold him back
if he wanted to pitch at the horse. So they went on for
two days. ‘Tom rode the horse, and the horse was almost
skeared to death, and kept his head over one shoulder all
the way, looking back at the elk, and the elk, he was na-
tion sulkey; and they had a cruel time of it. Tom says,
that the elk put up his hair all the wrong way, and was
tarnal angry at all about him; and before they passed
through Potter county, theelk, I suppose, thought he would
not be made a fool of any longer, and so he jist laid down
and died; and poor Tom here, had to go home again, and
pay the fifty dollars to his partner in the hunt. He offered
the fellow all the clocks which he had got in the bargain
for my painter; but the other said he wouldn’t have any
thing to do with such nation silly things that wouldn’t go

at all; and if they did go, would make a noise like a house
full of rattle snakes.

«© And so Tom lays the blame of all this on my young
painter; but it wasn’t my painter at all that did it; and his
old aunt Keezy told him so, and said that it was alla right-
eous judgment on him, for having any thing to do with
one of them horn-flint, wooden-nutmeg yankee pedlars.
And I am quite entirely of aunt Keezy’s mind. Now,
an’t she right, Tom ?” R.

SCIPIO AND THE BEAR.

Tue Black Bear ( Ursus americanus, ) however clum-
sy in appearance, is active, vigilant, and persevering;
possesses great strength, courage, and address; and un-
dergoes with little injury the greatest fatigues and hard-
ships in avoiding the pursuit of the hunter. Like the
deer, it changes its haunts with the seasons, and for the
same reason, namely, the desire of obtaining suitable
food, or of retiring to the more inaccessible parts, where
it can pass the time in security, unobserved by man, the
most dangerous of itsenemies. During the spring months
it searches for food in the low, rich, alluvial lands that
border the rivers, or by the margins of such inland lakes
as, on account of their small size, are called by us ponds.
There it procures abundance of succulent roots, and of the
tender juicy stems of plants, upon which it chiefly feeds
at that season. During the summer heat it enters the
gloomy swamps, passes much of its time in wallowing in
the mud, like a hog, and contents itself with crayfish,
roots, and nettles, now and then, when hard pressed
by hunger, seizing on a young pig, or perhaps a sow,
or even a calf. As soon as the different kinds of
berries which grow on the mountains begin to ripen,
the bears betake themselves to the high grounds, fol-
lowed by their cubs. In such retired parts of the coun-
try where there are no hilly grounds, it pays visits to the
maize fields, which it ravages for a while. After this, the
various species of nuts, acorns, grapes and other forest
fruits, that form what in the western country is called
mast, attract its attention. The bear is then seen ram-
bling singly through the woods to gather thisharvest, not for-
getting meanwhile to rob every dce-¢ree it meets with, bears
being, as you well know, expert at this operation. You
also know that they are good climbers, and may have been
told, or at least may now be told, that the Black Bear now
and then houses itself in the hollow trunks of the larger
trees for weeks together, when it is said to suck its paws.
You are probably not aware of a habit in which it in-

AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 93

dulges, and which, being curious, must be interesting
to you.

At one season, the Black Bear may be seen examining
the lower part of the trunk of a tree for several minutes
with much attention, at the same time looking around,
and snuffing the air, to assure itself that no enemy is near.
It then raises itself on its hind legs, approaches the trunk,
embraces it with its fore legs, and scratches the bark with
its teeth and claws for several minutes in continuance.
Its jaws clash against each other, until a mass of foam
runs down on both sides of the mouth. After this it con-
tinues its rambles. : nq

In various portions of our country, many of our woods-
men and hunters who have seen the bear performing the
singular operation just described, imagine that it does so
for the purpose of leaying behind it an indication of its
size and power. They measure the height at which the
scratches are made, and in this manner, can in fact form
an estimate of the magnitude of the individual. My
own opinion, however, is different. It seems to me that
the bear scratches the trees, not for the purpose of show-
ing its size or its strength, but merely for that of sharpen-
ing its teeth and claws, to enable it better to encounter a
rival of its own species during the amatory season. The
Wild Boar of Europe clashes its tusks and scrapes the
earth with its feet, and the Deer rubs its antlers against the
lower part of the stems of young trees or bushes, for the
same purpose.

Being one night sleeping in the house of a friend, I was
awakened by a negro servant bearing a light, who gave
me a note, which he said his master had just received. I
ran my eye over the paper, and found it to be a communi-
cation from aneighbour, requesting my friend and myself
to join him as soon as possible, and assist in killing some
bears at that moment engaged in destroying his corn. I
was not long in dressing you may be assured, and on en-
tering the parlour, found my friend equipt, and only wait-
ing for some bullets, which a negro was employed in cast-
ing. Theoverseer’s horn was heard calling up the negroes
from their different cabins. Some were already engaged
in saddling our horses, whilst others were gathering all
the cur-dogs of the plantation. All was bustle. Before
half an hour had elapsed, four stout negro men, armed
with axes and knives, and mounted on strong nags of their
own, (for you must know, kind reader, that many of our
slaves rear horses, cattle, pigs and poultry, which are ex-
clusively their own property,) were following us at a
round gallop through the woods, as we made directly
for the neighbour’s plantation, a little more than five
miles off.

The night was none of the most favourable, a drizzling

Aa

rain rendering the atmosphere thick and rather sultry; but
as we were well acquainted with the course, we soon reach-
ed the house, where the owner was waiting our arrival.
There were now three of us armed with guns, half a
dozen servants, and a good pack of dogs of all kinds. We
jogged on towards the detached field in which the bears
were at work. The owner told us that for some days
several of these animals had visited his corn, and that a
negro who was sent every afternoon to see at what part
of the enclosure they entered, had assured him there were
at least five in the field that night. A plan of attack was
formed: the bars at the usual gap of the fence were to be
put down without noise; the men and dogs were to di-
vide, and afterwards proceed so as to surround the bears,
when, at the sounding of our horns, every one was to
charge towards the centre of the field, and shout as loudly
as possible, which it was judged would so intimidate the
animals, as to induce them to seek refuge upon the
dead trees, with which the field was still partially
covered.

The plan succeeded. The horns sounded, the horses
gallopped forward, the men shouted, the dogs barked and
howled. The shrieks of the negroes were enough to
frighten a legion of bears, and those in the field took to
flight, so that by the time we reached the centre they were
heard hurrying towards the tops of the trees. Fires were
immediately lighted by the negroes. The drizzling rain
had ceased, the sky cleared, and the glare of the crack-
ling fires proved of great assistance to us. The bears had
been so terrified, that we now saw several of them crouch-
ed at the junction of the larger boughs with the trunks.
Two were immediately shot down. They were cubs of
no great size, and being already half dead, we left them
to the dogs, which quickly despatched them.

We were anxious to procure as much sport as possible,
and having observed one of the bears, which, from its
size, we conjectured to be the mother, ordered the negroes
to cut down the tree on which it was perched, when it
was intended the dogs should have a tug with it, while
we should support them, and assist in preventing the bear
from escaping by wounding itin oneofthehindlegs. The
surrounding woods now echoed to the blows of the axemen.
The tree was large and tough, having been girded more
than two years, and the operation of felling it seemed ex-
tremely tedious. However,it began to vibrate at eachstroke;
a few inches alone now supported it; and in a short time
it came crashing to the ground, in so awful a manner that
Bruin must doubtless have felt the shock as severely as we
should feel a shake of the globe produced by the sudden
collision of a comet.

The dogs rushed to the charge, and harassed the Bear

94 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

on all sides. We had remounted, and now surrounded
the poor animal. As its life depended upon its courage
and strength, it exercised both in the most energetic man-
ner. Now and then it seized a dog and killed him by a
single stroke. At another time, a well administered blow
of one of its fore-legs sent an assailant off yelping so pi-
teously, that he might be looked upon as hors de combat.
A cur had daringly ventured to seize the Bear by the
snout and was seen hanging to it, covered with blood,
whilst a dozen or more scrambled over its back. Now
and then the infuriated animal was seen to cast a revenge-
ful glance at some of the party, and we had already de-
termined to despatch it, when, to our astonishment, it
suddenly shook off all the dogs, and before we could fire,
charged upon one of the negroes, who was mounted on a
pied horse. The bear seized the steed with teeth and
claws, and clung to its breast. The terrified horse snorted
and plunged. The rider, an athletic young man, and a
capital horseman, kept his seat, although only saddled on
a sheep’s skin tightly girthed, and requested his master
not to fire at the bear. Notwithstanding his coolness and
courage, our anxiety for his safety was raised to the high-
est pitch, especially when in a moment we saw rider and
horse come to the ground together; but we were instantly
relieved on witnessing the masterly manner in which
Scipio despatched his adversary, by laying open his skull
with a single well-directed blow of his axe, when a deep
growl announced the death of the bear, and the valorous
negro sprung to his feet unhurt.

Day dawned and we renewed our search. Two of the
remaining bears were soon discovered, lodged in a tree
about a hundred yards from the spot where the last one
had been overpowered. On approaching them in a circle,
we found that they manifested no desire to come down,
and we resolved to try smoking. We surrounded the
tree with a pile of brushwood and large branches. The
flames ascended and caught hold of the dry bark. At
length the tree assumed the appearance of a pillar of flame.
The bears mounted to the top branches. When they had
reached the uppermost they were seen to totter, and soon
after, the branch cracking and snapping across, they came
to the ground, bringing with them a mass of broken twigs.
They were ecubsand the dogs soon worried them to death.

The party returned to the house in triumph. Sczpro’s
horse, being severely wounded, was let loose in the field,
lo repair his strength by eating the corn. A cart was
afterwards sent for the game. But before we had left the
fleld, the horses, dogs, and bears, together with the fires,
had destroyed more corn within a few hours, than the
poor bear and her cubs had, during the whole of their
visits.—AUDUBON.

HIPPOPOTAMUS HUNT.

As all our attempts to obtain a hippopotamus had hither-
to failed, and as we were not likely to meet with another
opportunity, this being our last visit to Delagoa Bay, a
party of officers volunteered for the chase, and were con-
veyed up the Dundas river in the Albatross. The even-
ing set in before they reached that part of the river where
the hippopotami were the most abundant. Three parties
were however formed, who at ight commenced their
pursuit. The scene was novel and imposing; a body of
men, armed at all points with muskets, harpoons, and lan-
ces, walking on the shallows of the river, with nothing
but the moon to light them, all hallooing and driving be-
fore them their huge game, who, blowing, snorting, and
bellowing, were floundering through the mud from the nu-
merous holes which they had made at the bottom for their
retreat, but from which the hunters’ lances soon expelled
them, until ultimately driven upon dry ground; where a
running contest commenced, the beast sometimes being
pursued and at others pursuing.

This lasted for some time; but still there were no signs
of man’s boasted pre-eminence: not an animal had the party
secured, dead or alive. As low water was considered the
best time for the pursuit of their game, when the flood set
in the party amused themselves until the next ebb by
scouring the woods for any birds or beasts that they could
find. The deer, which were very numerous, consisted
principally of three species, the fallow, spring, and harte-
bock; but they, as well as the buffaloes and monkeys, were
so shy that none of the party could get near enough to fire
with any hope of success.

During the pursuit, the party were obliged to be careful
where they trod, as the forest abounded in pits dug by the
natives to entrap the hippopotami and elephants. These
were about twelve feet deep, formed like a wedge, and so
neatly covered with reeds that even some of the hunters,
notwithstanding their precautions, were caught, but fortu-
nately not in any armed with spears at the bottom. At
low water the following morning one party formed a line
across one of the shallows, were the depth was not above
two feet, while the boats went up the river and actually
drove the animals down the stream, another party having
lined the banks to prevent their taking to the woods and
reeds. These, whenever the monstrous but timid animals
attempted to pass them, set up a shout, which in most
instances proved sufficient to turn them back into the
water; when, having collected a vast number on one shal-
low bank of sand, the whole of the hunters commeneed
from all sides a regular cannonade upon the astonished
brutes. Unwieldy as they appeared still much activity was

AND AMERICAN

displayed in their efforts to escape the murderous and un-
ceasing fire to which they were exposed. The one-pound
gun occasionally furrowed the thick hide of some, while
others were perpetually assailed by a shower of pewter
musket-balls. One, a cub, was nearly caught uninjured in
attempting to follow its mother, who, galled to desperation,
was endeavouring to escape through the land-party; but,
as soon as the affectionate brute perceived her off-spring
falling into the hands of her enemies, forgetting her fears,
she rushed furiously at the offenders, when they in their
turn were obliged to retreat; but again they contrived to
separate them, and had almost secured the prize, when the
angry mother, regardless of their close and almost fatal fire,
succeeded in redeeming it from their grasp and bearing it
off, although herself in a state of great exhaustion. With
the flood this sport ended.

On their return to the schooner along the banks of
the river, passing near a spot where an hippopotamus
had been seen sporting in the water, a loud rustling was
heard amongst the reeds, as if the animal had retreated
thither on the discharge of their pieces. Messrs. Arlett
and Barrette, with two of the seamen, immediately follow-
ed with the view of driving him out. The former gentle-
man was alittle in advance, and eager in the pursuit, when
he was heard loudly to exclaim, ‘¢ Here he is!” The shrill,
angry scream of some large animal instantly followed, and
in a few seconds Mr. Barrette rushed from the reeds with
his face covered with blood and calling loudly for assist-
ance, as Lieutenant Arlett was attacked and thrown down
by an elephant. The party were immediately on the alert
in search of the unfortunate officer, whom they expected
to find a mangled corpse. As they approached, the ele-
phant, alarmed at their numbers, retreated, leaving his vic-
tim on the ground in a state that may more easily be ima-
gined than described.
his back, covered with blood and dirt, and his eyes start-
ing from their sockets, in all the expressive horror of a
violent death.

Every attention was immediately paid to him, but it
was long feared that the vital spark had fled. Some water
was procured, when, after his face had been washed and
alittle introduced into his mouth, he showed symptoms of
returning life; but it was some time before he recovered
his senses, and became sufficiently collected to givea con-
nected account of the occurrence that had led to his pitia-
ble state. It appeared that, from the thickness of the reeds,
he was close to the animal before he was at all aware of
his situation, but immediately on making the discovery,
he uttered the exclamation heard by his companions of
‘¢ Here he is!’?? This had hardly escaped, when he dis-
covered that, instead of an hippopotamus, he was almost

He was stretched motionless on ~

RURAL SPORTS. 95

stumbling over an enormous elephant. The animal, which
appeared highly irritated at the intrusion, waved its trunk
in the air, and the moment he spoke, reared upon its hind
legs, turned short round, and, with a shrill, passionate ery,
rushed after him, bearing down the opposing reeds in his
way, while Lieutenant Arlett vainly attempted to effect
his eseape. For a short time he had hopes of eluding his
pursuer, as the animal perceived one of the seamen mount-
ed on the top of a tree, about twenty feet high and three
in circumference, menacing him by his voice and gestures,
while preparing to fire. The elephant turned short round,
and, shrieking with rage, made a kind of spring against
the tree, as if to reach the object of his attack, when his
ponderous weight bore the whole to the ground, but for-
tunately without hurting the man, who slipped among the
reeds. The ferocious animal still followed him, foaming
with rage, to the rising bank of the river; the man ery-
ing loudly, **An Elephant! an elephant!” until closely
pressed by his pursuer, they both came upon the top of the
slope, where the party who had heard his cries were pre-
pared, and instantly fired a volley as the elephant appear-
ed. This made him return with increased fury to Mr.
Arlett, who, in his eagerness to escape, stumbled and fell,
the huge beast running over him and severely bruising his
ankle.

As soon as he had passed, Mr. Arlett arose, and, limping
with pain, attempted once more to retreat, but the animal
returned to the attack; his trunk was flourished in the air,
and the next moment the unfortunate officer was struck
senseless to the ground. On recovering himself his situa-
tion appeared hopeless, his huge antagonist standing over
him, chaffing and screaming with rage, pounding the earth
with his feet, and ploughing it with his tusks. When the
party first saw them, Mr. Arlett was lying between the
elephant’s legs, and had it been the intention of the animal
to destroy him, placing a foot upon his senseless body would
in a moment have crushed him to atoms; but it is proba-
ble that his object was only to punish and alarm, not to kill
—such conjecture being perfectly in accordance with the
character of this noble but revengeful beast.

Mr. Arlett was with much care instantly conveyed on
board the schooner, when, on examination, it was found
that his body was severely bruised, yet no bones were bro-
ken, excepting the fibula of the left leg, which was sup-
posed to be slightly fractured. It appeared that the ele-
phant, on his last return to Mr. Arlett, had filled his trunk
with mud, which, having turned him on his back, and
forced open his mouth, he blew down his throat, injecting
a large quantity into the stomach. It was this that pro-
duced the inflated appearance of Mr. Arlett’s countenance,
for he was almost in a state of suffocation, and for three

96 THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY,

days after his adventure, he occasionally vomited quanti-
ties of blue sand.

When he encountered the elephant, he had a rifle in
his hand, but he was too close to fire, knowing as he did,
that in case of failure his destruction would be certain, for,
when wounded, the desperation of this animal is fatal to all.
Upon conveying him to the boat, this rifle was forgotten,
and a party of four were despatched to recover it. They
had just succeeded, and were about to return, when the
elephant rushed in amongst them. The first and second
man fired without effect, but the ball of the third fortunate-
ly turned him.

From the number of shots that were discharged, and ap-
parently took effect on the hippopotami, the party had no
doubt that some were killed. The natives had promised
to inform them when the bodies floated on shore; but ex-
perience soon showed how little reliance could be placed
on the word of these people, when a savoury repast was
placed in the opposite scale. An hippopotamus head was dis-
covered, the body having been conveyed away, and eaten.
This awakened suspicion; our men traversed the bank of
the river, and shortly came on a party of natives, who
were in the act of cutting up the body of another. This
was immediately taken possession of, and conveyed to the
schooner, while upwards of three hundred natives on the
opposite bank of the river, were showing, by their menac-
ing gestures, how averse they were to lose their prize. In
this animal three musket-balls had penetrated through the
skin, which was one inch and a half in thickness, and
lodged between the ribs; the fatal wound in the flank hay-
ing been discharged from the rifle of Mr. Jamieson. This
beast was of a small size, the head, without the tongue,
weighing only two hundred and six pounds. _ The natives
during the hunt were constant attendants, and had by far
the largest share of the game.

[Owen’s Voyages on the Coast of Africa.

CHURCH-GOING DOGS.

Tux shepherd’s dog is one of the most intelligent and
useful of the canine race; he is a constant attendant on his
master, and never leaves him except in the performance
of his duty. In some districts of Scotland this animal al-
ways accompanies him to church; some of them are even
more regular attendants than their masters, for they neyer
fail resorting thither, unless employed in tending their
charge. It may easily be supposed that to a stranger visit-

ing one of the churches in the pasture district, their ap-
pearance there will excite considerable interest. The first
time I happened to be placed in that situation, I was nota
little astonished to see with what propriety they conduct-
ed themselves throughout the greater part of the time we
were in church; but towards the close one of the dogs
began to show some anxiety to get away, when his master,
for this unmannerly conduct, very unceremoniously gave
him a kick, which caused him to howl, and to break the
peace of the assembly, and, to add to his distress, some of
his fellow dogs attacked him, as dogs are wont to do when
they hear one of their species how]. The quarrel now be-
came so alarming that the precentor was forced to leave
his seat, and use his authority in restoring the peace;
which was done by means of a few kicks. All the time of
this disturbance the minister seemed very little discomfit-
ed, continuing his preaching without intermission, which
showed that such were not rare occurrences.

In one parish great complaints were made against the
disturbances occasioned during divine service by the quar-
relling, or otherwise unmannerly conduct, of the dogs,
when it was agreed that all who had dogs should confine
them, and not allow them to come to church. This did
very well for the first Sunday or so; but the dogs not at all
relishing to be locked up on a day when they were wont
to enjoy themselves, were never to be found on the Sun-
day mornings to be tied up; they, by some instinct which
I cannot explain, knew the Sunday as well as their mas-
ters, and set off before them whither they had been in the
habit of going on that day.

It was now evident to the members of the congregation
that this plan would not do, and another scheme was laid
before them, which was, to erect a house close to the
church, in which they might be confined during divine
service. ‘T'his was adopted, and a kennel was accordingly
erected, in which the dogs were imprisoned; but the ani-
mals being more accustomed to freedom than to confine-
ment, took very ill with the restraint put upon their liberty,
and set up a most dreadful howling, to the great annoy-
ance of the people in the church. They however perse-
vered in confining them for a considerable time, thinking
the animals would get accustomed to their incarceration:
but in this they were mistaken; for, instead of the howl.
ing diminishing, it got worse and worse. So it was agreed
they should again be set at liberty and have freedom of
access to the place of public worship; but their manners
had been so corrupted that they were with difficulty re-
stored even to their former discipline.

[Mag. Nat. Hist.

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