Illustrative Anecdotes of the Animal Kingdom

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

THE OWL

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ORDER II.

PASSERINÆ

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

THE SHRIKE, OR BUTCHER-BIRD

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

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

THE KING-BIRD

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

THE CEDAR-BIRD

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

THE SCARLET TANAGER

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

THE MOCKING-BIRD

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

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

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

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

THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE

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

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

THE WREN

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

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

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

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

THE PURPLE MARTIN

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

THE SWALLOW

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

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

THE SKYLARK

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

THE TITMOUSE

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

THE CANARY-BIRD

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

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

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

Poor Phil was once a blithe canary —But then his mate was at his side;His spirits never seemed to vary,Till she, one autumn evening, died; —And now upon his perch he clung,With ruffled plumes and spirits low,His carol hushed; or, if he sung,'Twas some sad warble of his wo.His little mistress came with seed: —Alas! he would not, could not, feed.She filled his cup with crystal dew;She called – she whistled: – 'twould not do;The little mourner bowed his head,And gently peeped – "My mate is dead!"Alas, poor Phil! how changed art thou!The gayest then, the saddest now.The dribbled seed, the limpid wave,Would purchase, then, thy sweetest stave;Or, if thou hadst some softer spell,Thine ear had stolen from the shellThat sings amid the silver sandThat circles round thy native land,'Twas only when, with wily art,Thou sought'st to charm thy partner's heart.And she is gone – thy joys are dead —Thy music with thy mate is fled!Poor bird! upon the roost he sate,With drooping wing, disconsolate;And as his little mistress gazed,Her brimming eyes with tears were glazed.In vain she tried each wonted artTo heal the mourner's broken heart.At last she went, with childish thought,And to the cage a mirror brought.She placed it by the songster's side —And, lo! the image seemed his bride!Forth from his perch he wondering flew,Approached, and gazed, and gazed anew;And then his wings he trembling shook,And then a circling flight he took;And then his notes began to rise,A song of triumph, to the skies!And since – for many a day and year,That blissful bird – the mirror near —With what he deems his little wife,His partner still – has spent his life:Content, if but the image stay,Sit by his side, and list his lay!Thus fancy oft will bring relief,And with a shadow comfort grief.

THE BULFINCH

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

THE SPARROW

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