THE GUIDE TO NATURE 



Observations in the Farmyard. 



Glen Ridge, New Jersey. 



To the Editor : 



To those who come in close daily 

 contact with the denizens of the barn- 

 yard, many interesting idiosyncrasies 

 and evidences of "individuality" are re- 

 vealed. This is particularly noticeable 

 by children, who are quick at observing 

 the peculiar traits and differences of 

 physiognomy. One little girl whom I 

 knew gave the names of her uncles, 

 aunts, cousins and neighbors to the 

 chickens in which she insisted that she 

 could trace resemblances of expression 

 or of personal characteristics. This may 

 seem a bit fanciful, but the child that 

 is blest with the gifts of observation 

 and imagination is happy indeed ! 



Maternal devotion is the most beau- 

 tiful and fascinating source of interest, 

 but it is an instince that we accept as 

 the most natural of all. What is more 

 rare, however, or harder to discover, is 

 evidence of mutual attachment, some- 

 thing more intimate than the "social" 

 instinct which is so strong among all 

 animals. I hesitate to call it "friend- 

 ship," but it is something akin to that. 



The objects of my observation were 

 two ducklings and two chicks that had 

 been hatched by the same hen. The 

 four were the only survivors of the ill- 

 assorted family, and were a source of 

 great distress to poor biddy that could 

 not get used to the aquatic perform- 

 ances of the ducks. She evidently felt 

 that she had made a mess of it, and she 

 abandoned her family prematurely, so 

 that I had to adopt the orphans. They 

 turned out to be male and female, after 

 their kind, and thrived beautifully. 

 When gardening time came the flock 

 was confined to an enclosure, all but 

 the ducklings as they are not "scratch- 

 es." Instead of wandering afield they 

 waddled back and forth outside the 

 enclosure, their two little imprisoned 

 mates following them from the inside, 

 the four making frantic efforts to join 

 one another and uttering plaintive cries. 

 This became so distressing that I re- 

 leased the chicks. This was followed 

 by great demonstrations of joy. The 

 ducklings were particularly emotional. 

 They caressed their gawky, long-legged 

 little mates with their bills, making 

 tremulous motions and gurgling sounds 



of evident delight. Turtledoves could 

 hardly have been more sentimental. 

 They enjoyed many idyllic days to- 

 gether, and at night, instead of perch- 

 ing with the chickens, the chicks 

 crouched on the floor with their web- 

 footed comrades, and whenever I pen- 

 ned up the chicks they and the duck- 

 lings kept close together on opposite 

 sides of the fence. One day a duckling 

 fell into a post hole, and I discovered 

 it only after noticing three faithful 

 companions hovering around the hole 

 for a long while, until I went to the 

 rescue. 



The vicissitudes and tragedies of the 

 barnyard broke up the devoted quartet. 

 First the duck was sacrificed, then the 

 rooster, as he was a pariah among his 

 kind. We endeavored to make the pul- 

 let see the error of her ways, but she 

 grew up to be "emancipated." She 

 challenged and fought the young cock- 

 erels, and finally she learned to crow! 

 She was the first and only crowing hen 

 that I have ever met. Her crow was 

 a squawk, but it seemed to give vent 

 to her rebellious spirit, and she always 

 crowed at earlest dawn, out in the open, 

 before any of the other chickens were 

 about. The sun never rose to her call, 

 which no doubt added to her bitterness. 

 As she gave no promise of pulchritude 

 or of favorable domestic qualities, she 

 too was disposed of. The poor drake 

 visibly pined, until he was put out of 

 his misery and so ended this little low- 

 ly drama of the barnyard. 



As a boy that loved all kinds of ani- 

 mals, I could relate more experiences, 

 but such tales generally lead to garrul- 

 ity, and should be curtailed ! 



LOUIS CORTAMBERT. 



The ordinary aquarium goldfish 

 breeds from four to eight times a year, 

 and produces from a few hundred to 

 several thousand eggs at each period. 



A June Night. 



"What is fo rare as a day in June?" 



Except, in June, a night, 

 With the sleeping lake a silver plain, 



In the spell of the moon's soft light. 



And as we cleave its shining length. 



Adrift in onr canoe. 

 It almost seems that Heaven itself 



Is opening to our view. 



— Emma Peirce. 



