THE SXOW-WALKERS. 73 



ets him for a pet. He is quite precocious, however, 

 and capable, even at this tender age, of making a 

 very stroug appeal to your sense of smell. 



No animal is more cleanly in its habits than he. 

 He is not an awkward boy, who cuts his own face 

 with his whip ; and neither his flesh nor his fur hints 

 the weapon with which he is armed. The most silent 

 creature known to me, he makes no sound, so far as 

 I have observed, save a diffuse, impatient noise, like 

 that produced by beating your hand with a whisk- 

 broom, when the farm-dog has discovered his retreat 

 in the stone fence. He renders himself obnoxious to 

 the farmer by his partiality for hens' eggs and young 

 poultry. He is a confirmed epicure, and at plunder- 

 ing hen-roosts an expert. Not the full-grown fowls 

 are his victims, but the youngest and most tender. 

 At night Mother Hen receives under her maternal 

 wings a dozen newly hatched chickens, and with 

 much pride and satisfaction feels them all safely 

 tucked away in her feathers. In the morning she is 

 walking about disconsolately, attended by only two 

 or three of all that pretty brood. What has hap- 

 pened? Where are they gone? That pickpocket, 

 Sir Mephitis, could solve the mystery. Quietly has 

 he approached, under cover of darkness, and one by 

 one, relieved her of her precious charge. Look 

 closely, and you will see their little yellow legs and 

 beaks, or part of a mangled form, lying about on the 

 ground. Or, before the hen has hatched, he may 

 find her out, and, by the same sleight of hand, re- 



