REMINISCENCES OF ANDREW DOWNS. XV 



1 heartily agree that there is nothing really ugly or frightful in nature, 

 and though these terms are often employed conventionally, it is really 

 very snobbish to do so, unless in the case of accident or design, by which 

 nature has been made to fall short of her work. It appears to me the 

 height of arrogance to criticize or disparage any of nature's handiwork. 

 Wherein lies our ability to judge? "Ask a toad," says Voltaire, "what 

 is beauty, the supremely beautiful, the TO aaMv \ He will tell you, it is 

 my wife, with two large eyes projecting out of her little head, a broad 

 and flat neck, yellow belly, and dark brown back." So, friend visitor, be 

 warned not to revile even the toad in the presence of our naturalist, or 

 perchance he may cause thee to be ashamed of thy speech. 



Within a little paled enclosure adjacent to the yard are the wood-ducks, 

 the gems of the collection. To see these beautiful birds looking their best, we 

 must choose a bright day, such as has been described. No stuffed specimens 

 can show the vivid colouring of the living and healthy bird in its prime. 

 Many of the glossy hues fade in death, as well as the rich colouring on the 

 I'.pper mandible, of the iris and legs, and which cannot be artifically rendered 

 with justice to the bright tints of life. The wood-duck, so called from its 

 habit of roosting and building in trees, is a rather rare summer visitor 

 in this province. It loves to make its nest in hollows in tall trees, by the 

 banks of forest streams far from the haunts 01 man. Its Latin name 

 (Anas sponsa) signifies the bride-duck, "a pretty name for a pretty 

 creature," as Frank Forester says of it. As Downs chases them over the 

 brook which trickles through this enclosure, and up the sunny bank, that 

 we may the better observe the play of the light on their gorgeous plum- 

 age, we notice how strictly they keep in pairs, each drake accompanying 

 his soft, modest-looking duck, and continually uttering a little, subdued 

 cr y peet, peet. I have seen these birds in their wild state on the Shuben- 

 acadie; once on Gold River, and, more frequently, in the wild river soli- 

 tudes of northern New Brunswick, when, as our invading canoe scared 

 them from their haunts, they would fly down stream, their brightly- 

 painted forms standing out against the dark background of fir-forest in 

 the soft light of a summer's afternoon. A flock of almost equally beauti- 

 ful little ducks, natives of South America, with less gorgeous, but 

 exquisitely marked plumage and showy crimson spots on the bill, occupies 

 the same cage as the wood-ducks, where also stalks a very conceited and 

 rather obtrusive crane from the Mississippi, who marches around you, 

 apparently earnestly regarding the ground, but really meditating as to 

 the prudence of indulging in an old failing that of casually driving his 

 long, sharp beak through your boot. 



We cannot fail to "notice the tameness of the swallows (the white- 

 bellied wood- swallow), which breed in the little boxes set up for them 

 round the house, and sometimes but a few feet above the ground. Quite 

 regardless of your presence, they continue their nest-building or feeding 



