392 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 



occasion, and sold at a high price on account of his rarity. He died 

 easily, being found one morning on his master's pillow lifeless ; his 

 little heart had ceased to beat during the night. The Professor 

 was very sad when he died, and vowed he never would have any 

 more dogs — and he kept his vow. 



In connection with this subject, there remains something to be 

 said of his continued devotion to the birds mentioned in an earlier 

 part of this Memoir. I think it was the love of the beautiful in all 

 created things that made my father admire the glossy plumage, 

 delicate snake-like head, and noble air of game birds — the aristoc- 

 racy of their species. For many months he pampered and fed no 

 fewer than sixty-two of these precious bipeds in the back-green of 

 his house. The noise made by this fearful regiment of birds beg- 

 gars all description, yet, be it said, for the honor of human patience 

 and courtesy, not a single complaint ever came from friend or 

 neighbor ; for months it went on, and still this 



" Bufera infernal" 



was listened to in silence.* 



Fearing lest any of his pets should expand their wings and take 

 flight, their master sought to prevent this by clipping a wing of 

 each. He chanced to fix upon a day for this operation when his 

 son-in-law, Mr. Gordon, was occupied in his room with his clerk, 

 the apartment adjoining which was the place of rendezvous. 

 Chanticleer, at no time " most musical, most melancholy" of birds, 

 on this occasion made noise enouo-h to " create a soul under the 

 ribs of death." Such an uproar ! sounds of fluttering of feathers, 

 accompanied by low chucklings, half hysterical cackling, suppress- 

 ed crowing, and every sign of agitation and rage that lungs not 

 human could send forth. During the whole of this proceeding, 

 extraordinary as it may have appeared to the uninitiated ear, not 

 an observation escaped the lips of the clerk, who for more than an 

 hour was subjected to "this lively din." 



If, however, the silence of neighbors did honor to their virtue, 

 there were distresses and perplexities which domestic tongues 



* His medical attendant naively relates that one day when the Professor took him into his 

 " aviary," and pointed out the varied beauties of his birds, the Doctor asked, " Do they never 

 fight'/" "Fight!" replied the Professor, "you little know the noble nature of the animal; he will 

 not fight unless he is incited; but," added he, with a humorous twinkle of the eye, "put a hen 



among them, and I won't answer for the peace being long observed ; and so it hath been since 



the beginning of the world," added the old man eloquent. 



