NATURE NOTES. 
io8 
peace-offering of a plaything over into the sanded bottom of the 
parakeet’s cage ! Then arose, a scene baffling description. The 
fine sand was death to the worm, which tied itself into double 
knots trying to free itself, and this increase of energy on the 
worm’s part delighted Jack. He kept running round the outside 
of the cage chuckling with laughter, and calling to the parakeet 
to “come along” and watch the worm’s antics. But the 
parakeet was quite beyond being amused. The worm suggested 
snakes to his Brazilian mind, and he was terrified ; then he 
suspected Jack — still trotting round his cage — of further designs 
upon his tail, and altogether it was long before matters calmed 
down again. But there was this good result — Jack’s jealousy 
died ; never again could he condescend to be jealous of such a 
hopeless fool ! 
Ah me ! It must be nearly twenty years since Jack died. One 
day, while we were from home, he had come to the kitchen door 
several times and pecked to be let in, then had run away directly 
the maids opened it, calling to them to “ come along ” up a high 
tree in the garden ! The maids tired of the game, and when at 
last they opened the door Jack was not there. Next morning 
his body was found in the little tank we had together so often 
drawn water from for watering the garden. It was a sad home- 
coming, and life felt empty for a long while after. I have never 
had another pet of my own since. Jack’s possession of a soul 
of some kind was proved by his power of loving. His dainties, 
his treasures, were dust and ashes to him if I were not with 
him. His first thought in the morning, his last thought at night, 
was for his mistress. This it was that proved Jack to be no 
ordinary bird ; and remembering how rare is such power of 
loving in man or bird, this little sketch of a loving life has been 
written down by Jack’s friend. 
Ella F. Conybeare. 
TO THE SOUTH DOWNS. 
I. 
O GRACIOUS downs ! God’s garden near the sky 
Where flowers bloom, and shadows softly lie. 
O glorious curves ! that grandly sink and swell. 
There winds blow purer, there the sunbeams dwell. 
O wondrous hills ! ten thousand tiny shells 
Have built your lines, beneath Avhose shade man dwells ; 
Beauteous and silent, ’neath the drifted snow. 
When w'inds blow keenly, and the clouds hang low. 
Thrice blessed slopes ! the air is with you still ; 
A bird, a flower, lives yet on every hill ; 
O solemn downs ! your sky is ever near 
And all its glory gathers round you here. 
O perfect downs ! your outline, noble, true. 
Is blending with the ocean’s distant blue. 
