ag, / 


294 


* 
Satural History. 
seas Ly SR: 
—The introduction of the Angora goat into Australia 
seems to have been quite successful. The goats were first 
sent to Victoria in 1856, and now are found in fair quantity | 
in other sections of the country. The annual fleece is from 
three to nine pounds of mohair, which, when properly 
_ washed, is worth about 8s. 6d.a pound. There will be fi! 
‘rivalry some day between the Pacific and the Australian 
goat, and cashmere shawls may yet be within the means of. 
the most economical of» women. Happy day! 
—Professor Le Conte, of Oakland, California, sends the 
fotlowing interesting account of the Flight of Birds, to 
Nature:— 
“In Nature, vol. viii. p. 86, Mr. J. Guthrie calls atten- 
tion to, and asks explanation of, a curious phenomenon in 
the flight of birds observed by him:—‘In the face of a 
strong wind,’ he says, ‘the hawk remained fixed in space 
without fluttering a wing for at least two minutes. Aftera 
time it quietly changed its position a few feet with a shght 
motion of its wings, and then-eame.to xrest'again as before, 
remaining as motionless as the rocks around it.’ 
I have often observed the samie phenomenon, but, until 
recently, not carefully enough to warrant any attempt at 
explanation, though always convinced that it was not due 
to any invisible vibratory motion of the wings, as suggested 
by Mr. Guthrie. During the past summer, however, while 
on a tour through the mountains of Oregon, I had a fine 
opportunity of watching very elosely a large red-tailed 
hawk (Buteo montanus) while performing this wonderful 
feat, and of noting the conditions under which alone, I be- 
lieve, it is possible. These conditions are precisely those 
described by Mr. Guthrie, viz., a steady wind, blowing 
across an upward slope, terminated by aridge. Fora half- 
hour I watched the hawk, with wings and tail widely ex- 
panded, but motionless, balancing himself in a fixed posi- 
tion for several minutes in the face of a strong wind; then 
changing his position and again balancing, but always 
choosing his position just above the ridge. 
I explain the phenomenon as follows:—The slope of the 
hill determines a slight upward direction to the wind. 'The 
bird inclines the plane of his expanded wings and tail very 
slightly downwards, but the inclination is lesg than that of 
the wind. Under these eonditions it is evident that the 
tendency of gravity would carry him backward and up- 
ward. The bird skilfully adjusts the plane of his wings 
and tail, so that these two opposing iforces shall exactly 
balance. He changes his place and postion from time to 
time, not entirely voluntarily, but because the varying force 
or direction of the wind compels him to seek anew position 
of, equilibrium.” 3 
—Mr. Frank Buckland is the authority for this:-—During 
my journey north last week I saw, when inspecting a sal- 
mon river, a remarkably strong, active, intelligent little 
bey, between four and five years old, playing about a weir. 
The father told mea very curious story about the child. 
Last Christmas he was taken to see a pantomime in which 
monkeys performed a great part. The scene so impressed 
the child’s mind that the next morning he imagined him- 
self to be amonkey. He would not speak, and no kind- 
ness or threats would make him speak a single word, he 
would not sit at table with his brothers and sisters at meals, 
but would only eat out of a plate placed on the ground, 
out of which he ate his food, being on all fours. If any- 
thing to eat was presented to him he always put it to his 
nose and smelt it, just asa monkey does before eating it. 
He was continually climbing up trees and throwing down 
boughs and grinning at the people below like the monkeys 
in the cocoa-nut trees in the pantomime, When his father 
tried to correct him the little fellow, still on all fours, ran 
after him and bit him onthe leg. He would serve his 
brothers and sisters the same if they teased him. This 
curious monkey fit lasted until a few weeks ago, but the 
idea has now quite passed out of his head. J wonder if 
this story may possible be of any use to Mr. Darwin. [So 
it seems that there are naughty little boys all over the 
world. ] 
GizzaRps or Insecrs.—Everyone knows that turkeys, 
fowls, geese, and many other birds that take their food by 
the peck are supplied with gizzards, and that such birds 
swallow grains of sand, small pebbles, and other hard sub- 
stances with their food. The action of the gizzard upon 
this mixture may be easily understood; the hard substances 
are made to do the duty of teeth by crushing and grinding 
the softer ones to a pulp, so that teeth in the mouth of a 
fowl would be out of place. Many who know all this may 
not be aware that several insects have gizzards too, and still 
more wonderful, the gizzards of insects are much more 
complicated affairs than those of birds. If the gizzard of 
& cricket be laid open it will be found lined with rows of 
formidable teeth—a good substitute, you will say, for the 
sand and pebbles taken into the gizzards of birds at every 
meal; and, as these teeth are permanent they no doubt save 
the possessor of them avast deal of trouble, unless, in- 
deed, the cricket should ever be subject to the toothache. 
The gizzards of insects are not at all alike; some are lined 
with teeth, some with plates, some with horns, and some 
with bristles; but in every instance the apparatus is a very 
wonderful one. In a pretty little beetle not uncommon in 
some localities, and with a name much longer perhaps than 
the longest to be found in the parish register, the gizzard is 
about the size of a common pin’s head, and is armed inter- 
nally with more than four hundred teeth; imagine what the 
number of muscles must be to set all this machinery in 
motion, and keep upits action upon the food. In some 
species it amounts to many thousands.—The Meld. 
TrRAp—pooR SPIppRS.—These curious creatures make real 
doors to their dwelling-places and resent intrusion as though 
they were coiners or illicit distillers. The doors are fitted 
with solid hinges, and are generally so placed on a sloping 
bank that they fall to by their own weight and shut into 
the opening like a cork. Some of these spiders even make 
uble doors—the first slight in texture, and covered with 
lichen or moss, so as to escape detection; the second cone 
structed for serious resistance. For these double doors, one 
of which shall open, as if were, from without and the other 
only from within, there is certainly much to be said, as the 
experience of both men and women goes to prove. There 
is something almost pathetic as well as comical in the ac- 
count given of. the spider which, or perhaps we ought to 
say who, when her first door was destroyed and her second 
threatened, was finally captured at her post; with her back | 
set against the door, resisting with all the pwer of her legs” 
this violation‘of territory.—sPall Mall Gazette. 


FOREST AND STREAM. 
Epiror Forest and SREAM:— 
The follewing donations to the Central Park Managerie 
have been received: ; 
» One Bald Eagle, Hatietus Cucocephalus, captured in Flor- 
ida; presented by Mrs. Capt. O. Hazard. 
One Flying Squirrel, Pteromys volucella, presented by Mr. 
Henry C. Carter. 
One Hawk, Mileo fermoralis, hab. Chili,presented by Ernist 
EF. Hoffman, M. D. 
One Turkey Buzzard, Oathartes wira, captured in Ohio; 
presented by Mr. Cyrus J. Van Gorder. 
| One Southern Fox Squirrel, Se‘wrus rulpinus; is a pure, 
uniform, lustrous black, with ears and nose white; pre- 
sented by Mr. M. ©. Lefferts. W. A. Conkin, 
Director. 

Che Kennel. 
—CHAMPION ENGLisn Porter, ‘“BeLLE.”’—The portrait 
of this remarkable dog, the champion of England, the win- 
ner of the great Rhiwlas Balla Field trials, elegantly en- 
graved by the Photo-lithographic Co., with pedigree and 
points, will be for sale at the Forusr anp STREAM office, 
on and after Wednesday next, December 24th. Price, $1,00, 
sent by mail. 
Bo as 2d Lace es Sd 
DOG ANECDOTES. 
” ea HGR SCNT iy 
Gee MARRYATT and Theodore Hook were wont 
to manufacture an inexhaustible supply of anecdotes 
of animals, for the especial benefit of the English provin- 
cial papers. Perhaps their neatest anecdote was about a 
Newfoundland dog whe, when called upon to fetch three 
hats of different sizes, and all, at the samme time, pondered 
over the job fora while and then assorting them, slipped 
one hat inside of the other until he had made a nest of hats, 
and thus achieved hig task. Very possibly it was this 
same dog who, when worried by a cur of low degree, took 
the offending puppy ina most deliberate way by the nape 
of the neck, carried him to the parapet of a bridge, and 
then let him drop into the river. All schoolboys believe in 
this story, as do we, the children of a larger growth. But 
it wanted a denowement, something more, and at last a con 
tinuation has been vouchsafed to us, coming from a 
French source. The Newfoundland doggie stands on the 
bridge and sees his puny assailant floundering in the river 
where he has precipitated him. <A tear trickles down the 
eye of the Newfoundland, for remorse is there; ‘‘and has 
not his enemy suffered enough?” says the® noble dog to 
himself. Instantly he springs off the parapet, rescues 
from drowning the very same ¢/en he has himself thrown 
into the water, and brings him to the shore. Believe it? 
And why not? Is it not so written? 
Here, however, is a story of a dog, sent us by a kind lady 
correspondent from Georgia, which is very pretty. We 
produce the letter of our fair correspondent :— 
Manirerra, Ga., November 30, 18738. 
Eprror Forest AND Srreamw:— 
My fa ler has an old Newfoundland dog who, when her 
last litter of puppies were born, some four years ago, was 
thought to be too old to nurse them, and when the puppies 
were quite little—as the breed was very much esteemed in 
the neighborhood—her little ones were given to various 
friends, and 1 am pleased to say that all the little fellows 
throve. Flora’s distress at losing her little family was ter- 
rible. It was not expressed by howls or noisy exclamations 
of dog-like despair, but by the most intense, quiet grief, 
which lasted more than a year. Six months ago, my 
father brought to the plantation three puppies—a terrier, 
a mastiff, and a Newfoundland, the latter a grandchild of 
Flora. Al three little dogs were taken by*my father out 
of the carriage and placed on the lawn back of the house. 
They commenced whimpering. Instantly Flora heard 
them, and with every evidence of solicitude went to the 
Newfoundland puppy, fondled it for a moment, then tak- 
it in her mouth, pushing aside the other little dogs, carried 
it to her kennel. She cared for the little fellow for four 
months as if it had been her own child, following the col- 
ored woman who brought the milk from the dairy until her 
little charge had had his share of milk. If she was all 
tenderness to her grandchild, she was spiteful, to a degree, 
in regard to the other young dogs, ‘To-day Dash, her fos- 
ter son, is a fine young dog, and can take care of himself: 
Flora is a thoroughbred Newfoundland, rather small, feet 
well webbed, and was sent to my father from St. Johns, 
Newfoundland. As we have alarge pond on the place, 
Flora and Dash take to the water every day in summer, 
and as we live in a portion of the State where the winter 
is quite cold at times, these dogs never suffer. I trust you 
will excuse a lady’s writing you on a subject our sex rarely 
indulges in, for, save Grace Greenwood, who can write dog 
quite charmingly, Il am afraid it is somewhat out of our 
sphere. Very truly, J. 
Here is another dog story, just sent to us:— 
Roosevelt Schuyler, Esq., of Staten Island, had a re- 
markably fine, unbroken, red Irish setter, which he pre- 
sented some weeks ago to an officer stationed at Fort Ham- 
ilton, L. I. The dog arrived at the fort in the morning, 
had never been there before, but that very same night the 
setter was at home in Staten Island, jumping over the gar- 
den fence and barking loudly at the house door for admit- 
tance. The setter must have either taken the ferryboator 
swam the channel. 
Here is the story of courage ina dog, as told us by an 
esteemed friend and thorough sportsman :— 
‘“‘T was shooting quail on Land Island, some years ago, 


with my dog Jack, a full-blooded black pointer. The dog 
got far ahead of me and pointed in an open field at a bevy 
of quail. Usually he was a very steady dog, and was such 
an excellent animal in all respects that I do not think I ever 
had to punish him. I loved Jack and my affection was re- 
turned. Well, the birds rose suddenly and I fired, killing 
four, when to my horror I found poor Jack covered with 
blood, a great many of the shot having raked him. He 
had jumped just as I had shot. I could have cried over it. 
T called tohim. Jack came up and I talked to him as I 
would have done to a human being, letting him know how 
sorry I was, and that it was all owing to my carelessness. 
Jack seemed to understand me, but went on looking up 
the game, just as staunch and confiding as ever. I made 
an excellent bag that day, even after my unfortunate acci- 
dent. I ought perhaps to have taken Jack straight home, 
but he seemed to say tome, ‘It’s of no consequence I as- 
sure you. It ain’t of much account.” That he was hurt was _ 
certain, as he could hardly move for the next three days, 
though I nursed him tenderly. Jack never lost his trust 
inme. I have always thought that Jack, besides his hunt- 
ing points, was the bravest animal I ever knew.” 
—From Nuture we take the following as an instance of 
the collective instinct in animals:— 
‘- A friend of mine in this neighborhood had a small ter- 
rier and a large Newfoundland. One day a shepherd called 
upon him to say that his dogs had been seen worrying sheep 
the night before. The gentleman said there must be some 
mistake, as the Newfoundland had not been unchained. A 
few days afterwards the shepherd again called with the 
same complaint, vehemently asserting that he was positive 
as to the identity of the dogs. Consequently, the owner 
set one watch upon the kennel, and another outside the 
sheep-enclosure, directing them (in consequence of what 
the shepherd had told him) not to interfere with the action 
of the dogs. After this had been done for several nights in 
succession, the small dog was observed to come at day- 
dawn to the place where the large one was chained; the 
latter immediately slipped his collar, and the two animals 
made straight for the sheep. Upon arriving at the enclo- 
sure the Newfoundland concealed himself behind a hedge, 
while the terrier drove the sheep towards his ambush, and 
the fate of one of them was quickly sealed. When their 
breakfast was finished the dogs returned home, and the 
large one, thrusting his head into his collar, lay down again 
as though nothing had happened. Why this animal should 
have chosen to hunt by stratagem prey whichit could easily 
have run down, I cannot suggest; but there can be little 
doubt that so wise a dog must have had some good reason.” 
—The following is Canon Kingsley’s charming and spirit- 
ed description of the hare, fox and fox-hound :-— 
THE HARB. 
A hare races towards us through the ferns, her great 
bright eyes full of terror, her ears aloft to catch some sound 
behind. She sees us, turns short, and vanishes into tls 
gloom. ‘The mare pricks up her ears too, listens, and looks; 
but not the way the hare has gone. There is something 
more coming; I can trust the finer sense of the horse, to 
which (and no wonder) the middle age attributed the power 
of seeing ghosts and fairies impalpable to man’s gross eyes. 
Beside, that hare was not traveling in search of food. She 
was not loping along, looking around her right and left, but 
galloping steadily. She has been frightened—she has been 
put up; but what has put her up? And there, far awa 
among the firstems, rings the shriek of a startled blackbird. 
What has put him up! 
That old mare, at sight whereof your wise eyes widen till 
they are ready to burst, and your ears are first shot for- 
ward toward your nose, and then laid back with vicious 
intent. Stand still, old woman! Do you think still, after 
fifteen winters, that you can catch a fox? 
THE FOX, 
A fox it is indeed; a great dog-fox, as red as the firstems 
between which he glides. And yet his legs are black with 
fresh peat-stains. He is a hunted fox; but he has not been 
up long. 
The mare stands like a statue; but I can feel her trem- 
bling between my knees. Positively he does not see us. He 
sits down in the middle of a ride, turns his great ears right 
and left, and then scratches one of them with his hind foot, 
seemingly to make it hear the better. Now he is up again 
and on. : 
Beneath yon firs, some hundred yards away, standeth, or 
rather lieth, for it is on dead flat ground, the famous castle 
of Malepartus, which beheld the base murder of Lampe the 
hare, and many a seely soul beside. I know it well; a 
patch of sand-heaps, mingled with great holes, amid the 
twining fir-roots; ancient home of the last of the wild 
beasts. And thither, unto Malepartus safe and strong, trots 
Reinecke, where he hopes to be snug among the labyrin- 
thine windings and innumerable starting-holes, as the old 
apologue has it, of his ballium, covert-way, and donjon 
keep. Full blown in self-satisfaction he trots, lifting his 
toes delicately and carrying his brush aloft, as full of cun- 
ning and conceit as that world-famous ancestor of his, 
whose deeds of unchivalry were the delight, if not the 
model, of knight and kaiser, lady and burgher, in the Mid- 
dle Age. 
Suddenly he halts at the great gate of Malepartus; ex- 
amines it with his nose; goes on to a postern; examines 
that also, and then another and another; while I perceive 
afar, projecting from every cave’s mouth, the red and 
green end of a new fir-faggot. Ah, Reinecke! rallen is thy 
conceit, and fallen thy tail therewith. Thou hast worse 
foes to deal with than Bruin the bear, or Isegrim the wolf, 
or any foolish brute whom thy great, ancestor outwitted. 
Man the many-counseled has been beforehand with thee; 
and the earths are stopped. 
One moment he sits down to meditate, and scratches those 
trusty counselors, his ears, as if he would tear them off, ‘‘re- 
volving swift thoughts in a crafty mind.” 
He has settled it now. He is up and off—and at what 
apace! Out of the way, Fauns and Hamadryads, if any 
be left in the forest. Whatapace! And with whata grace 
beside! 
Oh Reinecke, beautiful thou art, of a surety, in spite of 
thy great naughtiness. Art thou some fallen spirit, doomed 
to be hunted for thy sins in this life, and in some future 
life rewarded for thy swiftness, and grace, ard cunning, by f 
w 
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