The poor little dog, indeed, leads a life of constant alarm, with numerous enemies ever on the watch to surprise him. Hawks and eagles, hovering high in air, often pounce down and carry off unfortunate members of the community in their powerful talons. The savage cayote, or prairie-wolf, when pressed by hunger during the winter, frequently attacks the dome-shaped habitation of the little animal, and with claws and teeth tears to pieces the walls, plunging his nose into the passage which he has opened, and working his way down till he seizes the trembling little inmate, who in vain retreats to the inmost recesses of his abode.

It has been supposed that the prairie-dog hibernates; but this is not the case, though he lays in a store of provision for winter consumption—he being as lively at that period as at any other, though he wisely prefers keeping within the house while the icy blasts blow across the plains. The creature is especially tenacious of life, and even when shot through the body will manage to gain his burrow at rapid speed. He does not run into it, but, like the rabbit, he makes a jump in the air, turns what looks like a somersault, and, flourishing his hind-legs and whisking his tail, disappears as if by magic. In an instant afterwards, however, his little sparkling eyes and nose may be seen above the ground; and if no stranger is in sight, he, with the rest of the community, will commence gambolling and frisking about, forgetful of his numerous foes and previous alarm. It is very difficult to obtain a specimen of the prairie-dog, as, even if mortally wounded, he generally tumbles into his hole before being captured. The inhabitants of the plain, however, manage to catch the animal alive by dragging a cask of water to one of their holes which does not communicate with the rest of the village. They then pour the water down the hole, either drowning the creature or compelling him to come out. He is very soon reconciled to a state of captivity, and after two days appears on the most intimate terms with his captors. Even when turned loose again the creatures will not leave the neighbourhood of the house, but burrow under the foundation, making themselves quite at home, and fearlessly come out to be fed when summoned by a whistle. They become, indeed, very interesting and pretty little pets.

We shall meet with a similar animal on the pampas of South America, and which has also the companionship of a little owl.

There are several other species of marmot in America. One is called the Quebec Marmot, which lives a solitary life, making an almost perpendicular burrow in dry ground at a distance from water.

The beautiful little, often-tamed Woodchuck, is another American marmot. It makes a deep burrow in the sides of hills, lining the chamber at the inner end with dry leaves and grass. It may frequently be seen by the traveller running rapidly along the tops of fences, as if to keep company with him—now getting ahead, then stopping and looking back to see if he is coming, and then going on again, till, growing tired of the amusement, it gives a last stare and then scampers back the way it has come.

THE PORCUPINE.

Unattractive as the fretful porcupine appears when considered as a means of satisfying man's hunger, it is hunted throughout North America for the sake of its flesh, which forms an especially dainty dish, not only in the opinion of the Indians, but in that of every European who has partaken of it. The creature dwells in small caverns, either under a pile of boulders, or amid the roots of large trees; but it also, with its sharp claws, easily climbs up the trunks, and may sometimes be seen reposing on their very summits, where it feeds on the bark of the young branches, or the berries when they become ripe.

The Canadian porcupine is also known as the cawquaw or urson. It is nearly four feet long altogether, the head and body measuring upwards of three feet, while the tail is about three inches in length. It is less completely defended with spines than the porcupines of other countries— part of its body being covered with long, coarse brown hair, which almost conceals the deeply-set, short, pointed quills, except those on the head, hind-quarters, and tail. The spines are about three inches long. When the animal is brought to bay, it sets them up in a fan-like shape, and presents a formidable row of points turned towards its opponent. When attacked, it defends itself with its thick, muscular tail; and wherever it strikes, it leaves a number of its easily-detached quills, with barbed points, sticking firmly in its opponent's body. These spines are of a dull white colour, the points being dark. Awkward as the porcupine looks, it can gallop along at considerable speed; and when surprised, generally escapes to its rocky den—or if it gains a tree, scrambles up the trunk at a rapid rate. A broad trail leads to the porcupine's den, by which it is easily discovered, as also by the ordure outside the entrance. A number of these paths lead from the den to its feeding-ground: in the autumn to a beech grove, on the mast or nuts of which it revels; and in the winter-time, to some tall hemlock or spruce trees. The Indian hunter also discovers it by the marks of its claws on the bark; and should he be unfortunate in his search for larger game, he seldom fails to obtain a roast of porcupine. The creature is hunted by the Indians with little dogs, which seem to take great delight in the sport, and, in spite of the formidable weapons of their opponents, will rush in and draw them out of their dens without injury to themselves. Even the settlers' dogs exhibit the same strong fancy for hunting porcupines, but are not so successful in coming off without injury; indeed, they often issue from the combat covered over with spines sticking in their flesh.

Captain Hardy gives us an anecdote of the extraordinary fancy the Indian dogs have for hunting porcupines. One of these dogs was quite blind; and yet, if the porcupine "treed," the little animal would sit down beneath, occasionally barking to inform his master where lodged the fretful one. Another dog was not to be beaten when once on a porcupine. If the animal was in its den, in he went, and, if possible, would haul it out by the tail; if not strong enough, his master would fasten a handkerchief round his middle, and attach to it a long twisted withe. The dog would go in, and presently, between the two, out would come the porcupine.

By the end of the "fall," the animal becomes loaded with fat, from feeding on the berries found in the "barrens." Its cry is a plaintive, whining sound, not very dissimilar to that of a calf moose. The female produces two at a birth early in the spring. The porcupine can easily be tamed; and Audubon mentions one which was so entirely domesticated, that it would come voluntarily to its master, and take fruit or vegetables out of his hand, rubbing against him as does an affectionate cat. The same animal, however, showed considerable courage. On one occasion it was attacked by a ferocious mastiff. One morning the dog was seen making a dash at some object in the corner of the fence. This proved to be the tame porcupine, which had escaped from its cage. The dog seemed regardless of all its threats, and probably supposing it to be an animal not more formidable than a cat, sprang at it with open mouth. The porcupine seemed to swell up, in an instant, to nearly double its size; and as the dog sprang upon it, dealt him such a sidewise blow with the tail, as to cause the mastiff to relinquish his hold instantly, and set up a howl of pain. His mouth and nose were full of quills. He could not close his jaws, but hurried, open-mouthed, off the premises. Although the servants instantly extracted the spines from the mouth of the dog, his head was terribly pierced, and it was several weeks before he recovered. The porcupine, however, suffered severely from the combat; and as the hot weather came on, showed great signs of distress, and finally died of heat.

The quills of the porcupine are brilliantly stained by the Indians with a variety of colours, and are extensively used by their squaws in ornamenting with fanciful patterns the birch-bark ware which they sell to the white settlers.



PART ONE, CHAPTER SEVEN.

CARNIVORA.

THE BLACK BEAR.

Several species of the bear tribe inhabit America; the two most numerous of which are the black bear, or musquaw, and the far-famed ferocious grizzly bear of the Rocky Mountains. The black bear is found generally among the forests and plains of the east, though the grizzly also descends from his mountain fastnesses, and makes his way through the low country to a considerable distance from his usual abode. Although the black bear has not obtained the same character for fierceness as his grizzly relative, he often proves a formidable opponent when attacked by human foes, and is also dreaded on account of his depredations among their flocks and herds. He is, indeed, a monstrous and powerful animal, often reaching six feet in length from the muzzle to the tail—the tail being only about two inches long—while he stands from three to three and a half feet in height at the shoulder. He is covered with a smooth and glossy coat of thick hair, without any wool at the base. He does not always wear a black suit; sometimes he puts on a brown one. When his coat is perfectly black, he has a cinnamon patch on his muzzle. He varies, too, in shape. Occasionally he is long and low, at others his body is short,—and he has great length of limb. Under ordinary circumstances, he restricts himself to a vegetable diet, but is very fond of a small species of snail which feeds on the prairie grass; and, like others of his relatives, he is greatly addicted to honey. As his feet are furnished with strong sharp claws, he is able to make his way up the trunks of trees to reach his favourite food. In this object he displays great perseverance and acuteness. However high up it may be, or in positions most difficult of access, he will manage to reach the combs containing the sweet repast. Should the comb be hidden away in the hollow of some aged tree, with an entrance too small for admitting his huge paw, he sets to work with his teeth, and gnaws away the wood till he has formed a breach of sufficient size to allow him to put it in. He is utterly regardless of the assaults of the tiny inhabitants of the comb; and scooping out their honey and young together with his fore-paws, devours the whole mass. He will sometimes, when pressed by hunger, break into the settler's barn and carry off sheep, pigs, and small cattle into the neighbouring woods; and so cunning is he, that it is not often he is overtaken, or entrapped in the snare laid for his capture.

The Indians of Nova Scotia call him Mooin, which reminds us of Bruin. The Indians throughout the country pay great respect to the bear, having, like the Esquimaux, a high opinion of his intellectual powers, and believing that he is in some way related to them, and possessed of an almost human spirit. Still, they do not scruple to kill him; but as soon as the breath is out of his body, they cut off his head, which they place ceremoniously within a mat decorated with a variety of ornaments. They then blow tobacco-smoke into the nostrils, and the chief hunter, praising his courage, and paying a variety of compliments to his surviving relatives, expresses regret at having been compelled to deprive him of life, and his hope that his own conduct has been altogether satisfactory to Mr Mooin, and worthy of the renown they have both attained.

The musquaw hibernates, like other bears of northern regions, and is very particular in selecting a dry cave for his long winter's nap. At the "fall," he is especially fat, having lived for some time on the beech-mast, blue-berries, and other fruits which grow in great profusion in the forest. He then weighs 500 pounds, and even 600 pounds. The chief part of the fat lies along the back, and on either side, as in the flitch of the hog. There is no doubt that it is by the absorption of this fat throughout his winter fast of four months that he is enabled to exist—at this time evaporation being at a stand-still. Having at length selected a cavern, or the hollow of a decayed tree, for his lair, he scrapes out all the dead leaves, till the ground is perfectly clean and smooth. It must be deep enough to prevent the snow from drifting into it, and free from any water trickling down from above. He objects especially to a habitation which has been occupied by the porcupine, that animal being far from cleanly in its habits. Perhaps also he has an objection to the quills with which the creature is furnished, from their being likely to produce disagreeable wounds. He forgets, perhaps, that the rubbish he has scraped out will betray his abode to the hunter—which it assuredly does. The Indian, on discovering this indubitable sign of Mooin's abode, takes steps to arouse him and plant a bullet in his head, or to batter out his brains with his axe. Mooin, however, in spite of his usual sagacity, ignorant that his abode may be discovered, perhaps already overcome with a strange desire to sleep, crawls in for his winter's snooze. He is frequently accompanied by a partner, who will add to his warmth and comfort. He there lies down with his fore-paws curled round his head and nose, which he pokes underneath his chest. Here he remains asleep till the warm sun of March or April tempts him to crawl out in search of food to replenish his empty stomach and strengthen his weakened frame. Madam Mooin is generally, at this time, employed in the pleasing office of increasing her family. Her young cubs, when born, are curiously small, helpless little beings, not larger than rats. Generally there are two of them, and they are born about the middle of February. She manages to nourish them without taking any food herself till March or April, when she also, like her better half, sallies forth in search of provender. The young creatures grow but slowly, and do not attain their full size till they are about four years old. Even when about a couple of months old, the little cubs are not much larger than a retriever puppy of the same age.

The musquaw finds great difficulty at first in satisfying the cravings of his appetite. He searches for the cranberries in the open bogs, and is driven even to eat the rank marshy grass. As the snow disappears, he seeks for wood-lice and other creatures in rotten trunks. Hungry as he is, he labours very patiently for his food. The prehensile form of his lips enables him to pick up with wonderful dexterity even the smallest insect or berry. As the ice breaks up in the lakes, he proceeds thither to fish for smelts and other small fish, which he catches with wonderful dexterity with his paws, throwing them out rapidly behind him. When, however, pressed by hunger, and unable to obtain the smaller creatures for food, he will attack young deer if he can take them by surprise; but as he can seldom do this, he is often tempted into the neighbourhood of settlements. Here he lies in wait for the cattle as they wander through the woods to their spring pastures; and when once he has taken to this dangerous proceeding, he is said to continue it. On catching sight of a herd, should it not be accompanied by a human being, he drives the animals into some boggy swamp, and there singling out a victim, he jumps on its back, and deals it a few tremendous blows across the head and shoulders, till the poor animal becomes an easy prey. He then drags it off into the neighbouring wood, and devours it at his leisure. This habit is often the cause of his destruction. On any remainder of the animal being found, the aggrieved settler sets off, rifle in hand and axe in his belt, to punish the aggressor. The bear, he well knows, will revisit the carcass. So cunning, however, is Bruin, and conscious of guilt, that he is constantly on the watch, as he returns, for an enemy. He creeps up, accordingly, looking on either side, his caution increasing as he approaches his prey. The hunter, therefore, to outwit him, seeks his trail in the direction in which he has retreated, and conceals himself near it, but at some distance from the carcass. He waits till the sun is setting, when he is almost sure to see the bear come tripping nimbly along, not yet thinking it necessary to employ caution. At this moment a rifle-bullet, placed in his head, deprives him of his intended feast and his life at the same time.

The black bear possesses wonderful strength—said to be fully equal to that of ten men. Experiments have been tried, in which so many persons have attempted to drag off a cask baited with molasses, or other sweet stuff, secured to a rope, when the bear has carried it away with perfect ease, in spite of their united efforts to draw it from him.

The most dangerous time to attack a she-bear is in the spring; when she is accompanied by her cubs. If she has time, she will lead them off to a place of safety; but if not, she will chase the intruder from her domains—and woe betide him if he cannot manage to escape her claws! Bears are easily taken in traps, baited with small bundles of sticks smeared with molasses. They are hunted in the "fall," when they have become fat with the ample supply of blue and whortle berries or beech-mast on which they have been feeding. To obtain the beech-mast, Bruin will frequently climb a tree, and sometimes, like the orang-outang of Eastern seas, will build a rough platform for himself among the upper branches, where he can lie concealed and munch his food at leisure. The most certain way to obtain the animal in this case is to cut down the tree and shoot him as he reaches the ground, for, as may be supposed, he is in no amiable mood when thus disturbed, and, unless speedily killed, would attempt to wreak a fearful vengeance on his assailants. The black bear springs on his prey in the same way as does the tiger or panther of the southern part of the continent. He thus frequently kills the young moose, though the full-grown animal is too active and powerful to be thus caught. He will even attack horses in the same way, though the latter animal often receives him with a furious kick.

In the summer, the black bears unite and hunt in gangs, making the forest resound with their fearful snarling and loud moaning cries. They give warning to the hunter to pile fuel on his camp-fire, and to take his rifle in hand, for, strong in numbers, they will not hesitate to approach him, and, if pressed by hunger, to make an assault on his camp.

THE GRIZZLY BEAR.

The most dreaded inhabitant of the Rocky Mountains and their neighbourhood, is the savage grizzly, frequently called by the hunters Old Ephraim. Even the bravest hunter, when making his way through this wild region, finds it necessary to call all his courage and hardihood to his aid, when he sees one of these huge monsters sitting upon its hind-legs prepared for a rush towards him, and uttering a loud, harsh sound, like a person breathing quickly. Should he not wish for a contest, his best plan is to face the monster boldly, moving slowly on, but ever keeping his eyes fixed on the animal. The bear will, in most cases, after watching him attentively for some time, turn round and gallop off. If, however, he should lose his presence of mind, and attempt to fly—or should he fail, when he fires, to shoot the monster through the brain—in all probability he will quickly be torn to pieces.

The grizzly frequently attains a length of nine feet, and weighs from 700 to 800 pounds. His head, in proportion to his muzzle, is very large. He has a long, narrow muzzle, somewhat flattened, with large, powerful, canine teeth. His eyes are small, and deeply sunk in his head. His tail is so short, that it is completely concealed by the surrounding hair. He possesses remarkably long feet, which, in the full-grown animal, are eighteen inches in length; and they are armed with sharp and powerful claws five inches long, and so extremely sharp, that they cut into the flesh like knives. He can also use them separately like fingers, so that he can grasp a dry clod of earth and crumble it to dust as a human being could do with his hand. He can also, with them, dig into the ground; and when the weight of his body is not too great, they enable him to climb trees, although not with the speed of his black brother of the plains. As acorns form a portion of his food, it is said that he will climb a tree and shake the boughs vehemently to make them fall, when he descends and revels on the fruit his ingenuity has thus obtained. The hunter who has to fly for his life may however escape from a bear,—when the monster is filled out with autumn food, and cannot manage to raise his huge body from the ground,— by climbing a tree.

The grizzly varies much in colour. Sometimes his fur is of a dullish brown, freckled over with grizzly hairs; while other specimens are entirely of a steely grey. In all cases, the grizzly hairs give a somewhat white appearance to the surface of the fur. When the animal is young, his fur is of a rich brown, and often very long and thick, and much finer than that of the adult animal. When the creature walks, he swings his body in an odd fashion, rolling his head, at the same time, from side to side, which gives him a remarkably awkward look. Although the grizzly occasionally satisfies himself with vegetable diet, he will also attack and devour any animals he can kill. He does not hesitate to assault the powerful bison; and on overtaking a herd, he will spring without hesitation on the largest bull, and, with the tremendous strokes of his powerful paws, speedily bring it to the ground, when he will without difficulty drag the enormous carcass off to his lair, to devour it at his leisure. All other animals stand in awe of the grizzly; and even the largest pack of hungry wolves will not venture to attack him, nor indeed will they touch his carcass after he has succumbed to the rifle of the hunter. Horses especially are terror-stricken when they scent or see a grizzly; and not until they have been carefully trained, will they even allow the skin of one to be placed on their backs.

The grizzly employs his claws both in digging for roots and in burying any large animal he may have killed, to preserve the carcass till he requires it for another meal. An anecdote is given of a hunter who, pursued by one of these monsters, took advantage of this propensity to save his life. His rifle was unloaded. Of course he had not wounded the bear, or his stratagem would have been in vain. Throwing himself on the ground, the hunter closed his eyes, and stretching out his limbs, feigned to be dead. It must have been a fearful moment when he felt the bear lift up his body in his claws to carry him away to the neighbourhood of his lair. The bear having dug a hole, placed him in it, and covered him carefully with leaves, grass, and bushes. An Indian, or hardy backwoodsman, could alone have existed under such circumstances. The hunter waited anxiously till he heard loud snores proceeding from the cavern. Then, slipping up, like Jack the Giant-killer from the castle of the ogre, he scampered off as fast as his legs could carry him.

Mr Kane—the Canadian artist—mentions meeting a grizzly when in company with an old, experienced half-breed hunter, Francois by name. Francois, however, declined firing, alleging that the risk was greater than the honour to be obtained—his own character for bravery having been long established. Young hunters might do so for the sake of proudly wearing the claws—one of the ornaments most esteemed by an Indian chief—round his neck. Although Kane's gun had two barrels, and Francois had his rifle, they knew it was ten chances to one they would not kill him in time to prevent a hand-to-hand encounter. The bear walked on, looking at them now and then, but seeming to treat them with contempt.

Some years before this, a party of ten Canadian voyageurs, on a trade excursion in the neighbourhood of the mountains, were quietly seated round a blazing fire, eating a hearty dinner of deer, when a large, half-famished bear cautiously approached the group from behind a chestnut-tree. Before they were aware of his presence, he sprang across the fire, seized one of the men, who had a well-finished bone in his hand, round the waist with his two fore-paws, and ran about fifty yards on his hind-legs with him before he stopped. The hunter's comrades were so thunderstruck at the unexpected appearance of such a visitor, and his sudden retreat with "pauvre" Louisson—the man who had been carried off—that they for some time lost all presence of mind, and, in a state of confusion, were running to and fro, each expecting in his turn to be kidnapped in a similar manner. At length Baptiste Le Blanc, a half-breed hunter, seized his gun, and was in the act of firing at the bear, when he was stopped by some of the others, who told him that he would inevitably kill their friend, owing to the position he was then in. During this parley, Bruin, relaxing his grasp of the captive, whom he kept securely under him, very leisurely began picking the bone the latter had dropped. Once or twice Louisson attempted to escape, which only caused the bear to watch him more closely. On his making another attempt, the bear again seized him round the waist, and commenced giving him one of those dreadful embraces which generally end in death. The poor fellow was now in great agony, and gave way to the most pitiful screams. Observing Baptiste with his gun ready, anxiously watching a safe opportunity to fire, he cried out, "Tire! tire! mon cher frere, si tu m'aimes! A la tete! a la tete!" This was enough for Le Blanc, who instantly let fire, and hit the bear over the right temple. He fell; and at the same moment dropped Louisson. He gave him an ugly claw along the face, however, which for some time afterwards spoiled his beauty. After he had tired, Le Blanc darted to his companion's side, and with his couteau de chasse quickly finished the sufferings of the man-stealer, and rescued his friend from impending death. On skinning the bear, scarcely any meat was found on his bones, showing that it was in a fit of hungry desperation that he had thus made one of the boldest attempts at kidnapping over heard of in the legends of ursine courage.

WOLVES.

There are several species of wolves in North America: one, a large, black animal, which inhabits the forests; and another, much smaller, which hunts the bison and deer in vast packs across the prairie, and is called the prairie-wolf. Like the wolf of Europe, the black wolf is a fierce, dangerous creature, and equally cowardly. When driven into the corner of a hut, as has sometimes occurred, or when caught in a trap, he will not attempt to defend himself against any person who may enter to destroy him. Audubon mentions an instance of this. A farmer with whom he was staying having lost a number of his animals by wolves, dug several pitfalls in the neighbourhood of his farm. Three large wolves were found in the morning in one of these traps. The farmer, instead of shooting them from above, boldly descended into the trap, and seizing the creatures one by one by the hind-legs, severed the chief tendon, thus preventing their escaping. He afterwards killed and skinned them at his leisure, their skins being of sufficient value to repay him for the loss of his cattle.

The prairie-wolves are considerably smaller than their brethren of the woods. They travel in large packs, a solitary one being seldom seen. Their skins are of no value. The Indians will not waste their powder upon them, and they therefore multiply so greatly, that some parts of the country are completely overrun by them. They are, however, caught by; pitfalls covered over with switches baited with meat. They destroy a great number of horses, particularly in the winter season, when the latter get entangled in the snow. In this situation, two or three wolves will often fasten on one animal, and speedily, with their long claws, tear it to pieces. The horses, however, often bravely defend themselves; and Mr Goss mentions finding near the bodies of two of these animals, which had been killed the night before, eight wolves lying dead and maimed around,—some with their brains scattered, and others with their legs or ribs broken.

Let us watch from an ambush the manoeuvres of a pack of savage cayotes— the name given to one species of wolf—while hunting their prey. Our ears are first assailed by a few shrill, currish barks at intervals, like the outpost firing of skirmishing parties. These are answered by similar barks from the opposite direction, till the sounds gradually approximate on the junction of the different bands. The horses, sensible of the approach of danger, begin to paw the ground, snort, toss up their heads, look wildly about them, and exhibit other symptoms of fear. We prepare our guns ready for action. Three or four stallions take the lead, and wait, with comparative composure, for the approach of the enemy. The allies at length enter the field in a semicircular form, with their flanks extended, for the evident purpose of surrounding their prey.

They are between three and four hundred strong. The horses, from experience, know well their object, and, dreading an encounter with so numerous a force, instantly turn round and gallop off in a contrary direction. Their flight is the signal for the wolves to advance. The brutes, uttering a simultaneous yell, charge after the fugitives, still preserving their crescent form. Two or three horses, much out of condition, are quickly overtaken, when they commence kicking at the advance-guard of the enemy; but though several of the wolves receive severe blows, they will, it is evident—being reinforced by others— quickly despatch the unfortunate horses.

It is time for us to emerge from our concealment and fire a volley at the enemy's centre, by which several are brought down. The whole battalion of cowards instantly wheel about, and fly towards the hills in the utmost disorder; while the horses, hearing the sound, come galloping up to us for protection, and by their neighing express their joy and gratitude at our timely interference.

LYNXES.

Although lynxes are not so numerous in America as wolves, they are equally destructive, and individually more daring—attacking deer and smaller animals when they can take them at a disadvantage. They seldom fly, as wolves do, on the first approach of man. In size, the largest does not exceed the dimensions of an English mastiff. The Canadian lynx is frequently termed the Peeshoo, and sometimes "Le Chat" by the French Canadians. His coat is covered with long hairs of a dark grey hue, besprinkled with black, the extremities of which are white, with dark mottlings here and there on the back. Sometimes the fur is of a ruddy chestnut tinge, and the limbs are darker than the rest of the body— which is about three feet long. The animal possesses powerful limbs, and thick, heavy feet, furnished with strong, white claws. When moving over the ground it leaps in successive bounds, its back being slightly arched, and all its feet pitching at the same time. It also swims well, and can cross rivers and lakes a couple of miles broad. Strong as it is, it appears it is easily killed by a blow on the back with a slight stick. It ranges throughout the greater part of the continent, and is shot or trapped for the sake of its fur, which is of considerable value.

THE WOLVERENE, OR GLUTTON.

The wolverene, or glutton, carries off the palm for cunning from all the other animals. It is also more ferocious and daring for its size than even the huge grizzly, while for voracity it is unsurpassed. In appearance, it is somewhat similar to a young bear. It is of a brownish-black colour, with a black muzzle and eyes of a dark hue, the space between them being of a brown tint. The paws are also quite black, contrasting with the ivory whiteness of the claws. It possesses large and expanded paws, to enable it to pass over frozen snow; indeed, so large are they, that its footsteps are often mistaken for the tracks of the bear. In one of its habits it resembles Mr Bruin, having the custom, when it finds an animal which it cannot devour at one meal, of carrying off the remainder and hiding it in some secure place.

The glutton moves at a somewhat slow pace, and appears rather deficient in agility; but at the same time he is persevering and determined, and will range over a wide extent of country in search of weak or dying animals, stealing unawares upon hares and birds, etcetera. When he takes a fancy to some larger quadruped as it lies asleep, he springs upon it, tearing open the neck and throat. He is supposed to prefer putrid flesh, and the odour which proceeds from him would lead us to suppose that such is the case. The trappers look upon him with especial hatred, as, with his usual cunning, he seeks out their hoards of provisions in cache, and destroys their marten-traps. He himself is so sly that he is seldom caught in a snare. When he finds one, he approaches it from behind, and pulling it to pieces from the outside, carries off the bait. The marten-hunter will go forth and set a line of traps, extending to upwards of forty miles in length or circumference. The wolverene, observing what he is about, follows at a distance, carefully pulling the traps to pieces as he leaves them behind, and eating off the heads of the partridges or other birds which have been used as bait, declining all the time to run his nose into danger. When a sable or marten is entrapped, he tears out the dead animal and carries it away. It is even supposed that he will attack a hibernating bear in his den, and manage to kill him before Bruin has aroused himself sufficiently for his defence.

The wolverene is the fur-trapper's greatest foe, and, as may be supposed, he has no mercy shown him. The cunning creature, moreover, in spite of his cleverness, sometimes gets caught. Mr Paul Kane, in one of his journeys across the country, had left a cache composed of logs built together, something like a log-house, but not very closely fitted. Impelled by hunger after a long journey, he and his companion on their way back reached their cache, and began throwing off the heavy logs which covered the top and concealed it. The Indian, hearing a great disturbance within, called to Mr Kane to fetch the guns. Just as he got up, a fine fat wolverene jumped out, but was immediately shot down. The creature must have been starved and desperately thin to have squeezed himself through the openings between the logs, and no doubt, impelled by hunger and the smell of the meat inside, had not thought much of a slight squeeze. When, however, he was once in, and had enjoyed a few good meals, he could not get out again, and the idea of starving himself as long as the meat lasted did not appear to have occurred to him.

The disappointment to the hungry travellers was very great, as but little food was left, and that was mangled, torn, and tossed about in the dirt by the animal.

THE RACCOON.

To obtain a satisfactory sight of the raccoon, we must set out into the forest by torchlight, accompanied by dogs, with fowling-piece in hand. As he remains during the day in some hollow tree, it is rarely we can get a good view of him. Even if by chance found on the ground, he ascends the tree so rapidly, that he is stowed away before our rifle can reach the shoulder. The well-trained dog, however, quickly finds him when roving about the woods at night.

Let us accompany Audubon on a 'coon hunt. Our native companions have gone before with the dogs, who are baying at the raccoon in an open part of the forest. On our coming up, a singular scene presents itself to us. The flare of our torch seems to distress him. His coat is ruffled, and his rounded tail seems thrice its ordinary size. His eyes shine like emeralds. With foaming jaws he watches the dogs, ready to seize by the snout each who comes within reach. His guttural growlings, instead of intimidating his assailants, excite them the more. He seizes one, however, by the lip. It is a dangerous proceeding, for, while thus far victorious, the other curs attack him in flank and rear, while their companion yells pitifully. The raccoon will not let go, but the other dogs, seizing him fast, worry him to death. Yet to the last he holds tightly the dog's lip.

While we stand gazing at the poor animal, all around is, by the flare of the torch, rendered trebly dark and dismal. It is a scene for a skilful painter.

The raccoon is about the same size as a small fox, and though somewhat like it, has also rather an ursine appearance. He has a tufted tail marked with black and white bands. The head tapers somewhat like that of the fox, but the ears are short and slightly rounded, the forehead broad, and the nose sharp. The fore-legs being shorter than the hinder, when he stands the tail end of his body is lifted higher than the front, and consequently his back appears curved. He walks like the dog, putting the tips of his toes to the ground; but when he stops he lays his feet flat.

He receives no mercy from the farmers, for he is of a sanguinary and savage disposition, and commits great havoc among domestic as well as wild birds, always destroying far more than he requires; merely eating off their heads, or lapping up the blood which flows from their wounds. He commits occasionally ravages in sugar-cane or Indian-corn plantations; and, climbing with ease, catches birds, and devours their eggs. He resembles the squirrel in his movements; and, like that animal, when eating, sits on his hind-legs, and uses his fore-feet to carry his food to his mouth. A story is told of a young tame raccoon let loose in a poultry-yard, when, his natural disposition overcoming his civilised manners, he sprang on a cock strutting in a dignified fashion among the hens, and fixed himself on its back. The bird, surprised at so unusual an attack, began scampering round the yard, the hens scattering far and wide in the utmost confusion. Still the little animal kept his seat, till he managed to get hold of the unfortunate cock's head in his jaws, and before the bird could be rescued, had crunched it up—still keeping his seat, in spite of the dying struggles of his victim; and probably, had he not been bagged, would have treated all the feathered inhabitants of the yard in the same fashion. When out hunting on his own account, he often hides himself among the long reeds on the bank of a lake or stream, and pouncing out on the wild ducks as they swim incautiously by, treats them as he does the domestic fowls on shore.

He partakes considerably of the cunning of the fox, yet, like that animal, is frequently outwitted. A raccoon after a long chase managed to reach a tree, which he quickly climbed, with the aid of his claws, snugly ensconcing himself in the deserted nest of a crow. In vain the hunters sought for him, till his long, annulated tail, which he had forgotten to coil up within the nest, was seen pendent below it; and the poor raccoon was quickly brought to the ground by a rifle ball.

He has gained the name of the lotor, or the washer, in consequence of his habit of plunging his dry food into water before eating it. He also drinks a large quantity of water. When moistening his food, he grasps it with both his fore-paws, moving it violently backwards and forwards, as a person does washing clothes in a stream. The German naturalists call him the washing-bear. Though savage and bloodthirsty in his wild state, he is frequently tamed; but he is somewhat capricious in temper, and not easily reconciled when offended. It is curious that he should, when domesticated, change his usual custom of sleeping in the daytime and wandering about at night; but this he does, remaining quiet all night, and making his appearance among the inmates of the house as soon as the sun sheds its light abroad. Though in his wild state a fit member for a temperance society, he will when in captivity, as if to recompense himself for his hard lot, drink fermented liquors of all sorts—the stronger and sweeter the better. An old writer on American animals says, in reference to this propensity, that if taken young it is easily made tame, but "is the drunkenest creature alive, if he can get any liquor that is sweet and strong." The same writer states that the cunning raccoon often catches crabs by inserting one of his feet into their holes, and dragging them out as soon as they seize hold of it.

THE AGOUAHA, OR CRAB-EATING RACCOON.

In the Southern States we find another species of raccoon, somewhat larger than the former, who is addicted to eating molluscs and crustaceans, whether marine or terrestrial. It is said, also, that when other means fail of obtaining food, he seats himself on a branch hanging low down over some quiet pool, and using his flexible tail as a fishing-line, waits patiently till its end is caught hold of by a snapping turtle or other inhabitant of the water, when, whisking it up, he tears open the creature's shell and devours the luscious flesh with aldermanic relish. The fur is generally of a blackish-grey hue, washed with a tinge of yellow. A blacker tint prevails on the head, neck, and along the spine. His tail, in proportion to the size of his body, is shorter than that of the common raccoon, and is marked with six black rings, upon a blackish-yellow ground.

THE ERMINE.

When we see the judge seated in his richly trimmed robe of ermine— emblem of purity—or call to mind the regal robes of a proud monarch, we are apt to forget that the fur which we so much admire is but that of the detested stoat, turned white during his abode amid the winter's snow of a northern clime. He is not unlike the weasel, especially when clothed in his darker summer dress, but with a less ruddy hue. The edges of the ears and the toes always remain white.

He is considerably larger than the weasel, measuring upwards of fourteen inches, including the tail—which is about four inches long, the tip almost black. He is a bold hunter, and follows and destroys the hare, and other animals of equal size. It is said, even, that several together will venture to attack a man. They are caught in America by traps, which, giving the animal a sudden blow, kill it without injuring the skin.

The winter coat of the ermine is produced by the whitening of the fur, and not, as was once supposed, by the substitution of white for dark hairs. Probably one cause of this change of hue may be that the energies of the creature concentrate themselves on the vital organs, to enable it to resist the extreme low temperature of the icy regions it inhabits, and cannot thus spare a sufficient amount of blood for the formation of the colouring matter which tinges the hair. Human beings as well as animals become weaker as they increase in age; and it has been observed that their hair also loses its colour, in consequence of such energies as they possess being required to assist the more important functions of nature. This corroborates the correctness of the former remark.

The ermine, like other species of its genus, has the faculty of ejecting a fluid of a strong musky odour. It is abundant, not only in the barren grounds of the Hudson Bay territories, but is also found in Norway and Siberia.

When the fur is used for robes, or similar purposes, the black tuft at the end of the tail is sewn on at regular distances to the skin, giving to the ermine fur the appearance we are all familiar with.

THE PINE-MARTEN.

The pine-marten, a species of weasel, obtains its name from being found amid pine-forests, and from its habit of climbing the trunks of pines in search of prey. It is a fierce and savage creature, choosing to live alone, away from the haunts of man. It is from eighteen to twenty inches in length—with a tail measuring about ten inches—and is covered with long bushy hair. Moving without difficulty among the branches, it seizes many an unfortunate bird in its deadly gripe before its victim can take to flight—robbing also the nest of the eggs within it.

It is common in Europe, as well as in America; but in the cold regions of the Hudson Bay Company it is hunted for the sake of its skin, which is, when blanched during the winter's cold, scarcely inferior to that of the celebrated sable.

When pursued and overtaken, it stands at bay, exhibiting its teeth, erecting its hair, arching its back, and hissing like a cat. It forms its burrows in the ground, the female producing, a litter of from four to seven. Like other animals of its tribe, it emits a peculiar musky smell.

THE OTTER.

In winter, along the steep banks of the frozen streams, smooth and shining tracks may be readily detected. They are produced by otters, which have a curious habit of sliding downwards for their amusement— much as human beings are accustomed to do in Canada in their toboggans. To do this, they lie on their bellies, with their fore-legs bent backwards, and giving themselves an impetus with their hind-legs, down they glide, at a swift rate, upon the ice. This sport they will continue for some time, climbing up again to the top of the bank, and repeating the process over and over again. They are also accustomed to pass through the woods from lake to lake, making a direct track in the snow. These tracks are easily known. Then comes a broad trail, as if made by a cart-wheel. This is formed by the animal throwing itself on its belly, and thus sliding along over the surface for several yards. These places are called "otter rubs."

There are two species of otter in North America—one on the east, and the other on the Pacific slope—differing slightly from each other. The former is considerably larger than that of the Old World, measuring, from the nose to the tip of the tail, sometimes from four and a half to five feet. Like most other water animals, it possesses two sorts of hair: the one is long and shining, and of a rich brown colour, except on the throat, which is of a dusky white; the other is very fine and soft, lying next the skin, and serving to protect it from the extremes of heat and cold. It has excessively sharp, short teeth, which enable it to hold fast the fish, on which it chiefly feeds. Its body is elongated and much flattened, and the tail, which is of great length, is also flat and broad. The legs are short and strong, and so loosely jointed that it can turn them in any direction when swimming.

The habitations of otters are formed in the banks of rivers or lakes, and are not altogether of an artificial character, as they prefer occupying any deserted hollow or natural crevice to the trouble of digging burrows for themselves. Though they are very playful animals, and delight apparently in sport, they are somewhat of a savage disposition, and must be taken very young to be domesticated. They are cautious, timid animals, and can seldom be approached unawares. They eat all sorts of fresh-water fish, such as trout, perch, eels, and suckers; and will also devour frogs. Occasionally they may be observed on a rocky islet of some lone stream, resting after a banquet, or about to plunge into the water in chase of one of the finny tribe, which their keen eyes detect swimming by. They are trapped, in Canada, by steel traps, which are submerged close to the bank below their "rubs." They make a peculiar whistling sound, which the Indian can imitate perfectly, and thus frequently induces them to approach. Their skins are manufactured into muffs and trimmings and caps, such as are usually worn in winter by Canadians.

An otter, when attacked, will defend itself with desperation, snapping furiously at the Indian, and then shaking its head violently as a dog does when destroying a rat. Their bite is severe—sufficient indeed to snap off a man's finger—and when once its jaws are closed, no power is capable of making it relinquish its grasp. The Canadians do not attempt to tame the otter; but the persevering Chinese not only contrive to domesticate the species found in their country, but teach them to capture fish for their benefit.

THE SKUNK.

Rambling amid the woods, even in the neighbourhood of settlements, we may occasionally come upon a curious little animal, with a party-coloured coat and bushy tail, and an amiable and gentle appearance. The creature appears to be in no way timid, and will very likely await our approach. As we draw near it, however, it is apt to turn round and erect its bushy tail perpendicularly. Let us beware of what we are about, for, in a moment, the creature may send over us a shower of a substance so horribly odious, that not only may we be blinded and sickened by the effluvium, but our clothes will be made useless, from the difficulty of getting rid of the odour.

The creature is the skunk, and is about the size of a cat. It possesses short round ears, black cheeks, and a white stripe extending from the nose to the back. The upper part of the neck and the whole back are white, divided by a black line. Below, it is black, as are the legs; and it has a full tail of coarse black hair, occasionally tipped with white. Its legs are short, and it does not possess much activity. Its feet are armed with claws, somewhat like those of the badger.

It appears to use this horrid effluvium—which is generated in glands near the tail—as a means of defence. All other animals have a due horror of it. Anything which it touches is tainted: provisions are destroyed; and clothes, though often washed, will retain the smell for many weeks. At one time this substance was used for medicinal purposes. The mode of defence bestowed on the skunk is somewhat similar to that employed by the cuttle-fish, which emits a dark liquor when pursued. Those who have once smelt the horribly fetid odour of the skunk will not easily forget it.

THE PEKAN, OR WOOD-SHOCK.

Still keeping to the lakes and streams, we may often fall in with a creature of curious habits, which, unlike those just described, lives almost entirely among the branches of the trees. In shape it is somewhat like a weasel, and is the largest of the tree martens. It is known as the wood-shock or pekan, and is also called the black cat, and fisher. This last term is inappropriate, as it is not in any way piscivorous. It is of a dark brown hue, with a line of black shining hair reaching from the neck to the extremity of the tail. The under parts are lighter; some entirely white. It possesses also a very large, full, and expressive eye.

Though spending its time among the trees, hunting for its prey, it forms a burrow in the ground for its usual habitation. It lives upon squirrels and rabbits, as well as grouse and other birds and their eggs. Not only does it venture to attack the well-armed porcupine, but it kills the animal, and eats it up, quills and all. The difficulty of accomplishing this appears very great, but there are numerous instances in which pekans have been killed, when their bodies were found full of quills, from which they did not appear to have suffered. They eat up, indeed, both the flesh and bones of the porcupine—the latter being so strong that a small bird cannot crack them. Mr Downs, the naturalist of Nova Scotia, states that he has frequently found porcupine quills in the stomach of the fisher.

The animal is hunted for the sake of its skin, which is of some value— as also for amusement, especially by boys, as the creature is not sufficiently formidable to cause any great danger to them or their dogs. It is about four feet long, including the tail, which measures about eighteen inches.

THE MINK.

Another denizen on the shores of the fresh-waters of Canada is the mink, called also the smaller otter, and sometimes known as the water pole-cat. It may be seen swimming about the lakes, preferring generally the still waters in autumn to the more rapidly-flowing currents of spring. It somewhat resembles the otter, and differs in shape slightly from the marten or ferret. Its teeth, however, are more like those of the pole-cat than the otter; while its tail does not possess the muscular power of the latter animal.

Like the otter, it lives upon fish and frogs, but will occasionally make a marauding expedition into poultry-yards. Its general colour is a dark reddish-brown, approaching in some specimens almost to black on the head; while there is a patch of white, varying in size, under the chin. It is trapped by the settlers both in self-defence and on account of its fur, which is of considerable value, and greatly resembles sable—a good skin often fetching four or five dollars.

MARSUPIALS, OR POUCHED ANIMALS:—THE VIRGINIAN OR COMMON OPOSSUM.

The opossum, with its prehensile tail, marsupial pouch, and cunning ways, stands alone for its singularity among all the animals of the American continent. Many of the tribe are found in South America; but the Virginian opossum, the size of a full-grown cat, is larger than all its relatives. The head and body measure about twenty-two inches; and the tail, fifteen. It is covered with a light grey hair of wool-like softness, short on the face and body, but long on the legs. The base end of the tail is thick and black, and is covered with small scales. So powerful is this member that the opossum can hold on with it to the bough of a tree, and even when desperately wounded it does not let go. Its face is long and sharpened, the mouth very determined, and armed with numerous sharp teeth. It has thin, naked, round, and blackish ears, edged with a border of white. It has short legs, the feet being armed with claws, and the interior toes of the hind-feet are flat and rounded.

It has the power of emitting a disagreeable odour when chased or alarmed. When pursued, it makes for the nearest tree; and should it discover the approach of a hunter and his dogs when already up a tree, instead of taking to flight, it lies close along the branch, endeavouring to hide itself. When moving amidst the boughs, it swings itself from branch to branch by means of its tail; and it may be observed at times hanging down, with its eyes wide open, on the look-out for any birds which may incautiously alight on the bough above, or pass within its grasp.

It is very voracious, feeding on small quadrupeds and birds of all sorts; while it does not disdain to prey off a brood of young cotton rats and mice, and devours insects and a variety of reptiles. When unable to find sufficient food in the forest, or too lazy to look for it, it will, without hesitation, make a raid into the farmer's poultry-yard, and carry off or kill his fowls, and eat up any eggs it may find. The opossum does not always indulge in animal diet,—for he climbs fruit-trees to carry off their luscious productions; and for the sake of obtaining maize, of which he is especially fond, he will climb the tallest stems, and bite them across, so as to bring the heavy ear to the ground. He will also clamber to some higher branch, and hang down, in search of the fruit growing on the boughs incapable of bearing his weight.

The quality for which he is chiefly noted is his habit of feigning death. Frequently he is brought to the ground, when there he lies, every limb relaxed, evidently as dead as can be. The knowing hunter will, however, keep his glance on the creature. If he withdraws it for a moment, its eyelids will be seen slowly opening; and should he turn his head for even the shortest space, the creature will be on its feet, stealing away through the underwood. Though so perfectly an adept at "'possuming," before attempting to practise its usual ruse it will make every effort to escape from its pursuers. When chased alone by a dog, it will content itself by scrambling up a tree, and sitting quietly on a branch, out of reach, looking down on its canine assailant with contempt as it runs barking furiously below it. The opossum is thus said to be "treed;" and before long, the barking of the dog brings his master to the spot, when the opossum has to fly for its life to the highest branch it can reach. It is easily captured by the rudest style of trap, into which it will walk without hesitation. When "feigning 'possum," it will submit to be knocked about, and kicked and cuffed, without giving the slightest sign of life. The flesh of the opossum is white, and considered excellent—especially in the autumn, when, after feeding amply on the fruits, beech-nuts, and wild berries, of which it is especially fond, it is very fat.

The female opossum builds a warm nest of dry leaves and moss, sometimes in the hollow of a rotten tree, or beneath its wide-spreading roots. She has been known occasionally to take possession of a squirrel's nest; and at other times, that of the Florida rat. When her young—generally thirteen to fifteen appearing at a time—are born, they are extremely small—not an inch in length, including the tail—and weighing only four grains. After a couple of weeks or so, she places them in her pouch, when they grow in size and strength, and in about four weeks may be seen with their heads poked out surveying the world, into which they begin to wander at the end of five or six weeks. When first-born, they are the most helpless of little creatures, being both deaf and blind.

The larger number of opossums, however, are to be found in South America, where we shall have an opportunity of further examining them.



PART ONE, CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE FEATHERED TRIBES OF NORTH AMERICA.

THE BALD OR WHITE-HEADED EAGLE.

The white-headed eagle takes precedence among the feathered tribes of America,—because he stands first in natural order, and has been selected by the people of the United States as their heraldic emblem. Their choice was, by-the-by, objected to by Benjamin Franklin, on the plea "that it is a bird of bad moral character, and does not get his living honestly." There was justice in the remark, for the bald eagle is a determined robber, and a perfect tyrant. He is, however, a magnificent bird, when seen with wings expanded, nearly eight feet from tip to tip—and a body three and a half feet in length—his snowy-white head and neck shining in the sun, and his large, hooked, yellow beak open as he espies, afar off, the fish-hawk emerging from the ocean with his struggling prey. Downward he pounces with rapid flight. The fish-hawk sees his enemy approaching, and attempts to escape; but, laden with the fish he has just captured, in spite of the various evolutions he performs, he is soon overtaken by the savage freebooter. With a scream of despair he drops the fish.

The eagle poises himself for a moment, as if to take more certain aim, then, descending like a whirlwind, snatches it ere it reaches the water.

The plumage of the bald eagle is of a chocolate-brown, inclining to black along the back, while the bill and upper tail-coverts are of the same white hue as the head and neck. He and his mate build their nest in some lofty tree amid a swamp; and repairing it every season, it becomes of great size. Its position is generally known by the offensive odour arising from the number of fish scattered around, which they have let drop after their predatory excursions. The nest is roughly formed of large sticks, moss, roots, and tufts of grass. They commence making fresh additions to their nest early in the year; and the female deposits her eggs in January, and hatches the young by the middle of the following month. Robbers as they are, the white-headed eagles exhibit great parental affection, tending their young as long as they are helpless and unfledged; nor will they forsake them even should the tree in which their nest is built be surrounded by flames. Wilson, the American naturalist, mentions seeing a tree cut down in order to obtain an eagle's nest. The parent birds continued flying clamorously round, and could with difficulty be driven away from the bodies of their fledgelings, killed by the fall of the lofty pine.

Audubon gives us an account of a savage attack he once witnessed made by an eagle and his mate on a swan:—The fierce eagle, having marked the snow-white bird as his prey, summons his companion. As the swan is passing near the dreaded pair, the eagle, in preparation for the chase, starts from his perch on a tall pine, with an awful scream, that to the swan brings more terror than, the report of the largest duck-gun. Now is the moment to witness the display of the eagle's power. He glides through the air like a falling star, and comes upon the timorous quarry, which now, in agony and despair, seeks by varied manoeuvres to elude the grasp of his cruel talons. Now it mounts, now doubles, and would willingly plunge into the stream, were it not prevented by the eagle, who, knowing that by such a stratagem the swan might escape him, forces it to remain in the air by his attempts to strike it with his talons from beneath. The swan has already become much weakened, and its strength fails at sight of the courage and swiftness of its antagonist. At one moment it seems about to escape, when the ferocious eagle strikes with his talons the under side of its wing, and with an unresisted power forces the bird to fall in a slanting direction upon the nearest shore. Pouncing downwards, the eagle is soon joined by his mate, when they turn the body of the luckless swan upwards, and tear it open with their talons.

Along all the coasts of North America, as also at the mouths of the chief rivers, the white-headed eagle is found watching for his prey. An instance is mentioned of one of these savage birds being entrapped, and falling a victim to his voracity. Having pursued a wild duck to a piece of freshly-formed ice, he pitched upon it, and began tearing his prey to pieces, when the mass on which he stood continuing to freeze, his feet became fixed in the ice. Having vainly endeavoured with his powerful wings to rise in the air, he ultimately perished miserably.

THE WILD TURKEY.

The wild turkey, acknowledged to be the finest of game-birds, ranges throughout the forests of the more temperate portions of America. It is the parent of the valued inhabitant of our poultry-yards; and in its wild state utters the same curious sounds which it does in captivity. This superb bird measures about four feet in length. Its plumage, banded with black, gleams with a golden brown hue, shot with green, violet, and blue. Its head is somewhat small, and a portion of its neck is covered with a naked warty bluish skin, which hangs in wattles from the base of the bill, forming a long fleshy protuberance, with hairs at the top.

The bird, in the States, is commonly known as Bubbling Jock, and is called "Oocoocoo" by the Indians. The female builds her nest in some dry, secluded spot, guarding it carefully, and never approaching it by the same path twice in succession. When first her young are hatched, she leads them through the woods, but returns at night to her nest. After a time she takes them to a greater distance, and nestles them in some secluded spot on the ground. At this time they are frequently attacked by the lynxes, who spring upon them, knocking them over with their paws.

The wild turkey wanders to a great distance from the place of its birth. "About the beginning of October the male birds assemble in flocks," says Audubon, "and move towards the rich bottom-lands of the Ohio and Mississippi. The females advance singly, each with its brood of young, then about two-thirds grown, or in union with other families, forming parties often amounting to seventy or eighty individuals—shunning the old cocks, who, when the young birds have attained this size, will fight with, and often destroy them by repeated blows on the head. When they come upon a river, they betake themselves to the highest eminence, and often remain there a whole day; for the purpose of consultation, it would seem, the males gobbling, calling, and making much ado,—strutting about as if to raise their courage to a pitch befitting the emergency. At length, when all around is quiet, the whole party mount to the tops of the most lofty trees, whence, at a signal—consisting of a single cluck—given by the leader, the flock takes flight for the opposite shore. On reaching it, after crossing a broad stream, they appear totally bewildered, and easily fall a prey to the hunter, who is on the watch for them with his dogs."

THE OCELLATED TURKEY.

A still more magnificent species of turkey than the one just described inhabits Honduras. It may be distinguished from the common turkey by the eye-like marks on the tail and upper wing-coverts. The naked skin of the head and neck, too, is of a delicate violet-blue, covered with numerous pea-looking knobs arranged in a cluster upon the crown. This is of a pale buff-orange, while there is a row of similar marks over the eye, and others scattered about the neck. The wattle hanging from the neck is of a light orange at the tip. The greater wing-coverts are of a rich chestnut, the feet and legs being of a lake colour. It is somewhat smaller than the wild turkey of the States.

THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK.

The celebrated canvas-back duck, allied to the English pochard, makes its appearance among the numerous rivers in the neighbourhood of Chesapeake Bay about the middle of October, as well as in other parts of the Union. It is at that time, however, thin; but soon grows fat, from the abundance of its favourite food. It is from two to three feet across the wings. Its glossy black beak is large. The head and part of the neck are of a rich glossy reddish-chestnut tint, with black breast. The wing-coverts are grey, and the rest of the body white, marked with a number of transverse wavy lines.

It is especially esteemed at table—and those who have eaten it at the hospitable boards of Americans will acknowledge its excellence; though when, on several occasions, some braces of these birds have been sent to England, they have failed to elicit the admiration due to their merits— in consequence, it is said, of not being accompanied by an American cook.

THE SUMMER DUCK.

The most beautiful of the duck tribe which visits the States is the summer or tree duck of Carolina. It bears a strong resemblance in plumage and habits to the celebrated mandarin duck of China. The birds are found perching on the branches of trees overhanging ponds and streams—a habit not usual in the duck tribe—where they may be seen, generally a couple together, the male in his superb garments of green, purple, chestnut, and white, contrasting with the homely plumage of his mate.

THE PINNATED GROUSE, OR PRAIRIE HEN.

On the open "barrens," where a few tufts of stunted brushwood are alone found, the remarkable pinnated grouse may be seen in great numbers running over the ground. Their backs are mottled with black, white, and chestnut-brown; and the male has two finely ornamented feathers on the neck, streaked with black and brown. It has also a slight crest on the head, of orange colour, hanging over each eye in a semicircular form; and naked appendages, which hang down from each side of the neck, and can be filled at the will of the bird by air, so that when puffed out they are like two small yellow oranges. As the breeding season approaches the males appear, uttering strange cries, puffing out these wattles, ruffling their feathers, and erecting their neck-tufts, as if wishing to appear to the greatest advantage before their mates. They occasionally engage in combats with each other, but their encounters are not often of a bloody description.

They form their nests rudely of grass and leaves, under the shelter of a bush or thick tuft of long grass. The hen lays about fifteen eggs of a brownish-white colour.

The most remarkable feature in the history of these birds is the way in which they assemble, as winter approaches, in vast numbers, to obtain protection from the biting force of the north-west winds which sweep over the Missouri country, by huddling close together.

"As evening draws near," says Mr Webber, who has observed their habits, "they approach the spot they have fixed on, in the usual manner, by short flights, with none of that whirring of wings for which they are noted when suddenly put up; but they make ample amends for their previous silence when they arrive. From the pigeon-roost there is a continuous roar, caused by the restless shifting of the birds, and sounds of impatient struggling, which can be distinctly heard for several miles. The numbers collected are incalculably immense, since the space occupied extends sometimes for a mile in length, with a breadth determined by the character of the ground. The noise begins to subside a few hours after dark. The birds have now arranged themselves for the night, nestled as close as they can be wedged, every bird with his breast turned to the quarter in which the wind may be prevailing. This scene is one of the most curious that can be imagined, especially when we have the moonlight to contrast with their dark backs. At this time they may be killed by cart-loads, as only those in the immediate neighbourhood of the slain are apparently disturbed. They rise to the height of a few feet, with a stupified and aimless fluttering, and plunge into the snow within a short distance, where they are easily taken by the hand. They will, if disturbed when they first arrive at a resting-place, change it; but after the heavy snows have fallen, they are not easily driven away by any degree of persecution. By melting the snow with the heat of their bodies, and by trampling it down, they then form a kind of sheltering-yard, the outside walls of which defend them against the winds."

They have, besides human foes, numberless enemies among the foxes, wolves, hawks, and other birds. The fecundity of the survivors, however, keeps pace with the many fatalities to which they are liable.

THE RUFFED GROUSE, OR AMERICAN PHEASANT.

"This elegant species," writes Wilson, "is known throughout North America. Its favourite places of resort are high mountains, covered with the balsam-pine and hemlock." It prefers the woods—being seldom or never found in open plains. They are solitary birds; generally being seen in coveys of four or five, and often singly, or in pairs.

The stranger wandering through the forest is surprised to hear a peculiar sound, very similar to that produced by striking two full-blown ox-bladders together, but much louder. It is caused by the ruffed grouse, who, amusing himself by drumming, is little aware that it will bring the cruel sportsman towards him. The bird produces it when standing on an old prostrate log. He lowers his wings, erects his expanded tail, and inflates his whole body something in the manner of the turkey-cock, strutting and wheeling about with great stateliness. After a few manoeuvres of this kind he begins to strike with his stiffened wings, in short and quick strokes, which become more and more rapid, till they run into each other. The sound then resembles the rumbling of distant thunder, dying away gradually on the ear.

The hen is an affectionate mother, and takes every means, when a stranger approaches her nest, to lead him away from the spot.

Wilson describes observing a hen-pheasant depart from this usual custom. He came suddenly upon one with a young bird in her company. The mother fluttered before him for a short time, when suddenly darting towards the young one, she seized it in her bill, and flew off along the surface of the ground through the woods, with great steadiness and rapidity, till she was beyond his sight, leaving him in much surprise at the incident. He searched round, but could find no other birds.

Here was a striking instance of something more than "blind instinct"—by the adoption of the most simple and effectual means for the preservation of her solitary young one—in this remarkable deviation from the usual manoeuvres of the bird when she has a numerous brood.

The ruffed grouse is of a rich chestnut-brown, mottled with brown and grey; while on each shoulder are the curious ruffs, or tufts, from which he obtains his name, of a rich velvety black, glossed with green. The skin beneath them is bare; the tail is grey, barred with blackish-brown.

Another species of grouse, smaller than the two former, inhabits Canada.

PASSENGER-PIGEONS.

Flights of locusts are often seen passing through the air, like vast clouds, obscuring the sky. The passenger-pigeon of America appears in almost equal numbers. The accounts of their vast nights would be incredible, were they not thoroughly well authenticated.

They are beautiful birds; the males being about sixteen inches in length, the females slightly smaller, and usually of less attractive plumage. The head, part of the neck, and chin of the male bird, are of a slaty-blue colour; the lower portions being also of a slate colour, banded with gold, green, and purplish-crimson, changing as the bird moves here and there. Reddish-hazel feathers cover the throat and breast, while the upper tail-coverts and back are of a dark slaty-blue. Their other feathers are black, edged with white; and the lower part of the breast and abdomen are purplish-red and white. The beak is black, and the eyes of a fiery orange hue, with a naked space round them of purplish-red.

Its chief food is the beech-mast; but it also lives on acorns, and grain of all sorts—especially rice. It is calculated that each bird eats half a pint of food in the day; and when we recollect their numbers, we may conceive what an immense amount must be consumed.

The female hatches only one bird at a time, in a nest slightly made of a few twigs, loosely woven into a sort of platform. Upwards of one hundred nests have been found in one tree, with a single egg in each of them; but there are probably two or three broods in the season. In a short time the young become very plump, and so fat, that they are occasionally melted down for the sake of their fat alone. They choose particular places for roosting—generally amid a grove of the oldest and largest trees in the neighbourhood.

Wilson, Audubon, and other naturalists, give us vivid descriptions of the enormous flights of these birds. Let us watch with Audubon in the neighbourhood of one of their curious roosting-places. We now catch sight of a flight of the birds moving with great steadiness and rapidity, at a height out of gunshot, in several strata deep, and close together. From right to left, far as the eye can reach, the breadth of this vast procession extends, teeming everywhere, equally crowded. An hour passes, and they rather increase in numbers and rapidity of flight. The leaders of this vast body sometimes vary their course, now forming a large band of more than a mile in diameter; those behind tracing the exact route of their predecessors. Now they once more change their direction—the column becoming an immense front, sweeping the heavens in one vast and infinitely extended line. Suddenly a hawk makes a sweep on a particular part of the column, when almost as quick as lightning that part shoots downwards out of the common track; but soon again rising, advances at the same rate as before.

We will now hurry on towards their breeding place, a forest on the banks of the Green River in Kentucky, fully forty miles in length, and more than three in width. In the neighbourhood are assembled a large number of persons, with horses, waggons, guns, and ammunition; and a farmer has brought three hundred hogs to be fattened on the refuse pigeons. As the vast flight arrives at the spot, thousands are knocked down by men with long poles. Some place pots of sulphur under the trees; others are provided with torches of pine-knots; and the rest have guns. The birds continue to pour in. The fires are lighted; and a magnificent, as well as almost terrifying, sight presents itself. The pigeons arrive by thousands, alighting everywhere, one above another, till solid masses, as large as hogsheads, are formed on the branches all around. Here and there the perches give way with a crash, and falling to the ground, destroy hundreds of the birds beneath, forcing down the dense groups with which every stick is loaded. The pigeons continue coming, and it is past midnight before there is any sign of a decrease in their numbers. The ground in all directions is strewed with branches broken by the weight of the birds which have pitched on them. By sunrise, the enormous multitude have taken their departure, while wolves, foxes, and other animals who had assembled to feast on the bodies of the slain, are seen sneaking off.

Audubon describes the flight of one of these almost solid masses of birds pursued by a hawk; now darting compactly in undulating and angular lines, now descending close to the earth, and with inconceivable velocity mounting perpendicularly, so as to resemble a vast column, and then wheeling and twisting within their continued lines, resembling the coils of a gigantic serpent. Their assemblages greatly surpass in numbers those of the pinnated grouse already described.

HUMMING-BIRDS.

A considerable number of these gem-like members of the feathered tribe make their appearance in summer, even as far north as Canada, and on the sides of the hills rising out of the "Fertile Belt," within sight of Lake Winnipeg,—a region where snow covers the ground for so many months in the year. The most common, as well as the most beautiful, species of these minute birds, is the ruby-throated humming-bird—a name given to it on account of the delicate metallic feathers which glow with ruby lustre on its throat, gleaming in the sunshine like gems of living fire. From the tip of the bill to that of the tail it measures about three and a half inches. The belly is green, and the upper part of the neck, back, and wing-coverts, are of a resplendent and varied green and gold. The breast and lower parts are white, the wings purplish-brown, and the tail partly of the same colour, with the two middle tail-feathers of vivid green.

In the warm climate of the more southern States, the beautiful little ruby-throat is found throughout the winter; and as the summer draws on, the heat in the northern States suiting its delicate constitution, it migrates in large flocks, appearing in the middle States towards the end of April. Tiny as they are, they pass through the air at a rapid rate, and may be seen moving in long undulations, now rising for some distance at an angle of about forty degrees, then falling in a curve. Their long flights are performed at night, it is supposed, as they are found feeding leisurely at all times of the day. Small as they are, from their rapid flight and meteor-like movements they do not fear the largest birds of prey; for even should the lordly eagle venture into their domains, the tiny creatures will attack him without fear: and one has been seen perched on the head of an eagle, at which it was pecking furiously away, scattering the feathers of the huge bird, who flew screaming through the air with alarm, to rid himself of his tiny assailant.

As they fly, the ruby feathers of their throats may be seen changing, according to the light, now into a greenish gold colour, now into a deep brown, again to flash forth with the brilliancy of precious gems. Often they may be observed flying round the deep, cup-shaped calix of the scarlet trumpet-flower, which with its rich foliage clings in clusters round the gnarled stem of some withered oak, clothing it with a verdure not its own. Into these deep and capacious tubes the ruby-throat, with its long bill, probes, and draws forth either the sweets it produces, or picks up the multitude of flies entangled in the nectar.

Although the ruby-throat ventures thus far north, it is very susceptible of cold, and returns southward immediately the summer green of the forest gives place to the golden tints of autumn. Brave and high-spirited as is the little bird, it is easily tamed; and Mr Webber, the naturalist, after many attempts, succeeded in securing several of the species. The first he caught did not flutter, or make the least attempt to escape, but remained quietly in his hand; and he saw, when he opened it, the minute creature lying on his palm, perfectly motionless, feigning most skilfully to be dead; indeed, actually playing "'possum." For some time he watched it with breathless curiosity, when he saw it gradually open its bright little eyes to ascertain whether the way was clear, and then close them slowly as it caught his glance upon it. When a mixture of sugar, water, and honey was brought, and a drop placed on the point of its bill, it came very suddenly to life, and in a moment was on its legs, drinking with eager gusto of the refreshing draught from a silver tea-spoon.

The nest of the ruby-throat is of a most delicate nature; the external parts being formed of a little grey lichen found on the branches of the trees, glued together by the saliva of the bird, and neatly arranged round the whole of the nest, as well as to some distance from the spot where it is attached to the branch or stem itself. The interior is lined with a cottony substance; and the innermost, with the silky fibres obtained from various plants. Within this little nest the female humming-bird lays two white and nearly oval eggs; generally raising two broods in the season. In one week, says Audubon, the young are ready to fly, but are fed by the parents for nearly another week. They receive their food direct from the bill of their parents, who disgorge it in the manner of canaries and pigeons. It is my belief that no sooner are the young able to provide for themselves than they associate with other broods, and perform their migrations apart from the old birds, as I have observed twenty or thirty young humming-birds resort to a group of trumpet-flowers, when not a single old bird was to be seen.

The plumage of the female is in most respects like that of the male, except that she is not possessed of the brilliant feathers on the throat which especially distinguish him.

Although there are several other species of humming-birds which live permanently in the Southern States of the Union, or migrate northward in summer, we cannot now inspect them. We shall have, however, many opportunities of examining a number of the species when we come to visit South America. Although the number of birds and the variety of their species inhabiting North America is very great, except those we have mentioned, they do not in general possess any very interesting peculiarity, which might tempt us to linger longer amongst them, and we will therefore wander on and inspect some of the curious reptiles which inhabit various parts of the American States and Canada.

THE COW-BIRD.

The well-known spring visitor to the woods of England,—the cuckoo,—is undoubtedly destitute of family affection, as are others of its relatives; but this is not the case with the whole tribe. As the spring advances, from the sylvan glades of Pennsylvania a curious note, constantly repeated, is heard, resembling the word "cow-cow." It is the note of a bird, and from the sound it resembles it is generally known as the "cow-bird." It is also called the "yellow-billed cuckoo." It is in no respect behind any of its neighbours of the grove in conjugal and parental affection, for it builds its nest, hatches its own eggs, and rears its own young, Wilson assures us. It is about a foot in length, clothed in a dark drab suit with a silken greenish gloss. A ruddy cinnamon tints the quill-feathers of the wings; and the tail consists partly of black feathers tipped with white, the two outer ones being of the same tint as the back. The under surface is a pure white. It has a long curved bill of a greyish-black above, and yellow beneath. The female differs from the male in having the central tail-feathers of a drab colour, while the under part of her body is of a greyish tinge.

Early in the spring the males frequently engage in desperate battles. After these contests are decided, the couples, pairing, begin building their nests, generally among the horizontal branches of an apple-tree. It is roughly formed of sticks and twigs. On this bed the eggs, three or four in number, of a uniform greenish-blue, are placed. While the female is sitting, the male is generally not far off, and gives the alarm by his notes should any person approach. The female sits so close, that she may almost be reached by the hand, and then suddenly precipitates herself to the ground, feigning lameness—to draw away the intruder from the spot—fluttering her wings, and tumbling over in the manner of a partridge, woodcock, and some other birds. Both parents unite in collecting food for the young. This consists, for the most part, of caterpillars, particularly such as infest apple-trees. They are accused, and with some justice, of sucking the eggs of other birds,—like the crow, blue jay, and other pillagers. They also occasionally eat various kinds of berries; but from the circumstance of their destroying numbers of very noxious larvae, they prove themselves the friend of the farmer, and are well deserving of his protection.

THE BLUE-BIRD.

While the robin redbreast cheers us in England during winter with its song, the beautiful little blue-bird performs the same office with its rich sweet notes to the inhabitants of the United States; arriving from Mexico, and still further off regions, as soon as the first signs of approaching spring appear—even before the snow has melted away. Associating fearlessly with human beings, it holds the same place in their affections as the robin.

It is about seven inches long—a rich azure-blue covering the whole upper surface of the head and neck, while the quill-feathers of the wing and tail are jet-black. The throat, breast, and sides are of a ruddy chestnut, the lower portion of the body being white. It builds its nest in the hollow of a decayed tree, sheltered from the rain and cold, and there deposits from four to six eggs at a time, generally rearing two, and sometimes three broods in the season. Its food consists chiefly of spiders and small worms, and soft fruits and seeds.

It is a hardy little bird, and makes its way through all parts of the United States; sometimes, indeed, remaining through the whole winter, when it takes shelter in some warm hollow beneath the snow, from whence, when the sun shines forth, it comes out to enjoy its warmth, and to sing a few cheerful notes. It is especially interesting to watch it take care of its nest and young; perching near them and singing merrily, occasionally flying off to procure a caterpillar for their gaping mouths.

So confiding is the blue-bird, that when a box with a hole in it is arranged in some convenient situation near a house, it will at once take possession, building its nest in it, and never failing to utter its sweet music in acknowledgment of the boon.

THE SNOW-BIRD.

As the cold winter approaches, large flocks of little birds about six inches in length, with snow-white breasts and slaty-brown or blue backs, make their appearance in the neighbourhood of villages and farmhouses; sometimes, indeed, coming into towns as familiarly as sparrows. Their habits are very like those of sparrows; and when the snow deepens, they mix with them, searching together for the seeds in the sheltered corners of the fields, and along the borders of creeks and fences. They differ from the snow-bunting of the far north, with which they must not be confounded. In the summer they make their way to the northern regions in large flocks, and build their nests together, being of a very sociable disposition.

THE CAROLINA PARROT.

While viewing the birds of North America, we cannot pass by the well-known, handsome Carolina parrot, which is, notwithstanding its common name, a species of macaw. Large numbers of these beautiful birds are seen winging their way in compact bodies through the Southern States, flying with great rapidity and uttering a loud outrageous scream, not unlike that of the red-headed woodpecker. Sometimes their flight is in a direct line, but generally they perform a variety of elegant and serpentine meanders in their course through the air. Often they may be seen pitching on the large sycamore-trees, in the hollow trunks of which, as also among the branches, they generally roost— frequently forty and more together. Here they cling close to the side of the tree, holding fast by claws and bill. No creatures can be more sociable, and they may be observed scratching each other's heads and necks, and always nestling closely together.

Their plumage is mostly green washed with blue, but the forehead is of a reddish-orange—as are the shoulders, head, and wings, while the neck and back of the head are of a bright golden yellow. The wing-coverts are yellow tinged with green. The bird is about twenty-one inches long. The female is much like the male. She makes her nest in the hollows of trees.

The Carolina parrot exhibits great amiability of disposition, and is easily tamed, becoming much attached to those who treat it kindly. It also exhibits the most extraordinary affection for its own race. Wilson the naturalist, having obtained one while on a journey to the Far West, brought it home upwards of one thousand miles in his pocket. It quickly learned to know its name, and would immediately come when called. Procuring a cage, he placed the parrot under a piazza, where, by its call, it soon attracted the passing flocks of its relatives. Numerous parties frequently alighted on the trees immediately above, keeping up a constant conversation with the prisoner. One of these was wounded and captured. Poll evinced the greatest pleasure on meeting with this new companion. She crept close up to it, chattering in a low tone of voice, as if sympathising in its misfortune, scratching its head and neck with her bill—at night, both nestling as closely as possible to each other, sometimes Poll's head being thrust amongst the plumage of the other. The stranger, however, died, and Poll appeared restless and inconsolable for several days. On a looking-glass, however, being procured, the instant she perceived her image all her former fondness seemed to return, so that she could scarcely absent herself from it for a moment. It was evident she was completely deceived. Often when evening drew on, as also during the day, she laid her head close to that of the image in the glass, and began to dose with great composure and satisfaction.

On another occasion several of these birds were shot down, when the whole flock swept rapidly round their prostrate companions, and settled on a low tree within twenty yards of them. Although many were killed, the rest, instead of flying away, continued looking down at their dead companions with manifest signs of sympathy and concern.

They render the farmer great service, by eating the cockle-burs which grow on the rich alluvial soil of Carolina. This prickly fruit is apt to come off on the wool of the sheep, which, in some places, it almost completely destroys. The bird also lives on the beech-nut and seeds of the cypress. The head—with the brains—and intestines of the Carolina parrot are said to be poisonous to eat; but how far such is the case seems to be a matter of doubt.

Its chief abode is along the shores of the Mississippi, and it reaches the neighbourhood of Lake Michigan; but eastward of the Alleghany Mountains it is seldom met with further north than the State of Maryland. Far more hardy than the generality of the parrot tribe, a flock has been seen facing a snow-storm along the banks of the Ohio.



PART ONE, CHAPTER NINE.

REPTILES.

TORTOISES:—THE LETTERED TERRAPIN.

Taking the reptiles in their natural order, we must begin with the tortoises. There is a group of these slow-moving reptiles called terrapins in North America. One of the most common is the lettered terrapin, which inhabits rivers, lakes, and even marshes, where it lives on frogs and worms. It is especially detested by the angler, as it is apt to take hold of his bait, and when he expects to see a fine fish at the end of his line, he finds that a little tortoise has hold of it.

The back is of a dark brown, the edges being ornamented with scarlet marks, like some Eastern alphabet in form.

THE CHICKEN TORTOISE.

Large numbers of these little tortoises, about ten inches in length, are seen basking together on the logs or stones on the borders of lakes or streams. The slightest noise arouses them, when they slip off, splashing in all directions into the water. They swim with their little heads above the surface at a rapid rate, bearing a strong resemblance to water-snakes. The creature takes its name from the similarity of its flesh to that of a chicken. It is consequently in great requisition as food.

THE SALT-WATER TERRAPIN.

Another species—the salt-water terrapin—lives in the salt marshes and ponds. It is brown above, and generally yellow below—the lower jaw furnished with a sort of hook. The sides of the head are white, sprinkled with black spots.

THE BOX TORTOISE.

The peculiarity of this creature is that it can draw its head within its shell, so that, as few creatures would wish to swallow such a morsel whole, it has no enemy except man to fear. It might, to be sure, run the risk of being carried off by an eagle and let drop on a hard rock, if the savage king of birds ever does perform such a feat; but though stories are frequently told of his doing so, their truth is greatly doubted.