IV. Domestic Pets

IV. Domestic Pets

BEES. CANARIES. DOGS. GOLD FISH. GUINEA PIGS. HEDGEHOGS. JACKDAWS. JAYS. MAGPIES. OWLS. PARROTS. PIGEONS. POULTRY. RABBITS. RAVENS. SILKWORMS. SQUIRRELS. WHITE MICE.

BEES AND BEE-KEEPING.

In treating of that useful insect the honey-bee, we will first explain briefly the domestic economy of the hive, and the distinction between the different individuals composing the entire colony, and then pass on to the more practical details of bee-keeping.

A beehive contains three kinds of individuals--a queen, drones, and workers. The queen is a female, and is the mother of the community. The drones are males, and the working bees neuters, being neither males nor females. During the warmer part of the year the queen seems to be incessantly employed in laying eggs. She is slow and majestic in her motions, and differs from the workers in having a larger and longer body, shorter wings, and a curved sting.

The drones are males; though much more bulky, they are not so long as the queen, but much larger than the working bees. They live on honey, but bring none home. When the season for swarming has passed, the workers expel them from the hive, and none make their appearance till the following spring.

The working bees are the smallest in the hive and by far the most numerous; and they do the entire work of the community--they build the cells, guard the hive and the queen, collect and store the honey, elaborate the wax, feed the young, and expel the drones. The average number of these three kinds of bees in a hive is one queen, two thousand drones, and ten to twenty thousand workers, the numbers varying with the strength of the hive and the season.

For the greater part of the year the queen lays only workers’ eggs; but during the spring she also lays those which produce drones. As soon as this takes place, the workers begin to construct royal cells, in which, without discontinuing to lay the drone eggs, the queen deposits eggs which are destined to produce queens.

The workers’ eggs hatch in a few days, and produce little white maggots, which immediately open their mouths to be fed; these the workers attend to with the greatest care. In six days each maggot fills up its cell; it is then roofed in by the workers, spins a silken cocoon and becomes a chrysalis, and on the twenty-first day it comes forth a perfect bee. The drones emerge on the twenty-fifth day, and the queens on the sixteenth.

The combs of a beehive comprise a number of hexagonal cells, built by the bees as receptacles for honey and for the nurseries of their young. Each comb in a hive is composed of two ranges of cells, backed against each other. There is a continued series of these double cells in every well-filled hive, the spaces between them being just sufficient to allow two bees, one on the surface of each comb, to pass without touching. Each cell is six-sided, the six sides being perfectly equal. This is one of the geometrical figures that ensures the greatest economy of material and the largest space. The construction of several combs is usually going on at the same time, until the hive is filled. The cells of the drones are larger than those designed for the workers; and those designed for the hatching of the young queens pear-shaped, with the small end downwards. The finest honey is stored in new cells constructed for the purpose of receiving it.

The usual modes of establishing an apiary are, either by the purchase of stock or of swarms. When intending to purchase a stock, do not buy upon recommendation, but learn to judge for yourself. If you observe the bees crowding in and out of the hive during the middle of the day, a considerable number of them having little yellow pellets or balls on their hinder legs, a very favourable opinion may be formed of the health and condition of the interior, and especially of the prolific state of the queen. If the bees appear savage, and bold in their attacks, it is a good sign.

In the purchase of swarms the young bee-keeper must beware of imposition; for it very often happens that, instead of having the first swarm, he is cheated by having a second thrust upon him. This is seldom so large; but it has the advantage of a young queen, as the old queen always goes off with the first swarm. A good swarm generally numbers about twenty thousand bees, and may in country places be obtained for from half-a-guinea to a guinea.

There are several distinct systems of bee-keeping, each of which requires a short notice. First, the old-fashioned plan of keeping the bees in a common bell-shaped straw hive, or skep. When this method is followed, the hives are usually allowed to stand for two summers; at the end of the second season the bees are destroyed by the fumes of burning sulphur, and the honey taken. The plan is a very bad one, as the honey obtained is mixed with bee bread, is rank in flavour, and dark in colour, and is never worth more than about sixpence per pound.

A great improvement is to have the hives made with flat tops, like the straw hive shown at the right hand of the engraving. When the bees are first hived, this is closed by a straw mat. In the spring of next year, when the bees become numerous and cluster round the entrance, this mat is removed, and a small hive, termed a “super,” or a box or glass, neatly furnished with a piece or two of clear empty comb, is put over; the bees ascend into this, build combs, which they store with pure virgin honey, without brood or bee bread; and this, when full, is removed, leaving the stock below undisturbed for the next season. In our engraving the artist has drawn this hive too small; it should have been as large as the common skeps which are shown on the left-hand side.

Flat-topped hives, that are able to be supered, may be made of wood, like a common box. One of these is shown on the ground, and two, placed one over the other, are shown behind the flat-topped straw hive. In Ayrshire, where they are very skilled in bee-management, they use eight-sided boxes, with narrow slides to close the openings in the top. These boxes are placed one over the other, and large tops of pure virgin honey, twenty to thirty pounds in weight, are not unfrequently taken off. The back hive in our group is one with side boxes, or, as it is sometimes called, a collateral hive. These are the most expensive in first cost, and the least productive of all the varieties. The cottage hives, with three little glasses, instead of one large one, are only playthings, and not at all productive.

Frame hives, in which each comb is placed in a separate frame, so that it can be taken out and examined, are very useful for making observations on the natural history of the bees, but are not so well suited for profitable purposes as the hives that we have described that are arranged in storey or with large supers.

In removing a super of honey, it should be first loosened from the hive by drawing a thin string between the two; and then, when the bees have become quiet, taken quietly away, and covered over, until those remaining in it have discovered that they are away from the queen, when they will rapidly fly back to the hive, on being uncovered. But the honey must not be left exposed, or it would attract all the bees in the neighbourhood, and would rapidly be stored up in the hives.

In taking off the supers, it is best to be protected from the stings of the bees. This is readily done by making a bag of leno, open at top and bottom; in use, the top is tied round the hat, the bag encircles the head and face, and the bottom is tucked under the collar of the coat, which is buttoned closely round the neck. In this manner the face is perfectly protected from stings; but with the knowledge, quietness, and confidence acquired by practice, almost anything can be done to bees by a skilled bee-master, even without a veil.

THE CANARY.

The canary is a justly favoured pet among boys, for it is a hardy bird that requires a very small amount of trouble. It is a pleasant, fascinating little being, full of quaint ways and sprightly attitudes, and, better than all, the cage is its native element.

Though an ardent admirer of all birds, and indeed of everything which draws the breath of life, we can never pass the cage wherein is confined a lark, a nightingale, a bullfinch, or any other of our indigenous birds, without a feeling of sadness and regret.

They are not cage birds, and never ought to be confined within the narrow limits of wood and wire. Their attitudes show their uneasiness. The mellow, exultant tone of the skylark sounds as joyously when the bird is imprisoned within a cage as when it soars high in air, its wings quivering in the breeze, its frame rejoicing in the glory of the sunbeams, and its ken surveying the wide panorama which lies spread beneath its gaze. But the gestures of the bird are full of eloquent misery, and speak volumes to him who will stop and look with his eyes as well as listen with his ears.

See how the bird flings itself upwards from the little patch of turf, which is but a shallow mockery of the green sward to which the skylark is accustomed--how it dashes itself against the roof of green baize, which represents so feebly the expanse of azure sky--and how it learns at last the lessons of experience, and stands helplessly in the bay window of the cage, its wings shivering restlessly, and its feet trampling impatiently, in lieu of the the upward leap and soaring flight which it longs to undertake, but which it will never more be permitted to experience. No more will it roam through the wide expanse of air, no more will it seek for its mate, and know all the joys of nest and children. Henceforth it is but a prisoner in solitary confinement, without hope of escape, and its very individuality destroyed by surrounding circumstances.

So with the generality of our cage birds. The man who would imprison the nightingale, who would limit to one spot the bird that loves to wander, and who would condemn to solitary confinement the creature which is peculiarly destined for conjugal affection, which finds expression in liquid melody, ought to be imprisoned for a month or two, just to see how he likes it. “I can’t get out,” is the lament uttered in silent gesture by all birds that ought to roam in wild freedom, and have been imprisoned in a cage. We always wish to open the cage door, and set free the prisoner; at all events, to remove it to some spot where it might be liberated without danger to itself.

But with the canary the case is different. The pretty little bird never has known wider freedom than that of the cage, and a humane bird-keeper will endow it with increased freedom by enlarging the size of its dwelling. The free use of wings has never been known to the bird, nor even to its parents; and the perch is to the canary more familiar than the bough. Release an imprisoned lark, and after the first few moments of surprise it will speed away exulting in its freedom. Release a nightingale or a thrush, and it will dart swiftly to the well-known shelter of the woods. But release a canary, and you have committed an act of positive cruelty. The poor bird knows not where to go or how to procure its food. Throughout all its little life it has been accustomed to reside within the narrow limits of its cage, and to find its food and water prepared without any expenditure of labour. Consequently, it has no idea of searching for food, but sits bewildered on a branch of some tree, and would perish with hunger simply because it does not know how to procure food.

Ignorance is ever the parent of fear, and a canary-bird has been known to perish of hunger when removed to a large from a small cage, simply because it dared not fly down from the comparatively lofty perch on which it had settled when first introduced, and to which it clung with the tenacity of fear. Even the genuine British soldier can hardly be more helpless when deprived of ordinary military routine than is a canary-bird when set free and forced to fly alone into the world.

The very colour of the bird prevents it from obtaining food like others of the same tribe. All the small birds are absurdly jealous of novelty, and will mob and worry any feathered being to which they are not accustomed. You may assemble a crowd of them at any time by fixing a comb of scarlet cloth on the head of a sparrow, and glueing a few scarlet hackles into its tail. The little birds will always gather round an owl that has made its appearance in the daytime, and will scold the intruder until one would think that their throats would be hoarse. Their anger towards the owl is, however, mitigated by a wholesome dread of its beak and talons, and it may therefore be imagined that when they find a little yellow bird sitting all alone on a branch, and looking bewildered at the position in which it finds itself, they are not very likely to lose so excellent an opportunity of bullying a foreigner without danger to themselves. Successive generations of captivity have rendered the canary unfit for freedom, and therefore the young naturalist need not think himself cruel because he keeps the bird in a cage.

As to cages, the simple form which has already been described in vol. i. p. 21 of “Every Boy’s Magazine” will be found amply sufficient for all purposes. The wires, however, should be closer together than is required for squirrels, so that the cat may not be able to dart her lithe paw between them and hook out the inmates. The size of the cage is of little consequence, except that you can never make it too large. If a whole room can be given up to the birds, the better they will be pleased and the brighter they will look; and, if possible, it should be lighted from above.

Wherever the birds may be placed, ventilation is of the greatest consequence. We remember being once summoned to give our opinion upon the continued illness of some canaries of which every care was taken. They had fresh water daily, were plentifully supplied with sand, and were fed with the proper seeds, and cresses, groundsel, and other green meat, and yet they drooped and moped, and never seemed well. No fault could be found with the arrangements, and therefore we looked for the cause of illness in another direction. The air of the room seemed very close when I entered it, and on examination we found that there was no outlet whatever, the chimney having been blocked up and the windows carefully shut, in order to prevent the birds from escaping. We at once recommended that a pane of glass should be removed at the top of the window, and a piece of perforated zinc inserted instead; and when this was done the birds recovered themselves, and resumed their normal aspect.

The two secrets--if secrets they can be called--in bird-keeping are a good supply of fresh food and water and perfect cleanliness. The former necessaries can be easily insured in a very simple manner, and should be made after the pattern of the accompanying figures. Both are founded on the same principle--namely, that of self-feeding from a reservoir.

The seed-box is thus constructed. Get an old cigar-box, from which the aroma of tobacco has been removed by long airing, and take off the lid and the whole of one side; cut off two-thirds of the lid-piece, bore three holes in it, and fix it where the lid was, as at a; cut the rest of the lid in two, and fix the pieces in the box, so as to separate it into three compartments, fixing them with glue and a few very tiny brads. You should use pieces of slender brass wire for the purpose. If you left the box in this condition all the seed would run out at the round holes, and you must therefore correct that error.

How this is done will be seen in fig. 2, which gives a section of the seed-box.

Cut a squared piece of wood, which will just slide into the partition, so as to make a flat flooring to it. But, instead of laying it flat, place it in a sloping direction, as seen at d, so that a small space is left between the end of the floor and the back of the box. The reader will see that when the seed is poured into the partition it will drop through the open space at the back, and fall into the bottom of the box. The birds put their heads through the holes to eat the seeds, and as fast as they peck them away below, more fall from above and supply the deficiency.

In the front, and above the holes, fix a piece of glass, which is represented by b in fig. 2, and which is seen in its place in fig. 1. The object of the glass is to permit the bird-keeper to see when there is a sufficiency of seed. The sloping top is also of glass, which is fixed by a strip of American leather, acting as a hinge. It is made of glass, and set at a sharp angle, in order to prevent the birds from perching on it, which they are certain to do if they can find the least foothold. It will be found that the best cement wherewith to fix the glass is gold-size, and that a coat or two of black sealing-wax varnish makes a nice finish to the job.

The holes through which the birds feed should not be much larger than the size of their heads. The reason of this arrangement is that the canaries are apt to shell the seeds while their heads are over the vessel in which the food is contained, so that the husks fall among the seed, and it is not easy to discover when the supply is exhausted. But no diurnal bird will feed in the dark, and as the canary effectually darkens each hole by introducing its head, it will not crack and eat the seed until it has withdrawn its head and restored itself to light.

The object of the partitions is that the birds can be supplied with different kinds of seed, each of which can be restricted to its own division. The receptacles should be of different sizes--the largest for canary-seed, the next in size for rape, and the least for millet, among which a little hemp may be shaken. In front of the holes, and about three-quarters of an inch from them, should be fixed a perch, upon which the birds can sit while they feed.

At the back of the seed-box are fastened a couple of stout hooks--those which milliners call “stay-hooks” answer admirably--so that the box may be hung on the wires at any convenient height. It should not be placed on the ground, because in that case the canaries will stuff all the refuse stems of the green-meat into the feeding-holes, and will probably mix sand and husks with the seeds. They are as mischievous as monkeys, and quite as ready at discovering and taking advantage of the slightest opportunities of doing something which they know is forbidden.

The “fountain” from which they drink is made on a similar principle. Fountains can be purchased at any bird-dealer’s; but as it is preferable that boys should use their hands rather than drain their pockets, we offer simple directions for making a fountain as efficacious, though not quite so elegant, as those which are purchased in the shops.

The materials required for the purpose are very simple, and consist of some wire, both stout and fine, of an empty Florence-oil flask, a saucer, and some wood. The mode of employing them is shown by the illustration (fig. 3).

Make three rings of stout wire, each diminishing in diameter, and arrange them as seen at b, the smallest being uppermost. Four pieces of stout wire are then firmly attached, so as to make a kind of conical stand. Were not the birds so mischievous, this would be sufficient for all purposes; but as they are sure to go and bathe in the water, they must be kept out by intermediate wires, so as to make a kind of cage, through which the birds can put their heads, but which will not permit the passage of their bodies.

Then take your oil-flask, strip off all the rushen covering, and wash the interior with strong soda until every trace of the oil is removed. Place it in the wire frame, as shown at c, and try whether it stands upright. If the wire ring should be too large, and allow of its slipping through too far, cut a round hole of the proper size in a piece of pasteboard or very thin wood, lay it on the ring, and then introduce the flask.

Make a round stool or table, such as is seen in the illustration, and fix the turned-up ends of the wires to it with small staples. If the fountain were on the ground, the birds would fill the saucer with sand and husks; and if it were not firmly fastened, it would be knocked over by the fluttering wings of a passing bird. The stool must be wide and strong, or the whole affair will be upset.

The mode of preparing the fountain is very simple. Fill the flask with water, and stop up the mouth with a shallow cork. Place a saucer (like a) under the wire frame, insert the flask, hold its mouth in the saucer with one hand, and remove the cork with the other. The water will immediately rush into the saucer, and will half fill it, but owing to the pressure of the atmosphere no more water will descend. When, however, the birds have drunk enough to bring the level of the water below the mouth of the flask, air immediately rushes up in great bubbles, down comes a corresponding amount of water, and a fresh supply is thus afforded.

In canary-keeping much depends upon the kind of bird. We presume that a good singer will be required, as well as a strong and healthy bird. If you are not learned in canary lore, try to induce an experienced friend to choose a bird for you; but if you are not fortunate enough to possess such assistance, the following concise directions may aid you. Look at the birds for sale, and note those that stand straightest on their perches, and that hop quickly and smartly about the little apologies for cages in which they are mostly confined. Next hear them sing before deciding on your purchase, and select the one that possesses the sweetest and fullest tone. The dealer can always make the bird sing when he likes, and if any bird refuses to sing, do not buy it, however handsome it may look. If possible, procure one that possesses the nightingale’s song; you will have to pay rather heavily for it, but any one who can afford such a bird will be amply repaid by the very great superiority of the song, which is divested of that ear-piercing shrillness so unpleasant in most canaries.

When you are satisfied with the song, look the bird well over to see that it has no defects; and if you prefer the variegated breed, take care of three principal points--namely, the top of the head, technically called the “cap;” the markings on the back, called “spangles;” and the number of quill feathers in the wings and tail. The cap must be uniform and rich in colour, the spangles bold and well defined, and the quill feathers not less than eighteen in each wing and twelve in the tail. Imperfect or damaged feathers can easily be replaced by pulling them out, for their places will soon be filled with new and perfect feathers.

Some persons prefer the yellow varieties, and many are fond of the crested canaries.

We intentionally omit all mention of “fancy” canaries, for the fashion changes with them as fast as it does with tulips or dress. The fashion in canaries seldom outlives a year, and the prize bird of one year will possibly be despised in the next season. Do not, therefore, be persuaded to attempt the purchase of costly fancy canaries. They may certainly be of great value when you happen to buy them, but in a few years no one will think anything of them. Choose strong, sweet-voiced, and healthy birds, with colours that please your eye, and leave the fancy canaries to professional breeders.

As to the general management of the canary, it may be summed up by saying that it chiefly consists in judiciously letting alone. Don’t meddle with the birds more than is absolutely needed, and do not worry them with medicines whenever they seem to be unwell. As, however, all canaries are liable to certain ailments, in which a knowledge of the proper treatment is highly useful, we will just give a few plain directions.

One pest is vigorous throughout the year, and always ready to seize on the birds, and that is the “red-mite,” a parasite known to all bird-keepers.

If you find your birds restless, especially at night, and see them continually pecking among the roots of the feathers, and especially if they lose appetite, and become fretful and ill-tempered to their companions, look out for the red-mite. You can always detect the tiny but formidable foe by placing the bird in a dark room, and, after a few hours, holding a bright lamp close by the cage. If there are any mites about, you will soon see them crawling upon the perches, the wires, and even showing themselves among the feathers. They are not larger than the dot over the letter i, but their numbers are often very considerable, and the injury they inflict is great.

Let not one escape, for it may be the parent of hundreds more. When the red-mites have once obtained possession of a cage, their extirpation is a task of very great difficulty to those who do not understand the constitution of the creatures. So difficult, indeed, is the business, that many fanciers will not even attempt it, but burn the cage and buy another. The metal cages, which are now so common, are preferable to those made of wood and wire, inasmuch as they present very few spots wherein the red-mite can find a hiding-place, and for that reason metal is to be preferred to wood. Even if they have gained admission to an ordinary cage, they can be extirpated without very much trouble. We have succeeded in doing so in several instances, and think that in a fortnight any cage can be freed of its troublesome parasites.

First place the cage in the sun for a short time, so as to induce the light-hating mites to leave the bird and hide themselves in the crevices of the cage. Remove the bird, and transfer it to another cage, or even a box, and let it wait. Take the cage and examine it well, introducing a heated needle or thin blade of iron into every crevice. Next take some insect-destroying powder, force it into a hollow paper cylinder, light the paper, put it into the cage, and envelop the whole in a newspaper. Leave it there for an hour, and when you remove it you will see dozens of the red-mites, of all sizes, lying dead on the floor, or clinging half-stupefied by the fumes of the powder. Scrape them all into boiling water, and dust the whole of the cage with the powder.

By this time every mite will be dead; but there is a goodly store of eggs which will be hatched in due time, and infest the cage anew. These are destroyed by means of oil. Take a camel’s hair brush and some salad-oil, and with the brush apply the oil to every crevice. If there should be the tiniest scratch on the wood, touch it with the oil. Let oil be applied to every spot where the wires enter the wood, where they cross each other, and where the hinges of the door are fixed. Every egg will thus be destroyed, and the cage freed.

About half an hour before you restore the bird to the cage hold it in the left hand, and dust it well with the powder, blowing up the feathers, so as to get it well to the roots. Scatter some of the powder upon a piece of soft rag, and roll the bird in it, carefully binding down its legs and wings, under each of which a pinch of powder must be sprinkled. You can now attend to the head, which requires rather neat handling, as the powder is very apt to settle upon the eyes and to worry the bird. Let your feathered pet lie for half an hour in this beneficial bondage, and then replace it in the cage, scattering some powder upon the floor. The bird will shake its plumage sharply, and send a cloud of dust flying, and in a minute or two will begin to peck among the feathers and settle the plumage. The different aspect of the bird is then quite remarkable, for it exchanges the fussy, anxious, fretful moments for quiet ease, and even when it does peck among the feathers, it does so gently and deliberately, and seems quite another bird.

Moulting is a disorder to which the canary is annually subject, and which requires some little attention. Some time in the autumn all the canaries exchange the feathers which have endured the wear and tear of a twelvemonth for a completely new suit. Feathers are subject to damage in many ways, and just before the moult takes place the bird is quite ragged and disreputable in dress. Meanwhile the germs of new feathers have been growing in the sockets which held the old suit, and in the course of a few weeks all the feathers are shed and replaced by others. It may easily be imagined that such an operation is not achieved without much physical disturbance, and it is accordingly found that all birds are more or less indisposed during the time of the moult.

Scarcely any two birds are affected in precisely the same manner, and the “moulting sickness” tells with especial severity upon the young. Quiet and nourishing food are the best remedies for the curious mixture of languor and fever which is always visible among the birds; and the most accomplished canary-breeders are in the habit of giving the yolk of hard-boiled eggs, and even a little raw meat, scraped and cut very fine. Sometimes, in their desire for animal food, the birds pluck the newly-formed feathers from the bodies of their companions, and nibble the still vascular and bleeding ends. Wine is recommended by some fanciers, but we cannot agree with them. The moult is a natural ailment, and the remedies which are best calculated to modify its effects upon the health are those to which the natural instincts of the birds would lead them.

Frequently the claws and bill of the canary become overgrown, and produce very unpleasant results; the latter causing much difficulty in taking food, and the former entangling the foot in the wires of the cage. The remedy in either case is the same. Take the bird in the left hand, and hold it against the light; the overgrown portions of the claws will then be easily distinguished, inasmuch as a delicate scarlet line runs along the centre of each claw and nearly reaches its extremity. Taking this line as your guide, you carefully cut off the overgrown parts with a sharp pair of scissors, and cause thereby immediate relief to your feathered patient. The bill must be cut in the same way, but requires a little more care and some neatness in trimming. No pain is given to the bird when the operation is rightly conducted, for neither bill nor claw possesses sensation.

Dysentery and diarrhœa are very common among cage birds, and should be treated, the former with a drop or two of castor-oil, and the latter with a lump of chalk to peck at, and a rusty nail in the water.

Sometimes the bird loses the feathers of the head and neck, and presents a most ungainly appearance. In such cases rub the head with almond-oil, and feed the bird for a few days on a mixture of lettuce, scalded bread, olive-oil, and a sprinkling of maw seed. Health will soon return, and at the next moult the bird will recover its lost plumage.

Broken legs are of frequent occurrence, and mostly happen by the bird entangling itself in the wires and then struggling to free itself. Overgrown claws are a fertile cause of this misfortune. Do not try to bandage or in any way to meddle with the leg; but put the bird in a separate cage, take away the perches, place the food and water within reach, so that the patient may partake of them without needing to stand, and wait until the limb is healed. The bones unite very rapidly, and in a week or ten days the limb will be nearly as strong as before the accident, and will betray no sign of the recent misfortune.

DOGS.

It is to be supposed that each reader of these pages is either the possessor of a dog, or desires to obtain that privilege, and that he will wish to learn in a few lines the best way of managing and training his favourite.

There are many works which treat of the Dog; but all those which are trustworthy are of very large dimensions, necessarily costly, and contain a vast amount of information which is very valuable to the owner of hounds, to the sportsman, or to the game-keeper, but is not required by the generality of those to whom these words are addressed. We have, therefore, endeavoured to condense into the few pages which can be allotted to a single subject all the information which is absolutely needed by those who keep dogs merely for amusement and the love of their society.

Firstly, we may answer here a question that is often asked--namely, which is the best breed of dogs for ordinary purposes? We of course exclude all the strictly sporting dogs, such as the foxhound and harrier, the greyhound, and perhaps the bull-dog, though there is something to be said in favour of the last-mentioned, and somewhat maligned, animal.

The tasks that we wish to impose on the dog are light and simple. We want him to be watchful at night, to alarm the house at the sound of a strange step on the premises; if possible, we want him to be courageous enough to attack an intruder. We want him to be a pleasant companion in our daily walks, to hunt after anything at which we may set him, to swim after any object that we may point out, and to retrieve anything for which we may send him. At the same time, we want him to be completely under command, and to be obedient at the least word or sign.

Lastly, we want him to be cleanly and comfortable in the house, to know how to keep out of the way when he is not wanted, and to be sufficiently clever to learn all kinds of amusing performances.

Where, then, shall we find an animal that is capable of fulfilling all these conditions?

There are several varieties of dogs which are well suited for general purposes. There is the spaniel for example, faithful, affectionate, clever, and docile. There is the poodle, perhaps the best “trick” dog in the world, with his funny curly coat and his soft brown eye, full of intelligence almost human. There is the Newfoundland dog, who is perhaps almost too big to be a dweller within the house. There is the terrier, an amusing, bright-eyed, agile-limbed, fussy animal. There is the Italian greyhound, one of the most beautiful animals in the world, but too delicate to please the taste of a boy. There is the Scotch terrier, that odd, wiry-haired, clever creature, which has so often been immortalised by affectionate owners.

All these varieties are delightful animals, and we like them all. But had we the choice of a dog, we should take neither of them, preferring a mixture between the terrier and the bull-dog, provided, of course, that each were of good breed. Many people fancy that a bull-terrier is a dangerous dog to have about the house, and imagine that it is given to biting without due cause, and is too savage to be turned into a pet.

But much of this misapprehension may be traced to the long-established and popular error regarding the bull-dog. It is seldom that a favourable account of this animal is given, and it is thought to be brutal, stupid, vindictive, and irreclaimably ferocious. It is impossible to deny that too many bull-dogs agree with this description; but it is equally impossible to deny that whenever they possess such bad characters the fault lies almost entirely with their master. “Like master, like dog,” is an old and true saying, which has been based on the experience of many years.

If the bull-dog is properly treated, if the owner makes the animal his companion, and if he carefully studies its character, as every pet owner ought to do, encouraging the good qualities, and gently reproving the bad, it will be as gentle and much more quiet than a King Charles or a toy terrier. Looks are certainly against the animal. There is, perhaps, no creature with a more fell aspect than a thorough-bred bull-dog. Its underhung jaw, its glittering teeth, its sunken eyes, its tremendous chest, and lowering countenance are calculated to inspire terror rather than interest.

Yet, when a bull-dog is managed with a due appreciation of canine nature, its aspect thoroughly belies its true nature. We know a thorough-bred bull-dog belonging to a friend, one of the fiercest and most sullen-looking beasts imaginable. Every one gives the animal a very wide berth; and we confess that when we first saw it we thought that its owner was not acting very wisely in permitting it to walk about unmuzzled. Yet this creature is playful and harmless as a kitten. Its great jaws look positively awful as it opens its mouth, and until its real qualities are known, it requires some little presence of mind to withstand its playful rush.

For a pet, however, the bull-dog is scarcely suited, not being sufficiently active or lively. The purely-bred English terrier, on the other hand, is as mercurial a beast as one can wish to see; but it has little steadiness of purpose, is apt to run riot, and is a rank coward, not daring to face a rat, and having serious doubts before it can make up its mind to attack a mouse; therefore the skilful dog-fancier contrives a judicious mixture of the two breeds, and engrafts the tenacity, endurance, and dauntless courage of the bull-dog upon the more agile and frivolous terrier. Thus he obtains a dog that can do almost anything, and though perhaps it may not surpass, it certainly rivals, almost every other variety of the canine species in its accomplishments. In the capacity for learning tricks it scarcely yields, if it does yield at all, to the poodle. It can retrieve as well as the dog which is especially bred for that purpose. It can hunt the fox with the regular hounds. It can swim and dive as well as the Newfoundland dog. In the house it is one of the wariest and most intelligent of dogs, permitting no unaccustomed footstep to enter the domain without giving warning. It will chase rabbits, weasels, rats, or, indeed, any game, with unextinguishable ardour, and will fight any foe at which its master may set it.

One fault indeed it has. It is just a trifle too quarrelsome with other dogs, and when it meets a strange individual of its own species, and has gone through all the preliminaries of back-arching, bristle-setting, sotto voce growling, and the various performances with which two strange dogs greet each other, it is a little too apt to cut matters short by challenging the other to instant combat. Even this fault, however, is easily overcome by a kind but firm master, who can impress upon his pupil that it is not to fight anything at which he has not set it.

And here let us make a few remarks upon the management of dogs.

Severity is not at all needed, but firmness of purpose is indispensable. Patience and good temper are also two requisites, without which no one should attempt to manage a dog. The animal must be made to feel that when an order is given it has to obey at once, and not even the very slightest act of disobedience should be passed unnoticed. He will soon learn that lesson, and the rest is easy.

If you can procure a dog in his early puppyhood, it is certainly the very best method, and you will not require a whip; but should the animal have attained maturity, you may employ this instrument, but must use it with the greatest discretion. If the dog is worthy of the name, you can punish him in a far more effectual way by appealing to his sense of shame than by flogging him; but if you once lose your temper, and begin to inflict a beating on the animal, half your influence will vanish.

If the dog wilfully disobeys you, as will often be the case when he is full-grown and is trying your mettle, take him by the neck, tell him how wicked he has been, and give him one very sharp blow; not more than one,--because if you do so he gets so frightened that he forgets all about the scolding. Then let him have another chance, repeat the order, and if he disobeys again, inflict another stroke. He is not likely to offend a third time; and when he obeys the order, speak kindly to him, praise him, and make much of him,--for you can do more with a dog by praise than by rating.

With a dog which you have possessed from puppyhood there is seldom the least necessity for severity. The creature is so accustomed to do what his master desires, that he hardly conceives the possibility of disobedience. Gentle firmness is all that is necessary in such a case; indeed, we are always opposed to the infliction of pain, except in rare instances, where it is the only means by which the animal can be taught the necessity for obedience.

We cannot bear to see a dog look up to its master with the half-frightened, half-shrinking expression which is observable in one that has been accustomed to the whip. The animal ought to consider its master as its best friend, and to run to him when it is in distress, rather than to fear his presence and tremble at his voice.

The Rev. J. G. Wood, writing on this subject, says:--

“My dear old Rory used to be most abjectly miserable when he had offended me. His frisky tail and pretentious ears would droop on such occasions, his easy assured carriage would sink into a listless, spiritless gait, he would hide his head like a naughty child, he would not leave or enter the room openly, but would make the transit of the apartment by slinking under the chairs and tables, so as to keep himself out of sight as much as possible. He would crawl under my chair, and after waiting some time in hopes that I should notice him, would just push his nose against my heel, and then retreat again to his hiding-place. He would not eat, nor drink, nor sleep, nor be comforted by any one until I had spoken the desired words of forgiveness.

“And then, when the first words of reconciliation were spoken, how he would advance with hope beaming in his countenance, still mixed with diffidence, lest he should have mistaken the tone of voice. And when he was quite certain that he was pardoned, when he felt my hand upon his head, how wild he was with delight! How he would jump about, and run from one person to another on his hind legs, and roll over on his back, and pretend to bite every one in turn, and knock the cat over, and bark until he had to be turned out of the room for the sake of preserving the drums of our ears.

“Then how he would get out of the house, dash down the street at full speed, come pelting back again, jump on the window sill, bang with his tail for admission, and then walk quite soberly to his usual place, and lie on the hearthrug just as if nothing had happened.

“There certainly are dogs whose feelings are quite beyond the reach of human sympathies; but it is more than probable that their callousness is attributable to the bad treatment of their owner, and not to any inherent defect in the animal’s nature. In my little book, ‘Glimpses into Petland,’ the reader may see an account of a ridiculous dog who fairly got the better of me by simple vacuity and selfishness. I never saw such a dog in my life, and I really do not want to see such another.

“Nothing could be made of him. He did not care for kindness; he could not be influenced by the whip; he never thought of obeying orders; he got into every scrape in which a dog could by any possibility fall; and was altogether a hopeless subject. Had I been a novice in the management of animals, I should have thought myself in fault; but being tolerably experienced in such matters, I was at no loss to set the failure down to its right source.

“Just before commencing this account, I received a letter from a correspondent who had read the account of ‘Roughie,’ and wrote a vindication of the Skye terrier, to which variety the dog belonged. My correspondent stated that if the Skye terrier were obtained when young, and well treated, it was one of the most affectionate and faithful animals that could be found; but that if it were bandied about from one master to another, it lost all its loving qualities, and became a reckless, selfish beast. Such had evidently been the case with ‘Roughie,’ and thus his peculiar disposition was accounted for.”

We will now just run through the list of the dogs which are best suited for pets. Of the bull-dog we have already spoken, as also of the terrier, which, as we have said, should be, if possible, a mixture of the two varieties. If you can secure a good healthy puppy from well-bred parents, think yourself fortunate, and make much of the dog.

Do not crop his ears. If you have any sporting friends, they will advise you to do so, tell you that it spoils the dog, and give you all kinds of advice about it. Now, in the first place, it is reasonable to think that the dog’s Maker knows best the kind of ear that is most suitable for the dog, and frames it accordingly. If the short, cropped form had really been the best, it would have been made after that pattern, and not left to the scissors of the dog-doctor to complete the work.

So we say to our readers, defy the ridiculous prevailing fashion, and oppose common sense to it. In a few more years this cropping process will be pronounced obsolete and unnatural; so be amongst those who lead opinion, and save your dogs the pain of that cruel and unnecessary process. Not long ago worming was all the fashion. No dog was considered safe unless it had been wormed; that is, unless the under side of the tongue had been cut open, and the central tendon pulled out. Of course, when a tendon is drawn from the living body and laid in the cold air, it contracts and twists about. Therefore it was held to be a worm, and everywhere believed to be the cause of hydrophobia.

Horses, again, were cropped in a most atrocious manner. Their ears were clipped close to their head, and their tails were cut quite short, leaving only a few inches of hair on the stump; so that the French satirist was quite justified in his sneer against the English as a people, who, he said, cut off the tails of their horses and the heads of their kings. The French did both afterwards, with the addition of a queen and a few princes. Nor was this all. The under side of the tail was cut across in several places--nicking, the operation was called--and then the tail was forcibly bent upwards, and tied in that position until the wounds healed, and the member left immovable. Fancy the torture the poor animals must have undergone, the fresh wounds being torn open and exposed to the air!

Mr. Waterton, the venerable naturalist, remarks that in former days he tried to aid the cause of humanity by his example, and rode a horse with a proper allowance of tail and with uncropped ears. The experiment failed. The “arbitrium popularis auræ” was pleased to declare itself against ears and tails. There was such a commotion whenever the humane rider ventured to show himself abroad on a horse which possessed the abominations of ears and a tail--he was so mobbed, and his horse was so reft of his tail by the urchins who wanted fishing-lines--that, for the sake of the beast as well as himself, Mr. Waterton was obliged to conform to the popular verdict, and dock the tail of his horse as a compromise for his ears.

Now, however, the verdict of popular opinion has undergone a change, and horses are permitted to wear their ears and tails; and the time will come before very long when a dog will be thought as much disfigured by having cropped ears as he is now thought to be when he is allowed to wear those members in their natural proportions.

The only rational excuse that can be put forward for adopting such a practice is that which is employed by the owners of game-cocks, when they clip the combs of their feathered protégés. It is, that the length of the ear affords a hold for an antagonist. But as it is not to be supposed that any of my readers are likely to belong to that brutal class of human beings who keep dogs for the purpose of making them fight each other, we may pronounce that not one single valid reason can be urged for depriving a dog of his ears.

There is the poodle, a delightful dog for a pet. They are docile in no ordinary degree, and can learn all kinds of tricks without seeming to take much trouble. Performing dogs mostly belong to this variety, and very amusing are the tricks which they will learn. They will dance a polka with easy skill. They will imitate a ball-room company with such ludicrous burlesque that no one can resist the temptation of laughing. They will walk about on their hind legs, on their fore legs, and have even been seen to walk with the two legs of one side, the other legs being held up in the air.

It was difficult to imagine how they could have been taught such a feat; but it had been done by setting a board on edge, hitching the two legs of the left side over the board, and making the dog walk along in this attitude. After passing along the board three or four times, the dogs found that they could lighten the labour by holding their upper legs clear of the board, and so they soon learned to dispense with its presence.

If you do have a poodle, you must wash him often and carefully, because these long, curly-headed dogs are apt to give out a disagreeable odour unless they are kept very clean. But do not on any account clip his hair in the stupid and ugly fashion that is so often adopted, and which was first imported from France.

In that country they shave all kinds of dogs in the same manner, leaving only a ruff round the neck, a tuft on each leg, and a tuft on the end of the tail. There are men and women who make the clipping of dogs a profession. They have carts with pictures of dogs undergoing the process, and they perambulate the streets in search of patients, just as knife-grinders do in search of work.

When they have collected a goodly assemblage of dogs, they set off to the river side, and take up their station under one of the bridges. The poor dogs, which have been trailing behind the cart at the end of cords, are now bound and muzzled, and miserable objects they look as they lie on their sides awaiting the shears of the operator. The hair that is removed is put into sacks, and sold, it is said, for manure; and the dogs are returned to their owners, metamorphosed out of all knowledge, and shivering at the slightest breeze.

If your dog should be ever troubled with ticks and fleas, you may free him from his foes in ten minutes. First tie up his mouth with a piece of broad tape, to prevent him from licking off the substance which is to be applied; and if he is not very well under command, tie his legs also. Then lay him on a cloth, sprinkle him over with the insect-powder, which may be procured in small quantities at No. 33, Newgate Street, and rub the powder well into his fur from his nose to the tip of his tail. When you have done this, roll the cloth round him, and pin it well together, so as to envelop him entirely in its folds.

You may let him lie as long as you like, but ten minutes will mostly be sufficient; then with a hard brush go all over him, and brush out all the powder into the cloth. You will be surprised at the multitude of parasites which will be lying dead and dying in the cloth. The powder, insects, and all should be carefully shot into the fire, and your doggie will be grateful to you for the relief which you have afforded him.

Perhaps next to the bull-terrier ought to come the Scotch terrier, a dog that will hunt anything, and is always a quaint, independent beast, with something of the lawless Highlander about him, but a capital companion for any one who values dogs and knows how to treat them. Spaniels are all beautiful creatures, very affectionate, and often very clever; but their long, silky hair gets sadly bedabbled with mud and wet, and they cannot be admitted into the house until they have undergone a careful purification.

Whatever dog you may have, do not tie him up in a kennel, or, at all events, allow the animal to enjoy human society for some hours daily. Dogs are made savage by this too frequent procedure, especially those whose blood is purest and whose spirits are highest. A dog that is chained to one spot is sure to be irritable and captious, just as would be the case with a man who is tied to one spot. Even the kingly spirit of Napoleon lost its grandeur and became peevish and fretful when that restless and ambitious nature was confined within the narrow limits of a rocky island; and we cannot expect that the mind of a dog should be superior to that of an autocrat.

As to the food of the dog, there is one simple rule,--do not overfeed him; and, above all, never let him have scraps at meal times. It is a very tempting practice, for the dog is so insinuating in the manner of his request, and his thanks are expressed so warmly, that some little strength of mind is required to refuse his demands. Still it is one of the occasions on which the dog’s owner must show his firmness, for there are few more miserable beings than a fat, over-fed dog. His life is a positive burden to him, and the only remedy is to starve him down to his proper dimensions. Give the animal but little meat and plenty of biscuit, feed it once only per diem, and you will be repaid by the healthy and active condition of your pet.

Lastly, as it is likely that the dog may fall into one of those canine ailments which are to dogs what measles and chicken-pox and whooping-cough are to children, we will just give a brief piece of advice.

Distemper is the most common and most annoying of those ailments; and if the services of a professional dog-doctor can be had, let the animal be placed under his care. If no such assistance can be obtained, the best plan is to give the dog no solid food, but to administer gruel or weak broth, to prohibit every kind of exercise, and see that the ventilation and cleanliness of his house are as perfect as possible. Leave the rest to nature; and when the patient is recovering, let it be led about to exercise, so as to avoid over-fatigue, which would, as a matter of course, throw him back again.

GOLD AND SILVER FISH.

These are of the carp family, and have been known in this country from the year 1691. They abound in the fresh-water ponds, lakes, and rivers of China; nor are they, indeed, at the present time quite uncommon in our own climate, being now naturalised in ponds, and breeding freely in pure waters. At Hampton Court are to be seen some of the finest specimens of the family, originally placed there by Mr. Jesse, to whom the frequenters of that place of public resort are so much indebted. They have increased to several hundreds, and many of them are of prodigious size and very fat, being to fish what royal porters are to men.

The colours of gold-fish are liable to the greatest variation: some are nearly all gold, mingled with red; some are marked with a fine blue, brown, or bright silver hue; but the usually predominant colour is that of a brilliant gold. As an article of food, they are not used; and are only valued for their beauty and gentleness. It is a curious fact in the history of the gold-fish, that it will bear without injury the extremes of heat and cold; as it will live equally well in a tank, in a glass vase, and in a pond in the open air. Instances have been known of gold-fish having been frozen hard and stiff in the water, but yet, upon being gradually thawed, becoming perfectly healthy and well.

Although many preserves of gold and silver fish exist in this country, the supply was principally from Portugal, where they abound. They are brought over in large numbers about spring time; and then numerous perambulatory gentlemen, having purchased a few small glasses of the most inferior description, and fish at twopence each, very moderately ask, and often receive, for a couple of fish, glass, and water the sum of five shillings; but our young friends must beware of such persons, for the fish they sell usually die in a few days or weeks.

The silver-fish differs from the gold-fish only in colour, which is similar to silver tissue: it generally has scarlet fins, and is curiously marked in different parts of the body. Both varieties are also subject to variations in the fins, which are occasionally double; and specimens have been seen with triple tails.

GLASSES.

The glasses, or globes, should be moderately large, with wide mouths, and three-fourths filled with water. For two fish the globe should be at least a foot in diameter; and for three or four fish, sixteen inches. They should be kept in a cool place--never exposed to a burning sun, or the heat of a fire. Too many should never be crowded into one glass. A few branches of box should be kept in the globe, for them to rub against, which should be changed once a week.

FEEDING.

Some persons fancy that gold and silver fish need no food. It is true that they will subsist for a long time with nothing but water, when it is pure and frequently changed. They are best pleased with such jejune diet as bread or biscuit; but these should be given sparingly, lest, turning sour, they corrupt the water. They will also feed on the aquatic plant called lemna, or duck’s-weed, and also on small fry. Hawkins, the editor of Walton, says that fine gravel should be strewed at the bottom of the vessel that contains the fish; and he directs them to be fed on bread and gentles, and to have their water frequently changed.

DISEASES.

You can easily tell when a fish is falling off in his health by observing him frequently coming up to the surface of the water for air. This shows he has not sufficient power in his gills to extract the air from the water. He also looks dull, and his motions are languid; a hazy or cobwebby appearance likewise seems to envelop his body, and perhaps some of the scales will drop off. When a fish gets into this unhealthy state, he should be immediately removed from the others, who should have fresh water given them several days in succession. The best remedy for diseased fish is to put them into a pond for a few weeks; and it is especially necessary for female fish, which, if not so treated, frequently die for want of spawning. A fish is sometimes saved by being placed in a little artificial dam, made from some running stream in a garden, for two or three days; but their diseases are at all times very difficult to remedy. The best way is to prevent them by the precautionary measures--plenty of room and pure water.

THE GUINEA-PIG.

The guinea-pig, or restless cavy, is a prettily-marked, stupid, little animal, which came originally from South America, and has long been a favourite with most little boys, for when a boy becomes a youth he aspires to keeping something more interesting than these senseless little squeakers. Still it is a pretty sight to see the old ones followed by two or three litters, and to watch their antics when pleased, which consist of a squeak and a peculiar sharp turn, as if they tried to jump out of their skins, but could not, for they are fitted in too tightly for that. As for the use they are, why, they eat and sleep--

“Just do nothing all the day, And soundly sleep the night away.”

It is, however, a pretty, harmless, little animal; but as a pet is far inferior to others that are more commonly kept. Though gentle and inoffensive in its manners, it seems incapable of feeling the slightest attachment for those who feed and caress it--even for its own offspring it evinces little or no affection: it will not only suffer them to be destroyed before its face, without making the smallest efforts to defend them, but will even at times devour them itself. For all useful purposes guinea-pigs are utterly valueless, though their flesh is used as an article of food in their native country; and their skins, notwithstanding the beautiful sleekness of their appearance, have as yet been turned to no account by the furrier. Their only recommendations, therefore, are the gentleness of their disposition, the cleanliness of their habits, and the beautiful colouring of their coats. In this latter respect they are very varied; black, white, bright reddish brown, and a mixture of the three, called tortoiseshell, being the principal varieties. The latter are the most prized, particularly where the dark colours predominate.

In their native country they are generally of a pure white, with pink eyes, and it is nothing unusual to have one out of a litter white with pink eyes in this country.

Rats are supposed by many people to have a great antipathy to guinea-pigs, carefully avoiding the place where they are confined. Under this impression--which, however, is an erroneous one--they are frequently kept by fanciers in their rabbit-houses and pigeon-lofts, as a means of protecting their stock against the depredations of those rapacious vermin. They are allowed to run almost anywhere, and to shift for themselves: no attention whatever need be paid to the feeding of them, the mere refuse scattered about the floor being sufficient for their subsistence.

When, however, they are kept for amusement, their cages are generally made precisely similar to the rabbit’s hutch, only of rather smaller dimensions: their treatment, too, in most respects, is much the same as that pursued with regard to that animal. Their ordinary food should be oats given twice a day, and not too many at a time. They are also very fond of bran, which is a cheap diet; and they will fatten upon it, and keep healthy, if allowed plenty of exercise. Green meat should also form a portion of their usual diet, particularly the wild sorts, such as dandelions, sowthistle, plantain, &c.; tea-leaves they are remarkably fond of, but these should only be given them now and then by way of a treat; bread, also, they are very partial to, dipped in milk or water.

They are sold by all bird-fanciers; the prices varying from sixpence to half-a-crown, according to their age, colour, &c.: as before remarked, the dark rich-coloured tortoiseshell ones are considered the most valuable.

THE HEDGEHOG.

This, though a rough and prickly customer to handle, is a clean little animal, and a great pet with country boys. If you have ever seen one--and they are commonly sold at the shops kept by men who call themselves bird-fanciers, or even hawked about the streets of London by countrymen--if you have seen one, you are aware that, saving the belly, they are covered with sharp spikes, and that when alarmed, or whenever they please, they have the power of rolling themselves up into a tight round ball, which shows nothing but spikes, and may be rolled along, like a cricket-ball, without causing the little animal to uncoil itself, while every spike is firm and erect as a needle, and almost as sharp. While in this shape very few dogs can worry the hedgehog; and as for the fox, who is rather partial to him, true to his wily nature, he rolls the poor hedgehog along with his paws until he comes to a pool of water, when the hedgehog unrolls himself, exclaiming, no doubt, “Hey! why, what’s this? I can’t breathe!” and trying to peep about and see what’s the matter, the fox, on the look-out, seizes him by the belly, and eats him all up, saving the spines. Were you to thrust a dozen pins with large heads through a piece of parchment, you would have an exact representation of the spines of the hedgehog, every one of which is retained inside the skin by the large pin-like head.

Some say that it sucks the cows, and draws off their milk; but this is absurd, as its mouth is not adapted for sucking. Its favourite food are insects and snails: it also feeds on frogs and mice, and will even kill a snake, and eat it all up, beginning at the tail. The way it kills a snake is very curious. It gives the snake a bite on the back, then rolls itself up like a ball, remaining still as a stone for some time, while the snake lashes and writhes about in agony; as soon as the snake is a little quiet the hedgehog gives him another sharp bite on the spine, and so continues until the snake is killed; then he begins at the tail, as the Rev. J. G. Wood tells us in his “Illustrated Natural History,” and eats him up “as one would a radish.” In a natural state it sleeps all the winter, rolled up in a hole which it has filled with grass, moss, or leaves; and when domesticated, it will hide itself in some dark corner for weeks, and never once make its appearance, unless it chances to awake and feel hungry; then some day you will see it come creeping towards the fire, and be very glad to see it too. Hedgehogs are great destroyers of beetles, eating them up as quickly as you would a handful of raisins, and seeming fond of them. They need no looking after at all, but will take care of themselves, though it is as well to have a little hutch to put them into now and then. Their feeding-time is in the night; and if there are black-beetles in the kitchen, the best plan is to leave the hedgehog there, and let him devour all he can catch. They have four or five young ones at a litter, which are born blind. It is no uncommon sight to see a countryman with both old and young ones to sell. You can buy a young hedgehog for sixpence, and an old one for a shilling, or less than that even. We know of no animal that is less trouble to keep, and in time it becomes so tame as to come out of its hiding-place when called.

THE JACKDAW.

To procure a raven, an order to a dealer is almost necessary; but every boy should be ashamed if he cannot catch a young jackdaw for himself. These quaint birds make their nests in all kinds of places, especially affecting old buildings, such as church towers, ruins, or colleges. There is hardly an ancient church throughout the kingdom where a basketful of young jackdaws could not be obtained within half an hour, and old ruins positively swarm with them. It is curious to see how birds of such different habits as jackdaws, owls, pigeons, and starlings will roost amicably in the same locality, not appearing to have the least distrust of each other, or making half the fuss about their dwelling-places that is created nightly by the sparrows when settling to rest.

Failing ruins and towers, he will take possession of deserted rook-nests; and in cases of great distress, when the country is wide, where men will not build towers, where rooks and crows will not build nests, he is forced to fly for succour to the sea-shore and the warren, and make his home with the gannets and the rabbits.

Many a person has been surprised, on looking into a deserted rabbit burrow, to find it choked up with a strange mass of sticks and twigs, and still more surprised when he has brought to view a couple of jackdaw’s eggs, or hears the hungry cries of the young birds. This seeming alliance of the rabbit and the jackdaw is not unique, for it is observed in the Coquimbo owl, or burrowing owl, as it is sometimes called, and the prairie dog of North America, both of which reside within the same warren, and seem perfectly satisfied with each other’s company.

The sea-birds, too, receive the jackdaw into alliance, and whole colonies of these grey-hooded birds may be seen hovering about the lofty cliffs that bound our coasts, crying “Jack! Jack!” in inharmonious chorus with the sea-birds’ wail.

Sometimes a young and too artless bird leaves its nest before it is rightly able to use its wings, and is unable to ascend to the summit of the cliffs, flapping idly about the shore, driven nearer and nearer to the rocks by the advancing tide. The whole colony is roused by the misfortune. They wheel about in the air over the unfortunate bird with cries of distress; they do their best to encourage it to ascend; but their endeavours are all in vain. Time after time it aims at gaining the summit of the cliff, but strikes against the rock, and falls again to the sands.

In some spots it contrives to gain an elevated perch, and then waits the ebb of the tide; but in those places where the rocks afford no resting-place within a moderate distance of the water’s edge the fate of the poor bird is sealed.

Jackdaws are very easily tamed, and become very talkative, after their fashion. Their vocabulary is, however, limited, and is mostly restricted to the word “Jack,” which is uttered on every imaginable occasion. If the bird sees its master coming, it calls “Jack!” in order to express its joy; if it does not see him, it calls “Jack!” in order to induce him to come. If it hears a strange noise, it uses the same remark by way of giving notice; and if it hears its own name, it thinks itself bound to repeat the word as a polite recognition.

It is a very vigilant bird, and is quite as useful as a watch-dog to those who wish to gain early intelligence of strange visitors. It is not nearly so mischievous as many of its compeers, but sits for the greater part of the day on some chosen perch, and thence surveys the objects around. A passing bee or beetle, however, immediately arouses its energies: it pounces on them with unfailing certainty, batters them to a shapeless pulp against a stone, and swallows them leisurely. It will also catch mice, kill them by severe blows of the beak upon the head, pull them to pieces, and eat them systematically, rejecting the skin as indigestible and unsavoury.

As a general rule, it should be left out of the way of water; for it is a positive slave to the bath, and would bathe so frequently that it would not even give itself time to become dry. It may be fed on bread and milk, oats, mice, small birds, insects, meat, or, indeed, upon almost anything that can be eaten by the rapacious or frugivorous birds. It is of an affectionate nature, and will attach itself firmly to those who extend their sympathy towards it.

THE JAY.

The jay is a truly handsome bird, and will bear comparison with any of the exotic species of the same genus. Although it does not possess the exuberance of plumage nor the vivid brilliancy of colour that distinguish many of the jays which inhabit the hotter parts of the world, there is great beauty in the softly-toned hues of the general plumage and the boldly-contrasted bars of azure and black upon the wings. The moveable crest upon the head imparts a wonderful intelligence to the expression, and when the bird ruffles up and displays these ornamental plumes, a fresh charm is added to its appearance.

The jay is not nearly so common a pet as the magpie or jackdaw, probably because it is a rare bird, and seems yearly to be diminishing in numbers. It is not so impatient of captivity as the magpie, and will bear confinement in a large cage with tolerable hardiness.

In its native state the jay seems to be rather more of a vegetarian than the previously mentioned examples of the corvine birds. Still it will eat meat, small birds, mice, insects, worms, &c., and has been known to attack and devastate the nests of the thrush and other birds, and devour the half-fledged young. But if any proprietor of a jay is desirous of giving his pet an especial treat, he should supply him with a fresh egg. Any egg will answer the purpose, but if the jay seems to have a preference, the gaily-coloured egg of the thrush, perhaps, is most attractive.

Like the magpie, he will soon learn to talk, and displays powers of imitation scarcely, if at all, inferior to those enjoyed by that lively bird. Even such sounds as the lowing of cattle, the grunting of pigs, the bleating of sheep, or the neighing of horses, are reproduced with marvellous fidelity by the jay, although its ordinary note is a soft and rather pleasing cry.

THE MAGPIE.

But what are we to say of the magpie, the very Mercury of the feathered tribes,--light, active, eloquent, and the most accomplished thief in the world? He wears all his bad qualities in the face, is not the least of a hypocrite, and carries off his delinquencies with so impudent an air that no one can help admiring him, however they may object to his principles.

Not being so plentiful in England as the jackdaw, and building his nest on the summits of lofty trees, he is not so readily procured as that bird. He is, however, so extremely amusing in his manners, that most persons would rather expend a little more money in procuring a healthy magpie than give a much less sum for the more phlegmatic jackdaw. His mischievous propensities are proverbial, and anybody who keeps one of these birds must be prepared for the commission of every imaginable delinquency. Nor must he blame the bird if it should happen to steal his watch-chain, peck a hole through his best boots, fill his bed with sticks and pebbles, upset his ink-bottle, tear his papers, put his kid gloves into the dirtiest procurable puddle, or play practical jokes of a similar kind; he has only himself to thank for his carelessness in allowing it access to his domains.

But if he makes up his mind that under such provoking circumstances the blame rests with himself, and that he will not be angry with the bird for following the dictates of its instinct, he will find his magpie a most entertaining companion, as full of odd tricks as a monkey, and as playful as a kitten. It requires very little attention, and provided that he be regularly fed, and furnished with a shelter in case of inclement weather, he will live to a venerable old age.

The fertility of invention that characterises a magpie’s mind is perfectly astonishing, and the anecdotes that are related by every one who has watched his habits are as varied as they are wonderful. There is an amount of self-reliance in the creature which betrays itself in every gesture, as well as in the knowing twist of the head; and the triumphant “carrack” that accompanies a successful piece of mischief and the impudent flirt of the tail afford unmistakeable evidence of the bird’s true character.

None of the corvine birds should be kept in cages. The jackdaw perhaps suffers least from such captivity, and the magpie perhaps the most. It has such a restless nature, that it is ever on the move, and if confined, in a cage, may be seen hopping from perch to floor, and from floor to perch, in miserable monotony of movement. Moreover, his beautiful tail always suffers severely from contact with the bars of the cage; and even if it is not rubbed down to a mere stump, as is frequently the case, it is always rendered ragged and disreputable at the tip.

As a general fact, the ordinary wicker cages are of small use. A lively, active magpie, with all its senses developed, will make little of such a cage. Sometimes he will direct his attention to the door, and never rest until he has pulled it off the hinges. Sometimes he will set deliberately to work, and peck so fiercely and continuously at the bars, that he will break them away in splinters, and make his way out. However, the best plan is to avoid cages; or if the bird really must be placed in confinement, let the cage be roomy, and made of wire.

Perhaps the chief charm of the magpie is his great capability for learning to talk, and his exceeding readiness to display that accomplishment. Some individuals are more eloquent than others, have a clearer articulation and a better memory,--just as is the case among human beings. But though all magpies may not be peculiarly excellent in their powers of conversation, they can all be taught to talk after a fashion, and are seldom chary of exhibiting their powers.

A magpie has been known to imitate the human voice so perfectly that he has induced his dupe to answer his queries, believing them to have been made by the lad whose peculiar voice was so well simulated. Very little trouble is needful to teach a magpie to talk, for his imitative instincts are very largely developed, and he is sure to reproduce with marvellous fidelity the various sounds which he may hear. He can bark like a dog, mew like a cat, cry like a child, scream like a costermonger, and occasionally swear like a trooper. But he means no harm, and may be pardoned for the unrefined language he is sometimes in the habit of using.

Magpies require plenty of water--not so much for drinking, although they are always thirsty birds, but for washing. They are extremely fond of bathing, and a plentiful supply of water is needful to keep their beautiful plumage in proper condition. The food of the magpie is the same as that of the jackdaw.

OWLS.

There are worse pets to be found than owls. They are not so immediately engaging as many creatures that have already been mentioned, but by proper management they can be made into very companionable birds, quaint, grotesque, and affectionate withal.

The chief drawback to the owl as a pet is its nocturnal habits, which cause the bird to sleep during the day and to be awake during the night. To a certain degree this custom may be corrected. The chief reason why the owl wakes at night is, that it preys upon mice and other nocturnal creatures, whether mammals or insects, and must in consequence be able to pounce upon them as they rove abroad.

Now, although at first to wake the owl will be found rather a tedious business, and to keep it awake still more difficult, a present of a mouse, or a small bird, or a large beetle, will generally rouse it, and cause it to remain awake for some little time.

To change the creature into a wholly diurnal bird is impossible, inasmuch as the entire bodily structure, as well as the temperament, is that of a nocturnal being. The eyes, for example, are formed for vision in a very dim light, being of very great size, and with pupils so large that the ordinary light of day is painful to the bird, and dazzles it so much that it cannot see sufficiently to direct its flight. Exceptional cases have occurred, in which owls have been seen abroad in the daytime, and been observed in the act of catching mice at mid-day; but such an event occurs very seldom.

Even when the bird is placed in a comparatively dark room, where the rays of the sun cannot beat upon it, the eyes are continually blinking as long as they are open, and the large nictitating membrane is ever and anon drawn over them. It may here be mentioned that the nictitating membrane is a kind of inner eyelid, made of very elastic membrane, which is gathered up in one corner of the socket, can be drawn over the eye by means of special muscles, and returns by its own elasticity when the tension is removed. It is peculiarly strong in birds of prey, and the best examples of this curious structure are to be found in the owls.

In general, the owl sits, or rather stands, during the daytime, fast asleep, having a very quaint aspect, the eyes being reduced to a mere pair of lines, sloping towards the bill, and surrounded by the round discs of stiff feathers which form a “splayed” window in the dense plumage, and allow the bird a wider scope of vision than it would enjoy if the aperture in the feathers were no larger than the eye itself. Altogether the bird looks wonderfully like a Chinese mandarin of very high rank, and consequently of great obesity; the sloping linear eyelids being just as oblique as those of the Chinamen, and the two feather discs representing the huge round spectacles with which the Chinese are accustomed to aid their vision.

The position of the owl when at rest is rather curious. Instead of sitting with its head reposing on the shoulder, its legs bent, and its claws firmly grasping the perch, the bird stands stiffly upright, with its legs perfectly straight and its head upright. Here we ought to mention the popular error that birds sleep with their heads under their wings. Not only is this mistake impressed upon the young, and fostered by such familiar nursery-rhymes as that of “The north wind doth blow,” but it is in force even among educated persons, who have learned to observe as well as to think. In a recent controversy about fresh air and human lungs some of the advocates for stuffiness and closed windows employed as an argument the imagined fact that, when birds go to sleep, they exclude fresh air by tucking their heads under their wings. The force of their arguments and the accuracy of their facts were about on a par. Many birds compose themselves to sleep, but no one ever yet saw a bird put its head under its wing when going to roost. The real process is simple enough, as any one can prove who will take the trouble to watch a parrot or canary. The bird first settles itself in a comfortable attitude, which varies according to the species, and then turns its head round, and puts its beak among the loose feathers of the shoulder, the wings being kept closed and held firmly against the body.

Owls may be procured in various methods. If the reader should happen to possess proper premises, he will find that to attract owls will be as easy as to buy them, and will give him better opportunities of studying their habits. All that is required is the command of a retired spot, where the birds will not be annoyed. A little ingenuity and the expenditure of a few shillings will do the rest.

It is impossible to have a better or more complete plan of attracting the owls than that which is employed by Mr. Waterton at Walton Hall. He can, and does, attract all kinds of birds to his domain by the simple plan of affording them a secure shelter and the prospect of food. In the case of the owls the first precaution is the only one that is needful, the birds being perfectly capable of finding food for themselves. Possibly a few mice thrown on the ground might assist in attracting the birds; but as they will come when no such precaution is taken, such bait may be omitted.

There is a popular idea that neither the lion, the eagle, or the owl will eat game which they have not killed. Nothing can be more opposed to fact than such a notion: for the lion is generally killed by laying in his haunts a dead animal, which he is sure to eat; the eagle is only too glad to pick up a dead lamb; and the owl will carry off almost any number of dead mice that are placed in its way.

If the reader wishes to attract owls to his premises, he must prepare habitations for them. Knowing that the common barn owl, or white owl, as it is sometimes called, is fond of resting in buildings, Mr. Waterton has taken great pains to erect certain domiciles of which the owls are likely to approve. A large hole made in an old ruin is sure to attract the barn owl, especially if it be well sheltered with ivy, and a stout perch across the cavity may be useful. There are owl-houses in different parts of the domain, all tenanted by some bird, and most of them by the inhabitant for whose use they were made.

The jackdaw is the most pertinacious usurper that can be imagined. Any house that will suit an owl will suit a jackdaw, and the daw is so keen at discovery and so quick at utilizing his faculties, that he takes possession, and fills the hole with sticks, before the owls have a chance of securing their home.

If the brown owl is wanted, there are few places like a hollow tree, an article which can often be purchased very cheaply, set up in the grounds, and its interior arranged for the reception of the birds.

A writer in the Field newspaper has mentioned that he has been very successful in attracting the brown owl by means of an empty eighteen-gallon cask, made very clean, and fastened in a tree. A perch was placed inside, a convenient entrance-hole cut, and a quantity of very dry touchwood placed within. On this touchwood much of the success seemed to depend, for wherever it was omitted the owls declined to take possession of the cask. In order to fit it for its purpose, it was carefully dried in an oven. The exterior of the cask was painted so as to harmonize with the colours of the tree.

Should the reader be unable to fit up such a residence, he may always purchase young owls at a cheap rate, and can train them after his own fashion. In order to show how much amusement may be given by so despised a bird as the owl, the following extract from a private letter is interesting:--

“I saw a curious sight yesterday, which I think quite worth communicating to you. Some folks about us have got a young owl just fledged, and one of the boys had given him for his supper a dead swift, rather high and gamey. While he was enjoying this dainty, a young tabby kitten, æt. about eight weeks, came on the scene, and walking up to the owl, deliberately invited herself to a share in the repast. Mr. Owl did not express any objection, save by expanding his wings over his food, more suo, whereupon pussy crept under the outstretched wing, and went in for her share. It was droll enough to see the two going halves, especially as every now and then the owl got pussy’s ear by mistake, and she in like manner began gnawing at his claw.

“But the scene reached its climax by the appearance of five young ducklings hatched on Thursday last” (the date of the letter shows that it was written on Friday, and consequently that the ducklings in question were just eight days old), “who surrounded the group, and did what they could to help. The smell of the dead bird attracted, as I suppose, many small flies, which hovered about and settled, now on the owl, now on the cat, and now on the unfortunate swift. They had better have stayed away, however, for the ducklings snapped them up as fast as they alighted, while both the owl and the cat seemed quite to disregard the pokes and pecks which their bodies received from the sturdy bills of the ducklings.”

If the reader should keep owls in confinement, where they cannot procure food for themselves, he must remember that they are hungry beings, and give them plenty of food. They will eat almost any kind of meat, but are very fond of mice and small birds, the latter of which they will mostly contrive to swallow entire. There is no doubt that all the British owls feed upon small birds when they can procure them. They have been observed in the act of robbing the nests, in spite of the screams and attacks of the angry parents, and the skulls, feathers, and bones of the murdered birds have been seen in the pellets which all owls disgorge.

In common with most raptorial birds, the owls disgorge the indigestible parts of their food, such as the bones, the feathers, and the skin; and as the owl eats its prey entire, the amount of such substances is remarkable. They are formed into egg-shaped masses, and may be found in plenty in the nest or on the ground near the nest. In some parts of the country these castings are called “quids.” When they are first ejected, they are wet and rather tenacious; but they rapidly become dry, and can then be crumbled down into a soft flock-like substance, which forms the bed on which the eggs repose.

These eggs can easily be recognised by their peculiar shape and texture. In form they are very globular, their shells are very thin, and the surface is rough and chalk-like, as if some one had ground a piece of chalk into coarse powder, mixed it with gum, and painted the egg with the mixture. Any one who is experienced in such matters knows an owl’s egg as soon as he handles it, even though he cannot see the object which he touches.

Their method of eating mice is very curious, and that the owl should derive any gratification from the process seems to be rather remarkable. The owl catches the mouse with its foot--a member that is wonderfully fitted for the purpose--and then shifts the mouse to its beak; in this respect differing from the hawks, which hold the prey with the foot, and only use the beak for the purpose of tearing it to pieces. At the Zoological Gardens the falcons may be seen at feeding-time with the meat in their claws, never taking it in the beak when they move, but hobbling about with a lump of raw meat hanging to one foot, and presenting a very absurd spectacle.

When the owl has settled itself into a comfortable position, it gives a kind of snap and a gulp, and in a moment the head of the mouse is in its throat. Another gulp and a shake of the head, and the mouse has disappeared, with the exception of the tail, which hangs on one side of the beak. This part of the process seems to afford the owl the greatest satisfaction, for the bird remains for some time in this attitude, standing perfectly still, but giving the tail an occasional roll in the beak. Suddenly the head goes back with a jerk, the eyes close, there is a mighty gulp, and the tail has followed the mouse into the bird’s stomach. The whole process of swallowing the prey is very much like that which may be observed in the toad, the gulping effort to swallow appearing to be equally great in either case.

All owls can be treated in a similar manner, so that there is no need of mentioning them individually. If, however, either of the eared owls can be obtained, the young naturalist should not fail to do so. Owls kept in captivity should not be placed in cages, provided that other accommodation can be furnished, but should have a dark recess in which they can sit during the day, and where they can always be found. They are not easily seen by inexperienced eyes, as they have a habit of choosing perches in spots where their colour harmonizes with that of the locality. When properly treated, the owl can be made quite tame; but unless it be taken when young, it is rather uncertain in temper, biting very sharply. If any one approaches the owl, and hears a quick, snapping sound, as if an elastic piece of wood were “flicked” against a table, he may take it as a warning that the bird does not approve of him, and that he had better not trust his hands too near the owl.

Any one can see how cat-like are the owls in their general physiognomy, as well as in their nocturnal and mouse-loving habits; and they even carry their feline propensities into peculiarities of diet. No animals are less aquatic than the cat, and yet none are more fond of fish. Even the best bred and most carefully-trained cat finds a difficulty in resisting her appetite when she sees fish on the table, and she can hardly have a greater treat than an occasional sprat, herring, or plaice. Angler-cats are not uncommon: several that were accustomed to haunt the water side have been known to catch the fish in shallow water, and would even plunge into deep water for their prey. In like manner the owl is a great fish-lover, and has been seen in the act of dropping into the water, and rising again in the air with a fish in its claws. Now it is an invariable rule with animals of all kinds, that these little aberrations, if we may so term them, are conducive to health: a very familiar instance is the occasional grass-eating propensities of the dog and cat. The young naturalist will therefore consult the health of his owl pets by giving them a fish now and then, as well as a few large insects, in addition to their ordinary diet.

THE PARROT.

Among the vast multitude of birds which inhabit all parts of the earth, or even among the many species which are found in our own country, it is no easy matter to make a first choice. We will, however, commence with the parrot; and before proceeding to describe the several species which are generally in vogue among English fanciers, we may remark that the parrots, paroquets, macaws, and cockatoos are found in almost every warm portion of the globe. Many of the largest and most magnificent species inhabit South America, while Australia is remarkable for possessing several examples of this beautiful group of bird that are most interesting to the young naturalist on account of their form, colour, and habits.

One species, the Long-billed Parrot, or Nestor, scientifically called Nestor productus, is now, as is feared, totally extinct, the last known specimen having been shot some years ago. This curious bird was notable for a wonderfully long upper mandible, very like a pickaxe in shape, and employed in much the same service, being used for digging out of the ground the roots and other vegetable substances on which the bird was accustomed to feed. It is rather remarkable that, although this strange land is very rich in the parrot tribe, none of them except the cockatoo can be taught to speak, being apparently incapable of any imitation of the human voice, and rarely uttering any sound except a scream or a chuckle. Asia also possesses some very elegant species.

All the birds belonging to this tribe are furnished with rather big heads, very large and curved beaks, with the upper mandible hooked well over the lower, which is short and stout; and their toes are so formed that they are divided into two opposable sets, so as to permit the bird to grasp an object in its claws almost as if they were hands. In climbing, an exercise of which the parrots are very fond, the young naturalist will probably observe that the bird makes nearly as much use of its beak as of its feet; and even when tame and accustomed to perch on the hand of its owner, it aids itself in its movements by taking hold of the fingers with its beak, although too gently to cause any injury.

The species which is most celebrated for talking is the Grey Parrot, a well-known bird, living, when wild, in Western Africa, and being at once identified by its grey plumage and short red tail. There are several modes of obtaining this bird, such as requesting a naval friend to bring one home on his return, or going and fetching one for yourself. But as there are few who are so happy as to have an accommodating nautical friend or relative, and still fewer who are able to undergo the perils and hardships of a sea voyage, the best way is to go to a respectable dealer, and give him an order for a young healthy bird. We say a young bird, because the purchaser will then be able to teach it every word that it speaks, and will find his feathered pet become far more familiar than if it entered his possession when aged and with fixed habits. Moreover, an older bird is very apt to pick up all kinds of phrases employed by the sailors on board the ship in which it made its voyage; and although such a vocabulary excites no particular surprise at sea, it is rather too forcible and idiomatic for society.

The worst of the matter is, that the parrot is possessed of an iron memory, and never seems to forget anything it has once learned, however its acquirements may have been overlaid with fresh teachings. It has often happened that a parrot which has behaved for a long time in the most exemplary manner, and employed none but the most refined language, has suddenly met with a sound which recalled all its old associations, and induced the bird to pour forth a copious volley of language too loud to be disregarded, and too plain to be misunderstood.

And parrots are just like children in their propensities for saying the most dreadful things exactly at the most inconvenient times and to the most fastidious persons, always choosing a dead silence for making some deeply reprehensible remark, and invariably addressing their observations to some lady or some staid ecclesiastical dignitary.

Parrots are marvellously nervous birds, and while young will often throw themselves into such paroxysms of fear at the mere sight of a stranger, that they will even endanger their lives. They have an odd and unpleasant habit of scolding on such occasions, uttering loud, rough, grating cries, as piercing to the ear as the sound of a file or a saw, and stretching out their necks with ruffled feathers and agitated gestures. Some birds retain this extreme timidity for a very long time, in spite of all attempts to conciliate them.

As the management of the different species is nearly, if not quite, identical, it is unnecessary to trouble the reader with a detailed description of each kind of parrot and the mode of treating it; it will be sufficient to tell him how to manage these birds generally, and give a brief account of the country, form, and colour of those species which are most commonly brought to this country. There are, indeed, so many, that it is impossible to mention more than five or six sorts; but if the reader desires to learn more about the parrot tribe, let him refer to the Rev. J. G. Wood’s “Illustrated Natural History,” vol. ii., where he will find the subject treated at length, and with large figures of all the most remarkable species.

The Amazon, or Green Parrot, is so called from its colour, which is mostly bright green, with some yellow and purple tints here and there. This species is brought to England under the title of the Green Parrot, the second species being more properly called the Festive Parrot. It is much larger than the common species, being about fifteen or sixteen inches in length, and having the feathers of the lower part of the back of a deep vermilion.

Teaching this bird to talk is by no means a difficult task,--not nearly so difficult, indeed, as hindering it from learning accomplishments which it is not desired to possess, or inducing it to refrain from producing objectionable sounds, whether articulate or otherwise.

In order to teach the parrot to imitate sounds, the best and simplest mode is to take the bird into a perfectly quiet room, where it can hear and see no one but the instructor, and will not have its attention distracted by surrounding objects.

Then, after taking every care to render the feathered pet familiar, speak the words, or produce the sounds, which the bird is required to imitate, and be careful to avoid varying them even by the fraction of a tone. You will soon see the pupil taking notice of the oft-repeated sound, and it will presently hold its head aside, as if to catch the tones more clearly. After a while it will try to imitate them, and as soon as it makes an attempt, however imperfect, make much of the bird, and give it a small morsel of some special dainty.

Parrots are largely gifted with the faculty called by phrenologists “love of praise,” and are in no slight degree incited by self-esteem; so that it is possible to induce the bird to perform the oddest feats by carefully working on these two propensities. They have an almost morbid love of being noticed, and crave for words of praise with as much appreciation as if they could understand their import. You can throw one parrot into a very passion of jealousy by pretending not to hear it, and talking to another bird.

One difficulty in the management of these birds is, that when you have taught them to exercise their powers of imitation, they are apt to pick up a kind of chance-medley of every sound they hear, instead of adhering to one lesson and learning it thoroughly before they begin another. Breaking them of the habit is a difficult task, but can be achieved with ordinary care.

The simplest plan is to pounce at once on the obnoxious sound, and, by never letting it pass unnoticed, give Polly an idea that it is not to be uttered. If she persist in her delinquency, the best way is to scold her, and put her at once into a dark closet, or throw a thick shawl over the cage, so as to exclude the light. Parrots detest being left in the dark, and it is surprising how soon the bird finds that her utterance of the forbidden sound is sure to be followed by condign punishment, and therefore ceases to be guilty of the offence.

Wherein shall our parrot live? This is a natural and a needful question, and requires a few lines in reply.

Assuming that, in any case, the bird is to have plenty of room, as is needful for a creature so restless and active, a cage is to be recommended, unless the parrot is very tame, and there is no fear of strange cats; we say strange cats, because Polly will generally contract an alliance with the cat and dog of the household, and be on the most friendly terms with them.

A good form of cage is here given. As the reader will observe, it is much wider across the top than is usually the case. This is to give the bird room to traverse the cage, or luxuriate in its swing, without the danger of rubbing its tail into a shabby and ragged condition. There is a metal hoop suspended by a chain, and it is found that parrots are very fond of getting into this hoop, and swinging about. The cage should be made of galvanized iron wire, very strong, and at least five feet high. We desire to dissuade our readers, in the strongest terms, from purchasing cages made of brass wire for their parrot, or indeed for any other bird. Brass is terribly apt to produce verdigris, especially in London or in any other large town, and where gas is much used; and as birds, and parrots especially, are fond of nibbling the wires, they may be poisoned, and die a painful death.

Should, however, the bird be trustworthy, we would recommend one of the common crutch perches, to which the bird is secured by a chain, having one end fastened to a ring on its foot, and the other end affixed to the crutch. If the room in which the bird is kept will permit the arrangement, by far the best plan is to add a strong twisted wire to the crutch, and carry it to the ceiling, as is done in the Crystal Palace. The chain, instead of being fastened to the crutch, terminates in a ring, which slides upon the upright wire, and permits the bird to mount or descend at will.

Polly will be charmed with this addition to her range of locomotion, and the sight of his pet bird enjoying herself cannot fail to repay the owner for the slight extra trouble he has taken.

Parrots are very fond of exercising their strong beaks, and are apt to gnaw their perches so incessantly, that they cut them in two, despite the hardness of the material. Prevention, they say, is better than cure; and if the young parrot-owner will take care to give his bird now and then a stout piece of elm wood, with the bark not removed, he will find that Polly will prefer to tear and rasp away at the elm board to biting her hard perch, where there is no bark to be stripped off.

The pretty Cockatoos are always great favourites, their form being very elegant, their colour delicate, and their talkative powers very great. These birds are natives of Australia and the Indian Islands, and derive their name from the peculiar cry of some members of their kind, which exactly resembles the word cockatoo.

The two species generally found in captivity are the great Wide-crested Cockatoo, known by the crest of broad and slightly-hollowed feathers which decorate the head, and which can be raised and even thrown forward when the bird is excited with pleasure or anger. The colour of this bird is white, and the under surface of the crest is tinged with red. It comes from the Moluccas, and is deservedly in favour as a pet, being docile, affectionate, and very quaint in its habits.

The other species is the Lesser, or Sulphur-crested, Cockatoo, also from the Moluccas and Indian Islands. It is easily known by the pointed sulphur-yellow crest, which is continually being raised and thrown forward. Both kinds can learn to talk to some extent, though they are not such admirable linguists as their kinsmen the parrots.

The pretty Ring Paroquet is a native of the East Indies, and is a very familiar inhabitant of our aviaries and cages. It is a gentle creature, and most affectionate to a kind owner. It is mightily fond of walnuts, and the bird can be kept in a state of great good-humour for an hour or more by giving it half a one, and telling it to pick out the contents with its hooked bill. The bird seems perfectly happy, holding the nut in one claw, shifting it with great dexterity, so as to get it into the best position for extracting the kernel, and uttering the while a little, low chuckle of gratification. The colloquial powers of this bird are moderate; but it does not learn so readily, nor repeat so accurately, as the grey or green parrot.

The Macaws are notable for their very long tails, very big beaks, and very brilliant colouring. The two species usually seen in England are the Scarlet and the Blue-and-Yellow Macaw. They come from Southern America, and have a most magnificent appearance while flying from tree to tree, with the sunbeams flashing from their gorgeous plumage.

As a pet, the macaw is rather too noisy, and has a horribly loud and dissonant yell by way of a cry. It is, however, a magnificent bird, often measuring more than a yard in length. The colour of the plumage is almost entirely of a rich glowing scarlet, relieved here and there by a little blue, yellow, and green.

The Blue-and-Yellow Macaw is another native of tropical America, and though not so gorgeously resplendent a bird as its scarlet relation, is yet a remarkably handsome creature. As may be surmised from its popular appellation, the colour is chiefly of the two tints blue and yellow, mixing occasionally so as to produce green.

Without going too deeply into minute details, it will suffice to say that the upper part of the back, the wings, and the tail are azure blue, and the under part king’s yellow. On the forehead is a patch of green, the chin is black, and the cheeks are white and naked, with the exception of three narrow bands of very tiny feathers drawn successively beneath the eyes.

The parrot tribe may be fed upon various vegetable substances, such as grain of different kinds, seeds, nuts, Indian corn, and biscuits. The stones of peaches are great favourites with these birds, who derive much amusement from picking with their scoop-like tongues the soft fruit from the interstices of the rough stone.

They ought not to have any kind of animal food, not even milk, which is frequently recommended for their use, as their systems are apt to become heated, and then they pull away their feathers in their attempts to alleviate the irritation. Sometimes a parrot will pluck itself bare in every part where its bill can reach, and so injure itself materially. A capsicum pod now and then is, however, a treat, and may be given sparingly. Be careful to use glass or earthenware pans for their food, and see every morning that the cage and pans are quite clean and bright.

PIGEONS.

The practice of rearing pigeons for fancy or amusement has been for a long time prevalent in England. In ancient times the “dove-cote” was a general appendix to the family hall or farmer’s homestead; and at the present time it may still occasionally be observed peering above the trees in country districts; while in London the pigeon-loft, with its “dormers,” “area,” “traps,” and other appliances, may be frequently seen on the house-tops, more especially in the districts inhabited by the working classes.

Pigeons live together in pairs; and when a cock and hen once form an attachment, the union generally lasts during their lives. The pigeon in a wild state breeds only twice or thrice in the season, but the domestic birds will breed every six weeks, or during the greater part of the year.

Whatever number of broods a pair of pigeons may bring up in a year, the hen never lays but two eggs before she sits. She incubates for eighteen days after the laying of the second egg. Both the cock and hen assist in the hatching: the hen usually sits from the afternoon till about eleven o’clock on the following morning; the cock then takes her place, and sits while she goes out to feed and exercise herself, and generally keeps on the nest until two or three o’clock in the afternoon.

When first hatched, the young are fed for about eight days with a milky secretion prepared in the crop of the parents, and regurgitated into the mouth of the young, and afterwards with grain and seeds the old ones have picked up in the fields and treasured in their crops. In this mode of supplying the young with food from the crop birds of the pigeon kind differ from those of any other family.

Formerly it was common to erect buildings as dove-cotes in the neighbourhood of great country mansions: many of these were of considerable size and elevation, as shown in the engraving. The custom, however, has fallen into disuse, and pigeon-houses of more moderate sizes are now generally employed.

A small one is very often formed from a wine-cask, which has holes cut in its sides, and a small platform made before each, to form a resting-place in front for the birds to alight upon. The interior is divided into chambers by the carpenter, or any boy of common carpentering ingenuity may readily do it himself. The cask is then elevated on a stout thick scaffolding pole or the trunk of a straight tree, and made perfectly secure. In arranging the internal chambers for the birds care should be taken that they are large enough for them to turn round in with ease. The cote should be fixed in a warmish spot, and not exposed to cold easterly and northerly winds. The top of the cask should be thatched or boarded, and this protection should come well over the holes and sides of the cote, so as to protect it from the heat of the sun in summer and the drifting of the rain in unseasonable weather.

The young fancier may employ one after the fashion shown on the following page: this, with its compartments, may be fixed up against the south or south-west side of a stable, barn, or out-house. The outside should be well painted, and the alighting places slightly slanted, so that the water or rain may not lodge on them, but run off to the ground outside. The whole should be so placed that it can be approached by a ladder, which ought not to be permanently attached to the cote, or it may be a means for the intrusion of cats and vermin.

It sometimes happens that a spare loft or room presents itself to the young pigeon-fancier, which may be made use of for a pigeon-house. When this is the case, it can easily be filled up with pigeon-boxes, which may be arranged round the sides, while holes are made on the outside of the building for the pigeons to fly in and out at. Broad flat perches may also be placed across the room, upon which the birds may rest. The boxes for the nests should be at least a foot square.

It is far more advantageous and profitable to keep pigeons in a spare room than to employ the dove-cotes on a pole, or those fixed against the side of a house, as double the number of young birds may be reared, the nests being sheltered from the inclemency of the weather.

As to the compartments, or nests, every one should be furnished with an earthenware nest-pan, of a size adapted to the pigeons for which they are intended. Sand or gravel should be sprinkled over the shelves and on the floor, as the small stones with which it abounds are useful to the birds in helping them to digest their food, and a little old mortar-rubbish or pounded burnt oyster-shells should be given, to supply the lime necessary for the shells of the eggs. Everything about them should be kept very clean, and the whole apparatus, of whatever kind it may be, should undergo a frequent and thorough purification, while the nest-pans or boxes should be well cleaned after every hatching.

There is a contrivance of great use which is employed for letting into the loft those birds who may not happen to come home before the areas are closed for the night. The object of this door, which is called the “bolting wire,” is to let the birds in without letting those in the loft pass out. It is made by placing before a square aperture cut in the pigeon-house a couple of wires about three inches apart from each other (as seen in the drawing): these swing loosely upon a piece of wood, which turns on a wire, and their lower ends come over the lower ledge on the inside. By this arrangement, when a bird outside presses against the bars and tries to get in, the whole opens inwards, and he easily enters; but if one from within tries to get out, the wires press against the ledge at the bottom, and effectually prevent his egress.

Within the pigeon-house should be placed boxes for the grain, pulse, and beans that the birds feed upon.

Pigeons are great devourers of food, and will eat any kind of grain, such as wheat, barley, oats, peas, beans, vetches, Indian corn, tares, &c. Small beans, called pigeon’s beans, are the best general food for all pigeons. If possible, the peas, beans, or tares given to the birds should be old, as new pulse is apt to disagree, and purge them. Hempseed is very stimulating, and although pigeons are very fond of it, it should be sparingly given.

Pigeons are very fond of lime and salt, and to supply themselves peck out the mortar from between the tiles. To prevent this, it is best to make them what is called a “cat,” which will be exceedingly grateful to them, as it will tend to keep them in good health. This is done in the following manner:--

Mix some sifted gravel or earth with old mortar-rubbish, or pounded burnt shells, if this cannot be obtained; add a few handfuls of salt; and make the whole into a mass with water. Portions of this may be put into flower-pots, and placed in situations where the birds can get at them easily.

Pigeons are often sadly annoyed by vermin. To prevent the increase of these intruders, the most scrupulous attention should be paid to cleanliness in every part of the houses, nests, and places of resort, and the birds should be provided with shallow pans of water to wash in.

Sometimes there is a little trouble attending the mating of pigeons, and it is of great importance that they should be properly matched, or the young will not be purely bred. The mating coops should have a thin lattice-work partition between them, so that the birds may make acquaintance with each other, and match together, when they may be placed in one pen. When they are properly mated, they may be left at liberty to arrange and build their nests, which they will do very readily. The illustration on the preceding page shows the construction of the mating cage.

VARIETIES OF PIGEONS.

The Columbidæ, or family of pigeons, are one of the most numerous and most widely distributed families of birds. They are all vegetable feeders; and many congregate in flocks. But notwithstanding their numbers, general distribution, and beauty, only two, out of a great number of species, have been brought into subjection by man: these are the common pigeon, or house pigeon, known as the Rock pigeon when in the wild state, and abundant in several parts of the cliffy and caverned shores of the British Islands, and the Collared, or Cream-coloured dove, with a narrow black collar round the neck. This latter is frequently kept in confinement: it breeds freely if in very large cages, and it may be reared in the open air in this country if protected during severe winters.

BLUE ROCK DOVE.

The Blue Rock dove is the undoubted origin of all the different varieties of domestic pigeons. It is a most beautiful bird; its general colour is blue, with two black bars across the wings. In some few of the large dove-cotes blue rocks still exist; but the pure race, uncontaminated by intermixture with any of the numerous varieties of domestic pigeons, is scarcely to be obtained except in the distant islands of the Hebrides, or in remote districts unfrequented by man. It is a swift flyer, a good forager, and a prolific bird; but its comparative wildness renders it ill adapted for a domestic pet.

THE ANTWERP, OR SMERLE.

Smerles are the Flying Pigeons of Belgium. These extraordinary birds, that perform races of 500 miles, returning home to Brussels and the adjacent towns from the south of France, and even from Spain, closely resemble the blue rock in general form; but, as shown in the engraving, the feathers of the wings are rather broader, and the head and beak thicker and shorter. They are of various colours, as blue, checquered, red, mealy, &c. Their desire to return home is so great that it is useless to attempt to establish a stud of them, by liberating old birds, however long they may be shut up; the only plan is to rear young from them whilst confined in a room or loft, or to obtain young birds that have never flown at the place of their birth. These, from the peculiar noise they make, are termed “squeakers.”

We do not know any more delightful fancy for boys than Antwerps, as they are strong, hardy, fertile, and require no special trouble; good water and a little care in cleaning is all they ask; and they reward their owners by being always ready to convey to their home messages from any distance which they may have been trained to fly. The training is thus accomplished: the young birds, when they can fly round with the others, and dash about in the air in that vigorous style that characterises the breed, are taken a short distance from home and set free. They rise, and circling round and round, descry their home, and make straight for it.

Their next journey is longer, and so on; the distances are gradually increased, until the birds will return even for several hundred miles. When these birds are used to convey messages, the paper must be so attached as not to impede their flight. The proper mode of doing this is to write upon a strip of thin soft paper, about half an inch broad by three or four inches long: this is rolled round the leg, and secured by a thread. An ordinary letter, tied to the bird in the manner that is often represented in engravings, would entirely prevent its flight.

THE POUTER.

The breeds of pigeons that are most valued by fanciers are those that differ in the greatest degree from the blue rock doves and the common mongrel dove-house pigeons. Of these the Pouters, Carriers, and Tumblers are the most esteemed. The pouter is a remarkable bird, distinguished by the extraordinary power it possesses of inflating or blowing out the neck: it is also characterised by the extreme length of its legs, which should be feathered to the toes, and the length of the feathers of the wings and tail. Pouters are of various colours: some are purely white, but in general they are blue, or black, marked or pied with white upon the crop, and with white flight feathers in the wings; there are also red and yellow pied birds.

The properties for which a pouter is valued are usually stated as being five in number; viz. length of leg, length of feathers, slenderness of body, size of crop, and colour. Pouters possessing all these properties of the breed in a very perfect degree are rare, and consequently very valuable. Ten, or even twenty, pounds is no uncommon price for a pair of birds sufficiently good to win prizes in the competitions at the exhibitions of poultry and pigeons; but very fair specimens may be bought at the dealer’s for a few shillings per pair.

Pouters are not such good nurses as many other pigeons, often neglecting their young before they can feed themselves, when they die, unless fed by being crammed with beans at least twice a day. For this reason we would not recommend the young fancier to begin with this breed.

THE CARRIER.

The Carrier of the present day is not, as its name might seem to imply, ever used to carry messages, but is a high-class fancy variety, valued in proportion to the perfection of its properties. In a good carrier the beak is long, thick, and straight; the beak-wattle, or membrane at its base, well developed, and standing well up from the head. The eye-wattle, or membrane round the eye, should be large, flat, and circular; the skull narrow and long; the neck very slender and long; the plumage firm and glossy, the tail and flight feathers being long. The colour most valued in carriers is a brilliant jet black: many first-rate birds are what are called duns, a variety of brown. There are also white and blue carriers, and occasionally pied birds are seen. The blacks and duns are, however, the most perfect in properties; and they may be mated together without risk, as they will always produce either black or dun young birds, and not, as might be expected, a mixture of these colours, or a bird intermediate in colour between the two.

Carriers are very fair sitters and nurses, but they are subject to diseases of the eyes, and are not as well suited to young fanciers as some of the other breeds.

THE DRAGON.

For grace, style, and beauty there are no pigeons superior to Dragons. They are almost everything a young fancier could desire--good homing birds, able to do 50 or 100 miles with ease; active on the wing, close sitters, good nurses, fertile breeders, requiring no special care; full-sized birds, good in a pie, and not expensive in first cost. Their general form is somewhat like that of the carrier, but they are much more active, and far quicker in flight. Some of the best dragons are blue; others are white, red, yellow, and black. They differ from the carrier in the size of the eye and beak-wattle, and in the beak.

THE TUMBLER.

The Tumblers are the very opposite of the breeds last described. Small birds, with rounded heads, short beaks, and pretty little red prancing feet, they are the very pets of the pigeon fancy. In colour the tumblers vary very much. There are blues, blacks, and other self colours; then some have white heads--these are termed bald heads; others have a white mark below the under bill--so they are termed beards; but the variety most valued is that termed the almond tumbler. In this breed every feather of the plumage is variegated with black, yellow, and white, the yellow forming the ground colour. These almond birds are reared by experienced fanciers with beaks so short that they are hardly able to bring up their own young, and others have to be employed for the purpose. Birds of this extreme character are not suited to young fanciers; but the ordinary flying tumblers, which can be bought at any dealer’s for a few shillings per pair, are most pleasant pets--good breeders, active and joyous on the wing, constantly turning somersaults in the air, good in a pie, and able to fly home, if trained, some thirty or forty miles with ease.

THE BARB.

The Barb, or, as it used formerly to be called, the Barbary pigeon, from the country from where it was originally obtained, is regarded with great esteem by fanciers, and very good specimens cannot be obtained except at high prices. In size the barb is rather a small bird. The colours are usually black, dun, red, yellow, or white; blue barbs, strange to say, are not known. The eye of the barb is surrounded by a naked skin or wattle of a red colour; this should be circular in form, and the larger it is the more the bird is valued: the skull should be broad, and the beak short and stout. Barbs are good sitters, and bring up their young ones very well. They are also striking in appearance, the red eye-wattle contrasting well with the colours of the plumage.

THE OWL.

Like the barbs, the best Owl pigeons also come from the north of Africa. Formerly there was very common in this country an elegant, short-beaked bird of a beautiful blue or silvery colour, known as the owl: this was of medium size, and possessed rapid powers of flight. Beautiful as the breed was, it has almost entirely been superseded at the pigeon shows by a very petite, delicate, white breed, the first specimens of which were brought to this country from Tunis about a dozen years since. A very good specimen of this charming little variety is represented in our engraving. Since that true blue and black owls of the small size have also been introduced. The great drawback to this fairy-like little breed is its delicacy. The young fancier would do well to choose for his first favourites a hardier variety.

THE TURBIT.

The Turbit is a pigeon somewhat resembling the owl, but its head is flatter, and it has a turned crown of feathers at the back of the neck. In colour it is peculiar. The wings, with the exception of the larger flight-feathers, are coloured, and the remainder of the body should be white. There are turbits of all varieties of colour, or, as they are termed, blue, black, red, yellow, and silver turbits.

THE FANTAIL.

There are a number of pigeons which are strikingly distinguished by remarkable peculiarities in the form of the plumage; such are the Fantail, the Trumpeter, and the Jacobin. The fantail is perhaps the best known of these. The number of feathers in the tail of an ordinary pigeon is fourteen, but in this breed it is greatly increased; in some specimens even to three times that number, and thirty feathers are not uncommon in good birds.

The carriage of the tail is also greatly changed; instead of being borne behind, like that of an ordinary pigeon, it is held aloft, like the expanded tail of a peacock.

The engraving represents one of the best white fantails, the tail full, carried well over the back, and the long swan-like neck thrown back so as to touch the tail. Fantails are good hardy birds, and as they can be bought at all prices, very well suit the young fancier. Moreover, they soon become very tame, and may be reared almost everywhere.

THE TRUMPETER.

The Trumpeter is not as common a variety as the fan-tail, but is fully as remarkable. It derives its name from its peculiar voice, which is quite unlike the ordinary coo, coo, of a common pigeon; and it is also distinguished by the singular arrangement of the feathers on its head and feet: the latter are feathered to so great an extent that the bird appears to have four wings. Many of the larger quills on the feet of a good trumpeter will exceed four inches in length if unbroken. Trumpeters have a tuft over the beak and a turn of feathers at the back of the head. They require to be kept most scrupulously clean; otherwise the elegant appendages on the feet become clogged with dirt, and the birds lose all their attractiveness and beauty.

THE JACOBIN.

No variety of pigeon excels the little Jacobin in its quaint prettiness. The tiny little head is half concealed in a recurved cowl of feathers which runs down at the sides of the neck, and nearly meets in front.

The head, the flight feathers of the jacobin, and those of the tail, should be purely white, those of the rest of the plumage coloured. The most common colours are red or yellow; but there are also black jacks, as they are sometimes called for shortness, and also blues, and some that are entirely white. Jacks breed very freely, and we cannot recommend a prettier pigeon, or one better adapted to the juvenile fancier.

* * * * *

The foregoing breeds include all the best known varieties. It is true there are many others described in the works on pigeons, but none better fitted for the young and inexperienced fancier.

The breed known as Runts are characterised by their enormous size, sometimes weighing even as much as four pounds or even four and a half pounds a pair. But they do not fly well, and are more suited for pigeon pies than for a fancier’s loft.

There are also the breeds known as Nuns, Spots, and Helmets, which are white with more or less colour on the head, &c.; but for beauty of marking none surpass those blue breeds that possess the arrangement of colours in the plumage that characterises the original wild rock dove.

POULTRY.

FOWLS.

There are few occupations more attractive than the care and charge of domestic poultry. It is most interesting to behold a hen with her family, and to mark her care and tenderness for them; while to see the little chicks themselves, picking and scratching about, basking in the sun, or running hither and thither after the hen, or nestling under her wings, is a very pleasant sight.

Like the pigeons, fowls are all descended from a single species of wild bird, the common wild jungle fowl of India. This has been domesticated from a very early period, and carried to all habitable parts of the globe. A large number of different varieties exist in a domestic state, none of which are known in the wild condition. The chief breeds known in England at the present time are the Dorkings, Game, Spanish, Hamburghs, Polish, Cochins, Brahmas, Malays, Bantams, Silky fowls, and the common barn-door fowl, which is a very mongrel breed. The best known French varieties are very valuable for economical purposes: they are Houdans, Crève Cœurs, and the La Flèche breeds.

Fowls require both animal and vegetable food. When allowed to range at large their great search is for worms and insects, which they obtain for themselves. They must be supplied with grain, such as barley, oats, tail wheat, &c.; and they should also be well furnished with raw vegetables, grass, cabbage or lettuce leaves, unless they have a free range over the fields. Boiled potatoes and other vegetables are also very serviceable to them. The staple food should, however, be grain, and this may be mixed with boiled potatoes. The quantity of barley for each fowl is about a quart a week, if they are entirely fed by hand; but in barn or stable yards they require much less. They should also always have a plentiful supply of pure and clean water.

All fowls dependent upon man for food should be fed regularly twice or thrice a day in the same place. The food should be given to them at nearly the same hour--eight o’clock in the morning and four in the afternoon, as in the spring and autumn birds retire early to roost, and it is very bad management to call them from their perches for feeding. Young chickens should be fed much more frequently if it is wished that they should grow into fine, handsome birds.

FATTENING.

When fowls are to be fattened for the table, they must be fed oftener, and with different descriptions of food, than when they are simply kept for rearing stock or laying eggs. They then require ground barley or oatmeal, which fattens them much quicker if mixed with milk. Indian corn is also a capital fattener, and, as it is now cheap, may be used. Gross food, made up of impure fat, grease, and flesh-food is very bad for fowls. When fattening for the table, they should have their food three times a day, at morning, noon, and evening; and they should be kept warm and comfortable during the night.

Fowl houses should be warm and dry, and have compact earthen floors, well raised, and littered down with gravel, from which the large stones have been taken and the small ones left.

LAYING.

Nests (baskets or boxes) must be made for the hen, in which a chalk egg or two should be put. The nests may be made of short straw. Some hens will lay one egg every day, and others one every other day.

The eggs ought to be taken from the nest every afternoon, when no more may be expected to be laid; for if left in the nest the heat of the hens, when laying the next day, will render them less fit for domestic use.

HATCHING.

When the hen has laid her number of eggs, nature has provided for their being hatched by giving the bird an instinct to sit or incubate. This instinct is made known by a particular sort of cluck, and by the hen sitting steadily on the nest in which she has been in the habit of laying.

In selecting the eggs to be sat upon by the hen, choose such as have been recently laid, and not those of angular shape or extra size: the latter are often double yolked, and rarely produce chickens.

The number of eggs to be hatched by the hen must in some degree depend upon her size. A moderate-sized hen will very nicely cover eight or nine eggs in the cold spring months, and twelve or thirteen in April or May. An odd number is often chosen; but there is no advantage in so doing. The hen having received her eggs may be then left to herself; she should have water placed at a convenient distance, and her food may be given to her near the place of sitting.

The hen sits on her eggs twenty-one days, during which period she seems in a dozy state, and seems to require but little food or exercise. Some hens will feed every day; but others will go for several days without leaving the nest, or taking nourishment: these should be lifted off the nest, and fed daily.

When chickens are hatching, which usually takes place twenty-one days after the eggs are placed under the hen, it is best to leave them entirely to themselves.

As soon as the hen becomes a mother, a great change is seen in her character--all her former habits give way to maternal solicitude. A good hen attends to her brood with the most persevering fondness; she will attack the fiercest animal who dares to molest her progeny.

REARING OF CHICKENS.

When the chickens are hatched, they require no food till the following day, when they may be fed with crumbs of bread slightly moistened with milk, and egg beaten up with an equal quantity of milk, and then heated so as to form a soft custard: this is the best food that can be given them. They should also have a few grits, and after a few days some small wheat.

If the weather is dry and warm, it is best not to coop the hens, as by scratching they obtain a supply of insect food and worms for the chicks, which is better than anything else that can be given them; but they should not be let out in damp weather in long grass before the dew has dried up. If cooped, the coop and hen should be placed in some nice dry and sunny spot in the lawn or garden, within sight of the dwelling-house, and where no cats are likely to prowl about. There should be a little pan of water set within reach of the hen, near the bars of the coop, and stones should be placed in it to prevent the young brood from drowning themselves, and this water should be frequently changed.

The changes of weather should be watched, and when it sets in wet or cold the young brood should be carefully protected by the removal of the coop into some warm sheltered place, such as a stable, coach-house, or outhouse; and so with care continue to be nursed, guarded, watched, and attended to, till they are about seven weeks old, when they will of themselves separate from their parent hen, take to the roost, and act independently.

There is a great choice of breeds in the different varieties, and we will state the advantages of each.

Dorkings are large heavy fowls, first-rate for the table, good sitters and mothers: but rather delicate, require a good grass range, and do not do well on damp soils.

Spanish are handsome fowls, lay numerous large eggs, do not sit; are not so good for the table as the Dorkings, being longer in the limbs, and not so fleshy.

Cochins and Brahmas are large domesticated fowls, very hardy; can be kept in by a low fence; they are good layers, good sitters, good mothers, and useful family fowls on the table.

Hamburghs are pretty, light, active, roaming fowls; they are called everlasting layers, as they never wish to sit, but lay on incessantly, except at moulting-time. They do not bear close confinement well, and are difficult to keep in enclosed places, as they fly like pheasants, and know not bounds.

The crested Polish, black, white, and spangled, are also non-sitters and good layers; but they are not so hardy as the spangled Hamburghs.

Game are hardy, very fair layers, good sitters, the best of mothers; plump on the table, though not very large; well able to take care both of themselves and their chickens.

Bantams are pretty little pets, that may be suffered to roam about a garden without doing any injury.

The French breeds--Houdans, Crève Cœurs, and La Flèche--are remarkable for their good qualities as table fowls.

The White Silky fowls are a very singular breed, with divided feathers, like wool or silk, black skins, and black bones. They have their good points, however: they are admirable sitters and nurses, and bring up young partridges and pheasants better than any other fowls. They are also very good to eat, though their black skin renders them rather unsightly on the table.

These varieties offer sufficient choice even to the most particular amateur, who should make his selection in accordance with his wants and his locality--according as he requires egg-producers or chickens for the table, and whether he can afford his fowls the advantages of a free range over green fields, or has to keep them in a confined space, near a suburban residence.

THE PINTADO, OR GUINEA FOWL.

Guinea fowls associate readily with the common fowls in a poultry-yard; but they have this peculiarity, that the cocks and hens are so nearly alike that it is difficult to distinguish them, except by the voice, the hens only uttering the constantly-reiterated cry of “Go back! Go back!” The head is covered with a kind of casque, with wattles under the bill, and the whole plumage is either black or dark grey sprinkled with regular and uniform white spots. The pintado is a native of Africa.

These birds lay plenty of eggs, rather smaller than those of the common hen, and speckled. They may be reared by placing the eggs under a hen; but the chicks are extremely tender, and very often a sudden change of the wind in March will sweep off a whole brood in a few hours. The young should be fed with custard, &c., as ordered for fowls.

DUCKS.

The common wild duck, or mallard, is the original stock of the domesticated duck, and appears to have been reclaimed at a very early period. The mallards come from the north of Europe, at the end of autumn, and, migrating southward, arrive at the beginning of winter, in large flocks, and spread themselves over all the loughs and marshy waters in the British Isles.

The tame duck is a larger bird, and varies greatly in colour. Tame ducks are easily reared: the best way to get them is to place duck’s eggs under a hen, for the tame duck is often a careless mother; the hen, on the contrary, generally hatches a duckling from every egg with which she is entrusted. She does not conduct her young to the water, and generally exhibits much anxiety when the young brood take to it; but she watches over them, and is ever ready to defend them from danger. “The village schoolboy,” as old Bewick says, “witnesses with delight the antic movements of the little brood under the charge of a foster-mother, who with anxious fears paddles upon the brink and utters her unavailing cries or calls, while the ducklings, regardless of her warnings, and rejoicing in the element so well adapted to their nature, are splashing over each other beneath the pendant foliage, and diving their heads beneath the water.”

There are many varieties of the tame duck. One of those most in request is the dark-coloured Rouen, which is very prolific in eggs. The Aylesbury, or white variety, is large and profitable. The Muscovy duck is a distinct species, and not a mere variety, much larger than the common duck, and distinguished by a membrane of a red colour, covering the cheeks and extending behind the eyes. There are also several other foreign species, as the Mandarin and Carolina ducks, which are kept rather for ornament than use.

Ducks sit for thirty days. They begin to lay in February, and when not watched will lay abroad and conceal their eggs. They generally lay at night, or very early in the morning. While sitting, the duck requires a secluded and soft place. On hatching, she should be taken, with her brood, and put under a coop; a shallow pan of water should be placed near her for her drink and for that of the young ones, but it should be very shallow. In a few days she may be let loose, when, with her brood, she will immediately take to the water.

Young ducks should be fed upon oatmeal or barleymeal, and kept in a warm place at night time, and not let out early in the morning. They should at first be kept from water to swim in, as it always does them harm. When the ducks grow large, they may be fed upon oats thrown into a pan of water.

THE RABBIT.

Of all domesticated animals dear to the British schoolboy’s heart the rabbit is, perhaps, the most general favourite.

Rabbits may be kept simply as pets or curiosities, or as a commercial speculation, and in either or all of these conditions they are sure to answer the expectations of the owner, provided only that ordinary pains be taken with them. As pets, they can be made tame, affectionate, and playful; as curiosities, they can be modified, by careful breeding, into the oddest shapes and most eccentric colouring; while, as a commercial speculation, they can, with proper care and forethought, be rendered extremely profitable, and will pay a heavy percentage on the original outlay.

As an example of this fact we may mention the case of a young carpenter, one of those steady, hardworking, intelligent men who are sure to get on in the world, simply because they keep their eyes open to all that passes, always watch for opportunities, and always seize them when found. This man used to make a considerable addition to his income by his rabbits, fattening and selling a large number annually, besides steadily increasing his stock. He was ever watchful on their account, and never went to a house where he was employed in his trade without asking for the waste potatoes, crusts of bread, and similar substances, which he used to take home and convert, by judicious mixture, into nutritive diet for the rabbits.

As, however, there are but few boys who keep rabbits for the purpose of making money by them, we will treat at greater length on their general management than on the method of feeding them at the least cost and selling them at the highest price.

Before rabbit-keeping is attempted it is necessary to prepare, very carefully, a habitation for the future pet, and in the following pages will be found full instructions for that task. It is hardly possible to take too much trouble about the rabbit-house, and any abatement in this respect is sure to prove the truth of the old proverb, that penny wisdom is pound foolishness.

Two objects are to be considered in this matter; the first and most important being the comfort and happiness of the creature who is intended to live in the house, and the second the waste of time, money, and patience, which the constant sickness and ultimate death of the rabbit is sure to inflict upon a neglectful owner. So we advise the intending rabbit-keeper to expend plenty of trouble upon his house or hutch, and assure him that the healthy and thriving condition of his pets will more than repay the trouble, and their rapidly-increasing numbers more than defray the expenses originally incurred.

Should a single rabbit be at first kept--a good method, by the way, of experimenting before undertaking the more arduous and responsible task of setting up a regular establishment--a house or hutch like that which is represented in the accompanying illustration will be all that is needed.

Such a one as this may be easily made by any boy of ordinary ingenuity, as no great neatness in joints is needed, and the only requisites are strength and compactness. Should not the young carpenter possess the wood and tools needed for the entire construction of the hutch, his best plan will be to purchase an old tea-chest or egg-box from the grocer’s, and modify it into the necessary form. The box will cost about fourpence, or sixpence at the most; the wire will cost a penny, and the nails another penny.

If no tools can be borrowed, a boy can set himself up for ordinary work at a very cheap rate, the following being all that is really needed:--

Saw, one shilling; hammer, eightpence; half-inch chisel, with handle, sixpence; small three-cornered file, twopence; two bradawls, one large, and the other rather small, twopence,--these will be without handles, and the best way is to drive the “tang” of the bradawl into the end of a stick of firewood, then cut the stick into a handle, shape it with a knife, and bind the end with string or wire to prevent it from splitting. These handles are just as useful as those which are purchased, and have the advantage of costing nothing but a few minutes’ labour. The whole set of tools need not cost more than half-a-crown or, at the most, three shillings.

As will be seen from the illustration, the hutch is divided into two portions, that on the left hand being much the larger, and employed by the rabbit as a day-room. That on the right is small, and is used as a sleeping apartment. These two chambers are separated by a partition of board, in which is cut a hole, through which the inmate can pass backwards and forwards.

As it is often necessary to confine the rabbit in either compartment while the other is being cleansed, the aperture must be closed by means of a sliding door drawn up and down through the roof, as seen at A. We have found by experience that the purpose was fully answered by substituting a strong iron wire for the wooden handle, and letting it pass through the hole bored in the roof. We mention this, because it is always best to know the simplest and easiest plan of proceeding. The wire is firmly secured, as seen in the engraving. After cutting the sliding door to the proper shape, bore a hole at a with the little bradawl. Sharpen one end of an iron wire (the same as that of which the open front is made) and push it firmly into the hole. Now bend the wire upwards, until it lies flat upon the wood, and then bend it over the edge, as seen at b. Cut off an inch of wire, sharpen both ends, bend them so as to form a staple, and drive the staple over the wire at b, so as to hold it firmly in its place. Two small holes should be made with the little bradawl in the proper direction, and the hammer must do the rest. Bend up the wire again, cut it off to the proper length, and all is ready for fixing, which is done as follows:--

Take the board which is to form the partition, and which is easiest made from the lid of the box, and cut out a round, arched, or square hole near the bottom, the hole being about an inch narrower every way than the sliding door. Lay the door over the hole, and place on each side of it a strip of wood a trifle thicker than the door. These slips are technically called guides, because they guide the door in the right direction: try whether the door will slide easily up and down them, and, if so, nail them firmly in their places. Then get a second pair of wooden slips, not so thick, but about half an inch wider than the first pair; lay them on the guides so that they overlap the door, and then nail them down. The door will then slide up and down when pulled or pushed by the wire.

To make this part of the proceedings quite clear a section of the door and slide is given below: g represents the guides; f the board and their slips which overlap the door; and the door itself is shown by the dotted lines b*. When fitted together the partition-board, with its door and slides, is shown in the engraving. a, a, a represents the board itself; b is the sliding door, and c the wire by which it is worked; d is the hole of communication, which is opened or closed as the door is moved up or down; which is here shown as half closed.

The dividing-board being thus completed, mark the place where the wire c is to come through the roof, and bore a hole about half as large again as the wire, so as to allow it to play freely. By the simple plan of making a large nail or waste bit of wire red hot, and charring this hole, the swelling by damp and consequent sticking of the wire will be prevented.

All being ready, slip the dividing-board into the box, taking care to insinuate the wire into its proper place, get it quite upright and square, make sure that the sliding door plays without hitching, and then nail it all tight. Bend the top of the wire into a loop, and the most troublesome part of the business is over. The young carpenter must remember that the dividing-board, with its sliding door, must be made and fixed before anything else is done, as it not only strengthens the box and keeps it in shape, but would demand twice as much trouble after the door and front have been made.

We now come to an easier and more ornamental part of the work.

In the engraving both doors open from the front, the one being wired and the other plain wood; but it is best to have the larger door open from behind, as the wire-work is then twice as strong, and all the trouble of making a hinged frame is dispensed with.

Put the box on the ground, and draw a line from one end to the other, just half an inch from the edge. Mark the line off in half-inches, and bore holes quite through the wood, one hole coming at every half-inch. Repeat the same process immediately below, but be careful only to bore the holes half through the wood, or the wire will of course fall through.

Then cut your wire into lengths, measuring them by the depth of the box, and cutting them about one-third of an inch shorter than the total depth. Laying them against the end is a simple method of getting the precise length. Sharpen one end of each piece of wire, push the sharpened end through the hole at the top, draw the wire down, insinuate the point into the hole below, and then, holding the middle of the wire with the fingers of the left hand, in order to keep it from bending, drive it down with the hammer until quite level with the top of the box. When all the wires are thus driven home, nail a strip of wood over them at the top, and they can never come out again.

It will be better to strengthen it further by passing a similar wire horizontally across the others, driving each end into the wood, and binding all together with fine wire. This will be a protection through which not even a rat could crawl, and which no cat could tear away with her hooked claws.

The door of the sleeping apartment is easily made of a single piece of board, cut to the requisite shape, affixed by leathern or metal hinges, and fastened by a simple hasp. The door of the day-room is made in a similar manner, but opens from behind. A row of deep notches should be cut at the bottom of this door, and corresponding holes bored through the back of the sleeping-room floor, in order to let all the wet drain away and keep the rabbit dry. The hutch should be made to slant a little backwards so as to aid in the drainage.

Slate floors have been suggested, in order to prevent the ill-drained moisture from soaking into the substance--a result which is sure to take place, sooner or later, with a wooden floor. Slate, however, is rather expensive, but it is easily cleaned, and can be thoroughly washed; so that the suggestion is worthy of notice.

Having completed the hutch, we must next see about a feeding-trough. The ordinary troughs are nothing more than long wooden boxes; those who use them generally find that the food is much wasted by being scraped out with the fore feet, and that the rabbit contracts a habit of sitting in the trough, which, in course of time, renders it very offensive, and makes the food unwholesome. But by a little exercise of ingenuity both these annoyances can be prevented.

To check the scratching out of the food, run a strong wire from one end of the trough to the other, about half an inch below the edge, and one inch from the side. When the rabbit begins to scratch, the paws come against the wire, and get so jarred that the creature soon relinquishes the bad habit.

The habit of squatting in the trough is easily prevented by a very simple plan. A strong wire, about three or four inches long, according to the depth of the trough, is set upright in the centre. Another wire is arranged as seen in the illustration, the ends being driven firmly into the wood of the trough, and the middle passing through a loop at the end of the central wire. In the engraving, a represents the wire which prevents the animal from scratching, and b that which keeps it from getting into the trough. The edges, whether of the trough, the sliding door, or the guides, must be either bound with tin or edged with zinc wire, the latter being rather preferable.

The reader will observe that in the engraving of the hutch it is shown standing on a table, the top of which projects far beyond the legs. The object of this precaution is to keep off rats, which are the bane of all rabbit-owners, and can climb up almost anything. They, cannot, however, walk like a fly, in a reversed position, on a flat surface, and in consequence, a projecting board of five or six inches in width is an effectual protection against these pests.

The hutch is easily kept clean by attending to each apartment separately. First close the sliding door, so as to confine the rabbit in the apartment in which it happens to be, and with a hoe or similar implement scrape the floor quite clean, afterwards rubbing it with a wisp of straw. Take care that every scrap of refuse food has been removed. Then close the outer door, open the slide, drive the rabbit into the clean apartment, close the slide, and scrape and rub the second chamber.

The trough should be removed when the day-room is cleaned, and carefully examined before it is replaced. The hutch being clean, the slide may be opened, and the animal allowed to run about. The hutch should be cleansed at least every day, and if a second cleaning be added it will not come amiss. This continual cleaning will involve some trouble; but no one ought to keep a rabbit who neglects this essential duty, or to undertake the charge of an animal unless he intends to make it as happy as it can be in a state of imprisonment. A supply of straw should be placed in the sleeping-room for a bed, and should be changed daily.

If possible, the rabbit should be allowed to take a half-hour’s run every day; but precautions must be taken against its burrowing habits and the chance of finding and eating something poisonous. In the wild state, a rabbit never eats anything that is injurious, but when domesticated many of its instincts are in abeyance, and it will eat many substances which it would reject when wild.

The best defence against burrowing is to have a brick floor for the animal to run about on. There is also a substance called, I believe, Parker’s cement, which, when laid down, becomes rapidly dry, and is so hard that not even the teeth of a rat, much less the claws of a rabbit, can work their way through it. This cement is mixed with water and sand to the consistency of thick cream, and while settling is “flatted” with boards, and makes an admirable level flooring, easily washed and as hard as stone. On this substance the rabbit can be allowed to amuse itself without danger, and when its time of recreation has expired it should be caught and replaced in its hutch.

We may here mention that the proper method of taking up a rabbit is to hold it by the ears with the right hand, and to support the body by placing the left hand under it.

Should a number of rabbits be kept, it is as well to allow each family to have a run in succession. It is very pretty to see the playful antics of the young rabbits, the races they run with each other, the scufflings they have in the corners, and the staid manner in which the mother sits and looks on, and when they become too noisy silences them by a stamp of her foot.

This gesture is used either as a signal of alarm or defiance, and the force of the rabbit’s hind foot is really astonishing. We have known a buck rabbit vanquish a large cat in a fair fight simply by jumping over her back and kicking fiercely as he passed. He struck out whole bunches of pussy’s fur, and the cat, unaccustomed to such treatment, ran away and left her antagonist victorious and triumphant.

It is necessary to separate the rabbits in their exercise, and not to permit two families to occupy the same ground at the same time, as they are very quarrelsome animals, and will fight desperately among themselves. In any case the buck rabbits should not be allowed to mix with the others, for they are terrible bullies, and will assault and kill even their own children, without the least remorse. When properly tended, the rabbit becomes quite tame and familiar, and will come to its owner at the sound of its name.

The food of rabbits is easily obtained, and consists of bran, pollard, grain, and various vegetables. Parsley is an especial favourite, but cabbage leaves should be avoided as far as possible, as they are apt to have a bloating and puffy effect, and are often injurious, especially to young rabbits, giving them the disorder that is well known under the expressive term of “potbelly.”

The following is a list of vegetables which rabbits can always eat in safety:--

Grasses of the finer sorts--the coarse, large-bladed grasses are not to a rabbit’s taste--lettuce, parsley, carrots and their green tops, turnip-tops, green ears of corn, sow or milk thistles, clover, tares, vetches, beet-root and leaves, vine leaves occasionally, green furze tops, potatoes, and Jerusalem artichokes. Cow-parsley, as it is popularly called (Myrrhis temulenta), is a very favourite vegetable with the rabbit: but unless the gatherer is perfectly acquainted with its form and leafage, he will be wise to leave it standing; for it marvellously resembles the common hemlock (Conium maculatum), which is extremely poisonous; and unless the two plants be thoroughly known, the rabbit may be poisoned through the mistaken kindness of the owner.

As this plant is a really valuable one, we will give a few simple and plain directions for distinguishing it from hemlock.

Cow-parsley is about three feet in height, the leaves are greatly branched, and the stem is ribbed, spotted with purple, and covered with numerous short hairs slightly bent downwards. The hemlock in general shape resembles the cow-parsley, but it may be known by the smooth reddish purple spots and its unpleasant smell when the leaves are grasped in the hand.

Various dry grains, such as barley, oats, and Indian corn, are useful to the rabbit; and dry peas are also beneficial if sparingly given when the creature has been partaking largely of green food. Very little water is needed; but it is better to put into the hutch a small pan with a few spoonfuls of water in it. A very little oil-cake is useful in the winter. At first the rabbits do not like it, but they soon become accustomed to its taste, and are then very fond of it.

Before proceeding to the mode of breeding rabbits, we will glance at the varieties into which these creatures are modified by careful management.

The three chief points in a “fancy” rabbit are the ears, the dewlap, and the curve of the back.

The ears must in every case be exceedingly long, and must never stand upright, as in the common rabbit of the warren. The most perfect and valuable form is the Full, Flat, or Perfect Lop. In this variety the ears lie as if hinged to the head at their bases, and bent downward, so that when the animal is reposing the tips should quite or nearly touch the ground. The convex part of the ear must be upwards, or the value of the creature is deteriorated.

The next valuable variety is termed the Oar-Lop, because the ears spread horizontally from the head, like the oars of a waterman’s boat. A really good Oar-Lop rabbit is seldom seen, and when found is thought by some to be equal to the Perfect Lop, of which, indeed, it seems to be the preliminary stage. In all cases the measurement across the ears from tip to tip ought never to be less than sixteen inches; the more they exceed that measurement, the more valuable is the animal.

The Horn-Lop is another very curious variety, deriving its name from the position of the ears, which fall completely over the face, with their points directed to the front. In some specimens they fall so completely over the face that the edges pass over the eyes, and must act as a partial barrier to perfect sight, like the leather blinkers that are so absurdly attached to draught horses.

The lopped ears do not show themselves when the rabbit is young, and for the first month or two it is not easy to decide whether the little creatures belong to the straight or the lop-eared variety. Moreover, it often happens that one or two of each family retain the upright ears throughout their whole existence; and it is of not unfrequent occurrence that the “lop” is delayed for a very long time, and then suddenly makes its appearance. Sometimes one ear will exhibit the lop most perfectly, while the other remains upright or very slightly bent. Some fanciers attach a piece of lead to the recusant ear in order to make it coincide with the other, but we do not agree with the practice. The ear never looks quite natural, and as the rabbit will have or, as the phrase is, throw young ones with perfect lops, it may be kept for breeding if a doe; if a buck, it can be fattened for the table.

The second point of interest is the dewlap, the large double pouch which is seen under the chin and throat, and which is peculiar to the fancy rabbit. If the dewlap be not large and full, with its two lobes well developed, and sufficiently firm to form a cushion for the head while the animal reclines, the rabbit will be thought worthless by fanciers.

The shape of the fancy rabbit is very different from that of the common variety. It is altogether on a larger scale, and the back rises so much, that its summit ought to be two inches higher than the top of the head.

The colour, again, is very important. It may be white, black, mottled, tortoiseshell, blue, and in fact any colour except the plain grey. Whatever it be, it must be arranged after a special position. On each side of the nose must be a patch of the darker colour of the body, forming what is called the “butterfly smut.” A large patch on the back is called the “saddle,” and a row of spots termed the “chain” is drawn in front of the body and seems to hang over the shoulder. The legs must be white, and the tail and snout of the same colour.

Very few rabbits possess all these qualities; but even the combined excellences of smut, chain, and saddle will fail to gain a high rank for any rabbit which does not possess a good “carriage,” i. e. whose back is not at least two inches above its head, and whose nose and ear-tips do not nearly touch the ground. Some writers say that the fancy rabbits are more delicate of health and less easy to rear than the common variety; but we have bred many families of them, and never found any difficulty in rearing them. Their superior size renders them valuable for culinary purposes, and, as out of every family the greater number are deficient in the requisite marks of a fancy rabbit, the table can be well supplied with these fat and well-flavoured creatures.

The last variety we shall mention is the beautiful Angola rabbit, remarkable for its long silken hair, a speaking likeness of which may be seen in Landseer’s wonderful picture of Titania.

We will now devote a few words to the breeding of rabbits.

The rabbit will breed at a very early age, i. e. from eight months upwards; but those who want healthy young ought not to allow the rabbits to breed before they are one year old, or after they have completed their fourth year. The buck and doe should be always kept in different hutches, out of each other’s sight, and only allowed to remain together for a very short time. The rabbit usually breeds four times in the year, or even oftener; but as a general rule it is not advisable to allow more than three breeds in the year.

When the doe rabbit feels the time approaching for her young to be born, she begins to bite in little pieces the hay of her bed, and when she does so a supply of very fine soft hay should be placed within her reach. She then pulls this together in her sleeping-chamber, and mixes it with downy fur plucked from her own body, ready for the reception of the expected family.

It is as well to put a pan of water within reach, as the animal generally thirsts after the young are born, and unless she can get at water, is apt to eat the young merely on account of the moisture. One of my own rabbits acted in a very odd manner. She called to one of her family, telling it to come to her. The disobedient child refused, and the mother accordingly seized it by one ear and dragged it along. Unfortunately, she pulled so hard in one direction, and the young one pulled so hard in the other, that the ear was fairly dragged from the head. The mother treated the matter very easily, ate the severed ear, caught hold of the other, and succeeded in reducing her offspring to obedience.

While engaged in maturing her young, the mother requires a very ample supply of food, eating nearly twice as much as at other times. She must have plenty of green food, and a mash of barley meal and milk will be found beneficial. For the first week or ten days the door of the sleeping-room should not be opened, as the mother-rabbit is very jealous of her young, and if they are handled, or even looked at, will sometimes eat them. This is a terrible habit, and if a rabbit once act in that manner, provided that she is well supplied with food and drink, the best plan is to fatten her for the table.

The young are suckled for about five weeks, when the mother weans them, and they learn to eat tender grass-blades, and other green food. If the family be very large, there is sure to be at least one small and weakly among the number. This should be removed and destroyed, so as to ensure that only the strong and healthy are reared.

There are several diseases to which domestic rabbits are liable, but these ailments are nearly all caused through negligence; and in a really well-appointed and carefully-tended rabbitry a sickly animal is hardly ever seen.

Except in the case of valuable fancy animals, the trouble and expense of attempting the cure of a diseased rabbit are so great, that few will find themselves repaid, even by the recovery of the invalid. Recovery, however, is so very dubious, that in almost every case it is cheaper and more humane to kill the animal at once, which is performed instantaneously and painlessly by holding the creature up by the hind legs, and with the edge of the right hand striking it a sharp blow behind the ears. Let the young rabbit-keeper rest assured, that if one of his pets should fall ill, the sickness will in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred be chargeable to some negligence of his own.

THE RAVEN.

All the members of the Crow tribe have a decided family likeness; and, as a general fact, the relationship can be recognised as long as they belong to the British species. But as there are several foreign birds which bear a decided resemblance to this tribe, though really belonging to other families, it is needful to give a few hints as to the method by which these may be distinguished. The young observer must look first at the beak, then at the wings, and lastly at the legs. In all these birds the beak is strong and conical, arched on the keel, i. e. the ridge along the upper surface, with the sides rather flattened as far as the tip. The nostrils are set at the base of the beak, and hidden by plumes. The wings are never very large, and mostly pointed. The tarsi, i. e. the long, straight leg-bones, are of moderate length, and covered with strong, shield-like scales.

The British representatives of this large family are the carrion crow, the rook, the Royston or hooded or grey crow, the chough, the raven, the jackdaw, the jay, and the magpie.

The Raven, once so plentiful over England, is now nearly extinct, except in some of the wild uncultivated districts, where it still lingers, uttering its hoarse, loud cry, flapping its broad wings, and committing no small havoc among the young or feeble animals that have the misfortune to dwell in its neighbourhood.

To procure a raven is now a difficult task, and can seldom be accomplished except by giving an order to the regular dealers. We do not advise any of our young readers to possess themselves of a raven unless they have ample space for the bird, and are quite certain that it cannot get into any mischief. Either a magpie, a jay, or a jackdaw, seems to be possessed with an incessant spirit of mischief, but the raven seems to have enough for the three, and as it possesses enormous muscular power and irrepressible audacity, it is a peculiarly unsafe inmate of a house or garden.

For our own part, we have been for some months undecided whether we shall have a raven or not. We should greatly like to possess one of these birds, but then we know that he would pull up all our newly-sown seeds, bully our cat, peck the servants’ heels, get into the milk-pail, tear our papers to pieces, and, in short, spoil everything within his reach. We could, of course, chain him up, and clip his wings, or put him into a metal cage, but we think all such proceedings to be needlessly cruel, especially in the case of a bird like the raven, whose instinct teaches it to roam far and wide, and whose opportunities of exercise ought never to be confined to the limited space comprehended by a chain or a cage.

When treated properly, the raven possesses a very mine of amusing and companionable qualities, at all events to those who treat it kindly, and whom it does not suspect of any intention to injure. It is a capital talker, equalling the parrot in that respect, except that the voice is very gruff and low, as if spoken from under a feather bed.

The raven is not long in taking the measure of its companions, and has a supreme contempt for those who display weakness of mind or resources. Nothing seems to make a raven so happy as frightening somebody. He likes to come quietly behind a nervous person, deliver a heavy dab at the ankle with his iron bill, and then walk away as if he knew nothing about the assault. He will frighten dogs half out of their senses, chase the cats, drive the fowls about, and as to the horses, he mostly takes a fancy to them, sitting on their backs, or walking calmly and deliberately among their legs. Indeed the raven always has a great affection for stable life. He likes to saunter in and out of the stalls, to flap his way from one horse to another, to peck at strangers, to patronise the helpers, to be on speaking terms with the grooms, and, we regret to say, has a strange talent for picking up all the evil language which is too often found in and about the stable-yard.

He encourages the presence of dogs and cats, because he always steals their dinners; and if he can find an opportunity of making a sly raid upon the luncheon of a groom, he is sure to seize it. He becomes the patriarch of the yard, and stands by his dignity as such. He won’t die, but lives on, year after year; sees successive generations of horses, grooms, and proprietors pass away, and seems to despise them for not living as long as himself. Time seems to have little power with him. His feathers take a greyer hue when he is a century or two old, but in disposition he remains ever young, malicious, crafty, active, quaint, and voracious.

He will eat anything, and can be taught to devour the most remarkable substances, provided that he thinks them very valuable, and not intended for food. Raw meat is perhaps his favourite diet, and he is greatly pleased with rats, mice, small birds, fat beetles, big grubs or worms, and similar delicacies. But he will eat bread when he cannot get meat; and if he can only be got to believe that the article is extremely valuable, he will make a breakfast on a newspaper or a shirt-collar.

He can be easily induced to swallow even a black-lead pencil or a pocket-handkerchief, by a very simple process. Drop the article as if accidentally, search for it anxiously, go away without seeming to see it, and hardly will your back be turned when the raven will have snatched up the missing article and conveyed it to his storehouse.

If watched from a spot where the observer cannot be seen, he will be noticed to proceed in a very methodical manner. He will first pick up his prize, and walk about solemnly with it in his beak, as if displaying a captured trophy of war. He will then put his foot on it, seize one corner of the paper or handkerchief in his beak, and deliberately tear it into strips, which he will probably swallow. As to the pencil, he pegs at it with the point of his beak at a wonderful pace, making the splinters fly in all directions, and ever and anon looking round, to see that no one is watching him.

Clever as is the raven, and intelligent beyond the wont of birds, his very superiority in this respect often has the effect of rendering him a victim to superior powers. There is scarcely any bird that can be hoaxed more readily than a raven, or that can be “drawn out” with greater ease. Those who humour his ways can make a perfect puppet of him, and induce him to play most undignified antics, without giving him the least idea how thoroughly he is being imposed upon.

Our last advice is that, unless the reader can afford plentiful space for his bird, and assure it a kind treatment, he will act wisely not to attempt to procure a raven. Should, however, he be able to afford it these necessaries of existence, by all means let him procure one of these most amusing birds.

Ravens require scarcely any trouble, and when they have fairly established themselves, will not desert their homes under any circumstances. They ought to be fed once, and once only, per diem, for they will find plenty of insects, worms, and other little delicacies, without giving any trouble. They should always be furnished with a place of retreat into which they can retire whenever they feel tired of the world, and they like the hermitage to be deep, dark, and warm, sheltered from wind and rain, and out of the way of inquisitive eyes.

Finally, a raven is an excellent judge of character, and if he is really appreciated, he will become a firm and faithful friend.

SILKWORMS.

“The proudest king May thank the silkworm for his robe of state.”--AKENSIDE.

The rearing and management of silkworms is an innocent and agreeable pastime both to boys and girls, and it is very interesting in many points of view. One fact is, that while the caterpillars of all the other tribes of moths and butterflies, when they have arrived at a certain state of maturity, show a restless disposition, and wander about and hide themselves in a variety of places in order to spin their cocoons, the silkworm, on the contrary, is content to remain stationary in the open tray or box in which it may be placed. After consuming its immediate supply of mulberry leaves, it waits for a further quantity, and when the period arrives for spinning its cocoon, instead of showing any migratory disposition, it seems to place itself with confidence under the care of man to provide it with a suitable place for its convenience and protection.

The silkworm is systematically known under the name of the Bombyx Mori of Linnæus, or the Mulberry-tree Moth, which in the winged state is of a cream colour, with several transparent bands of a darker colour across the anterior wings and a crescent-shaped central mark. The caterpillar when full grown is nearly three inches in length, and is too well known to our young friends to need any particular description. The eggs when good are of a pale slate or dark lilac colour; they may be purchased in Covent Garden market for about ten shillings per ounce; and care should be taken to obtain them of a proper colour, because those that are of a pale yellow are imperfect.

The silkworm when first hatched is black, and does not exceed in length one-fourth of an inch. The desire for food is the first symptom it exhibits of life, and at this period it is more active than at any other. When about eight days have elapsed after its hatching, its head becomes considerably enlarged, and it turns sick, refuses food, and remains in a state of lethargy for about three days. This sickness would appear to arise from the pressure of the animal’s skin, which has become too tight for the increased bulk of its body. Indeed, the very great difference in the size of the worm from the beginning to the end of the caterpillar state is so great, that Nature has furnished it with several skins, each of which it casts in succession.

The body of the caterpillar is begirt by twelve rings, which approach to or recede from each other according to its motion; there are nine breathing-holes on each side of the body, seven eyes on each side of the head, and two small orifices below the jaws, through which the worm ejects its silken filament.

The art of using this filamentous substance seems to have originated with the Chinese, and to have been discovered at a very early period, and the raw material was purchased by the Persians, Tyrians, and Indians for a long time before it was introduced into Europe. For many ages silk bore an enormous price at Rome, but about the middle of the sixth century two monks arrived at Constantinople from India, bringing with them the white mulberry and the eggs of the silkworm, which have since been reared in Italy, Spain, France, and other parts of Europe.

FOOD OF THE SILKWORM.

The silkworm feeds, as every one knows, on the leaves of the white mulberry; or, when these cannot be obtained, upon those of the black mulberry; or, in lieu of these, upon the leaves of the common garden lettuce. The white mulberry is especially cultivated for the value of its leaves, its fruit being insipid and very inferior to that of the common species, the leaves of which are equally good in this country for the food of the silkworm. There has been a variety lately introduced from the Philippine Isles (Morus multicaulis), which has larger leaves, and which is easily propagated by cuttings put into a cucumber frame in October, and transplanted in the following May; yet, still, to ensure success in the rearing of silkworms the young naturalist should stick to the old black mulberry, as such trees are to be found in various vicinities. To propagate this, a branch from another tree may be set in the earth, which will frequently grow. The amiable Sir John Philipport of Hammersmith, so celebrated for his “Elysian groves and fountains fair,” and for his sterling English qualities, has in his grounds a fine mulberry-tree, which he reared by placing a very loose branch in the ground in the autumn of 1850, which threw out roots, and started at once into a tree. The story of a gate-post made of a mulberry trunk becoming, and now remaining, a fruitful tree, is well authenticated. The leaves to be used should be those of a large and well-grown, prolific tree, and they should be gathered with care, so that the young buds of future leaves should in no way be injured; moreover, a tree should never be stripped twice in a year.

HATCHING, FEEDING, AND TEMPERATURE.

Having procured the eggs, which should be obtained about the latter end of April--they are generally bought on slips of paper just as they were laid by the moth--they should be placed in trays made of stout cartridge or thin pasteboard of the form seen in the cut, and there should be provided to go over the case some thin gauze. The trays may be placed in a window facing the south, where they are fully exposed to the rays of the sun; there they should remain undisturbed till they begin to hatch; and as the young worms appear they should be removed into other trays, and fed with the mulberry leaves. The temperature should be regulated from sixty-six to seventy degrees, and the room ventilated, and preserved equally free from damp or too much dryness. They should be kept particularly clean, dead leaves and dung cleared carefully away, and in lifting them from one tray to another they should not be touched by the fingers, but removed by threads of cotton passed under their bodies, or with a camel’s-hair pencil.

MOULTINGS.

The caterpillar has four moultings, which may be all accomplished in the period of four days each, if the heat of the room be increased to from ninety-five to one hundred degrees of Fahrenheit. When the heat is regulated to a lower standard, the first moulting takes place on the fourth or fifth day after hatching, the second in four days more, the third in five or six days more, and the last in about eight days. Ten days more are required after this moulting, so that in about thirty-two days after hatching the caterpillar has attained its full size. During all these changes of the worm it requires the nicest attention.

THE COCOON.

At the end of the time mentioned above the worms change to a clear pink or flesh colour, and look semi-transparent; they refuse their food, become restless, and prepare to spin or form their cocoon. At this time care should be taken to raise the walls of their tray habitation, or they will climb over them and be lost. What is called the cocoon nest should now be prepared by twisting the corners of a piece of writing-paper, and raising its edges into the form of the lower shell of an oyster. A number of these should be prepared and affixed to a piece of tape, with their pointed ends downwards; and into each one a single worm should be placed when it quits its food, and seems ready to spin: it will then dispose its web in such a manner as to leave a cavity within.

The cocoon consists of three distinct layers of silk: the first is loose and flossy, and is unserviceable for the silk manufacture; the second is closer, the silk crossing from side to side; and the third is still finer, and is glued strongly together, so as to form a compact inner coating.

THE AURELIA.

When the cocoon is completed, the enclosed caterpillar again casts its skin, with the head and jaws attached to it, when it appears under the form of a conical chrysalis of the ordinary shape. At first the chrysalis, when opened, exhibits only a yellowish fluid, but by degrees the various parts of the future moth appear, and in about a fortnight or three weeks a slight swelling of the chrysalis indicates the approach of another change; a rupture down its back succeeds, and by degrees the moth bursts through its horny coating into the hollow chamber of the cocoon, and if left to itself would soon eat its way out.

WINDING THE SILK.

The chrysalis, however, must be prevented from eating through the cocoon; and previous to the egress of the moth from its aurelian state, the silk must be wound off. When, by taking up the cocoon, it is found that the caterpillar has passed into the aurelian state--which may easily be known by shaking it, as then the aurelia, from its harder texture and shrunken size, will be heard to rattle--then it is time to wind off the silk. The cocoon is placed in a cup of warm water, after the loose outward silk has been removed, and then, an end being taken, the whole continuous filament may be wound off on a piece of card. The length of the thread of a cocoon varies from 600 to 1,000 feet; yet the whole does not weigh more than three grains and a half. An ounce of eggs will produce about 40,000 caterpillars, which will consume 1,073 lbs. of leaves, and produce from 80 lbs. to 100 lbs. of cocoon, or about eight pounds of raw silk.

THE MOTH.

When the silk is wound off the aurelia presents itself, and being put in a separate case, it remains motionless for about twenty days, when suddenly it appears as a pale yellow moth, with wings which seem scarcely adapted for flight. It crawls heavily about the place where it has been hatched, having a slight tremor in its wings, and eats nothing: the male speedily dies; the females hover about a while without flying, and lay their eggs on the slips of paper presented to them for that purpose. They then soon perish. The female moth generally produces about 300 or 400 eggs.

GENERAL REMARKS.

The place where silkworms are bred, should persons wish to pursue their rearing upon a larger scale, must be free from noisome smells, cattle, and all noises. Persons attending them must be scrupulously clean in their persons, and wash themselves after every meal. Great attention must also be paid to the temperature of the apartment in which they are kept, which must also be free from all dust or smoke; and the most thoughtful and tender care is requisite in everything connected with their treatment and management.

THE SQUIRREL.

The pretty little squirrel has long held a high place in the affections of pet-lovers, and there are few who have not admired the brisk lively movements, the full intelligent eye, and the soft bushy tail of this creature. To possess a tame squirrel is often a legitimate object of boy ambition, not unfrequently shared by their elders. In order to give our readers a few hints as to the procuring, management, and taming of this pretty playmate, we offer the following suggestions.

The first care of every intending possessor of a squirrel should be to prepare a comfortable home for the expected guest, so that the little creature may find its first association with captive life as agreeable as it can be made. In point of fact, the young naturalist should try to give to the squirrel’s future home the greatest possible resemblance to the native domicile.

The very best house for a squirrel is an unused room, fitted up with strong tree-branches, and furnished with a cosy little box, filled with hay and dry mosses, by way of a bedchamber. As, however, such accommodation is not readily found, we will just describe the mode of making a very strong, sightly, and cleanly cage, at a comparatively small expense, and possessing the advantage of coming to pieces when needed, and being packed flat like a portfolio for removal. It will be much cheaper than a purchased cage, quite as handsome, and more easily cleansed.

Make, or, if you are not a good workman, get a carpenter to make, a shallow wooden tray about two inches deep, lined with tin, which should be turned fairly over the edges, or sundry difficulties will appear in course of time. (See fig. 1.) Then go to a wire-worker’s, and order him to make two frames of galvanized iron wire, like fig. 2, and two more like fig. 3, each being about half an inch shorter than the interior length and width of the tray, into which they are intended to fit easily. Also have another piece of similar wire made large enough to bend over the arched tops of the end-pieces, so as to make a roof like the transepts of the Crystal Palace. The edges of the side and end-pieces should be very stout, but those of the roof only moderately strong, or it will not bend easily. It will be better to have a square opening at each end, which should be closed by a door of similar materials. As this wirework will be of coarse manufacture, and have tolerably wide intervals, the cost will be very moderate.

After these frames have been procured, fit them together, and fasten them by twisting bits of wire round the edges at intervals of three inches or so. Put this frame into the tray, and the cage is complete. The staples at the ends are useful for receiving the hooked end of a slight iron rod, looped at the other end to the edging-wire, as seen in fig. 4. These rods act as braces to keep the whole structure firm, and also hold it down to the tray. Some suitable sticks or branches should be fastened to the wires, as the squirrel is fond of playing about on them.

This is the day-room of the squirrel, and its bedroom is merely a proper-sized box, with wire-work substituted for the wooden bottom, a hinged lid, and a hole cut in one end. This should be supported on four legs; a nail at each corner (not a brass-headed nail) will answer the purpose perfectly well. This box is simply placed in the tray at the back of the cage. If it can be managed, a duplicate tray will be exceedingly convenient, as the cage needs the extremest cleanliness, and can be simply purified by changing the tray every morning, washing very carefully the one just removed, and leaving it in the air till the next day. A duplicate sleeping-box will be equally serviceable. The box should be furnished with perfectly clean hay, mosses, lichens, &c.

The cage should never be less than two feet long, two high, and one foot wide. All should be thus particular about the size of the cage, because we hold it to be a cruel deed to take an active little creature like the squirrel from its fields and wide woods, where it can sport at will over unlimited space, and coop it up in a close, evil-smelling, little cage, where its only exercise can be obtained by driving a wheel round, and its wonderful faculty of leaping wholly checked. How much wheel-work would the squirrel do if it had the choice of a tree or a wheel for its exercise? Even in a cage, provided it be of a proper size, the little creature would not trouble itself to get into a wheel, but prefer clambering about the wires, and jumping from one side to another, in the exuberance of its activity.

Many persons assert that the squirrel is quite fond of the wheel, and delights in driving it; but they forget that the poor little creature is driven to that as its last resource for needful exercise; and it no more delights in pulling a wire wheel than the caged lion and tiger delight in their restless pacing of their dens.

The exercise of the powers with which it is so liberally gifted is essential to the health of the squirrel, and its health must suffer if it be not permitted to leap. Look at it in a tree, and just see what astonishing jumps the pretty creature takes; how it will spring fairly from the ground to the trunk of a tree, making a jump of some six or seven feet in length and four in height; how it gallops up the perpendicular stem, with its tail laid behind it, like a fox’s brush; how it scuttles up the branches, always contriving to keep the bough between itself and the spectator; and then how, when it has arrived at the topmost branch, and considers itself safe, it sits up in its own charmingly impertinent position, spreads its tail over its head, and looks down with a calmly supercilious contempt on the clumsy two-legged animal below, who cannot run up a tree, and has no bushy tail for a parasol.

No one who has once witnessed this sight could ever be guilty of such a cruel act as penning up a squirrel in a small cage, where it has no room to perform its pretty tricks; and if the reader cannot furnish his pet with a proper house, we earnestly dissuade him from keeping a squirrel at all.

Having prepared the house, the next business is to procure the inhabitant. Be ever wary of those wandering dealers who carry a squirrel about for sale in their arms, stroke its head, and put their fingers to its mouth to show its tameness. In almost every case the man is a cheat, and in many instances a cruel one.

The apparent tameness of some of these little creatures is caused by a small dose of strychnine, which renders the animal dull and spiritless, and is generally fatal in the course of a day or two; so that the disappointed purchaser finds his pet dead and stiff at the bottom of its cage before he has possessed it for many hours. Some of these men are said to employ a preparation of opium for the same purpose.

In cases where these impostors wish to sell an old and cross-grained squirrel as a gentle, young one, they pull out its front teeth, so that the poor creature not only cannot bite, but feels such pain in its jaws that it recoils whenever the cruel owner puts his finger to its mouth as a proof of its good education and gentle disposition. As all rodent animals depend solely on their beautifully-formed and chisel-shaped fore teeth for their subsistence, the unfortunate squirrel is unable to eat, and dies miserably of hunger.

Taking warning, therefore, of these hints, let every intending purchaser of a squirrel be very wary respecting the seller, and examine the squirrel’s eye, to see if it be bright and lively, and its mouth, to see if the teeth be perfect. The age of the squirrel may also be known by its teeth: if young, they are nearly white; if old, of a deep yellow. Squirrels when taken after they have reached their full age are nearly always vicious and ill-tempered.

The best way, therefore, to obtain a good squirrel is either to order it from a respectable dealer, who will be sure to supply a young and healthy animal, or to be independent of dealers, and take the creature out of the nest.

For this purpose the young naturalist should go into the woods about the middle of summer, and look carefully among the branches for the home of the squirrel, called either a “cage” or a “drey,” according to the locality. The nest is made on the exterior of leaves and fine twigs, and lined with moss, lichens, and similar soft substances. There are two kinds of nests, one used in summer and the other in winter. The winter nest is very carefully concealed, being placed at the junction of several large branches with the trunk, so as to shield it from prying eyes below, the blasts of the keen winter wind, and to support its large dimensions.

The summer cage, on the contrary, is not so carefully concealed, but is placed upon a considerable elevation, and often upon boughs so slender that they bend in a most alarming manner beneath the weight. Still, it often happens that a nest can be reached without danger, in which may be found one or two young squirrels of just the proper age.

When captured at an early age, the squirrel often becomes extremely tame and confiding, and will play with its owner as if they had both lived in the same nest. It is a pretty sight to witness the gambols of a squirrel with its human playfellow, to see the active little animal jump on the shoulders, run all over the body, perch on the head, poke its wise little head into a pocket, and then with a quick dive of the ready paw bring out a nut, which it straightway cracks and eats as merrily as if in its native woods. Such a sight is pleasant for many reasons; not the least being that it proves the kindly disposition of the boy with whom a squirrel, though naturally timid, will thus fearlessly play, and it gives promise of more extended sympathies when he attains to riper years and more matured faculties.

The squirrel when in confinement is best fed on the substances which it eats while in the wild state, such as nuts, acorns, corn, and similar substances. It will also eat bread-and-milk, and likes to nibble a biscuit by way of a treat. As the squirrel is known to be carnivorous to a certain degree, it may be useful to give it occasionally a young bird, or a few eggs of the thrush, sparrow, or any other common bird. We cannot, however, give personal testimony to the good effect of this diet. Hard shell-fruits, such as nuts, acorns, &c., are absolutely necessary to this animal, as the structure of the teeth compels it to be continually nibbling. In all the rodent animals the front teeth are four in number, flat, slightly curved, and edged like a chisel. They play against each other in such a manner that they mutually keep each other sharp; and in order to supply the constant wearing away to which they are subject, they grow throughout the whole lifetime of the animal, being pushed forward by fresh growth at the base.

It sometimes happens that a rodent animal, such as a rat or a rabbit, loses one of its teeth, and the consequence is that the corresponding tooth in the jaw, finding nothing to check it, grows so long that it has been known to reach even the forehead, to form a complete ring, and sometimes to penetrate the other jaw. In all these cases the poor creature was miserably thin, and would probably have died from gradual starvation at no distant period.

The last-mentioned point in squirrel-keeping, though of course the most important, is the absolute necessity for the most scrupulous cleanliness. In their native state, all animals are clean to a degree that might shame many a human being, and their instinctive sanitary customs are most praiseworthy. Even the pig, for instance, so often cited as an example of filthy habits, is when wild a model of cleanliness, and when domesticated absolutely revels in a thorough scrubbing with soap and hot water. The squirrel, in like manner, though perfectly sweet and clean in a wild state, is sure to be most offensive in captivity, unless the cage be carefully purified daily.

It is for this reason that we are so particular in recommending galvanized iron for the materials of the cage, avoiding wood altogether, as an evil odour readily penetrates wood, and can never be totally expelled. The duplicate tray and sleeping-box will prove to be of the greatest service in keeping the cage clean, and will save much trouble to the proprietor and annoyance to the inhabitant.

Should the squirrel-rearer prefer to employ wood in any part of the cage, he must be sure to bind with sheet-tin every edge and angle of the woodwork, as the little creature will nibble at the exposed edges so continually with its chisels of teeth, that it will speedily render the article useless.

Before closing these remarks, let us enjoin on every intending rearer of a pet to consider well before he undertakes the sole guardianship of any creature, and to assure himself that he will perform with punctuality and completeness the many little offices required by animals when taken from their natural state of existence, debarred from the exercise of their ordinary capacities, and rendered incapable of procuring food or keeping themselves in that state of cleanliness which is the ordinary condition of creatures in a state of nature.

He must make up his mind that the task will be somewhat troublesome, and will now and then interfere with contemplated projects; but at the same time he must rigidly determine that nothing shall cause him to forget, or induce him to omit, one single duty towards the little creature under his care. It is dumb, and has no language to declare its wants or proclaim its injuries; and this very dumbness ought to incite in every right-feeling heart a strong compassion for the helpless state in which the creature is placed, an unshakeable resolution to make it as happy as it can be under the circumstances.

It is possible to elevate the character of a kindly-treated pet to such a degree, that it will voluntarily forsake the society of its own kind for that of man, and even if granted its liberty, will refuse to avail itself of the gift, and return to the protection of the sheltering hand. By humane and sympathetic treatment a pet may be made happier than in its native state, and be saved many pangs of suffering by a kindly owner. All animals when wild have to pass through a sort of schooling, and get sadly knocked about and bullied by their elders before they attain maturity and strength to become bullies in their turn; but if reared in gracious captivity, they will escape the ordeal through which they must have passed.

Lastly, let the owner remember that his little favourite is wholly dependent on him for every necessary and comfort of life, and that it will be a piece of arrant cruelty--or, at all events, of inexcusable thoughtlessness--to permit the captive to feel the pangs of hunger or thirst, or to suffer the discomfort of an unclean home.

WHITE MICE.

The mouse is a lively little animal, and one of the most timid, although he eats in the trap as soon as he is caught. The brown mouse can very rarely be tamed; but white mice are bred and brought up in a state of domestication, and the young fancier can obtain a pair for a shilling at any of the fanciers. The female has frequently six or eight broods in a year, but at these times she must be separated from the buck, who very frequently destroys the young ones.

Cages for white mice may be easily purchased by those who have the money--mark that--and you may indulge yourselves, my young friends, to any tune, from the sweet jingle of sixpence to the respectable clink of a golden sovereign. The best kind of cage is that like a squirrel’s, but on a small scale.

Some boys who have ingenuity will construct pretty little houses for their white mice. We remember seeing one on which there was a mill, by which the white mice, very much like millers in their looks, ground their own corn by means of a turnabout fixed on a post of the dormitory, and it was very amusing to see the little creatures come out of the chimney and look about as unlike chimney-sweeps as white is to black.

The principal food for white mice is bread-and-milk, oatmeal grits, and any other common food, except cheese, which is bad for them. They should be kept particularly clean, and their cages ought to be arranged, and beds made up every day, or they will give out a most disagreeable smell.

Piebald mice are sometimes produced by a union of the common field-mouse with a white mouse: there are also some expensive varieties, such as the black mouse, and the black and white mouse, which the young gentlemen who have more money than wit may purchase for a few shillings each; but we say sixpence: sixpence apiece is enough for any pets of this kind.

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