described, and in its cavity pieces of white curd mixed with some of the common food of the pigeon, such as barley, beans, &c. If we allow either of the parents to feed the brood, the crop of the young pigeons, when examined, will be discovered to contain the same kind of curdled substance as that of the old ones, which passes from thence into the stomach, where it is to be digested.

The young pigeon is fed for a little time with this substance only, as about the third day some of the common food is found mingled with it. As the pigeon grows older, the proportion of common food is increased, so that by the time it is seven, eight, or nine days old, the secretion of the curd ceases in the old ones, and of course no more will be found in the crop of the young. It parent pigeon has at

is a curious fact, that the first a power to throw up this, and without any mixture of common food, although afterwards both are thrown up according to the proportion required for the young ones.

A curious instance was recently communicated to me of the method taken by a bitch to feed her young puppies. An acquaintance of mine has a beagle, which lately had a litter of whelps. When they were a few weeks old, she had not sufficient milk to support them. In order, therefore, to feed them, she was in the habit, two or three

times a day, of throwing up the contents of her stomach close to her puppies, on which they fed. The food ejected from her stomach always appeared in a nearly digested state: had it been otherwise, the whelps could not have fed upon it. This is the second well-attested fact of the same kind which has been communicated to me, and is a proof, not only of the great affection of animals for their young, but as shewing the means which Nature has implanted in an animal of nourishing its offspring when the usual nutriment has not been sufficiently abundant. Indeed, the affection which animals shew for their young, forgetful even of their own preservation in their care and love for them, is not a little surprizing. In one of the late Sir William Hoste's letters, published in his Memoirs, is the following proof of it. He says, a remarkable instance of a monkey's sagacity and feelings happened to two of our officers 'when shooting, and which has determined me

6

6

never to shoot one as long as I live. Coming 'home after a long fag, the purser saw a female 'monkey running along the rocks, and imme

6

diately fired: she fell, with her young one in her arms. On the purser coming up, she grasped 'her little one close to her breast, and with the ' other hand pointed to the wound which the ball had made, and which had entered above the 'breast. Dipping her finger in the blood, and

' then holding it up, she seemed to reproach him 'with being the cause of her death, and conse'quently that of the young one, to which she fre'quently pointed. I never felt so much as when 'I heard the story, and it serves to shew how strongly the parental feelings are implanted by 'Nature even in the brute creation.'

Every fresh instance of the affection of animals for their young under unusual circumstances is worthy of being recorded. It places them before us, not only in an interesting manner, by shewing how strongly Almighty Providence has rendered the animal creation attentive to the care of their young, but as evincing also the fearlessness of danger, the absence of all self-regard, and that maternal anxiety and love, which is possessed equally by irrational as well as rational beings. A proof of this extraordinary affection came lately under my own observation. In cutting down some trees on the estate recently purchased by the Crown at Petersham for the purpose of being annexed to Richmond park, the axe was applied to the root of a tall drawn up tree, on the top of which was a squirrel's nest. A rope was fastened to the tree for the purpose of pulling it down more expeditiously; the workmen cut at the roots, the rope was pulled, the tree swayed backwards and forwards, and at last fell. During all these operations a female squirrel never attempted to

desert her new-born young, but remained with them in the nest. When the tree fell down she was thrown out of the nest and secured unhurt, and was put into a cage with her young ones. She suckled them for a short time, but refused to eat. Her maternal affection, however, remained to the last moment of her life, and she died in the act of affording all the nourishment in her power to her offspring.

'This guest of winter,

'The mansion-loving red-breast, doth discern,
'By his quick eye that wooingly invites,

'Where table crumbs do fall. No casement,

Hall-door, or out-house, but this bird

'Hath made her shelter, and haunt for food.

"When they most hop and peer about, I've noted
'The season is severe.'

PARODY.

THE disappearance of water-hens from ponds during a hard frost has often surprized me, as I could not make out where they were likely to go for food and shelter when their natural haunts were frozen over. When the ice has disappeared the birds have returned. I have lately discovered, however, that they harbour in thick hedges and bushes, from which they are not easily driven, aware, probably, that they have no other shelter. They also get into thorn-trees, especially those covered with ivy, and probably feed on the berries, although their feet seem but ill-adapted for perching amongst trees. During the frost of the winter of 1832, a pair of water-hens kept almost entirely in a large arbutus-tree on the lawn of a house belonging to a lady at Hampton Wick, which was enclosed by a high paling, and no pond was near it. Here they probably fed on the berries of the