eagles, their habits be to plunge in the water in pursuit of their prey.

The general structure of feathers seems purposely adapted both for warmth of clothing and security of flight. In the wings of all birds which fly, the webs composing the vanes, or plumy sides of the feather, mutually interlock by means of regular rows of slender, hair-like teeth, so that the feather, except at and towards its base, serves as a complete and close screen from the weather on the one hand, and as an impermeable oar on the other, when situated in the wing, and required to catch and retain the impulse of the air.

The stratagems and contrivances instinctively employed by birds, for their support and protection, are peculiarly remarkable; in this way those which are weak are enabled to elude the pursuit of the strong and rapacious. Some are even screened from the attacks of their enemies by an arrangement of colors assimilated to the places which they most frequent for subsistence and repose: thus the wryneck is scarcely to be distinguished from the tree on which it seeks its food; or the snipe from the soft and springy ground which it frequents. The great plover finds its chief security in stony places, to which its colors are so nicely adapted that the most exact observer may be deceived. The same resort is taken advantage of by the night-hawk, partridge, plover, and the American quail, the young brood of which squat on the ground, instinctively conscious of being nearly invisible, from their close resemblance to the broken ground on which they lie, and trust to this natural concealment. The same kind of deceptive and protecting artifice is often employed by birds to conceal, or render the external appearance of their nests ambiguous. Thus the European wren forms its nest externally of hay, if against a hayrick; covers it with lichens, if the tree chosen is so clad; or makes it of green moss, when the decayed trunk in which it is built is thus covered; and then, wholly closing it above, leaves only a concealed entry

in the side. Our humming-bird, by external patches of licher, gives her nest the appearance of a moss-grown knot. A similar artifice is employed by our yellow-breasted flycatcher or vireo, and others. The golden-crowned thrush makes a nest like an oven, erecting an arch over it so perfectly resembling the tussock in which it is concealed, that it is only discoverable by the emotion of the female when startled from its

covert.

or retort.

Birds of the same genus differ much in their modes of nidification. Thus the martin makes a nest within a rough-cast rampart of mud, and enters by a flat opening in the upper edge. The cliff-swallow of Bonaparte, seen about Portland, in Maine, and Nova Scotia, as well as in the remote regions of the West, conceals its warm and feathered nest in a receptacle of agglutinated mud, resembling a narrow-necked purse Another species, in the Indian seas, forms a small receptacle for its young entirely of interlaced gelatinous fibres, provided by the mouth and stomach; these fabrics, stuck in clusters against the rocks, are collected by the Chinese, and boiled and eaten in soups as the rarest delicacy. The bankmartin, like the kingfisher, burrows deep into the friable banks of rivers, to secure a depository for its scantily feathered nest. The chimney-swallow, originally an inhabitant of hollow trees, builds in empty chimneys a mere nest of agglutinated twigs. The woodpecker, nuthatch, titmouse, and our rural bluebird, secure their young in hollow trees; and the first often gouge and dig through the solid wood with the success and industry of instinctive carpenters, and without the aid of any other chisel than their wedged bills.

LESSON LV.

The Same, continued. IDEM.

In respect to the habits of birds, we well know, that, like the quadrupeds, they possess, though in an inferior degree, the capacity for a certain measure of what may be termed education, or the power of adding to their stock of invariable habits the additional circumstantial traits of an inferior degree of reason. Thus, in those birds which have discovered, like the faithful dog, that humble companion of man, the advantages to be derived from associating round his premises, the regularity of their instinctive habits gives way, in a measure, to improvable conceptions. In this manner our golden robin or fiery hangbird, originally only a native of the wilderness and the forest, is now a constant summer resident in the vicinity of villages and dwellings. From the depending boughs of our towering elms, like the oriole of Europe, and the cassican of tropical America, he weaves his pendulous and purselike nest of the most tenacious and durable materials he can collect. These naturally consist of the Indian hemp, flax of the silk-weed, and other tough and fibrous substances; but with a ready ingenuity he discovers that real flax and hemp, as well as thread, cotton, yarn, and even hanks of silk, or small strings, and horse and cow hair, are excellent substitutes for his original domestic materials; and in order to be convenient to these accidental resources,- a matter of some importance in so tedious a labor, he has left the wild woods of his ancestry, and, conscious of the security of his lofty and nearly inaccessible mansion, has taken up his welcome abode in the precincts of our habitations.

The same motives of convenience and comfort have had their apparent influence on many more of our almost domestic feathered tribes; the bluebirds, wrens, and swallows, origi

nal inhabitants of the woods, are now no less familiar than our pigeons. The catbird often leaves his native solitary thickets for the convenience and refuge of the garden, and watching, occasionally, the motions of the tenant, answers to his whistle with complaisant mimicry, or in petulant anger scolds at his intrusion. The common robin, which never varies his simple and coarse architecture, tormented by the parasitic cuckoo, or the noisy jay, which seek at times to rob him of his progeny, for protection has been known fearlessly to build his nest within a few yards of the blacksmith's anvil, or on the stern timbers of an unfinished vessel, where the carpenters were still employed in their noisy labors. That sagacity obtains its influence over unvarying instinct in these and many other familiar birds, may readily be conceived, when we observe, that this venturous association with man vanishes with the occasion which required it; for no sooner have the oriole and robin reared their young, than their natural suspicion and shyness again return.

The most ingenious and labored nest of all the North American birds is that of the orchard oriole or troopial. It is suspended or pensile, like that of the baltimore, but, with the exception of hair, is constantly constructed of native materials, the principal of which is a kind of tough grass. The blades are formed into a sort of platted purse, but little inferior to a coarse straw bonnet; the artificial labor bestowed is so apparent, that Wilson humorously adds, that on his showing it to a matron of his acquaintance, betwixt joke and earnest, she asked, "if he thought it could not be taught to darn stockings."

Our little cheerful and almost domestic wren, which so often disputes with the martin and the bluebird the possession of the box set up for their accommodation in the garden or near the house, in his native resort of a hollow tree, or the shed of some neglected out-house, begins his fabric by forming a barricade of crooked interlacing twigs, a kind of chevauxde-frise, for the defence of his internal habitation, leaving

merely a very small entrance at the upper edge; and so pertinacious is the instinct of this little petulant and courageous warbler, that, without perceiving the inutility of his industry, in the artificial mansion prepared for him, he still laboriously encumbers the interior of the box with the same mass of rude sticks.

That birds, besides their predilection for the resorts of men, are also capable of appreciating consequences to themselves and young, scarcely admits the shadow of a doubt: they are capable of communicating their fears, and nicely calculating the probability of danger, or the immunities of favor. We talk of the cunning of the fox, and the watchfulness of the weasel; but the eagle, hawk, raven, crow, pie, and blackbird, possess those traits of shrewdness and caution which would seem to arise from reflection and prudence. They well know the powerful weapons and wiles of civilized man. Without being able to smell powder,-a vulgar idea, the crow and blackbird at once suspect the character of the fatal gun; they will alight on the backs of cattle without any show of apprehension, and the pie even hops upon them with insulting and garrulous playfulness; but he flies instantly from his human enemy, and seems, by his deprecating airs, aware of the proscription that affects his existence. A man on horseback, or in a carriage, is much less an object of suspicion to those wily birds, than when alone; and I have been frequently both amused and surprised, in the Southern States, by the sagacity of the common blackbirds, in starting from the ploughing field, with looks of alarm, at the sight of a white man, as distinct from and more dangerous than the black slave, whose furrow they closely and familiarly followed, for the insect-food it afforded them, without betraying any appearance of distrust.

That birds, like our more sedentary and domestic quadrupeds, are capable of exhibiting attachment to those who feed and attend them, is undeniable. Deprived of other society, some of our more intelligent species, particularly the thrushes,