There is another singularity in this mysterious liquid, namely, the different force with which it acts on the various substances used for food by different birds. Thus the gastric juice in the stomach of those birds which live on flesh, acts very sparingly on vegetable substances. On examining the castings or pellets of some Eagles, which have been occasionally fed with dead Pigeons, it was found that the vegetable food, peas, wheat, and barley, which had been swallowed by these birds of prey, enclosed within the crops of the Pigeons, remained entire, being only somewhat enlarged by heat and moisture; though the fleshy substances, even to the very bones, were entirely consumed.*

Again, it has been observed, that this juice will not act upon the grain swallowed by poultry, and other granivorous birds, while it remains

whole and entire.

This fact has been further proved by actual experiment. Some gastric juice was poured into a cup containing some whole seeds, but it produced no effect upon them till they were crushed. Hence it has been found, that if oats and barley given to horses are previously killed by heating, and crushed, the animal only requires half the quantity, and yet thrives equally well.

In considering the real stomach, or gizzard, by which name it will be more familiarly known, we shall find additional cause for admiration, in the mode by which Providence, with reference to the food introduced, so nicely balances the grinding powers of the gizzard with the dissolving or melting powers of the gastric juice. This third or real stomach differs, like the gullet, crop, and second stomach, very materially in different birds; but, generally speaking, the action of this gizzard may be compared to that of a coffee-mill, grinding down the various substances introduced, into a pulpy matter. In those which feed on flesh and insects, substances of no very hard texture, this stomach appears as a thin membranous bag, in comparison with the thick muscular globes or gizzards of the grain-devouring class; and the reason is evident; for the animal matter on which they feed requires no actual grinding to reduce it, the action of the gastric juice being sufficient for the purpose of dissolving it; whereas, without the powerful working of this grinding-machine within its body, a fowl, for instance, without a gizzard, would receive no sustenance from the grains on which it depends chiefly for support, since we have seen that until these grains are bruised and crushed, the gastric juice will not act upon mealy or nourishing matter contained within the husk. And there are reasons for supposing, that in this process nature acts according to certain wise laws; in most cases suiting the quantity and quality of the gastric juice to the necessities of the bird. One of our ablest anatomists (Sir E. Home), indeed, concluded that the stomach became more and more fitted to economise the food, as the country to which the bird belongs became less fertile, or less able to provide the requisite supply. In some cases, where the gizzard is imperfect, and is unfitted to act the part of a grinder, the bird is led by instinct to provide itself with a singular substitute.

Zoological Journal, vol. x., p. 186.

We have alluded to the strange matters found in the stomach of the Ostrich which died in this country. Now, the reason why these birds and some others, such as the Emu and Cassowary, which move over the ground by running instead of flying, swallow such strange hard substances, is this: their digestive organs are, generally speaking, weak; accordingly, their well-known propensity for swallowing glass, iron, and other substances, is an instinctive remedy for this deficiency, which is further assisted by their habits of running; this motion producing such an increased shaking or rubbing together between these hard substances which they swallow, and their natural food, as to render the strong action of a gizzard in a great degree useless. Those who take an interest in poultry, are aware that they are in the constant habit of picking up small stones. Many persons consider this as an accidental occurrence, but it is by no means so; they do it, like the Ostrich, for the purpose of assisting the powers of the gizzard in grinding the shells and outer coats of the grains, so as to render them fit for final digestion. In the stomach of a Turkey-hen, nearly one hundred stones have been counted; and in that of a Goose, a still larger number; but these are nothing to the extraordinary contents of a common fowl's stomach, in which were found three pieces of flint, three metal buttons, fourteen nails, several of which were very sharp, in addition to a great number of small stones." The coat of the bird's stomach, with the exception of some slight scratches on the inner membrane, was in its natural state; probably, however, if the gizzard had been closely examined, it would have been found diseased or defective in its operations, thus inducing the fowl to make up its deficiency by so unnatural an addition. Sir James Ross, in his interesting "Voyage of Discovery towards the South Pole," mentions having found in the stomach of one of the "Great Penguin (Apterodytes Forsteri), the frequenters of high southern latitudes, from two to ten pounds weight of pebbles, consisting of granite, quartz, and trappean rocks, swallowed, no doubt, to assist them in digesting the various species of crustaceous animals on which they feed.

But the best way of understanding its curious mode of working, will be, to follow the progress of a meal swallowed by a fowl, between whose stomach and that of a corn-mill naturalists have traced a very close resemblance. The grain is first passed by the gullet into the craw, which may be compared to the hopper of the mill, through which the grain is gradually emptied on the grinding-stones. There, as we have seen, it remains a certain time, till it is considerably softened; and then, not all at once, but in very small quantities, in proportion to the progress of trituration, just as the hopper allows the grain to dribble into the central hole in the upper millstone, does it pass onwards to the gizzard, where it is thoroughly bruised and reduced. Many experiments have been made to ascertain the precise manner in which the gizzard acts; but we are still much in the dark respecting it. We may

* Edinburgh Philosophical Journal, No. 41.,

p. 206.

learn, however, a good deal, by examining a very lean young fowl; when, on removing the feathers from the side of the belly nearest the gizzard, its motion can be both felt, seen, and heard. On pressing with the finger, the muscles will feel to the touch as hard as stones; when they relax, the grain, upon which they were then working, passes on, and a further supply, as in the case of the mill, passes under these natural rollers. These alternate actions succeed each other slowly but regularly; and on placing the bird close to the ear, as the food and stones roll under the pressure of the muscles of the gizzard, a sound not unlike the noise of the tide rolling upon a shingly shore may be distinctly heard at intervals, as if the waves were ebbing and flowing; and during all this process, the gastric juice slowly flows in from the lower part of the gullet or second stomach, and mingles intimately with the digesting food. We have stated that the fowl best calculated for this examination should be a full-grown young one; but although, in this immature state, the gizzard is fully developed, if we were to dissect a chick we should find not a vestige of a gizzard, but merely a thin pellicle or skin. And it is for this reason, that whereas the young fowl is never theless old enough to live entirely on grain, and therefore requires the assistance of a gizzard, the little chick, on emerging from its shell, for a short time lives on soft food, and requires no such aid. As it advances in age, however, the pellicle gradually thickens; till at last, by pressure and rubbing, it becomes a hard and grinding

membrane.

From the different construction and digestive powers of the stomachs of birds, it must be evident that some are able to continue a much longer time without food than others. An Eagle has been known to fast for three weeks; those who had the charge of it having forgotten to provide its usual supply of food. It soon however recovered its strength, and did not appear to suffer from its extraordinary abstinence. How long other birds can sustain hunger, we can have few opportunities of learning; but probably it will be found that such as are most likely, from their habits and particular sort of food, to be more exposed to a precarious and doubtful supply, are, generally speaking, best provided against the chance of suffering. But this is not always the case, for Geese and Fowls, which are rarely without the means of supplying themselves, have been known to remain a surprising length of time in a fasting state. A favorite hen, which had been missed for upwards of four weeks, was fortunately found at the bottom of a deep well, by a person who went down to repair it: the poor bird, when discovered, was perched on a small piece of timber floating on the water, and when taken up was in a very exhausted state, but soon recovered.

A Goose was accidentally shut up in a shed, and supposed to have been carried away by a fex, when, at the expiration of three weeks, it was discovered alive; for a few days it continued in a weak state, but gradually resumed its strength.

Having taken a short view of the frame-work and internal construction of a bird, with reference to the disposal of its food, we shall next consider some other of the vital functions, commencing

with those of breathing and voice. The lungs of men and animals occupy, as is well known, a large portion of the chest; whereas, in birds, the space occupied is not only much smaller, but the lungs themselves are of a more firm and compact texture. At the same time they are most plentifully supplied with air-cells, communicating with other cells, profusely distributed over every part of the system: by this, their bodies are in a manner blown up and rendered buoyant; a considerable portion of the skeleton, moreover, as we have shown, being formed into receptacles for this light and elastic fluid, of which birds partake in so much greater a degree than most other portions of the creation. In fact, a bird, destined as it is to live in air, may be almost called an absolute air-vessel; so completely does air fill up and circulate throughout its whole frame! While men and other land animals breathe in air through the nostrils alone, a bird respires through a variety of other channels. A wounded Heron was observed to live a whole day, breathing solely through a broken portion of the wing-bone.* Other experiments have confirmed the fact. The fractured portion of a bone that had been separated, when immersed in soap and water, was observed to emit bubbles from the part nearest the body; proving, beyond a doubt, that it contained air in considerable quantities.

The quills of the feathers are also air-vessels, which can be emptied and filled at pleasure.

There is a bird called the Gannet, or Solan-Goose, which is a beautiful instance of this wonderful provision; it lives on fish, and passes the greater part of its time either in the air or on the water; even in the most tempestuous weather, when it may be seen floating like a cork on the wildest waves. To enable it to do so with the least possible inconvenience, it is provided with a greater power of filling and puffing itself with air than almost any other bird. It can even force air between its skin and its body, to such a degree, that it becomes nearly as light and buoyant as a bladder. This buoyancy, however, entirely prevents its diving after fish. Nature, therefore, has applied a remedy by giving an extraordinary force and rapidity of flight, in enabling the creature to dart down on a shoal from a great height. This velocity is so prodigious, that the force with which it strikes the surface of the water is sufficient to stun a bird not prepared for such a blow, or force the water up the nostrils. But the Gannet has nothing to fear from either of those causes, the front of his head being covered with a sort of horny mask, which gives it a singularly wild appearance; and it has no nostrils, a deficiency amply remedied by the above-mentioned reservoirs of air, and capacity for keeping them always filled. Some notion may be formed of the rapidity of their descent by a curious mode of taking them, occasionally practised by the fishermen in the North. A board is turned adrift, on which a dead fish is fastened. On seeing it, the Ganuet pounces down, and is frequently killed or stunned by striking the board, or is secured by its sharp-pointed beak being actually driven into the wood, and holding it fast.

There is another bird even more copiously sup

* See "Linnæan Transactions," vol. xi., p. 11.

Generally speaking, the bones of birds, excepting when young, are without marrow, the gradual absorption of which, till the bones become a hollow tube, is most easily perceptible in young tame Geese, when killed at different periods of the autumn and winter. From week to week the aircells increase in size, till, as the season advances, the air-bones become transparent. Towards the close of the summer and beginning of autumn, although in external appearance the young Goose resembles the parent, no trace of air-cells can be discovered in its bones-the interior being still filled up with marrow, which does not entirely disappear till about the end of the fifth or sixth month.

In the Eagle, Hawk, Stork, Lark, and other birds in the habit of soaring, the air-cells are very large, particularly those in connection with the wing. On the other hand, in Ostriches, or those birds which either never or seldom fly, those of the wing are comparatively small; but as a compensation, it has been remarked that, as great strength as well as lightness is desirable to enable them to run swiftly, their bones are almost all of them remarkably hollow. Such are some of the advantages derived from this abundant supply of

air.

We have alluded to the additional warmth possessed by birds, in comparison with other animals, to which this greater quantity of air must essentially conduce. We may here again refer to the Gannet, which passing so much of its time in the depth of winter, exposed to the severest weather, would, if not provided with additional means of keeping itself warm, often perish from cold; but having, as we have observed, a power of filling up the space between its flesh and outward skin with air, it is thus furnished with a light, but at the same time admirable coat, which effectually prevents it from feeling the effects of cold, however severe.

The author commenced keeping birds in his early youth; and his experience from that time upwards-a long apprenticeship to the study-has enabled him to treat of everything that may be considered interesting, useful, and conducive to the well-being and happiness of birds in confinement. The book abounds in domestic anecdotes; and it pays special attention to the subject of REARING and BREEDING CANARIES in the OPEN AIR, as well as in cages, and in rooms fitted up as Aviaries. The directions are all simple, and particularly explicit.

The breeding of "fancy" canaries-a most interesting study-is also treated of at large; and the book is rendered as complete a Treatise on the subjects it professes to discuss, as is usually furnished in ordinary works of very much larger proportions.

To give it a world-wide popularity, it is issued (in an elegant binding of cloth of gold) at less than the cost of a common song-bird -viz., six shillings. The copyright_being vested in the author, he is enabled to do this. It hardly needs be said, that it will require a large sale to make the speculation a profitable one. But as the Canary is a universal favorite, the risk is not perhaps a very dangerous one. Let us at all events hope so.

We may add, that it is the author's intention to issue a unique and uniform Series of Books on Birds; comprising the habits of all our known little songsters, and graphically depicting their amiabilities and winning ways.

The Nightingale, Blackcap, Skylark, Woodlark, and others, will appear in due course.

THE AMYOTTS' HOME; OR, LIFE IN CHILD

12mo. Groombridge & Sons.

and Sons.

This is a very excellent book, but gifted with a very unattractive title. If merit can overcome this little mistake, then will it circulate all over the world.

There are two families named in the work -the Amyotts and the Campbells; and the association of these families gives rise to many sayings and doings, thoughts and sentiments, and practical lessons of virtue, which narrative, which is flowing and natural, we cannot be too highly commended. From the propose giving a little episode. It will be perused with more than common pleasure by all wise parents. But first let us notice the short and noble preface. The author says:—

In the following little story, I have trusted to very simple material for creating interest; in the hope that children, whose tastes have not been vitiated by exciting tales, in which the vices and follies of men and women are exposed, may find an interest in the trials and pleasures of children no way differently circumstanced to themselves. I would endeavor to inspire in children a respect for their own age, and would help to inculcate into the very youngest a sense of the holy bond between Life and Duty-showing that the small efforts and victories of the child, on the side of virtue, are precisely of the nature of those which make the Heroes and Philanthropists of grownup life.

These sentiments are worthy of being recorded in letters of gold. Unfashionable they are, we admit; but worthy of admiration by the sensible part of society.

The subject we now introduce is a projected visit from the Amyotts to the Campbells. In this will be shown the difference between pleasure-taking and pleasure-giving.

Only several little visits had been exchanged between the Amyotts and Campbells, when one day (a Monday morning) there was found in the post-office a very smart little note, with an embossed border and colored seal, lying in the lid of an old box to keep it clean. At a glance it was easy to see that the note contained something more than usual in it. It was addressed to Fanny, and was carried to her by Willie, the finder; and great was the pleasure occasioned by its contents. It was a note of invitation, and ran as follows:

"MY DEAR FANNY,-Mamma wishes me to ask, if you and your sister and your two brothers will come and take tea with us on Wednesday. We have our cousins staying with us, and shall have besides some other young friends. Please send an answer as soon as you can, through the post-office. Your affectionate friend,

"ALICE CAMPBELL."

"Why, it is to be a party!" exclaimed Margaret with delight; and then, after a second thought, she added more gravely, "But will mamma like us to go to a party?"

Their mamma was consulted, who had no objection to the invitation being accepted; and accordingly a note was prepared by Fanny, on as pretty a sheet of paper as she possessed, and sealed with the gayest wafer to be found. It was as follows:

"MY DEAR ALICE, With mamma's permission, I have great pleasure in accepting your kind invitation to us all, and we shall be very glad to see you on Wednesday evening. Yours affectionately,

"FANNY AMYOTT."

This note was duly laid on Monday afternoon in the same box-lid in the post-office, and, as after a certain time it was looked for and found gone, they knew that it had been received, and there was nothing left to be done but talk about the engagement until the happy hour arrived.

The space, however, between Monday and Wednesday, much as they wished the time to pass quickly, was yet hardly long enough for all the talking that had to be gone through on the

subject. There were so many guesses to make about what they would see and do, and who would be there. Fanny and Margaret had a little private consultation about what they were to wear on the occasion, and they thought it rather strange that their mother should allow all Monday to pass without alluding to the subject. Tuesday came; and it was towards the middle of the day, when Fanny, being no longer able to restrain her curiosity on this important point, at last thought it best to ask at once of her mamma what she and Margaret were to wear at the Campbell's party.

Well, my dear, I think that nice clean white frocks will be all that is necessary."

Luckily the last new ones were clean-for young people always like to wear their last new fied with the decision; and, after having inspected things-so so that Fanny and Margaret were satistheir shoes and mittens to see that all was right,

there was nothing else to care for on the subject of dress. Once or twice Fanny thought of curling her hair for the occasion, and on the previous night actually made some preparations for the purpose in the way of curl-papers; but her mamma advised her to go with her hair braided, as she usually wore it, as more likely to be neat than any new experiments.

Herbert and Willie did not much disturb themselves about any preparations of this kind, but were only extra busy in getting all their school business done beforehand, so that the visit might not interfere in any way with it.

o'clock Fanny and Margaret decided that it was The evening came at last. Long before five quite time to prepare; and, after being shut up in their room for an hour, they came out very neatly dressed, as their mamma found on inspecting them; and with their thin shoes and mittens in a little basket, ready to put on when they got there. Herbert and Willie were in their nicely-brushed "Sunday clothes," and with faces very shiny with extra soap and water.

After some few little hints from their mother about manners and behavior, they bade her good evening, and kissed baby, and then all set off with beating hearts-their mother promising to send for them at nine o'clock. Fanny and Margaret walked daintily along, careful not to dirty their nice white stockings or tumble their frocks. The loud-sounding bell at the Campbells' was rung. Alice Campbell's face was seen for a moment at a window, satisfying herself that this important addition to her party was arrived; and then the door opened, and they were let in, and shown by the servant into a little anteroom, where they changed their shoes, and took off their hats and bonnets, and smoothed their hair. Then came the ushering into the large drawing-room, where a large party of young people were assembled, with Mrs. Campbell and a grown-up young lady, who was to assist her in entertaining the party.

The numerous new faces were quite bewildering at first; and if it had not been that Alice and Jessie and Mrs. Campbell came forward to meet and greet them, they would hardly have found them out from the rest of the party. Then seats were found for them, and the names of some of the company told to them. "This is my cousin Emily, and that is my cousin Robert,"_" This is Master Smith, and that is little Ellen Smith,"

were some of the introductions that went on; but it was some time before they could fix in their memory the right names to the right faces.

A game had been going on when they entered; and after the rules of it had been explained to them, they were able to overcome their bashful

ness, and join in it. It was, "What is my thought like?" And when it came to Fanny's turn to be asked this question, she said, "An old shoe" so that she was dreadfully puzzled when she found that 66 a whale was the subject of the thought, and she had to find out why it was like an old shoe. She got out of it famously, however, after a little thought. "A shoe had a sole," she said; "a sole was a fish-and so was a whale!" This was thought a very good answer; and so was Herbert's, when he found out that a whale was like the moon, because but I will leave my young readers

to find out why.

After some rounds of the game had been played, and the party were warmed up into something like merriment and sociability, tea was announced; and every one went into the diningroom, where a large table was set out, large enough for the whole party to sit round, with tea-things at each end, and an infinite variety of bread-and-butter and cakes in the middle. The tea-drinking was rather a long operation, and everybody was glad when at last it was over, and the whole party went into the garden.

Such a large party of young people spread over the smooth lawn, amidst the gay flower-beds, looked very pretty, and the white-frocked little girls running about, seemed like so many butterflies! When they had seen all that was to be looked at in garden or greenhouse, and everybody had had a swing on the Dutch swing, which they did, crowding it like a boatful of shipwrecked sailors, they returned to the lawn again, and the grown-up young lady helped them to form into games. At first they had a famous game of Tiercely," called by some "Fox and Geese;" and then they played at "French and English; but this proving rather mischievous to the frocks, some quieter games were adopted. Last of all, as the twilight came on, they had a famous game of "Hide and Seek ;" but in playing at this, little Margaret had a most curious adventure. Some one was to hide in some part of the garden, and the person who found the hidden one was to be the next hider. Several hidings were very good, and a long time was spent before they were found out; and then it came to Margaret's turn to hide, she having found Willie in the middle of a row of peas in the kitchen-garden. After seeking about for some nook to get into, Margaret at last, finding the door of the greenhouse open, ensconced herself in it; crouching down behind the large tub, in which an orange-tree was planted. Now it happened that, soon after she left the rest of the party, Mrs. Campbell came out to suggest that, as it was getting cool and dark, the party should come in and have a dance in the drawing-room. Everybody was very ready for this; and quite forgetting that Margaret had gone away to hide, it somehow happened, in the bustle of taking places and getting partners, that no one missed her. After the first dance was over, it ought to be mentioned that Fanny did think of her sister;

but as some of the little ones who did not want to dance had been taken up stairs to see a large doll'shouse belonging to Jessie Campbell, she concluded that she was amongst them. Other dances were formed; and between these the grown-up young lady sang some droll songs.

All this while poor little Margaret was in her hiding-place! She had, however, long before began to suspect that no one was looking for her; but just as she had made up her mind to come forth from her corner, Mr. Campbell, who was taking a walk in the garden, on finding the door of the greenhouse open, not only shut it, but locked it! Poor Margaret heard the key turn upon her, and sprung forward to make herself seen and heard; but it was too late, and she saw Mr. Campbell vanish round a turn in the shrubbery walk! She had at first a hard struggle to keep from crying, for she fancied that she should be left there all night; but, after another moment's thought, she felt sure that some of the party would remember her, and come in search of her; so she took courage, and waited as patiently as she could, until the time should come for being let out of her prison.

Meanwhile, the dancing and singing being ended, it occurred to Fanny that it must be near the time for their being fetched, so she looked round the room for her brothers and sisters; and again missing Margaret, she went to Herbert, who was in a corner of the room at a table looking at some prints, and asked him if he knew where Margaret was. Herbert did not know, and was surprised she had not been dancing. Willie was then asked, and he did not know; so that they became quite alarmed. As soon, however, as Alice Campbell heard what was the matter, she instantly remembered Margaret's going away to hide herself, before they all came in.

"Poor little Margaret!" was the exclamation of all, and in great distress they ran out to look for her. Presently Mr. Campbell was told what was the matter, and remembered the circumstance of his locking the greenhouse door, and it occurred to everybody that most probably Margaret was there. The key was fetched, and in a few minutes the poor little patient prisoner was let out of her confinement.

"Poor dear Margaret," said Fanny, kissing her, "how miserable you must have been! How I wish, too, that you had not missed all the dancing and nice songs!" and between Alice and Fanny she was led back to the house.

Of course every one reproached themselves that the little girl had been so forgotten, and many and loud were the regrets at her evening having been so spoiled, as they said; but Margaret was so goodnatured about it that she helped to stop all the lamentations, and the merriment of the party was soon restored again.

Quite out of compliment to Margaret, and to make amends for her lost dancing, a merry country-dance was proposed, in which every one joined; and nurse, who had arrived to fetch them home, was sent back with a petition for leave to stay another hour. When the dance was over, supper was announced, and the party assembled again round the large table for a repast of cakes and fruit, custards and creams, and all manner of good things; and after this came the leave