has access, but prepares an isolated tunnel, at the end of which she forms her nest. The bed on which the young recline is beautifully soft and fine, being composed chiefly of the downy fur which grows on the mother's breast, and which she plucks off with her teeth in tufts of considerable size. Any one who keeps tame Rabbits may see the female preparing her cradle with this soft fur, and note how perseveringly she denudes her breast of its covering.

Much stress has been laid on the self-sacrifice exhibited by the animal, but I can not believe that there is any sacrifice in the case. We know that if we were to pull out handfuls of our hair, we should suffer exceeding pain, and should, moreover, feel very uncomfortable for want of the locks which we had torn away. But the case of the Rabbit has no real analogy with such a proceeding, for the fur of the animal is at that time so loosely attached to the skin that it falls off as easily as the hairs of a cat in summer, and its evulsion produces no such disastrous effects as would follow the forcible plucking out of human hair. No raw and bleeding surface is seen when the fur of the Rabbit is removed, and scarcely a sign of inflammation is visible upon the skin. The act is a purely instinctive one, involving no more self-sacrifice than is occasioned by any other instinctive act; and perhaps we should not be very far wrong if we were to say that the animal would experience more self-sacrifice in omitting than in committing the act in question.

The incubation of the eider duck presents similar features, the parent birds stripping themselves of their down in order to form a warm bed for their young. Yet, I do not think that there is any self-sacrifice in the case, and fully believe that the creature experiences a feeling of gratification rather than of inconvenience when it plucks away the down and arranges it for the reception of the eggs. And, even if we grant that the Rabbit or eider duck did find that they were less comfortable after they had denuded themselves than before, and, moreover, that they knew beforehand what would be the effect of the operation, we are met by the fact that they are obeying an impulse which they can not resist, and that the idea of self-sacrifice is therefore untenable. A sacrifice it may be, but not a self-sacrifice as we understand that phrase at the present day.

In like manner, also, the beautiful gold-tail moth (Porthesia chrysorrhea), so well known for the soft downy plumage of its

wings, and the large round tuft of golden hairs upon the end of its body, robs itself of the latter adornment after it has laid its eggs, and shelters the future brood with an elegant thatch, composed of those downy hairs. Yet there is no self-sacrifice involved in the act, which is as purely instinctive as that of laying the eggs; and I do not believe that the insect has the least idea of the future prospects of the eggs, or possesses any foreknowledge of the snow and bitter frost of the coming winter. Even if she did know that she was depriving herself of a natural adornment for the sake of her offspring, the act would lose little of its instinctive character, and may find a parallel in humanity, when a fond mother devotes the once-cherished robes of her bridehood to her babe, and feels the keenest enjoyment in wrapping the costly furs and sheeny satins around its little limbs.

So with the ordinary incubation of birds. Didactic writers are in the habit of holding up for our admiration the conduct of the bird who leaves all her accustomed pleasures, and submits to a voluntary imprisonment in her nest until her eggs are hatched. These writers are entirely wrong, inasmuch as they assign to the lower animals certain attributes which belong only to man. I do not intend to depreciate in any way the faculties of the animal. creation. On the contrary, I believe that the lower animals are endowed with gifts more extended than we generally suppose. But, as has already been remarked, we must not judge them by our own standard; and, instead of elevating them to our position, we should try to lower ourselves to theirs. By doing so there is nothing derogatory to the pre-eminence of human nature. We know that the best schoolmaster is not merely he who is the best scholar, but he who possesses the faculty of descending from his lofty elevation, of identifying himself with his pupils, and, for the time, sharing their ignorance, and so placing himself in their position. In like manner, the best naturalist is not necessarily he who has read the most about animals, nor he who attributes to them the feelings which he himself would experience in similar situations, but he who can divest himself, for the nonce, of his superiority, and conjecture the thoughts which would enter the limited minds of the creatures with which he is brought in contact.

Suppose, for example, that I am training a dog, which happens to be the case at present. If I were to judge the motives of that dog by my own ideas, I should fall into grievous errors, and fail entirely in my object. At present the animal commits various

misdemeanors; but, as he does not know them to be such, I should be very wrong were I to punish him for them. He is at present obedient to instinct alone, and, until his reasoning powers have been brought into play, I should not only have no right to punish him for any instinctive act, but should greatly retard the duration of his training.

Being unused to human society, he had no idea that he might not jump on the table and help himself to meat; and his only idea of shoes, shawls, and other articles of clothing was, that they were charming playthings, which could be bitten and shaken without hurting his teeth. So, when I see him standing on the table, busily at work on a joint, or come upon him in the act of worrying my favorite shoe, I do not fly in a passion with him and beat him, but quietly put a stop to his proceedings, and tell him that he is not to do so again. Not being terrified by the fear of ill treatment, he perfectly understands the sense though not the ipsissima verba of the remonstrance, and proves his intelligence by his acts. For example, if he takes another shoe and is discovered, he immediately drops his tail and ears, and looks like the culprit that he is. Being a delinquent, and knowing that he is so, he receives the punishment due to the offense, and ever afterward the very word "shoe" will make him look utterly ashamed of himself.

Again, if he scampers over my newly-dug flower-borders, and lies down on my best bed of mignonette, I reflect that, in his position, I should have done just the same thing, not knowing that there was any harm in it. So I call him off the flowers, and explain to him that he is to restrict his gambols to the gravel and lawn. If, after the explanation, he persists in running over the borders, he becomes a conscious delinquent, and is punished accordingly.

Moreover, I manage so that he fancies the punishment to be inherent in the offense. For example, the animal at present in training is a Skye puppy of the purest breed, and as such is liable to be carried off by the numerous vagabonds who turn a dishonest penny by dog-stealing. His orders are, that he is not to go into the road on any pretext whatever, and, as a necessary consequence, he is always burning to do so. Therefore, I keep a watch upon him, and as soon as he pushes his way under the gate, he gets such a shower of swan-shot about his ears that he yelps in sudden terror, and dives back again. On such occasions

he always comes up to me, as if to report himself, and I always pat him and pretend to know nothing about his intended escapade.

It is through the neglect of this simple principle that so many animals are made savage, or sulky, or stupid, by the clownswhether in fustian or broadcloth-who have the charge of them. They lay down certain arbitrary rules of their own, neglect to teach these rules to the poor animals, and then ill-treat them because they break the laws which have never been taught to them. Farm laborers are, as a body, continually committing this error, and it is to their mingled ignorance and obstinacy that the savage nature of so many animals is due. A horse, for example, strays into some spot where he has no business, and is immediately chased, and shouted at, and pelted with stones, and struck with the first weapon that can be seized. Or he turns his head to the right instead of the left, and straightway is "chucked" by the bridle, and kicked, and anathematized with that copious flow of foul language with which our unsophisticated rural swains are so amply supplied.

Now the horse does not in the least know why he is thus maltreated. He is unconscious of error, and can only attribute the pain which he suffers to the arbitrary and inscrutable will of the being whom he hates, but is mysteriously forced to obey. He knows not that he has broken any law, or disobeyed any command, and, in consequence, will probably repeat the offense, and so earn the character of an obstinate and disobedient beast. If he be a horse of some spirit (and such an animal is always the best servant when properly treated), he will resent the injustice of which he is the victim, and bring hoofs or teeth to bear upon his tormentor, thus earning the character of a savage as well as an obstinate brute. So it happens, that a fine animal, which would have cheerfully labored with all his vast strength in the service of man, is prevented from assuming his rightful place as a humble friend and servant, and is converted into a trembling slave or a dangerous foe. Those who trained him have not identified themselves with him.

So it is with the study of zoology; and the only method of gaining a true insight into the motives of animals, and of identifying ourselves with them, is to put ourselves, as far as possible, in their condition, and to think how we should act under the circumstances, were our instincts as powerful and our reason as weak as theirs.

D

NORTH AMERICA is peculiarly rich in burrowing animals belonging to this order-so rich, indeed, that many curious species must be omitted for lack of space.

Among these burrowers, the CHIPPING SQUIRREL, or HACKEE, or CHIPMUCK (Tamias Lysteri), is peculiarly conspicuous. It is a very pretty little creature, brownish-gray in color, with five stripes of black and two of pale yellow drawn along the back; so that it can not be mistaken for any other animal. Below, and on the throat, it is a pure snowy white. These are the normal hues of the fur; but it is somewhat variable in point of color, the gray and yellow being sometimes quite superseded by the black.

The burrow of the Chipping Squirrel is rather complicated in structure, and is always made under the shelter of a wall, an old tree, or a bank. The hole descends almost perpendicularly for nearly a yard, and then makes several devious windings in a slightly ascending direction. Two or three supplementary galleries are driven from the principal burrow, and by means of them the animal is able to escape almost any foe. The stoat,