BY BENJAMIN SULTE, THE HISTORIAN OF "THREE RIVERS."
[Translated from the French.]
One of the greatest attractions for me, says Mr. Sulte, in visiting Spencer Grange, was its museum of Canadian birds, comprising two- thirds of the Feathered tribe of the Dominion, with a fair sprinkling of foreign specimens in the skin, and a collection of birds' eggs. Our friend, long known among Canadian naturalists for his persevering efforts during twenty years to popularize [233] the beautiful and instructive study of ornithology, had evidently met with more than one ally—in fact, many sympathizers. I am inclined to think—in his special branch of natural history., Each class of birds, in this apartment, has its corner; judging by the label, its "habitation,", as well as name.
The thrushes and flycatchers of Canada, from their exquisite bright tints or delicate arrow-shaped markings, are particularly conspicuous.
The cinnamon-backed cuckoo must be a graceful minstrel in our green hedges in July, though I am ashamed to admit I never was lucky enough to meet him. The oriole, blue jay, officer-bird, summer red-bird, indigo-bird and golden-winged woodpecker form a group of striking beauty; a most excellent idea, I would say, to thus place in juxtaposition the most gorgeously habited of our feathered choristers for the sake of contrasts.
A succession of drawers contain the nests and eggs, scientifically labelled, of many Canadian species, and of some of the most melodious songsters of France and England; pre-eminent stands the Italian, French and Devonshire nightingale and its eggs. Our time was much too limited to allow us to treasure up all the anecdotes and theories anent birds, their mysterious spring and autumn migrations, their lively memory of places, so agreeably dealt out to us. We cannot, however, entirely omit noticing some curious objects we saw—the tiny nest of a West Indian humming bird male out of a piece of sponge, and he cubiculum of a redheaded woodpecker, with its eggs still in it, scooped out of the decayed heart of a silver birch tree, with the bird's head still peering from the orifice in the bark. Here, as well as in the library, the presentations were numerous: Col. Rhodes was represented by a glossy Saguenay raven. I listened, expecting each moment to hear it, like Poe's nocturnal visitor, "ghostly, grim and ancient," croak out "nevermore!"
The late Hon. Adam Fergusson Blair, once a familiar of Spencer Grange, was remembered by some fine Scotch grouse, ptarmigan and a pair of capercailzie, in splendid feather, brought from Scotland. A good specimen of the silvery gull, shot at Niagara Falls, was a gift from John William McCallum, Esq., now of Melbourne, E.T.—an early friend of our friend, whilst a very rare foreign bird (a Florida or glossy ibis), shot at Grondines, had been contributed by Paul J. Charlton, Esq., a Quebec sportsman. What had brought it so far from home?
At the bead of the grave, omniscient owls, like the foreman of a grand jury, stood a majestic "grand duc," the largest owl of the Pyrénées, resembling much our Virginian species,—a donation from a French savant, Le Frère Ogérien. The owls have ever been to me a deep subject of study, their defiant aspect, thoughtful countenances, in which lurks a soupçon of rapacity, remind me of a mayor and town council bent on imposing new taxes without raising too much of a row.
A gaudy and sleek bird of Paradise had been donated by Miss Caron, of the adjoining château. There was also a newly-patented bird- trap, sent by a New York firm, in the days of Boss Tweed, Conolly, Field and other birds of prey I noticed boxes for sparrows to build in, designed by Col W Rhodes. On the floor lay a curious sample of an Old World man-trap, not sent from New York, but direct from England, a terror to poachers and apple stealers, French swords and venomous looking bayonets, of very ancient design, a rusty, long Indian musket barrel together with tibiae and tarsi, labelled 1759-60, presents from H. J. Chouinard, Esq., the owner in 1865 of the site of the battlefield at St. Foye, where stands Le Monument des Braves. A bristling-fretful porcupine, a ferocious-looking lynx, and several well-mounted specimens of game had been donated by McPherson Le Moyne, Esq., the President of the "Montreal Fish and Game Protection Club," also several other contributions from the same.
Who had sent the colossal St. Bernard dog, like another Maida, talking over the lawn, we had not an opportunity of asking. We patted him, all trembling.