Authorities agree that the number of the Otters is rapidly decreasing in America, because of the systematic way in which they are pursued by trappers for the value of their fur. The skin of the American Otter is in high reputation and general use with furriers, but those from Canada are said to be more valuable than those from the more southern sections.
The Otter, when taken young, is easily tamed. Audubon had several young Otters which he says "became as gentle as Puppies in two or three days. They preferred milk and boiled corn meal, refusing fish or meat till they were several months old." They became so tame that they would romp with their owner, and were very good-natured animals.
Rivers whose banks are thickly grown with forests are the favorite home of the Otter. There, says Brehm, it lives in subterraneous burrows, constructed in accordance with its tastes and mode of life. "The place of exit is always located below the surface of the water, usually at a depth of about eighteen inches; a tunnel about two yards long leads thence, slanting upwards into a spacious chamber, which is lined with grass and always kept dry. Another narrow tunnel runs from the central chamber to the surface and aids in ventilation. Under all circumstances the Otter has several retreats or homes." When the water rises, it has recourse to trees or hollow trunks.
The Otter is the fastest swimming quadruped known. In the water it exhibits an astonishing agility, swimming in a nearly horizontal position with the greatest ease, diving and darting along beneath the surface with a speed equal, if not superior, to that of many fishes.
The Otter, said an eminent naturalist, is remarkable in every way; in its aquatic life, as well as in its movements; in its hunt for food and in its mental endowments. It belongs without question to the most attractive class of animals.
THE SKYLARK.
JOHN BURROUGHS relates that a number of years ago a friend in England sent him a score of Skylarks in a cage. He gave them their liberty in a field near where he lived. They drifted away, and he never heard or saw them again. But one Sunday a Scotchman from a neighboring city called on him and declared, with visible excitement, that on his way along the road he had heard a Skylark. He was not dreaming; he knew it was a Skylark, though he had not heard one since he had left the banks of the Doon, a quarter of a century or more before. The song had given him infinitely more pleasure than it would have given to the naturalist himself. Many years ago some Skylarks were liberated on Long Island, and they became established there, and may now occasionally be heard in certain localities. One summer day a lover of birds journeyed out from the city in order to observe them. A Lark was soaring and singing in the sky above him. An old Irishman came along and suddenly stopped as if transfixed to the spot. A look of mingled delight and incredulity came into his face. Was he indeed hearing the bird of his youth? He took off his hat, turning his face skyward, and with moving lips and streaming eyes stood a long time regarding the bird. "Ah," thought the student of nature, "if I could only hear the bird as he hears that song—with his ears!" To the man of science it was only a bird song to be critically compared to a score of others; but to the other it brought back his youth and all those long-gone days on his native hills!