Skeleton of a Bird.
The frame-work of a bird is one of the most curious and interesting things in nature; and if we examine it carefully, we cannot but admire the ingenuity and skill of its great Creator. What mechanic, save the Author of nature, could have executed a piece of mechanism so complicated, so delicate, and that yet works so admirably? Think of the rapid motion of a bird in its flight; the quick vibrations of the wings; the sudden bendings of the neck and tail; and consider that all these are effected by muscles, which operate like the ropes of a ship. How slow and difficult are the evolutions of a ship, which is one of the wonders of human art; how swift are the evolutions of a bird, which, however, is only one among the thousand wonders of nature!
Another curious thing about the skeleton of a bird, is this—all the bones are hollow and very thin, yet they are very strong. Now, why are they so thin and light? Because the bird is to fly in the air, and therefore it is necessary that his body should be as light as possible. How wonderfully the Creator seems to have foreseen all things, and to have contrived them in the best possible way to answer the purposes that he had in view!
A Tragedy in the Woods.
An Englishman, who had been riding in Bengal, in India, tells the following interesting, though painful story.
The whole face of the country in the East seems alive. A thousand species of birds unknown in Europe—a thousand different kinds of animals, omitted by some of our best zoologists—a thousand venomous, but beautiful reptiles, vivify the scene. With a gun over the shoulder, a host of objects offer themselves, to tempt a shot, (not that I ever had the craving desire which some men feel, merely to kill and destroy, for the sake of wanton cruelty,) from their gay plumage and curious forms.
I was strolling through a wood “high up the country,” with my gun on my shoulder, my thoughts all centred in Europe, when I heard a curious noise in a tree almost immediately above me. I looked up, and found that the sounds proceeded from a white monkey, who skipped from branch to branch, chattering away with delight at beholding “a fellow-creature;” for so he decidedly seemed to consider me. For a few moments I took no notice of his antics, and walked quietly along, till suddenly a large branch fell at my feet, narrowly escaping my head. I again paused, and found that the missile had been dropped by my talkative friend. Without consideration, I instantly turned round, and fired at him.
The report had scarcely sounded, when I heard the most piercing, the most distressing cry that ever reached my ears. An agonized shriek, like that of a young infant, burst from the little creature whom I had wounded. It was within thirty paces of me. I could see the wretched animal, already stained with blood, point to its wound, and again hear its dreadful moan.
The last agony of a hare is harrowing, and I have seen a young sportsman turn pale on hearing it. The present cry was, however, more distressing. I turned round, and endeavored to hurry away. This, however, I found no easy task; for, as I moved forward, the unhappy creature followed me, springing as well as it could from bough to bough, uttering a low wailing moan, and pointing at the same time to the spot whence the blood trickled. Then regarding me steadily, but mournfully, in the face, it seemed to reproach me with my wanton cruelty. Again I hastened on, but still it pursued me. When I stopped, it stopped; when I attempted to go forward, it accompanied me. Never in the whole course of my life did I feel so much for a dumb animal; never did I so keenly repent an act of uncalled-for barbarity.