Rev. may be called the D'Orsay of Birds, and the tribe of the Tanagers, the Patriarchs of "Turn-coats." Let not the worshippers of Fashion be longer stigmatized as nose-led by a Parisian Dandy, or old Federalists, or new light Locofocos, as nasally guided by the savor of "flesh-pots." Here they have far more respectable precedents: their respective orders were no doubt instituted by Nature herself. Should they but consult this candid and ancient Dame, she would, no doubt, recommend to the "Count" the figure of our "Parson," as proper to be introduced into his coat-of-arms, and to the Tory Demagogues that of the Tanagers as proper to the coatof-arms they see in "yearning dreams."

Audubon uses a charming phrase in characterizing the enthusiasm which he found himself giving way to in the description of his feeling on the unexpected consummation of what he considered the triumphant achievement of his life the discovery of the Bird of Washington. He suddenly fears that he may be considered as "prattling out of fashion!" Well, that is just the thing! I consider it peculiarly felicitous and to the point.

Though the story may not be particularly savory in some of its associations, I shall even venture, at the risk of such an imputation, to relate one from the reminiscences of my early boyhood concerning those sharp denizens of air, known as "Corvus Americanus"-the gentleman in black.

I once saw some crows feeding on the offal of a late slaughtering of domestic animals not far from my father's house. There had been a very deep snow on the ground for some weeks, and the crows had become very ravenous. The place where they fed, was within gun-shot of a cedar-hedge. After firing amongst them once or twice, they all took the alarm, and to my knowledge, never came back again, except one very large, and, I should think, gray-muzzled bird. I noticed that he uniformly seemed to have his eye or nose, it is diffi cult to tell which, upon me; for when I would reach my hiding-place, I could see the gentleman make a desperate

tear at some liver hanging on the fence rails, and down he would dip as quick as lightning, behind the wood-pile next the fence, and when I would fire impatiently with the hope to secure him, he would fly, cawing, off, rising in triumph to the tops of the highest trees, with his prey in his mouth.

This was repeated day after day, for nearly a week, with about the same results, he still returning in unyielding audacity for his prey, in the teeth of all my threatening efforts. I had sworn vengeance against this particular crow, and at last hit upon what I conceived to be an admirable expedient. I put up a little board house near the corner where he fed, and having formed it large enough to conceal my body, made a small esquimaux ambuscade, or hunting-lodge of it, by covering it above, and on all sides, with snow, leaving a little loop-hole, chinked with snow, that could easily be pushed out with my gun-barrel, and a small window, through which I could barely see the place where I expected the crow to alight, and where I had placed a most tempting great piece of liver for a bait.

I had studiously accomplished this work between sundown and dusk, the time when the crows had all gone to roost.. In the morning, about 10 o'clock, I crawled into my huntinglodge, thinking I should have him now for sure; I had to sit not more than an hour, when, with palpitating heart, I heard above me his noisy caw. I had concealed my body carefully, because I knew he inspected, while on the wing, all the premises. He approached my old hiding-place very cautiously, mounting high in the air; when seeming to be satisfied, he poised himself for a moment, and came down in a slanting direction towards the liver, with something of the quick movement of a hawk's swoop-I clutched my gun, preparing to fire the moment he should alight. He had to pass, of course, near my little lodge, that I thought had been so dexterously concealed, in imitation of a pile of wood and snow, but, while yet on the swoop, the crow seeing, I suppose, that there was something suspicious in that corner of the wood,

almost brushed, with his wing, the delicious breakfast as he went by, darted upward more swiftly than he descended, and flew off to his own woods, squalling defiance to his indefatigable enemy as he went.

I never saw that crow again, that I know of. He never came back, and the best proof of it was, that the liver still lay on the fence corner, where it had been placed, until the winter broke.

I can conceive no other solution to this curious incident, than that our friend with the black coat was willing to meet myself, or any other puissant champion, in fair field and on fair terms, for a taste of those esculent morsels which were so necessary to him during the winter, and though not particularly partial to gunpowder, his experience had rendered him sufficiently confident to be willing to run the risks-when he knew my hiding-place.

While he knew what to fear, he knew how to deport himself accordingly; but when it came to treachery to all the laws of war; a change of the place, a well-disguised snowtrap buried in the white, unsuspected bosom of old Mother Earth, the thing was horrible! It frightened him out of his propriety! Paugh! or rather, caw! such a traitor! It was indecent, it was savage, it was unmannerly! Caw! caw!

But what is all this shrewdness to be called? a mere blind Instinct? or has it some processes apparent, closely resembling those of Reason? Is it a pair of sharp eyes and keen nostrils, guiding the safety of a mere machine with black feathers and black wings through the air? Has it passions, affections, power of adaptation, hope, memory, &c.? These are interesting questions.

This is, no doubt, "prattling out of fashion" sure enough -but what of it? The Good Book sayeth out of the mouths of babes and sucklings ye shall rebuke them, and the above phrase precisely expresses that peculiar and excited vernacular which belongs equally to children and philosophers, as contrasted with the dull lasping see-saw of common place. Take

a "minnion of the mud" who has set up for worldly wisdom, and he will dole you, measured by the foot-rule, putrescing fragments of stale conventionalities, until the mortal stench, rank in your complaining nostrils, offends your very life; but your singing birds prattle out of fashion, to lull the dewy eye-lids of the eve; so do blithe young girls and angels, if we may judge—as for the morning stars that "sang together" long ago, no doubt they did it out of all "rule and precedence." Would that there were more of this prattling out of fashion, to battle with the monster "monotone of Boredom." But hear what Mr. Audubon himself writes concerning this quaint citizen of whom we were speaking, while he pleads like an old Priest of Brahma for mercy to all God's creatures. He says

"The Crow is an extremely shy bird, having found familiarity with man no way to his advantage. He is also cunning at least he is so called, because he takes care of himself and his brood. The state of anxiety, I may say of terror, in which he is constantly kept, would be enough to spoil the temper of any creature. Almost every person has an antipathy to him, and scarcely one of his race would be left in the land, did he not employ all his ingenuity, and take advantage of all his experience, in counteracting the evil machinations of his enemies. I think I see him perched on the highest branch of a tree, watching every object around. He observes a man on horseback travelling towards him; he marks his movements in silence. No gun does the rider carry-no, that is clear; but perhaps he has pistols in the holsters of his saddle! of that the crow is not quite sure, as he cannot either see them or 'smell powder.' He beats the points of his wings, jerks his tail once or twice, bows his head, and merrily sounds the joy which he feels at the moment. Another man he spies walking across the field towards his stand, but he has only a stick. Yonder comes a boy, shouldering a musket, loaded with large shot, for the express purpose of shooting crows! The bird immediately

sounds the alarm; he repeats his cries. increasing their vehemence the nearer his enemy advances-all the crows, within half a mile round, are seen flying off, each repeating the well known notes of the trusty watchman, who, just as the young gunner is about to take aim, betakes himself to flight. But, alas! he chances, unwittingly, to pass over a sportsman, whose dexterity is greater; the mischievous prowler aims his piece, fires; down towards the earth, broken-winged, falls the luckless bird in an instant. It is nothing but a crow!' quoth the sportsman, who proceeds in search of game, and leaves the poor creature to die in the most excruciating agonies."

Sharp fellows they are, and hard to be fooled-those crows! We have often thought, that with his dark plumes and ready wit, he must be on the other side of "Styx" the Plutonian Mercury. Some of the funniest things we have seen him do, that would have made the frosty, antique Zeno laugh like a Bacchante. He is "exclusively up to snuff," in all the wiles and ways of this wicked world. Catch a crow napping, or lure him within "point blank" if you can, unless you meanly take advantage of his passions or of his social feelings.

As we are fully launched in the discursive direction, we may as well give an anecdote of this trait:

We saw a vile, but comical trick, practiced upon him once out West."

A fellow had caught a large owl in a hollow tree. He took him out into an open field much frequented by crows, and tied him on the top of a low stake within gun-shot of a stack, where he concealed himself. In a little while the crows, who are inveterate in their hatred of such twilight. enemies, came thronging clamorously from all quarters about the owl, and commenced buffetting him heartily. The fellow shot and killed several of them before they took warning in the blindness of their wrath, but just as they were commenc ing to shear off, an accidental shot brought down one merely winged.