Naturalist.

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 426, 9 June 1904, Page 2

Naturalist.

A CAT'S FRIGHT. VTSft? POOR pussie had a terrible ex©jV|ffi! perience one day in a huge wheo). jjjs2|& The wheel was connected with some large engineering workß, and the cat, having crept in overnight, did not wake until the wheel was turning at a tremendous speed the following morning. For three hours puss was imprisoned, and when finally the wheel btopped, and her stiff body was discovered, the workmen thought she was quite dead. But you know the old saying that cats hava nine lives—in hal? an hour puss recovered. • It is supposed that the revolutions of the wheel had hypnotised her. FOND PARENTS, . Have you ever watched a pair of swanß on the river protecting their young P If a boat crosses too near the cygnets will crowd behind the mother, and she will sail along between them and the intruders, whilst father swan will follow the boat for quite a long distance until the threatened danger is well passed, During recent floods one of theißlandß of the Trent was almost covered. A awan had built her neet there and refused to leave it. Mr Swan was in great distress, but finally set to work, and with his beak dug up great lumps of mud with which, by tremendous efforts, the two birds managed to raise the nest out of danger, A POLITE PONY. The Duchess of Bedford, who, like the Dake, is a great lover of animals, has among ner pets at Woburn Abbey a special favourite. It is a tiny pony, not three feet high, which she has trained from its very early days, it is as tame as a dog, and follows her about in much the same fashion. The Duchens almost daily visits the hospital .which she designed and built, at her own expense, for the Woburn people, and her pet pony goes with her, greatly to the joy of the small invalids there, for they love to see him rubbing his feet oh the mat bufore entering—a piece of good manners taught him by the Duchess. BEA.VER DAMS OF &ORTH AMERICA The beaver is really a fort of automatic pulp-mill, grinding up almost any kind of i bark that comes his way. I once measured a white tyrch tree, tweaty-two inches through, cut down by a beaver. A single beaver generally, if not always, cuts the tree: and when it comes down, the whole f *. , 2i lj .J a \ t V ud have a regular frolic with the bark and branches. A big beaver will bring down a fair. B j>ed sapling, say three inches through, in about two minutes, and a large tree in about an hour. The favourite food of the animal is the poplar $ next comes the cherry, then the balm of Gilead. They are fond of all kmda of maples, and will eat cedar, hemlook, or spruce. In some places they feed principally on alders. They also eat the roots of many kinds of water plants. Whem food is scarce, they will consume the bark of the largest trees.

Beaver dama are not always built of ■ticks and mud. I have seen four of them built entirely of stone. At Beaver Brook Lake there is an old stone dam about forty rode long. When the dam wbb first made, it probably was cemented with leaves and mud; bat this soft material washed ont after a while without materially lowering the dam, and when a new family of beavers fell heir to it, they had water enough there without having to raise the dam. The beaver is a great worker, but he likes to loaf the same as anyone else when he has a chance. For instance, when he can find an old lumberman's dam, it is a regular windfall for him. He goes right to work and plups up the old gateway, and soon has a splendid fit-out, It makes him fairly frin to strike such a snap as that. Bat I ava seen beavers that don't seem to have ■ good horse Bense. They will undertake to build a dam in a place where it will be carried away with every freshet, while within ten rods of it there ia a good, safe site. Sometimes they will pick out very mens places for food and will nearly starve in the winter, though there is plenty of good poplar and birch Bofc a qu&rter of a mile away.—From 'an interesting article on 'Beaver Ways' in the ' Windsor Magazine.' STBANGE STOBY OF A BIED. One Sunday evening about eight o'clock when I was sitting in my stndy, thercame a thud on one of the windows, followed by a loud flattering. Slipping for, ward, I quietly drew aside the curtains and pulled up tbe blind, expecting to see a bat or an owl. But instead of a bird .of the night, I saw the glittering eyes and the beautiful speckled breast of a thrush. It was not daunted by my appearing, but only rested for a moment on .the window sill, looking up at ma pleadingly, and then made another furious dash, as if determined to force an entrance. This it repeated, while I stood wondering what to do. Then, taking my chance while it was resting, I lifted the sash enough to let my hand out. The bird made no attempt to fly away. 1 took it by the legs gently, It offered no resistance. It never even gave a scream—as a pet canary will do when you catch it—until I put my other hand round its body and brought it into the light, The poor creature seemed anxious to get in for some reason or other, as it had tried tbe kitchen window before coming to the study. I have related the incident, but I cannot explain it. It reminded me of the origin of John Wesley's famous hymn, 'Jesus, lover of my soul.' But in this case, although there wss snow lying, the night was quiet. The bird would not look at food, nor was it a caged bird escaped, for when I went down on Monday morning it was as wild as a March hare, fighting to regain its liberty. I have heard of hunted beasts and birds seeking refuge in a houso of which the door or window chanced to be open, but never of a wild bird which would quietly allow you to take hold of it and lift it in. In the morning when I let it go from the basket in which I had kept it, it thanked me in its own language, and, alighting on a high holly, seemed happy among its neighbours in the free air,—Kev, W. D. Harvey.