Poetical Zoölogy [pp. 141-144]

POETICAL ZOOLOGY.
disloyalty to Stephen's memory in this; it was merely the instinct of shrinking from danger, the clinging to life which lasts as long as life itself.
She was no longer the Avice of six weeks before,
the bright vision who had attracted the admiring
attention of the stranger in the wood, the girl who
had flushed into new beauty under Stephen's caresses as he twined the lime-blossoms in her hair.
The color had faded out of her cheeks, and the blue
eyes had the dark rings round them caused by constant
weeping; the tender mouth could still quiver with a
sob, but had forgotten how to smile. Her settled
dejection told how her thoughts dwelt upon the miserable past; her nervous and convulsive start on the
opening of the door showed how quick was her fear
for the future; but no change told of hope. Sometimes, when Dr. Wells was with her, she would bury
her face in her hands and keep long silence.
"I am thinking," she said once, in answer to his
inquiry.
"Of what?" he asked.
"I am trying to think what the court-room will
look like," she answered;" I wonder how it will
feel to have so many people's eyes upon me. Will
you be with me? I think the eyes will scorch me
if I have not one friend to fix my own on." She
POE TICA L
often reverted to this afterward; but she never said
whether her imagination or her thoughts ever went
beyond.
Mrs. Harmer was her only other visitor. The
kindly woman still stoutly maintained her firm belief in the falsehood of the accusation, and evinced
it by as constant attention to Avice as she could
shoyw; but she had her own troubles at home, and
her visits to the prison could not be very frequent.
Her son's absence had been much longer than had
been anticipated, necessitating the engagement of
another man upon the farm, while her daughter had
broken down under the extra work entailed by the
loss of the services of Avice Gray; so, under the
circumstances, Mrs. Harmer had her hands full, and
she heard of Avice from the doctor, and sent her
cheering messages through the same medium, more
often than she could hold personal communication
with her. Perhaps it was as well. No real hope
could be felt, no real consolation could be given,
until the stranger who held in his hand the destiny
of Avice Gray should appear; but day by day the
hope lessened, consolation grew more faint, and
dread more strong. The summer-days went by, visibly shortening as each one passed; days changed to
weeks-and still he did not come.
ZOOLOG Y.
BY GEORGE L. AUSTIN.
HE poetry of modern times enshrines many
popular superstitions respecting members of
the animal kingdom. It would not be desirable to
remove them from the pages, for they supply illustrations of value and interest as to the intellectual
condition of by-gone society, and are chapters essential to a complete history of knowledge. It is curious, however, to trace, when able to do so,' such wild
imaginations to their origin; and we purpose, in the
present writing, to account for certain of these singular fallacies, fully believing that nearly all are referable to simply coincident circumstances.
We think that it has doubtless happened in many
a sick-chamber, and immediately, too, before the dissolution of the patient, that the noise of the puny
insect, vulgarly called the death-watch, has been
heard. It was a very easy thing for the fancy of
premonition to arise from this, which has so often
disturbed the habitations of rural tranquillity, and
from which they are not yet wholly free.
' The solemn death-watch clicked the hour she died;"
but it was not the voice of the insect; the noise was
owing to its beating on some hard substance with
the shield or fore-part of the head. It is intended
merely to summon a companion, and answers exactly to the call-note of a bird.
Everybody knows of the kingfisher, or, as the
bird was called in the days of Aristotle, the halcyon.
Dryden says:
" Amid our arms as quiet you shall be
As halcyons brooding on a winter sea."
And Browne:
"Blow, but gently blow, faire winde,
From the forsaken shore,
And be as to the halcyon kinde,
Till we are ferried o'er."
And the author of "The Storm" writes:
" All Nature seemed
Fond of tranquillity; the glassy sea
Scarce rippled; the halcyon slept upon the wave,
The winds were all at rest."
The idea that the halcyon possessed the marvelous faculty of pacifying the wind and wave by its
presence seems to have sprung solely from the wellknown hablits of the bird. It fishes only by sight,
and takes only small prey. Hence all those circumstances require to be avoided which would interfere
with distinct vision, in order to the success of its
operations. It, therefore, frequents particular spots,
and is out in certain states of the weather; brawling
and turbulent streams are avoided; and the days
when the atmosphere is the most transparent and
still, the waters most calm and clear, are pirecisely
those which the kingfisher loves, and in which he is
most commonly seen.
Sir Walter Scott thus misrepresents the natural
history of the field-fare, belonging to the thrush tribe,
in the following picture, referring to Scottish ground:
"Within a dreary glen,
Where scattered lay the bones of men
In some forgotten battle slain,
And bleached by drifting snow and rain;
The knot-grass fettered there the hand
Which once could burst an iron band;
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