ards remembered me after an absence
of at least two months; it took them about two hours fully to recall my
personality, yet they did it in the end.

Birds remember individuals, and testify their love or hatred for such
individuals in actions that are unmistakable. Thus, an eagle in Central
Park, for some--to me--unknown reason, took a great dislike to myself,
and, whenever I approached its cage, would erect its crest and regard me
in the most belligerent manner. On several occasions it even left its
perch and flew to the bars in its desire to attack me. A large, handsome
gobbler belonging to my mother has shown the house boy that it is war to
the death between them. This turkey never fails to attack the boy
whenever opportunity offers; no other person is ever molested by him.

A lady writes me as follows: "Last week my brother" (a lad of twelve)
"killed a snake which was just in the act of robbing a song-sparrow's
nest. Ever since then, the male sparrow has shown gratitude to George in
a truly wonderful manner. When he goes into the garden the sparrow will
fly to him, sometimes alighting on his head, at other times on his
shoulder, all the while pouring out a tumultuous song of praise and
gratitude. It will accompany him about the garden, never leaving him
until he reaches the garden gate. George, as you know, is a quiet boy,
who loves animals, and this may account, in a degree, for the sparrow's
extraordinary actions."

I am perfectly convinced that the nesting birds on my place know me, and
that they remember me from one nesting-time to another. I have
repeatedly approached my face to within a foot of setting birds without
alarming them. On one occasion I even placed my hand on a brooding
cardinal, which merely fluttered from beneath it without showing further
alarm; yet no wild bird has ever evinced toward myself any special
degree of friendship. When I was a lad I remember that a certain
decrepit old drake would follow me like a dog, and appeared to enjoy
himself in my society. I could not appreciate his friendship then, and
greatly fear that I was, at times, rather cruel to the old fellow.

One of the queerest friendships that ever came under my observation was
that which existed between a bantam cock and a pekin drake. The cock was
the most diminutive specimen of his kind that I ever saw, being hardly
larger than a quail, while the drake was almost as large as a full-grown
female goose. These two birds, so wid