amount of amusement from those ducks;
they had such innate character of their own, quite unlike any other bird
I ever came across.

I had often looked forward to the time when they would take to their
wings and come down upon the lawn from aerial heights with a grand fuss
and fluttering of wings, but that desire they never gratified. The day
came at last when I saw them circling high up in the air, so high that
they were mere specks in the sky, but where they alighted I never could
find out. They always re-appeared, walking solemnly (the little
hypocrites!) one after the other, as if they had been doing nothing in
particular, and were now coming in exemplary fashion to be fed. I
believe it is very rarely the case that wild ducks, however they may
appear domesticated, will remain all the year through with those who
have reared them, and really take their place in the poultry-yard with
the other inmates. Still it has been known, and I will subjoin an
account given me by a friend, which goes to prove that such a state of
things is possible. My friend gave me in substance the following account
of her wild ducks:--

"There are different kinds of wild ducks; these are mallards. The first
we had were hatched by hens. They feed with the other ducks, but show a
decided preference for Indian corn. They are very troublesome about
laying, often leaving their eggs exposed, where the crows find them and
carry them off. We gather most of them we find, to take care of them
(though the ducks lay in different places each time their nest is
robbed) until there are preparations for sitting, when, if we have been
fortunate enough to discover the fact, we add a number of the previously
gathered eggs.

"The sitting duck comes for food every two or three days, and that is
all we see of her for some time, until at length she may be seen coming
through the meadow, the half-grown mowing grass behind her trembling and
waving in an unusual manner: by-and-by, the road or shorter grass is
reached, when it is found the proud mother is bringing home her little
fluffy family of perhaps eight to eleven darkie ducklings--quick,
active, tiny things that refuse at first all friendly advances, but
becoming accustomed to their surroundings soon behave much in the manner
of their elders. There are dreadful fights on the pond when two or more
little families arrive about the same time, the mother of one flock
tyrannizing over the members of another, and thu