ng that they think;
that is, they have not self-consciousness. Only man seems to
be endowed with this faculty; he alone develops disinterested
intelligence,--intelligence that is not primarily concerned with his
own safety and well-being, but that looks abroad upon things. The wit
of the lower animals seems all to have been developed by the struggle
for existence, and it rarely gets beyond the prudential stage. The
sharper the struggle, the sharper the wit. Our porcupine, for
instance, is probably the most stupid of animals and has the least
speed; it has little use for either wit or celerity of movement. It
carries a death-dealing armor to protect it from its enemies, and it
can climb the nearest hemlock tree and live on the bark all winter.
The skunk, too, pays for its terrible weapon by dull wits. But think
of the wit of the much-hunted fox, the much-hunted otter, the
much-sought beaver! Even the grouse, when often fired at, learns, when
it is started in the open, to fly with a corkscrew motion to avoid the
shot.

Fear, love, and hunger were the agents that developed the wits of the
lower animals, as they were, of course, the prime factors in
developing the intelligence of man. But man has gone on, while the
animals have stopped at these fundamental wants,--the need of safety,
of offspring, of food.

Probably in a state of wild nature birds never make mistakes, but
where they come in contact with our civilization and are confronted by
new conditions, they very naturally make mistakes. For instance, their
cunning in nest-building sometimes deserts them. The art of the bird
is to conceal its nest both as to position and as to material, but now
and then it is betrayed into weaving into its structure showy and
bizarre bits of this or that, which give its secret away, and which
seem to violate all the traditions of its kind. I have the picture of
a robin's nest before me, upon the outside of which are stuck a muslin
flower, a leaf from a small calendar, and a photograph of a local
celebrity. A more incongruous use of material in bird architecture it
would be hard to find. I have been told of another robin's nest upon
the outside of which the bird had fastened a wooden label from a
near-by flower-bed, marked "Wake Robin." Still another nest I have
seen built upon a large, showy foundation of the paper-like flowers of
antennaria, or everlasting. The wood thrush frequently weaves a
fragment of newspaper or a white rag int