which a creature is shod. Instead of softening
a distinction, it makes a real revolution.
It effects a thorough transformation of
costume and manners, and sums up in itself
the whole family history. In the single
word, spur, are comprised the ideas of pacha,
hareem, despotism, jealousy, dazzling dresses
among the males, gentleness and timidity
among the females.

If the task of christening the turkey had
been left to the first child that came to hand,
it is more than probable the bird would have
been called the glouglou, seeing that such is
the name he gives himself. But, the course
of things, in natural history, never runs on
so smoothly as that. The creature's earliest
French godfathers, with their heads full of
certain features of the cock, gave him the name of
coq d'Inde: to distinguish him, observe, from
the one who really came from India, whereas
the new arrival was a native of America.
But as, in those days, America passed for the
continuation of Asiatic India, the unfortunate
choice of coq d'Inde ought not to be imputed
to individual ignorance. Afterwards coq was
suppressed; and little by little, the bird was
called first the dindon, then the dinde.
Fourier—who knew so many things without
having learned them, and who divined
the history of a species from one single
character — makes the turkey the emblem of the
bashful lover. The turkey brutally tramples
upon the passion which exhausts and is killing
him. But this weakness of temperament
is only one of his least defects. Buffou, who
wants to make him out a brave fellow, quotes
in support of his opinion the singular proof
of courage that a flock of turkeys have
been seen to surround a hare on her
form and bravely unite to peck her to
death. A number of political heroes are
capable of this act of heroism, and sometimes
perform it; but without being awarded the
laurel for the act.

The turkey is bald, like most fast livers.
His face and forehead are disfigured by
bunches of warts and chaplets of excrescences,
swollen and red from the excesses of
the table. These characteristics recal the
physiognomy of the vulture, whom the
turkey resembles in stature, colour, cowardice,
and greed. When a man is both stupid
and mischievous, we proverbially say he is
like a turkey. But the portrait is too flattering;
the turkey is worse than mischievous
and stupid. He wears at the bottom of his
neck, a tuft of black hairs, to testify his
fraternity with the he-goat. This model of gluttons,
drunkards, and sluggards, is irascible in temper,
like all people who quickly get fat and
rich. You hear him storm and cry glou-
glou—you see him red and blue with auger.
But, as usual, all the vices of the males are
redeemed by the flesh—and virtue—of the
females: the turkey hen is the most devoted
mother in the world, proving completely the
justice of M. Tousseuel's passional law.

When the writing of this article had been
concluded, we received a communication
which corroborates M. Toussenel's estimate
of the passional sensitiveness, the vigour,
and the visual perfectitude of at least one
family of the beings gifted with wings aud
toes:—

"On Friday last, the fourth of August,"
our correspondent writes, dating from
Glamorganshire, " one of my cats, an adept at
bird-catching, was clever enough to capture
a martin. He was immediately assailed by
two birds of the same species, who each made
a stoop at him, striking, and then wheeling
off; but he bore off his prey. Nothing
further occurred until Sunday — probably from
want of opportunity — but, on that day, being
in front of the house, and the coast clear, the
cat was vigorously attacked by three martins.
Rising to a considerable height in the air,
they darted down on his head with great
force, and in such quick succession that they
quite confused him. At first Mr. Tom's
efforts were confined to attempts to get hold
of his assailants; but they wheeled off, after
delivering each a blow with their pointed
beaks, too swiftly to be caught.

"This warfare had lasted a considerable
time (for the whole affair occupied fully three
quarters of an hour), when the three birds
flew off, each in a different direction, as if to
procure recruits; and in a very short time
reappeared with six or seven other martins,
who all joined in the same plan of attack.
Tom, who may be supposed to scorn the idea
of flying from small birds, was soon roused
to anger, in place of desire for prey, by the
incessant stabs at the back of his head; the
birds hitting it every time with unerring
precision, after adroitly skimming off for
another descent and another aim, move how
he would; and he at length grew quite angry.
He growled, and erected his bristles and tail
for a regular fight. Finally, unable either to
seize his tormentors, or to endure the fierce-
ness of the attack any longer, he ingloriously
retreated under a warehouse door, which
afforded him shelter, the birds striking at his
tail, the last part of him in sight."

Then comes a postscript:—

"On concluding my letter, I walked out,
and stood for some time in the front of the
house near the spot where the combat took
place on Sunday. A martin, which had a
nest under the eaves of the warehouse, was
sailing about in the air, and Tom's sister was
pattering along on the ground, neither animal,
to all appearance, regarding the other. In a
few minutes the Tom cat came out; and in;
an instant the bird, screaming loudly, flew at
him with the utmost fury, making several
desperate darts, but seemed fearful of
approaching quite near enough to strike, there
being no other bird in sight to second him, or
to distract the attention of its adversary; but
it was quite clear that there was no mistake
in recognising its enemy, although the two