UNCLE THOMAS TELLS ABOUT PARROTS, THEIR SEEMING INTELLIGENCE, AND
RELATES SEVERAL CURIOUS STORIES OF THEIR POWER OF IMITATING THE
HUMAN VOICE.
“To-night,” said Uncle Thomas, on the following evening, “I am going to
tell you about a family of Birds, which, from the splendour of their
plumage, and the ease with which they can be taught to imitate the human
voice, have continued to be great favourites ever since their
introduction into Europe.”
“Oh! it is Parrots you mean, I suppose, Uncle Thomas!” said Jane.
“It is so, Jane,” said Uncle Thomas; “and I have many very curious
stories to tell you about them.”
“Where do Parrots come from?” asked Mary.
“They are found in all the tropical countries,” said Uncle Thomas; “in
the West Indies, in Africa, in the Islands of the Pacific and Indian
Oceans, and one species is a native of America. There are a great many
varieties which are known by the names of Parrots, Macaws, Cockatoos,
Parrakeets, Lories, &c., but notwithstanding the favour which is shown
to them when domesticated, very little is known of their habits in a
wild state. This arises in a great measure from the nature of their
places of resort. They chiefly inhabit the luxuriant forests of the
tropics, feeding on the nuts and berries, of which there exists an
everlasting succession; but so luxuriant is the growth of the vegetable
kingdom in these regions, that the forests are in most cases quite
impenetrable by man. Many of the most luxuriant, indeed, grow in
marshes, so as to be quite inaccessible, and in all of them the
exhalations, which are constantly given out by decaying vegetable
matter, renders the air pestilent to human beings; and should a
traveller attempt to explore them, he would never return to publish the
tale of his adventures.”
“Do they talk as they fly about in a wild state?” asked Harry.
“No,” said Uncle Thomas, “they do not; that is entirely the effect of
education. Their native cry is harsh and discordant, and has been not
inaptly called a scream. It is their faculty of imitation which enables
them to utter words and phrases in tones so like the human voice as to
be readily mistaken for it. Many curious stories are told of their
powers in this way, and some of them would almost lead us to believe
that the creature was endowed with human intelligence. Mr. Jesse was so
surprised by what he saw and heard of one at Hampton Court, that he
requested the sister of its owner to furnish him with some particulars
respecting it. Here they are in her own words:—
“As you wished me to write down whatever I could collect about my
sister’s wonderful Parrot, I proceed to do so, only premising that I
will tell you nothing but what I can vouch for having myself heard. Her
laugh is quite extraordinary, and it is impossible to help joining in it
oneself, more especially, when in the midst of it she cries out, ‘don’t
make me laugh so, I shall die, I shall die,’ and then continues laughing
more violently than before. Her crying and sobbing are curious, and if
you say ‘Poor Poll, what is the matter?’ she says, ‘So bad, so bad, got
such a cold,’ and after crying for some time, will gradually cease, and
making a noise like drawing a long breath, say ‘better now,’ and begin
to laugh.
“The first time I ever heard her speak was one day when I was talking to
the maid, at the bottom of the stairs, and heard what I then considered
to be a child call out, ‘Payne (the maid’s name), I am not well, I’m not
well!’ And on my saying, ‘What is the matter with that child?’ she
replied, ‘It is only the Parrot, she always does so when I leave her
alone, to make me come back;’ and so it proved, for on her going into
the room, the Parrot stopped, and then began laughing quite in a jeering
way.
“It is singular, that whenever she is affronted in any way she begins to
cry, and when pleased, to laugh. If any one happens to cough or sneeze,
she says, ‘What a bad cold.’ One day when the children were playing with
her, the maid came into the room, and on their repeating to her several
things which the Parrot had said, Poll looked up, and said quite
plainly, ‘No I didn’t.’ Sometimes when she is inclined to be
mischievous, the maid threatens to beat her, and she often says, ‘No you
won’t.’ She calls the Cat very plainly, ‘Puss, Puss,’ and then answers,
‘_Mew_;’ but the most amusing part is, that whenever I want to make her
call it, and to that purpose say, ‘Puss, Puss,’ myself, she always
answers, ‘_Mew_,’ till I begin mewing, and then she begins calling
‘Puss’ as quick as possible. She imitates every kind of noise, and barks
so naturally, that I have known her to set all the Dogs on the parade at
Hampton Court barking, and I dare say, if the truth was known, wondering
what was barking at them! and the consternation I have seen her cause in
a party of Cocks and Hens by her crowing and chuckling has been the most
ludicrous thing possible. She sings just like a child, and I have more
than once thought it was a human being; and it is most ridiculous to
hear her make what we should call a false note, and then say, ‘Oh la!’
and burst out laughing at herself, beginning again quite in another key.
She is very fond of singing, ‘Buy a Broom,’ which she says quite
plainly; but, in the same spirit as in calling the Cat, if we may say,
with a view to make her repeat it, ‘Buy a broom,’ she always says ‘Buy a
_brush_,’ and then laughs as a child might do when mischievous. She
often performs a kind of exercise which I do not know how to describe,
except by saying that it is like the lance exercise. She puts her claw
behind her, first on one side and then on the other, then in front, and
round over her head, and whilst doing so, keeps saying, ‘Come on, come
on!’ and when finished, says ‘Bravo, beautiful!’ and draws herself up.
Before I was as well acquainted with her as I am now, she would stare in
my face for some time, and then say, ‘How d’ye do, Ma’am?’ this she
invariably does to strangers. One day, I went into the room where she
was, and said, to try her, ‘Poll, where is Payne gone?’ and to my
astonishment, and almost dismay, she said, ‘Down stairs.’
“That looks very much as if it understood what was said to it,” remarked
Harry.
“It does so,” said Uncle Thomas; “and can only be accounted for by
supposing it to be one of those curious coincidences which sometimes
surprise us. I can, however, tell you a story in which, though the
Parrots could only utter a couple of phrases each, they used them as
naturally as if they had a whole vocabulary at command:—
“A tradesman who had a shop in the Old Bailey, opposite the prison, kept
two Parrots, the one green, and the other grey. The green Parrot was
taught to speak when there was a knock at the street door; the grey put
in his word whenever the bell was rung; but they only knew two short
phrases of English a-piece, though they pronounced these very
distinctly. The house in which their owner lived had a projecting
old-fashioned front, so that the first floor could not be seen from the
pavement on the same side of the way; and one day when they were left at
home by themselves, hanging out of a window, some one knocked at the
street door. “Who’s there?” said the green Parrot, in the exercise of
his office. “The man with the leather!” was the reply; to which the bird
answered with his farther store of language, “Oh, ho!” The door not
being opened immediately as he expected, the stranger knocked a second
time. “Who’s there?” said the green Parrot again.—“Who’s there!” said
the man with the leather, flying into a passion, ‘Why don’t you come
down?’ to which the Parrot again made answer, ‘Oh, ho!’ This response so
enraged the visitor that he dropped the knocker and rang furiously at
the house bell; but this proceeding brought the grey Parrot, who called
out in a new voice, ‘Go to the gate.’—‘To the gate?’ muttered the
appellant, who saw no such convenience, and imagined that the servants
were bantering him. ‘What gate?’ cried he, getting out into the kennel,
that he might have the advantage of seeing who it was that spoke to him.
‘Newgate,’ responded the grey Parrot, just at the moment when his
species was discovered.
“Capital!” said Frank, laughing.
“So you see, Frank,” said Uncle Thomas, “that the appropriate answers
given by Parrots are not always the result of intelligence.
“Perhaps the most celebrated Parrot,” continued Uncle Thomas, “whose
sayings and doings figure in history, is one—a blue Macaw—which belonged
to the late Dr. Thornton, who bought it for fifteen guineas, to grace
his museum. When in a confined exhibition-room in Bond-street, where it
was kept chained by the leg, it made those screaming noises so offensive
in its tribe, and seemed sulky and unhappy; but being brought to the
doctor’s house (his botanical exhibition having closed), from motives of
humanity, the chain was removed that confined it to its perch. At first
its feet were so cramped, and the muscles so much weakened from long
disuse, that it could not walk. It tottered at every step, and appeared,
in a few minutes only, greatly fatigued. Its liberated feet, however,
soon acquired uncommon agility, its plumage grew more resplendent, and
it became completely happy. It no longer indulged in screams of
discontent, and all its gestures denoted gratitude. Its food, was now
changed, it breakfasted with the family, having toast and butter; and
dined upon potatoes, hard dumplings, with fruit occasionally after
dinner. Like other Parrots, it never drank. Its sense of smell was
uncommonly quick. It soon learned to know the time of meals, which it
marked by a continued agitation of the wings, and anxiously running up
and down its pole.
“When it received food it half opened its wings, and contracted the
pupils of its eyes, and uttered a pleasing note of thankfulness. If it
got any food of which it was not very fond, it held it in his left foot,
and having eaten a little, threw the rest down; but if the food was nice
and abundant, it carefully conveyed it to its tin reservoir, and left
for another repast that which it could not immediately consume. It soon
forgot its barbarous sounds, and imitated words; and for hours together
amused itself by saying, ‘Poll,’—‘Macaw,’—‘Turn him out,’—‘Pretty
fellow,’—‘Saucy fellow,’—‘What’s o’clock,’ laughing, and calling out the
names of the doctor’s children. If any of them were hurt, it gave the
first alarm; nor did it desist until they were attended to. The doctor’s
son, observing the sagacity of this bird, undertook to instruct it. He
taught it at the word of command to descend from its perch and stand
upon his finger; then, by another order, it turned itself downwards, and
hung upon the fore-finger by one foot, although the body was swung about
with considerable violence. Being asked how a bad person should be
served? it seized its master’s finger, suspended itself by its bill,
like one hanging. At the command of its master it extended his wings to
show their beauty. It would then fan the spectators with his wings; it
was next put on the ground, and walked as readily backwards as forwards,
with its two toes in front, and two behind. It would then clamber like a
sailor up the mizen-mast and with its two open mandibles embraced its
perch, which was nearly two inches in thickness. Placed there, it was
asked—if a certain gentleman were to come near him, how he should be
served? It shook its head several times, raised its wings, erected its
feathers and opening its mouth, laid hold of a finger, seemingly in
earnest, and kept biting it, as though it would have taken it off,
opposing every resistance; and when it liberated the finger, uttered a
scream. It was then asked how it would serve its master?—when it would
silently bite his finger, caress it with its beak and tongue, and hold
its head down, as expecting it to be scratched. Nor is this all: a nut
being given to it, while on the lower part of his stand, it mounted the
upright stick, and the nut disappeared without the spectator being able
to tell how. At the word of command it presented the nut to the company,
held it in its paw, and then cracked it. It had been taught to conceal
the nut under its tongue, in the hollow of the under mandible. When a
peach-stone was given to it, it found out its natural division, and by
repeated efforts contrived to open it and eat the kernel. When nuts were
presented to it, it became agitated, and had so much sagacity that,
without cracking, when it took up a bad nut, it very indignantly threw
it on the ground. It was remarkably fond of music; and with motions of
its feet along the perch, movements of its wings, and its head moving
backwards and forwards, it danced to all lively tunes, and kept exact
time. If, however, any person sung or played in wrong measure it quickly
desisted.
“This interesting animal was very friendly to strangers, but put on a
terrific appearance towards children, and was very jealous of infants.
In rainy weather the blue feathers looked green; and also in clear
weather when there were vapours in the sky; hence it was an admirable
weather-gauge. What proved a peculiar sagacity in its imitations was,
that these it effected sometimes without its voice: for example, there
was a scissors-grinder who came into the street, where the bird was
kept, every Friday. All Parrots have a file in the inside of the upper
mandible, with which they grind down the under bill, and in this they
are employed for an hour every evening. This sound people usually
mistake for snoring. This scraping was attempted, but its nice ear
marked the difference, and had recourse to his claws, which it struck
against the perch, armed with tin, and, observing the time of the
turning of the wheel, it effected a most exact imitation, which it
repeated every Friday.”
When each of his little auditors had expressed their admiration of the
fine Macaw about which he had told them, Uncle Thomas proceeded to
relate several other interesting stories about Parrots.
“A gentleman who resided at Gosport in Hampshire, and frequently had
occasion to cross the water to Portsmouth, was astonished one day on
going to the beach to look for a boat, and finding none, to hear the
words distinctly repeated,—“Over, Master? Going over?” Which is the
manner that watermen are in the habit of accosting people when they are
waiting for passengers. The cry still assailing his ears, he looked
earnestly around him, to discover from whence it came; when, to his
great surprise, he discovered that it proceeded from a Parrot in a cage
suspended from a public-house window on the beach.
“Another very amusing incident,” continued Uncle Thomas, “occurred some
years since in Boston. An American Parrot, that had been taught to
whistle in the manner of calling a Dog, was sitting in his cage at the
door of a shop. As he was amusing himself in exercising his talents in
this way, a large Dog happened to pass; the animal imagining that he
heard the call of his master, turned suddenly about and ran towards the
cage of the Parrot. At this moment, the bird, somewhat alarmed,
exclaimed vehemently, ‘Get out, you brute!’ The astonished dog hastily
retreated, leaving those who were within hearing to enjoy the joke.
“Though the power of speech is entirely an imitative one in the Parrot,”
said Uncle Thomas, “you must not consider it as deficient in the
qualities which recommend birds in general to our regard. Parrots are
very affectionate creatures, though, as with us they are generally kept
solitary, we have seldom an opportunity of observing their conduct
towards each other.
“A French writer records a very interesting instance of affection in a
pair of these birds. A solitary gentleman, whose principal delight had
been in observing the manners and habits of animals, gives the following
account of the affection of two Parrots. They were of that kind of
Parrokeet called Guinea Sparrows, and kept in a square cage, such as is
usually appropriated to that species of bird. The cup which contained
their food was placed in the bottom of the cage. The male was almost
continually seated on the same perch with the female. They sat close
together, and viewed each other from time to time with evident
tenderness. If they separated, it was but for a few moments, for they
hastened to return and resume their situation. They commonly took their
food together, and then retired to the highest perch of the cage. They
often appeared to engage in a kind of conversation, which they continued
for some time, and seemed to answer each other, varying their sounds,
and elevating and lowering their voices. Sometimes they seemed to
quarrel, but those emotions were but of a momentary duration, and
succeeded by additional tenderness. This happy pair thus passed four
years in a climate greatly different from that in which they had before
lived. At the end of that period the female fell into a state of
languor, which had all the appearance of old age. At length she was no
longer able to move about to take her food, but the male, ever attentive
and alert in whatever concerned her, brought it in his bill, and emptied
it into hers. She was in this manner supplied by her vigilant purveyor
during the space of four months. The infirmities of his dear companion
increased daily. She became at last unable to sit upon the perch; and
remained, therefore, crouched at the bottom of the cage, and from time
to time made a few ineffectual efforts to regain the lowest perch. The
male, who ever remained attentive and close by her, seconded these her
feeble efforts with all his power. Sometimes he seized with his beak the
upper part of her wing, by way of drawing her to him; sometimes he took
her by the bill and endeavoured to raise her up, repeating these efforts
many times. His motions, his gestures, his countenance, his continual
solicitude, every thing in this interesting bird, expressed an ardent
desire to aid the weakness of his mate, and to alleviate her sufferings.
But the scene became still more interesting when the female was on the
point of expiring. The unhappy male went round and round the dying
female without ceasing. He redoubled his assiduities and tender cares.
He tried to open her bill, with a design to give her nourishment. His
emotion increased every instant; he paced and repaced the cage in the
greatest agitation, and, at intervals, uttered the most plaintive cries.
At other times he fixed his eyes upon the female, and preserved the most
sorrowful silence. It was impossible to mistake these expressions of his
grief or despair; the most insensible of mankind would have been moved.
His faithful consort at last expired. From that moment he himself
languished, and survived her but a few months.”
“An instance of the same kind,” continued Uncle Thomas, “is related by
Mr. Audubon, in an account which he gives of an experiment to teach a
Carolina Parrokeet to speak.—‘Anxious,’ says he, ‘to try the effects of
education on one which I had but slightly wounded in the wing, I fixed
up a place for it in the stern of my boat, and presented it with
cockle-burs, the favourite food of the American Parrot, which it freely
fed on in less than an hour after being on board. The intermediate time
between eating and sleeping was occupied in gnawing the sticks that
formed its place of confinement, in order to make a practicable breach;
which it repeatedly effected. When I abandoned the river and travelled
by land, I wrapped it closely up in a silk handkerchief, tying it
tightly round, and carried it in my pocket. When I stopped for
refreshment, I unbound my prisoner and gave it its allowance, which it
generally despatched with great dexterity, unhusking the seeds from the
bur in a twinkling.’ In recommitting it to ‘durance vile,’ we generally
had a quarrel, during which it frequently paid me in kind for the wound
I had inflicted, and for depriving it of liberty, by cutting and almost
disabling several of my fingers with its sharp and powerful bill. The
path through the wilderness, between Nashville and Natchez, is, in some
places, bad beyond description. There are dangerous creeks to swim,
miles of morass to struggle through, rendered almost as gloomy as night
by a prodigious growth of timber, and an underwood of canes and other
evergreens; while the descent into these sluggish streams is often ten
or fifteen feet perpendicular into a bed of deep clay. In some of the
worst of these places, where I had, as it were, to fight my way through,
the Parrokeet frequently escaped from my pocket, obliging me to dismount
and pursue it through the worst of the morass before I could regain it.
On these occasions I was several times tempted to abandon it, but I
persisted in bringing it along. When, at night I encamped in the woods I
placed it on the baggage beside me, where it usually sat with great
composure, dozing and gazing at the fire till morning. In this way I
carried it upwards of a thousand miles in my pocket, when it was exposed
all day to the jolting of the horse, but regularly liberated at
meal-times and in the evening, at which it always expressed great
satisfaction. In passing through the Chickasaw and Chocktaw nations, the
Indians, wherever I stopped to feed, collected around me—men, women, and
children—laughing and seeming wonderfully amused with the novelty of my
companion. The Chickasaw called it in their language, _Kelinky_, but
when they heard me call it Poll they soon repeated the name, and
wherever I chanced to stop among these people we soon became familiar
with each other through the medium of Poll. On arriving at Mr. Dunbar’s,
below Natchez, I procured a cage and placed it under the piazza, where
by its call it soon attracted the passing flocks; such is the attachment
they have for each other. Numerous parties frequently alighted on the
trees immediately above, keeping up a constant conversation with the
prisoner. One of them I wounded slightly in the wing, and the pleasure
Poll experienced at meeting with this new companion was really amusing.
She crept close up to it as it hung on the side of the cage, chattering
to it in a low tone of voice, as if sympathizing in its misfortune,
scratched about its head and neck with her bill, and both at night
nestled as close as possible to each other, Poll’s head being thrust
among the plumage of the other. On the death of this companion she
appeared restless and inconsolable for several days. On reaching New
Orleans I placed a looking-glass beside the place where she usually sat,
and the instant she perceived her image all her former fondness seemed
to return, so that she could scarcely absent herself from it for a
moment. It was evident that she was completely deceived. Always when
evening drew on, and often during the day, she laid her head close to
that of the image in the glass, and began to doze with great composure
and satisfaction. In this short space she learned to know her name, to
answer and come when called on; to climb up my clothes, sit on my
shoulder, and eat from my mouth. I took her with me to sea, determined
to persevere in her education. But, destined to another fate, poor Poll,
having one morning about daybreak wrought her way through the cage while
I was asleep, instantly flew overboard, and perished in the Gulf of
Mexico.”
“Poor Poll” said Mary.
“A very amusing story is told,” continued Uncle Thomas, “of the lady of
a worthy citizen, who, by a laudable attention to business, had
accumulated a considerable fortune, and retired to the enjoyment of a
nice villa not a hundred miles from Hampstead. It happened that the lady
had a daughter by a former marriage; and, as her great desire was to see
the girl well settled in life, she spared neither pains nor expense to
effect her object. The old lady was moreover extremely parsimonious in
her family arrangements; her ruling maxim being to save all she could in
secret in order to be better able to spare no expense in public, so as
to pass off for richer than she really was. She accordingly daily
furnished her husband’s table with the humblest fare—to which the
goodnatured old gentleman submitted without a murmur. One of the good
lady’s grand economical schemes was the establishment of a piggery; and
on one occasion having made a very profitable sale to a butcher of some
half-a-dozen of the fatted inhabitants of her stye, that she might make
the most of every thing, she supplied the table with little else than
fried pig’s liver as long as it lasted. As the worthy citizen was
generally pretty ready for his dinner on his return from his forenoon’s
walk, the Parrot often heard and joined in the call which the master’s
arrival produced to ‘make haste to bring the pig’s liver,’ which the
lady vociferated over the stair to Rebecca, her only domestic, a great
red-cheeked, raw-boned girl, fresh from the country. In the midst of
these daily commons, the good lady was sparing no expense in preparing
for a grand dinner which she was about to give. By some means or other
she and her daughter had become acquainted with a young man of quality,
who appeared to have fallen in love with the young lady. Speculations
and plots followed, and with the decision of an able general, the fond
mother resolved to complete her daughter’s conquest by a bold stroke.
The young gentleman having ridden out that way with two of his
fashionable companions, she lost not a moment in asking them all to what
she called a family dinner at the villa, on an early day, which she
named. Her invitation having been accepted, the choicest viands and the
finest wines were provided, and a French cook and a powdered waiter were
procured, and a quantity of plate was hired for the occasion.
“The eventful day at length arrived. Dinner was served. The lady so
managed matters that her daughter was seated next to her admirer. Operas
and balls were talked of; every thing was in apple-pie order; the soup
and fish course had passed away, and a haunch of venison was announced,
ambiguously stated to be from the park of a noble friend—the real fact
being that it was purchased from a butcher who had it from his
lordship’s keeper. During the interval that took place before its
appearance, John was despatched for the Champagne. The company waited,
but neither venison, nor champagne, nor servant appeared. A dead silence
ensued—a silence that was agony to the lady. Minutes were added to
minutes. The good old citizen rose from his chair, and rang the bell; it
tingled in the ears of the company for a while, but its tingling was
fruitless. The suspense became fearful. ‘What a pretty Parrot you have
got,’ said the young gentleman at last, in despair. ‘He is a very pretty
bird indeed!’ said the lady of the house, ‘and a very intelligent fellow
too, I assure you. What have you to say for yourself, Poll?’ ‘Becky!
Becky! the Pig’s liver and a pot of beer! quick, quick, make haste!’
cried the Parrot. ‘The horrid sailors teach the creatures to be so
vulgar,’ said the young lady, in a die-away tone.—‘Becky! Becky!’ cried
the Parrot, ‘the Pig’s liver! quick, quick! Becky, Becky!’ And having
been once roused from his lethargy he continued to bawl out the same
words at the top of his voice, till, to the inexpressible horror of the
good lady and her fair daughter, and the no less irrepressible mirth of
the three youths, the great slip-shod country wench entered the room,
her left arm embracing an ample dish of smoking-hot fried pigs liver,
and her right hand swinging a creaming pewter pot full of beer! ‘Lucky
indeed it was that I had it ready, Ma’am,’ she said, as she set the dish
and pot down before her mistress with a self-satisfied air that seemed
to crave applause; ‘for Jowler, the big watch-dog, has runned away wi’
the leg of carrion, an’ Mounseer wi’ the white night-cap, and t’other
chap wi’ the flour on his head, will ha’ enough ado to catch un!’”
The whole of Uncle Thomas’s little audience burst out in an
uncontrollable fit of laughing as he concluded this story, and it was
not without a feeling of deep regret that they heard from him that it
was now necessary to bring his Tales about Birds to a conclusion. He
told them, however, that at no distant period he hoped once more to have
the pleasure of their company to listen to a new series of Stories which
he had in preparation, and they then bade him good night.
THE END.
Clarke, Printers, Silver Street, Falcon Square.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
BINGLEY’S
ILLUSTRATED BOOKS FOR CHILDREN,
Uniform with the present Volume.
1. STORIES ABOUT DOGS, illustrative of their Sagacity and Fidelity. By
THOMAS BINGLEY. With Engravings after LANDSEER. Price 4_s._,
neatly bound.
2. STORIES ABOUT INSTINCT, illustrative of the Characters and Habits
of Animals. With Engravings after LANDSEER. 4_s._, neatly bound.
3. STORIES ABOUT HORSES, illustrative of their Intelligence, Sagacity,
and Docility. Embellished with Twelve Engravings on Steel.
4_s._, neatly bound.
4. TALES OF SHIPWRECKS, and other Disasters at Sea, including the
Wreck of the Forfarshire, and other recent Losses. Embellished
with Engravings by E. LANDELLS. 4_s._, neatly bound.
“The Juvenile Works of Mr. Bingley are too well known to the Public to
need our commendation. * * * From the happy colloquial character of the
Tales they will, we doubt not, soon find their way into the hands of
every family, as well as into the general elementary establishments for
youth.”—_Shipping Gazette._
JUVENILE WORKS JUST PUBLISHED.
I.
BIBLE QUADRUPEDS;
OR, THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE ANIMALS MENTIONED
IN SCRIPTURE.
New Edition, embellished with Sixteen Engravings. Price 5_s._, neatly
bound.
“This is an excellent little tome for young people, cherishing, at the
same time, a love for the Holy Volume and a taste for Natural
History.”—_Literary Gazette._
“On the whole, we have been pleased with it; the design is good, the
illustrations good, and the work well written.”—_Athenæum._
II.
PETER PARLEY AND THE CORONATION.
Price 4_s._, handsomely bound,
PETER PARLEY’S VISIT TO LONDON DURING THE CORONATION;
In which he describes that splendid ceremony, and tells his young
friends many amusing anecdotes of the Queen, &c.
Illustrated with Six Coloured Plates of the Principal Scenes.
III.
TALES OF ENTERPRISE,
FOR THE AMUSEMENT OF YOUTH.
Embellished with Engravings on Steel, handsomely bound, 2_s._ 6_d._
IV.
BOB, THE SPOTTED TERRIER,
OR, MEMOIR OF A DOG OF KNOWLEDGE.
New Edition, many Engravings, 1_s._ 6_d._, neatly bound.
V.
DICK, THE LITTLE PONY;
FOR THE AMUSEMENT OF LITTLE MASTERS AND MISSES.
New Edition, many Engravings, 1_s._ 6_d._, neatly bound.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.
3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.