of a whole hen-roost, not caring to feed upon the bodies of
the poultry which they have killed. They will climb trees, attack the
old bird on its nest, suck the eggs, or carry off the young; for nothing
of this kind seems to come amiss to them. They are great hunters of
mice; and their long, slender bodies are well adapted for following
these destructive little animals in their rambles among the corn-stalks
in the field. In this way, the weasel renders the farmer a good service
occasionally, though he never asks to be rewarded with a duck or
chicken, always choosing to help himself without asking, whenever he can
get a chance. Oh! if you could but see a weasel attack a mouse, as I
have done. By just one single bite of the head, which is done in a
moment, and which pierces the brain before you can say 'Jack Robinson,'
the mouse is killed as dead as a red herring, before he has time to
squeak or struggle. It is no joke, I can tell you, to be bitten by a
weasel; and if you thought, when you caught hold of one by the back,
that you had him safe, you would soon find your mistake out; for his
neck is as pliable as a piece of India rubber. He would have hold of
your hand in a moment."

[Illustration: THE HAWK POUNCING UPON THE WEASEL.]

I have just come across a funny story about the adventure of a weasel
and a hawk. It seems that a hawk took an especial fancy to a weasel that
he saw prowling about a farm-yard. His hawkship happened to be pretty
hungry at the time, and concluded he would carry off the weasel, and
make a dinner of him at his leisure. So he pounced upon the fellow, and
set out on his journey home. I should not wonder if he had a nest in the
woods not far off. The weasel, however, submitted to his fate with no
very good grace. He thought that two could play at that game. He twisted
around his elastic neck--to use the language of the writer I
mentioned--poked up his pointed nose, and in he went, with his sharp
teeth, right under the wings of the hawk, making such a hole in an
instant, that you might have thrust your finger in. The hawk tried to
pick at him with his hooked beak, but it was no use.

The weasel kept eating away, and licking his lips as if he enjoyed
himself; and the hawk soon came wheeling down to the ground, which he no
sooner touched, than away ran the weasel, having got an excellent dinner
at the expense of the hawk. He was not a bit the worse for the ride;
while Mr. Hawk lay there as dead as a