to the satisfaction of the
sagacious bird. Accordingly it went off, and soon returning with a bird
of its own species, the united weight of the two had the desired
effect, and the successful pair enjoyed the benefit of their ingenuity.

"We can vouch for the truth of this singular instance of penetration,
on the authority of the owner of the place where it occurred, and who
witnessed the fact."

121. But although in these sagacities, and teachablenesses, the bird
has much in common with land poultry, it seems not a link between these
and water-fowl; but to be properly placed by the ornithologists between
the rail and the coot: this latter being the largest of the fringefoots,
singularly dark in color, and called 'fulica' (sooty), or, with
insistence, 'fulica atra' (black sooty), or even 'fulica aterrima'
(blackest sooty). 'Coot' is said by Johnson to be Dutch; and that it
became 'cotee' in French; but I cannot find cotee in my French
dictionary. In the meantime, putting the coot and water-hen aside for
future better knowledge, we may be content with the pentagonal group of
our dabchicks--passing at each angle into another tribe, thus,--(if
people must classify, they at least should also _map_). Take the Ouzel,
Allegret, Grebe, Fairy, and Rail, and, only giving the Fairy her Latin
name, write their fourpenny-worth of initial letters (groat) round a
pentagon set on its base, putting the Ouzel at the top angle,--so.
Then, the Ouzels pass up into Blackbirds, the Rails to the left into
Woodcocks, the Allegrets to the right into Plovers, the Grebes, down
left, into Ducks, and the Titanias, down right, into Gulls. And
_there's_ a bit of pentagonal Darwinism for you, if you like it, and
learn it, which will be really good for something in the end, or the
five ends.

122. And for the bliss of classification pure, with no ends of any sort
or any number, referring my reader to the works of ornithologists in
general, and for what small portion of them he may afterwards care to
consult, to my Appendix, I will end this lecture, and this volume, with
the refreshment for us of a piece of perfect English and exquisite wit,
falling into verse,--the Chorus of the Birds, in Mr. Courthope's
Paradise of them,--a book lovely, and often faultless, in most of its
execution, but little skilled or attractive in plan, and too thoughtful
to be understood without such notes as a good author will not write on
his own work; partly because he has no