foal, was grazing in an orchard on an American
farm, when she was noticed to run at full speed from a distant part of
the orchard, making a loud cry--not like her usual voice, but a kind of
unnatural "whinny," like a scream of distress. She came up to a farm
servant, as near as a fence would allow, turned back for a short
distance, and then returned, keeping up the shrill noise all the while.
The man's curiosity became excited, and as soon as he started to follow
her, she went off in the direction of a miry place that had been left
unguarded, and stopped upon its very brink. Hurrying on as fast as he
could, the man found the colt lying dead, suffocated in the mud and
water. The poor mare had unfortunately been unable to procure his
help--though she tried her best--in time to save her foal. This touching
instance of maternal affection is a very interesting example of the way
in which the "dumb" animals--as they are somewhat absurdly called--make
up for the want of speech. The mare's strange cry and her extreme
restlessness were as eloquent as words.

[Illustration: SOME BIRDS OF THE CAUCASUS. (_See p. 121._)]

ABOUT THE FRANCOLIN.

Partridges by any name would taste as sweet, and when you have learnt
that the francolin is one of the few different kinds of partridge, you
will have obtained the chief clue to the life-history of these birds.
They may in a general way be defined as the representatives in various
parts of Asia (as in India and the Caucasus mountains) and Africa, of
the well-known family which is so diligently searched for in this
country during the month of September. One sort of francolin is still to
be met with in the countries of Europe that border on the Mediterranean.
The bird was at one time common in Sicily, and it is yet to be found in
the island of Cyprus. Some of them live on level plains, and others in
forests. They differ from our partridge in that they studiously shun
cultivated ground, preferring the proximity of woods, in which they
carefully select damp spots overgrown with reeds. In time of danger they
conceal themselves in the densest brushwood, out of which they do not
emerge until the peril is past. Should no shelter be at hand, they will
try to seek safety in flight, and will use their wings only in the last
resort. Partridges, as we are all aware, are not averse from feeding
many times and oft on grain; but the francolins, whose taste is not so
fastidious, will not refuse to di