Chapter XXXIII: Part IV: Domestic Pets (4)

Then cut your wire into lengths, measuring them by the depth of the box, and cutting them about one-third of an inch shorter than the total depth. Laying them against the end is a simple method of getting the precise length. Sharpen one end of each piece of wire, push the sharpened end through the hole at the top, draw the wire down, insinuate the point into the hole below, and then, holding the middle of the wire with the fingers of the left hand, in order to keep it from bending, drive it down with the hammer until quite level with the top of the box. When all the wires are thus driven home, nail a strip of wood over them at the top, and they can never come out again.

It will be better to strengthen it further by passing a similar wire horizontally across the others, driving each end into the wood, and binding all together with fine wire. This will be a protection through which not even a rat could crawl, and which no cat could tear away with her hooked claws.

The door of the sleeping apartment is easily made of a single piece of board, cut to the requisite shape, affixed by leathern or metal hinges, and fastened by a simple hasp. The door of the day-room is made in a similar manner, but opens from behind. A row of deep notches should be cut at the bottom of this door, and corresponding holes bored through the back of the sleeping-room floor, in order to let all the wet drain away and keep the rabbit dry. The hutch should be made to slant a little backwards so as to aid in the drainage.

Slate floors have been suggested, in order to prevent the ill-drained moisture from soaking into the substance--a result which is sure to take place, sooner or later, with a wooden floor. Slate, however, is rather expensive, but it is easily cleaned, and can be thoroughly washed; so that the suggestion is worthy of notice.

Having completed the hutch, we must next see about a feeding-trough. The ordinary troughs are nothing more than long wooden boxes; those who use them generally find that the food is much wasted by being scraped out with the fore feet, and that the rabbit contracts a habit of sitting in the trough, which, in course of time, renders it very offensive, and makes the food unwholesome. But by a little exercise of ingenuity both these annoyances can be prevented.

To check the scratching out of the food, run a strong wire from one end of the trough to the other, about half an inch below the edge, and one inch from the side. When the rabbit begins to scratch, the paws come against the wire, and get so jarred that the creature soon relinquishes the bad habit.

The habit of squatting in the trough is easily prevented by a very simple plan. A strong wire, about three or four inches long, according to the depth of the trough, is set upright in the centre. Another wire is arranged as seen in the illustration, the ends being driven firmly into the wood of the trough, and the middle passing through a loop at the end of the central wire. In the engraving, _a_ represents the wire which prevents the animal from scratching, and _b_ that which keeps it from getting into the trough. The edges, whether of the trough, the sliding door, or the guides, must be either bound with tin or edged with zinc wire, the latter being rather preferable.

The reader will observe that in the engraving of the hutch it is shown standing on a table, the top of which projects far beyond the legs. The object of this precaution is to keep off rats, which are the bane of all rabbit-owners, and can climb up almost anything. They, cannot, however, walk like a fly, in a reversed position, on a flat surface, and in consequence, a projecting board of five or six inches in width is an effectual protection against these pests.

The hutch is easily kept clean by attending to each apartment separately. First close the sliding door, so as to confine the rabbit in the apartment in which it happens to be, and with a hoe or similar implement scrape the floor quite clean, afterwards rubbing it with a wisp of straw. Take care that every scrap of refuse food has been removed. Then close the outer door, open the slide, drive the rabbit into the clean apartment, close the slide, and scrape and rub the second chamber.

The trough should be removed when the day-room is cleaned, and carefully examined before it is replaced. The hutch being clean, the slide may be opened, and the animal allowed to run about. The hutch should be cleansed at least every day, and if a second cleaning be added it will not come amiss. This continual cleaning will involve some trouble; but no one ought to keep a rabbit who neglects this essential duty, or to undertake the charge of an animal unless he intends to make it as happy as it can be in a state of imprisonment. A supply of straw should be placed in the sleeping-room for a bed, and should be changed daily.

If possible, the rabbit should be allowed to take a half-hour’s run every day; but precautions must be taken against its burrowing habits and the chance of finding and eating something poisonous. In the wild state, a rabbit never eats anything that is injurious, but when domesticated many of its instincts are in abeyance, and it will eat many substances which it would reject when wild.

The best defence against burrowing is to have a brick floor for the animal to run about on. There is also a substance called, I believe, Parker’s cement, which, when laid down, becomes rapidly dry, and is so hard that not even the teeth of a rat, much less the claws of a rabbit, can work their way through it. This cement is mixed with water and sand to the consistency of thick cream, and while settling is “flatted” with boards, and makes an admirable level flooring, easily washed and as hard as stone. On this substance the rabbit can be allowed to amuse itself without danger, and when its time of recreation has expired it should be caught and replaced in its hutch.

We may here mention that the proper method of taking up a rabbit is to hold it by the ears with the right hand, and to support the body by placing the left hand under it.

Should a number of rabbits be kept, it is as well to allow each family to have a run in succession. It is very pretty to see the playful antics of the young rabbits, the races they run with each other, the scufflings they have in the corners, and the staid manner in which the mother sits and looks on, and when they become too noisy silences them by a stamp of her foot.

This gesture is used either as a signal of alarm or defiance, and the force of the rabbit’s hind foot is really astonishing. We have known a buck rabbit vanquish a large cat in a fair fight simply by jumping over her back and kicking fiercely as he passed. He struck out whole bunches of pussy’s fur, and the cat, unaccustomed to such treatment, ran away and left her antagonist victorious and triumphant.

It is necessary to separate the rabbits in their exercise, and not to permit two families to occupy the same ground at the same time, as they are very quarrelsome animals, and will fight desperately among themselves. In any case the buck rabbits should not be allowed to mix with the others, for they are terrible bullies, and will assault and kill even their own children, without the least remorse. When properly tended, the rabbit becomes quite tame and familiar, and will come to its owner at the sound of its name.

The food of rabbits is easily obtained, and consists of bran, pollard, grain, and various vegetables. Parsley is an especial favourite, but cabbage leaves should be avoided as far as possible, as they are apt to have a bloating and puffy effect, and are often injurious, especially to young rabbits, giving them the disorder that is well known under the expressive term of “potbelly.”

The following is a list of vegetables which rabbits can always eat in safety:--

Grasses of the finer sorts--the coarse, large-bladed grasses are not to a rabbit’s taste--lettuce, parsley, carrots and their green tops, turnip-tops, green ears of corn, sow or milk thistles, clover, tares, vetches, beet-root and leaves, vine leaves occasionally, green furze tops, potatoes, and Jerusalem artichokes. Cow-parsley, as it is popularly called (_Myrrhis temulenta_), is a very favourite vegetable with the rabbit: but unless the gatherer is perfectly acquainted with its form and leafage, he will be wise to leave it standing; for it marvellously resembles the common hemlock (_Conium maculatum_), which is extremely poisonous; and unless the two plants be thoroughly known, the rabbit may be poisoned through the mistaken kindness of the owner.

As this plant is a really valuable one, we will give a few simple and plain directions for distinguishing it from hemlock.

Cow-parsley is about three feet in height, the leaves are greatly branched, and the stem is ribbed, spotted with purple, and covered with numerous short hairs slightly bent downwards. The hemlock in general shape resembles the cow-parsley, but it may be known by the smooth reddish purple spots and its unpleasant smell when the leaves are grasped in the hand.

Various dry grains, such as barley, oats, and Indian corn, are useful to the rabbit; and dry peas are also beneficial if sparingly given when the creature has been partaking largely of green food. Very little water is needed; but it is better to put into the hutch a small pan with a few spoonfuls of water in it. A very little oil-cake is useful in the winter. At first the rabbits do not like it, but they soon become accustomed to its taste, and are then very fond of it.

Before proceeding to the mode of breeding rabbits, we will glance at the varieties into which these creatures are modified by careful management.

The three chief points in a “fancy” rabbit are the ears, the dewlap, and the curve of the back.

The ears must in every case be exceedingly long, and must never stand upright, as in the common rabbit of the warren. The most perfect and valuable form is the Full, Flat, or Perfect Lop. In this variety the ears lie as if hinged to the head at their bases, and bent downward, so that when the animal is reposing the tips should quite or nearly touch the ground. The convex part of the ear must be upwards, or the value of the creature is deteriorated.

The next valuable variety is termed the Oar-Lop, because the ears spread horizontally from the head, like the oars of a waterman’s boat. A really good Oar-Lop rabbit is seldom seen, and when found is thought by some to be equal to the Perfect Lop, of which, indeed, it seems to be the preliminary stage. In all cases the measurement across the ears from tip to tip ought never to be less than sixteen inches; the more they exceed that measurement, the more valuable is the animal.

The Horn-Lop is another very curious variety, deriving its name from the position of the ears, which fall completely over the face, with their points directed to the front. In some specimens they fall so completely over the face that the edges pass over the eyes, and must act as a partial barrier to perfect sight, like the leather blinkers that are so absurdly attached to draught horses.

The lopped ears do not show themselves when the rabbit is young, and for the first month or two it is not easy to decide whether the little creatures belong to the straight or the lop-eared variety. Moreover, it often happens that one or two of each family retain the upright ears throughout their whole existence; and it is of not unfrequent occurrence that the “lop” is delayed for a very long time, and then suddenly makes its appearance. Sometimes one ear will exhibit the lop most perfectly, while the other remains upright or very slightly bent. Some fanciers attach a piece of lead to the recusant ear in order to make it coincide with the other, but we do not agree with the practice. The ear never looks quite natural, and as the rabbit will have or, as the phrase is, throw young ones with perfect lops, it may be kept for breeding if a doe; if a buck, it can be fattened for the table.

The second point of interest is the dewlap, the large double pouch which is seen under the chin and throat, and which is peculiar to the fancy rabbit. If the dewlap be not large and full, with its two lobes well developed, and sufficiently firm to form a cushion for the head while the animal reclines, the rabbit will be thought worthless by fanciers.

The shape of the fancy rabbit is very different from that of the common variety. It is altogether on a larger scale, and the back rises so much, that its summit ought to be two inches higher than the top of the head.

The colour, again, is very important. It may be white, black, mottled, tortoiseshell, blue, and in fact any colour except the plain grey. Whatever it be, it must be arranged after a special position. On each side of the nose must be a patch of the darker colour of the body, forming what is called the “butterfly smut.” A large patch on the back is called the “saddle,” and a row of spots termed the “chain” is drawn in front of the body and seems to hang over the shoulder. The legs must be white, and the tail and snout of the same colour.

Very few rabbits possess all these qualities; but even the combined excellences of smut, chain, and saddle will fail to gain a high rank for any rabbit which does not possess a good “carriage,” _i. e._ whose back is not at least two inches above its head, and whose nose and ear-tips do not nearly touch the ground. Some writers say that the fancy rabbits are more delicate of health and less easy to rear than the common variety; but we have bred many families of them, and never found any difficulty in rearing them. Their superior size renders them valuable for culinary purposes, and, as out of every family the greater number are deficient in the requisite marks of a fancy rabbit, the table can be well supplied with these fat and well-flavoured creatures.

The last variety we shall mention is the beautiful Angola rabbit, remarkable for its long silken hair, a speaking likeness of which may be seen in Landseer’s wonderful picture of Titania.

We will now devote a few words to the breeding of rabbits.

The rabbit will breed at a very early age, _i. e._ from eight months upwards; but those who want healthy young ought not to allow the rabbits to breed before they are one year old, or after they have completed their fourth year. The buck and doe should be always kept in different hutches, out of each other’s sight, and only allowed to remain together for a very short time. The rabbit usually breeds four times in the year, or even oftener; but as a general rule it is not advisable to allow more than three breeds in the year.

When the doe rabbit feels the time approaching for her young to be born, she begins to bite in little pieces the hay of her bed, and when she does so a supply of very fine soft hay should be placed within her reach. She then pulls this together in her sleeping-chamber, and mixes it with downy fur plucked from her own body, ready for the reception of the expected family.

It is as well to put a pan of water within reach, as the animal generally thirsts after the young are born, and unless she can get at water, is apt to eat the young merely on account of the moisture. One of my own rabbits acted in a very odd manner. She called to one of her family, telling it to come to her. The disobedient child refused, and the mother accordingly seized it by one ear and dragged it along. Unfortunately, she pulled so hard in one direction, and the young one pulled so hard in the other, that the ear was fairly dragged from the head. The mother treated the matter very easily, ate the severed ear, caught hold of the other, and succeeded in reducing her offspring to obedience.

While engaged in maturing her young, the mother requires a very ample supply of food, eating nearly twice as much as at other times. She must have plenty of green food, and a mash of barley meal and milk will be found beneficial. For the first week or ten days the door of the sleeping-room should not be opened, as the mother-rabbit is very jealous of her young, and if they are handled, or even looked at, will sometimes eat them. This is a terrible habit, and if a rabbit once act in that manner, provided that she is well supplied with food and drink, the best plan is to fatten her for the table.

The young are suckled for about five weeks, when the mother weans them, and they learn to eat tender grass-blades, and other green food. If the family be very large, there is sure to be at least one small and weakly among the number. This should be removed and destroyed, so as to ensure that only the strong and healthy are reared.

There are several diseases to which domestic rabbits are liable, but these ailments are nearly all caused through negligence; and in a really well-appointed and carefully-tended rabbitry a sickly animal is hardly ever seen.

Except in the case of valuable fancy animals, the trouble and expense of attempting the cure of a diseased rabbit are so great, that few will find themselves repaid, even by the recovery of the invalid. Recovery, however, is so very dubious, that in almost every case it is cheaper and more humane to kill the animal at once, which is performed instantaneously and painlessly by holding the creature up by the hind legs, and with the edge of the right hand striking it a sharp blow behind the ears. Let the young rabbit-keeper rest assured, that if one of his pets should fall ill, the sickness will in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred be chargeable to some negligence of his own.

THE RAVEN.

All the members of the Crow tribe have a decided family likeness; and, as a general fact, the relationship can be recognised as long as they belong to the British species. But as there are several foreign birds which bear a decided resemblance to this tribe, though really belonging to other families, it is needful to give a few hints as to the method by which these may be distinguished. The young observer must look first at the beak, then at the wings, and lastly at the legs. In all these birds the beak is strong and conical, arched on the keel, _i. e._ the ridge along the upper surface, with the sides rather flattened as far as the tip. The nostrils are set at the base of the beak, and hidden by plumes. The wings are never very large, and mostly pointed. The tarsi, _i. e._ the long, straight leg-bones, are of moderate length, and covered with strong, shield-like scales.

The British representatives of this large family are the carrion crow, the rook, the Royston or hooded or grey crow, the chough, the raven, the jackdaw, the jay, and the magpie.

The Raven, once so plentiful over England, is now nearly extinct, except in some of the wild uncultivated districts, where it still lingers, uttering its hoarse, loud cry, flapping its broad wings, and committing no small havoc among the young or feeble animals that have the misfortune to dwell in its neighbourhood.

To procure a raven is now a difficult task, and can seldom be accomplished except by giving an order to the regular dealers. We do not advise any of our young readers to possess themselves of a raven unless they have ample space for the bird, and are quite certain that it cannot get into any mischief. Either a magpie, a jay, or a jackdaw, seems to be possessed with an incessant spirit of mischief, but the raven seems to have enough for the three, and as it possesses enormous muscular power and irrepressible audacity, it is a peculiarly unsafe inmate of a house or garden.

For our own part, we have been for some months undecided whether we shall have a raven or not. We should greatly like to possess one of these birds, but then we know that he would pull up all our newly-sown seeds, bully our cat, peck the servants’ heels, get into the milk-pail, tear our papers to pieces, and, in short, spoil everything within his reach. We could, of course, chain him up, and clip his wings, or put him into a metal cage, but we think all such proceedings to be needlessly cruel, especially in the case of a bird like the raven, whose instinct teaches it to roam far and wide, and whose opportunities of exercise ought never to be confined to the limited space comprehended by a chain or a cage.

When treated properly, the raven possesses a very mine of amusing and companionable qualities, at all events to those who treat it kindly, and whom it does not suspect of any intention to injure. It is a capital talker, equalling the parrot in that respect, except that the voice is very gruff and low, as if spoken from under a feather bed.

The raven is not long in taking the measure of its companions, and has a supreme contempt for those who display weakness of mind or resources. Nothing seems to make a raven so happy as frightening somebody. He likes to come quietly behind a nervous person, deliver a heavy _dab_ at the ankle with his iron bill, and then walk away as if he knew nothing about the assault. He will frighten dogs half out of their senses, chase the cats, drive the fowls about, and as to the horses, he mostly takes a fancy to them, sitting on their backs, or walking calmly and deliberately among their legs. Indeed the raven always has a great affection for stable life. He likes to saunter in and out of the stalls, to flap his way from one horse to another, to peck at strangers, to patronise the helpers, to be on speaking terms with the grooms, and, we regret to say, has a strange talent for picking up all the evil language which is too often found in and about the stable-yard.

He encourages the presence of dogs and cats, because he always steals their dinners; and if he can find an opportunity of making a sly raid upon the luncheon of a groom, he is sure to seize it. He becomes the patriarch of the yard, and stands by his dignity as such. He _won’t_ die, but lives on, year after year; sees successive generations of horses, grooms, and proprietors pass away, and seems to despise them for not living as long as himself. Time seems to have little power with him. His feathers take a greyer hue when he is a century or two old, but in disposition he remains ever young, malicious, crafty, active, quaint, and voracious.

He will eat anything, and can be taught to devour the most remarkable substances, provided that he thinks them very valuable, and not intended for food. Raw meat is perhaps his favourite diet, and he is greatly pleased with rats, mice, small birds, fat beetles, big grubs or worms, and similar delicacies. But he will eat bread when he cannot get meat; and if he can only be got to believe that the article is extremely valuable, he will make a breakfast on a newspaper or a shirt-collar.

He can be easily induced to swallow even a black-lead pencil or a pocket-handkerchief, by a very simple process. Drop the article as if accidentally, search for it anxiously, go away without seeming to see it, and hardly will your back be turned when the raven will have snatched up the missing article and conveyed it to his storehouse.

If watched from a spot where the observer cannot be seen, he will be noticed to proceed in a very methodical manner. He will first pick up his prize, and walk about solemnly with it in his beak, as if displaying a captured trophy of war. He will then put his foot on it, seize one corner of the paper or handkerchief in his beak, and deliberately tear it into strips, which he will probably swallow. As to the pencil, he pegs at it with the point of his beak at a wonderful pace, making the splinters fly in all directions, and ever and anon looking round, to see that no one is watching him.

Clever as is the raven, and intelligent beyond the wont of birds, his very superiority in this respect often has the effect of rendering him a victim to superior powers. There is scarcely any bird that can be hoaxed more readily than a raven, or that can be “drawn out” with greater ease. Those who humour his ways can make a perfect puppet of him, and induce him to play most undignified antics, without giving him the least idea how thoroughly he is being imposed upon.

Our last advice is that, unless the reader can afford plentiful space for his bird, and assure it a kind treatment, he will act wisely not to attempt to procure a raven. Should, however, he be able to afford it these necessaries of existence, by all means let him procure one of these most amusing birds.

Ravens require scarcely any trouble, and when they have fairly established themselves, will not desert their homes under any circumstances. They ought to be fed once, and once only, _per diem_, for they will find plenty of insects, worms, and other little delicacies, without giving any trouble. They should always be furnished with a place of retreat into which they can retire whenever they feel tired of the world, and they like the hermitage to be deep, dark, and warm, sheltered from wind and rain, and out of the way of inquisitive eyes.

Finally, a raven is an excellent judge of character, and if he is really appreciated, he will become a firm and faithful friend.

SILKWORMS.

“The proudest king
May thank the silkworm for his robe of state.”--AKENSIDE.

The rearing and management of silkworms is an innocent and agreeable pastime both to boys and girls, and it is very interesting in many points of view. One fact is, that while the caterpillars of all the other tribes of moths and butterflies, when they have arrived at a certain state of maturity, show a restless disposition, and wander about and hide themselves in a variety of places in order to spin their cocoons, the silkworm, on the contrary, is content to remain stationary in the open tray or box in which it may be placed. After consuming its immediate supply of mulberry leaves, it waits for a further quantity, and when the period arrives for spinning its cocoon, instead of showing any migratory disposition, it seems to place itself with confidence under the care of man to provide it with a suitable place for its convenience and protection.

The silkworm is systematically known under the name of the _Bombyx Mori_ of Linnæus, or the Mulberry-tree Moth, which in the winged state is of a cream colour, with several transparent bands of a darker colour across the anterior wings and a crescent-shaped central mark. The caterpillar when full grown is nearly three inches in length, and is too well known to our young friends to need any particular description. The eggs when good are of a pale slate or dark lilac colour; they may be purchased in Covent Garden market for about ten shillings per ounce; and care should be taken to obtain them of a proper colour, because those that are of a pale yellow are imperfect.

The silkworm when first hatched is black, and does not exceed in length one-fourth of an inch. The desire for food is the first symptom it exhibits of life, and at this period it is more active than at any other. When about eight days have elapsed after its hatching, its head becomes considerably enlarged, and it turns sick, refuses food, and remains in a state of lethargy for about three days. This sickness would appear to arise from the pressure of the animal’s skin, which has become too tight for the increased bulk of its body. Indeed, the very great difference in the size of the worm from the beginning to the end of the caterpillar state is so great, that Nature has furnished it with several skins, each of which it casts in succession.

The body of the caterpillar is begirt by twelve rings, which approach to or recede from each other according to its motion; there are nine breathing-holes on each side of the body, seven eyes on each side of the head, and two small orifices below the jaws, through which the worm ejects its silken filament.

The art of using this filamentous substance seems to have originated with the Chinese, and to have been discovered at a very early period, and the raw material was purchased by the Persians, Tyrians, and Indians for a long time before it was introduced into Europe. For many ages silk bore an enormous price at Rome, but about the middle of the sixth century two monks arrived at Constantinople from India, bringing with them the white mulberry and the eggs of the silkworm, which have since been reared in Italy, Spain, France, and other parts of Europe.

FOOD OF THE SILKWORM.

The silkworm feeds, as every one knows, on the leaves of the white mulberry; or, when these cannot be obtained, upon those of the black mulberry; or, in lieu of these, upon the leaves of the common garden lettuce. The white mulberry is especially cultivated for the value of its leaves, its fruit being insipid and very inferior to that of the common species, the leaves of which are equally good in this country for the food of the silkworm. There has been a variety lately introduced from the Philippine Isles (_Morus multicaulis_), which has larger leaves, and which is easily propagated by cuttings put into a cucumber frame in October, and transplanted in the following May; yet, still, to ensure success in the rearing of silkworms the young naturalist should stick to the old black mulberry, as such trees are to be found in various vicinities. To propagate this, a branch from another tree may be set in the earth, which will frequently grow. The amiable Sir John Philipport of Hammersmith, so celebrated for his “Elysian groves and fountains fair,” and for his sterling English qualities, has in his grounds a fine mulberry-tree, which he reared by placing a very loose branch in the ground in the autumn of 1850, which threw out roots, and started at once into a tree. The story of a gate-post made of a mulberry trunk becoming, and now remaining, a fruitful tree, is well authenticated. The leaves to be used should be those of a large and well-grown, prolific tree, and they should be gathered with care, so that the young buds of future leaves should in no way be injured; moreover, a tree should never be stripped twice in a year.

HATCHING, FEEDING, AND TEMPERATURE.

Having procured the eggs, which should be obtained about the latter end of April--they are generally bought on slips of paper just as they were laid by the moth--they should be placed in trays made of stout cartridge or thin pasteboard of the form seen in the cut, and there should be provided to go over the case some thin gauze. The trays may be placed in a window facing the south, where they are fully exposed to the rays of the sun; there they should remain undisturbed till they begin to hatch; and as the young worms appear they should be removed into other trays, and fed with the mulberry leaves. The temperature should be regulated from sixty-six to seventy degrees, and the room ventilated, and preserved equally free from damp or too much dryness. They should be kept particularly clean, dead leaves and dung cleared carefully away, and in lifting them from one tray to another they should not be touched by the fingers, but removed by threads of cotton passed under their bodies, or with a camel’s-hair pencil.

MOULTINGS.

The caterpillar has four moultings, which may be all accomplished in the period of four days each, if the heat of the room be increased to from ninety-five to one hundred degrees of Fahrenheit. When the heat is regulated to a lower standard, the first moulting takes place on the fourth or fifth day after hatching, the second in four days more, the third in five or six days more, and the last in about eight days. Ten days more are required after this moulting, so that in about thirty-two days after hatching the caterpillar has attained its full size. During all these changes of the worm it requires the nicest attention.

THE COCOON.

At the end of the time mentioned above the worms change to a clear pink or flesh colour, and look semi-transparent; they refuse their food, become restless, and prepare to spin or form their cocoon. At this time care should be taken to raise the walls of their tray habitation, or they will climb over them and be lost. What is called the cocoon nest should now be prepared by twisting the corners of a piece of writing-paper, and raising its edges into the form of the lower shell of an oyster. A number of these should be prepared and affixed to a piece of tape, with their pointed ends downwards; and into each one a single worm should be placed when it quits its food, and seems ready to spin: it will then dispose its web in such a manner as to leave a cavity within.

The cocoon consists of three distinct layers of silk: the first is loose and flossy, and is unserviceable for the silk manufacture; the second is closer, the silk crossing from side to side; and the third is still finer, and is glued strongly together, so as to form a compact inner coating.

THE AURELIA.

When the cocoon is completed, the enclosed caterpillar again casts its skin, with the head and jaws attached to it, when it appears under the form of a conical chrysalis of the ordinary shape. At first the chrysalis, when opened, exhibits only a yellowish fluid, but by degrees the various parts of the future moth appear, and in about a fortnight or three weeks a slight swelling of the chrysalis indicates the approach of another change; a rupture down its back succeeds, and by degrees the moth bursts through its horny coating into the hollow chamber of the cocoon, and if left to itself would soon eat its way out.

WINDING THE SILK.

The chrysalis, however, must be prevented from eating through the cocoon; and previous to the egress of the moth from its aurelian state, the silk must be wound off. When, by taking up the cocoon, it is found that the caterpillar has passed into the aurelian state--which may easily be known by shaking it, as then the aurelia, from its harder texture and shrunken size, will be heard to rattle--then it is time to wind off the silk. The cocoon is placed in a cup of warm water, after the loose outward silk has been removed, and then, an end being taken, the whole continuous filament may be wound off on a piece of card. The length of the thread of a cocoon varies from 600 to 1,000 feet; yet the whole does not weigh more than three grains and a half. An ounce of eggs will produce about 40,000 caterpillars, which will consume 1,073 lbs. of leaves, and produce from 80 lbs. to 100 lbs. of cocoon, or about eight pounds of raw silk.

THE MOTH.

When the silk is wound off the aurelia presents itself, and being put in a separate case, it remains motionless for about twenty days, when suddenly it appears as a pale yellow moth, with wings which seem scarcely adapted for flight. It crawls heavily about the place where it has been hatched, having a slight tremor in its wings, and eats nothing: the male speedily dies; the females hover about a while without flying, and lay their eggs on the slips of paper presented to them for that purpose. They then soon perish. The female moth generally produces about 300 or 400 eggs.

GENERAL REMARKS.

The place where silkworms are bred, should persons wish to pursue their rearing upon a larger scale, must be free from noisome smells, cattle, and all noises. Persons attending them must be scrupulously clean in their persons, and wash themselves after every meal. Great attention must also be paid to the temperature of the apartment in which they are kept, which must also be free from all dust or smoke; and the most thoughtful and tender care is requisite in everything connected with their treatment and management.

THE SQUIRREL.

The pretty little squirrel has long held a high place in the affections of pet-lovers, and there are few who have not admired the brisk lively movements, the full intelligent eye, and the soft bushy tail of this creature. To possess a tame squirrel is often a legitimate object of boy ambition, not unfrequently shared by their elders. In order to give our readers a few hints as to the procuring, management, and taming of this pretty playmate, we offer the following suggestions.

The first care of every intending possessor of a squirrel should be to prepare a comfortable home for the expected guest, so that the little creature may find its first association with captive life as agreeable as it can be made. In point of fact, the young naturalist should try to give to the squirrel’s future home the greatest possible resemblance to the native domicile.

The very best house for a squirrel is an unused room, fitted up with strong tree-branches, and furnished with a cosy little box, filled with hay and dry mosses, by way of a bedchamber. As, however, such accommodation is not readily found, we will just describe the mode of making a very strong, sightly, and cleanly cage, at a comparatively small expense, and possessing the advantage of coming to pieces when needed, and being packed flat like a portfolio for removal. It will be much cheaper than a purchased cage, quite as handsome, and more easily cleansed.

Make, or, if you are not a good workman, get a carpenter to make, a shallow wooden tray about two inches deep, lined with tin, which should be turned fairly over the edges, or sundry difficulties will appear in course of time. (See fig. 1.) Then go to a wire-worker’s, and order him to make two frames of galvanized iron wire, like fig. 2, and two more like fig. 3, each being about half an inch shorter than the interior length and width of the tray, into which they are intended to fit easily. Also have another piece of similar wire made large enough to bend over the arched tops of the end-pieces, so as to make a roof like the transepts of the Crystal Palace. The edges of the side and end-pieces should be very stout, but those of the roof only moderately strong, or it will not bend easily. It will be better to have a square opening at each end, which should be closed by a door of similar materials. As this wirework will be of coarse manufacture, and have tolerably wide intervals, the cost will be very moderate.

After these frames have been procured, fit them together, and fasten them by twisting bits of wire round the edges at intervals of three inches or so. Put this frame into the tray, and the cage is complete. The staples at the ends are useful for receiving the hooked end of a slight iron rod, looped at the other end to the edging-wire, as seen in fig. 4. These rods act as braces to keep the whole structure firm, and also hold it down to the tray. Some suitable sticks or branches should be fastened to the wires, as the squirrel is fond of playing about on them.

This is the day-room of the squirrel, and its bedroom is merely a proper-sized box, with wire-work substituted for the wooden bottom, a hinged lid, and a hole cut in one end. This should be supported on four legs; a nail at each corner (not a brass-headed nail) will answer the purpose perfectly well. This box is simply placed in the tray at the back of the cage. If it can be managed, a duplicate tray will be exceedingly convenient, as the cage needs the extremest cleanliness, and can be simply purified by changing the tray every morning, washing very carefully the one just removed, and leaving it in the air till the next day. A duplicate sleeping-box will be equally serviceable. The box should be furnished with perfectly clean hay, mosses, lichens, &c.

The cage should never be less than two feet long, two high, and one foot wide. All should be thus particular about the size of the cage, because we hold it to be a cruel deed to take an active little creature like the squirrel from its fields and wide woods, where it can sport at will over unlimited space, and coop it up in a close, evil-smelling, little cage, where its only exercise can be obtained by driving a wheel round, and its wonderful faculty of leaping wholly checked. How much wheel-work would the squirrel do if it had the choice of a tree or a wheel for its exercise? Even in a cage, provided it be of a proper size, the little creature would not trouble itself to get into a wheel, but prefer clambering about the wires, and jumping from one side to another, in the exuberance of its activity.

Many persons assert that the squirrel is quite fond of the wheel, and delights in driving it; but they forget that the poor little creature is driven to that as its last resource for needful exercise; and it no more delights in pulling a wire wheel than the caged lion and tiger delight in their restless pacing of their dens.

The exercise of the powers with which it is so liberally gifted is essential to the health of the squirrel, and its health must suffer if it be not permitted to leap. Look at it in a tree, and just see what astonishing jumps the pretty creature takes; how it will spring fairly from the ground to the trunk of a tree, making a jump of some six or seven feet in length and four in height; how it gallops up the perpendicular stem, with its tail laid behind it, like a fox’s brush; how it scuttles up the branches, always contriving to keep the bough between itself and the spectator; and then how, when it has arrived at the topmost branch, and considers itself safe, it sits up in its own charmingly impertinent position, spreads its tail over its head, and looks down with a calmly supercilious contempt on the clumsy two-legged animal below, who cannot run up a tree, and has no bushy tail for a parasol.

No one who has once witnessed this sight could ever be guilty of such a cruel act as penning up a squirrel in a small cage, where it has no room to perform its pretty tricks; and if the reader cannot furnish his pet with a proper house, we earnestly dissuade him from keeping a squirrel at all.

Having prepared the house, the next business is to procure the inhabitant. Be ever wary of those wandering dealers who carry a squirrel about for sale in their arms, stroke its head, and put their fingers to its mouth to show its tameness. In almost every case the man is a cheat, and in many instances a cruel one.

The apparent tameness of some of these little creatures is caused by a small dose of strychnine, which renders the animal dull and spiritless, and is generally fatal in the course of a day or two; so that the disappointed purchaser finds his pet dead and stiff at the bottom of its cage before he has possessed it for many hours. Some of these men are said to employ a preparation of opium for the same purpose.

In cases where these impostors wish to sell an old and cross-grained squirrel as a gentle, young one, they pull out its front teeth, so that the poor creature not only cannot bite, but feels such pain in its jaws that it recoils whenever the cruel owner puts his finger to its mouth as a proof of its good education and gentle disposition. As all rodent animals depend solely on their beautifully-formed and chisel-shaped fore teeth for their subsistence, the unfortunate squirrel is unable to eat, and dies miserably of hunger.

Taking warning, therefore, of these hints, let every intending purchaser of a squirrel be very wary respecting the seller, and examine the squirrel’s eye, to see if it be bright and lively, and its mouth, to see if the teeth be perfect. The age of the squirrel may also be known by its teeth: if young, they are nearly white; if old, of a deep yellow. Squirrels when taken after they have reached their full age are nearly always vicious and ill-tempered.

The best way, therefore, to obtain a good squirrel is either to order it from a respectable dealer, who will be sure to supply a young and healthy animal, or to be independent of dealers, and take the creature out of the nest.

For this purpose the young naturalist should go into the woods about the middle of summer, and look carefully among the branches for the home of the squirrel, called either a “cage” or a “drey,” according to the locality. The nest is made on the exterior of leaves and fine twigs, and lined with moss, lichens, and similar soft substances. There are two kinds of nests, one used in summer and the other in winter. The winter nest is very carefully concealed, being placed at the junction of several large branches with the trunk, so as to shield it from prying eyes below, the blasts of the keen winter wind, and to support its large dimensions.

The summer cage, on the contrary, is not so carefully concealed, but is placed upon a considerable elevation, and often upon boughs so slender that they bend in a most alarming manner beneath the weight. Still, it often happens that a nest can be reached without danger, in which may be found one or two young squirrels of just the proper age.

When captured at an early age, the squirrel often becomes extremely tame and confiding, and will play with its owner as if they had both lived in the same nest. It is a pretty sight to witness the gambols of a squirrel with its human playfellow, to see the active little animal jump on the shoulders, run all over the body, perch on the head, poke its wise little head into a pocket, and then with a quick dive of the ready paw bring out a nut, which it straightway cracks and eats as merrily as if in its native woods. Such a sight is pleasant for many reasons; not the least being that it proves the kindly disposition of the boy with whom a squirrel, though naturally timid, will thus fearlessly play, and it gives promise of more extended sympathies when he attains to riper years and more matured faculties.

The squirrel when in confinement is best fed on the substances which it eats while in the wild state, such as nuts, acorns, corn, and similar substances. It will also eat bread-and-milk, and likes to nibble a biscuit by way of a treat. As the squirrel is known to be carnivorous to a certain degree, it may be useful to give it occasionally a young bird, or a few eggs of the thrush, sparrow, or any other common bird. We cannot, however, give personal testimony to the good effect of this diet. Hard shell-fruits, such as nuts, acorns, &c., are absolutely necessary to this animal, as the structure of the teeth compels it to be continually nibbling. In all the rodent animals the front teeth are four in number, flat, slightly curved, and edged like a chisel. They play against each other in such a manner that they mutually keep each other sharp; and in order to supply the constant wearing away to which they are subject, they grow throughout the whole lifetime of the animal, being pushed forward by fresh growth at the base.

It sometimes happens that a rodent animal, such as a rat or a rabbit, loses one of its teeth, and the consequence is that the corresponding tooth in the jaw, finding nothing to check it, grows so long that it has been known to reach even the forehead, to form a complete ring, and sometimes to penetrate the other jaw. In all these cases the poor creature was miserably thin, and would probably have died from gradual starvation at no distant period.

The last-mentioned point in squirrel-keeping, though of course the most important, is the absolute necessity for the most scrupulous cleanliness. In their native state, all animals are clean to a degree that might shame many a human being, and their instinctive sanitary customs are most praiseworthy. Even the pig, for instance, so often cited as an example of filthy habits, is when wild a model of cleanliness, and when domesticated absolutely revels in a thorough scrubbing with soap and hot water. The squirrel, in like manner, though perfectly sweet and clean in a wild state, is sure to be most offensive in captivity, unless the cage be carefully purified daily.

It is for this reason that we are so particular in recommending galvanized iron for the materials of the cage, avoiding wood altogether, as an evil odour readily penetrates wood, and can never be totally expelled. The duplicate tray and sleeping-box will prove to be of the greatest service in keeping the cage clean, and will save much trouble to the proprietor and annoyance to the inhabitant.

Should the squirrel-rearer prefer to employ wood in any part of the cage, he must be sure to bind with sheet-tin every edge and angle of the woodwork, as the little creature will nibble at the exposed edges so continually with its chisels of teeth, that it will speedily render the article useless.

Before closing these remarks, let us enjoin on every intending rearer of a pet to consider well before he undertakes the sole guardianship of any creature, and to assure himself that he will perform with punctuality and completeness the many little offices required by animals when taken from their natural state of existence, debarred from the exercise of their ordinary capacities, and rendered incapable of procuring food or keeping themselves in that state of cleanliness which is the ordinary condition of creatures in a state of nature.

He must make up his mind that the task will be somewhat troublesome, and will now and then interfere with contemplated projects; but at the same time he must rigidly determine that nothing shall cause him to forget, or induce him to omit, one single duty towards the little creature under his care. It is dumb, and has no language to declare its wants or proclaim its injuries; and this very dumbness ought to incite in every right-feeling heart a strong compassion for the helpless state in which the creature is placed, an unshakeable resolution to make it as happy as it can be under the circumstances.