overlooked—that of facilitating its movements in
search of food, by increasing the difficulty of its
sinking in the snow. The corresponding formation
of the foot of the buffalo has like design.
The ox lives on firm ground, the buffalo delights
in the morass bordering pools and rivers. The
change in the form of the foot enables it to
traverse soft ground without sinking inconveniently,
and offers no obstacle to the withdrawal
of the foot from the mud. Professor Owen has
noticed a similar difference between the second
and fifth digits, which are expanded largely in
the elk and bison when they inhabit swampy
ground, and almost disappear from the feet of
the camel and the dromedary, who tread over
the dry soil of the desert.—There are deer of
all sizes in Ceylon, from the elk to the small
marsh deer no bigger than a hare.

In spite of crocodiles, myriads of water fowl
people the lakes and marshes in the eastern
provinces of Ceylon. Their number is one
of the marvels of the island. The birds are
surpassed by those of South America and
Northern India in glory of plumage, and make
no approach to English warblers in their power
of song. But they have their own especial
charm in the rich and melodious tones of their
clear, musical calls. On the lofty branches of
the higher trees, sits the hornbill, the toucan of
the East, with the enormous double casque that
suggested to an old Minorite friar, Oderie of
Portenau, the statement that he had seen birds
with two heads. It is said that when the female
hornbill sits on her eggs in a hole of a tree, she
is closed in by the male except only the large
beak whereby she is fed, and with which she
repels any attack by monkeys. In the park-like
openings on the verge of the low country,
peahens and peacocks—more magnificent in size and
splendour than the like birds as we meet with
them in England—are at home on the projecting
boughs of trees; especially preferring any
leafless bough that allows free sweep for the
gorgeous train, which hangs to the ground or is
spread in the morning sun to dry the night dew
from its feathers. In some districts the number
of these fowl is so extraordinary that it is no
sport to destroy them, and all sleep is banished
by their cries.

The sky is peopled also with a profusion of perching
birds— fly-catchers, finches, and thrushes—
upon which the predatory eagles, hawks, and
falcons swoop in smooth undulations from the
heights of a serene sky. The eagles are small
and not numerous. The largest is the great sea
erne, which hunts with the fishing eagle over
beaches left by the receding tide, but, unlike the
sea eagle, rejects garbage for living prey,
especially for the sea-snake, which it carries aloft
writhing in its talons.

There is a bird said to be a brown owl in
Ceylon, called for its horrible cries the devil
bird, of which the shriek is dreaded as a
harbinger of ill. Mr. Mitford, of the Ceylon Civil
Service, writes, however, that "the devil bird
is not an owl. I never," he says, "heard it
until I came to Kornegalle, where it haunts the
rocky hill at the back of Government-house.
Its ordinary note is a magnificent clear shout
like that of a human being, which can be heard
at a great distance, and has a fine effect in the
silence of the closing night. It has another cry
like that of a hen just caught, but the sounds
which have earned for it its bad name, and
which I have heard but once to perfection, are
indescribable—the most appalling that can be
imagined, and scarcely to be heard without
shuddering. I can only compare it to a boy
in torture, whose screams are being stopped by
being strangled. The only European who had
seen and fired at one, agreed with the natives
that it is of the size of a pigeon, with a long
tail. I believe it is a podargus or night hawk.

Certain inland caves in Ceylon are the resort
of the swift, that builds "edible birds'-nests."
An establishment of Chinese immigrants collects
them for export. Sunbirds, which are the
humming birds of Ceylon, and birds of Paradise,
haunt the flowers for the insects upon which they
feed. The bulbul, with its tufted crown, lives
here, but can be no relation to the bulbul of the
Persians, bird of a thousand songs. This Indian
bulbul is no sentimental lover of the rose, but
one of the most pugnacious creatures that has
wings, and the "gamest" of birds. Training it to
fight was one of the duties entrusted by the King
of Kandy to the Kooroowa, or Bird Headman.

Industry, as well as martial prowess, has its
representatives among the birds, in this great
crowd of island life. The tailor bird, having
built her nest of leaves, sews them together with
a cotton thread of her own twisting. The weaver
bird plaits grass into the form of a long necked
bottle, which it hangs to a tree, mouth
downwards, to secure it against the entry of tree
snakes or other reptiles.

The blue-black, glossy little crow frequents
towns, and is the more impudent, because, during
the Dutch occupation of Ceylon, it was believed
that he extended the growth of cinnamon by
feeding on the fruit, and his life, therefore, was
defended strictly by the laws. Therefore this
crow watches proceedings in the houses, and
takes constant advantage of the open windows
to make seizure of anything tempting, from the
kitchen or the dining-room. His robberies are
not only of food. He will fly away with a lady's
glove or pocket handkerchief, plunder a workbox,
even pick open a paper parcel to steal its
contents, or pull the peg out of a closed basket
to lift its lid and lay his beak on the good things
within. A good woman was once horrified by
seeing a bloody knife drop from the sky. A
crow had observed a cook who was chopping
mince meat, waited till he turned his head, and
then carried off his knife. One of these crows
envied a dog his bone, and, perching before
him, tumbled and grimaced in vain, to divert
his attention. Then the crow disappeared for
a few minutes, and came back with a black
accomplice, who perched on a branch behind the
dog, and while his friend was resuming his
grimaces, suddenly plunged down and struck his
beak into the dog's back. The dog turned his