in England rather as a pet or luxury, than for any use that is made of it. In Wales it is abundant, and is there reared for food, and for its hair, which is wrought into ropes, and stuffs of some kinds, but chiefly for its milk. In the South of Europe, Spain and Italy in particular, these animals are far more extensively reared, and flocks of them are as frequent as those of Sheep. It is only the young, or Kid, and the female, that are eaten. The Goat is not a long-lived animal; it will breed with the Sheep, and what is singular, the offspring are also fertile. This fact would seem to indicate that the two animals originally sprung from some common stock, now lost from the living creation.

The Goat feeds on the coarsest herbage, young shoots and bark of trees, and will eat hemlock, lichens, and other vegetables rejected by sheep or cattle. The female goes four months and a half with young, and produces one, or often two, at a birth. She will suckle other animals with great readiness; foals have been reared by Goats. The milk is thought useful to persons afflicted with consumption; but the benefit, if any, derived from the practice, probably arises from the change of air and scene which the invalid enjoys in his excursion to the mountainous countries where the Goat abounds.

The strong effluvia of the Goat, so offensive to man, appears to be agreeable to horses; hence the practice of keeping a Goat in many stables. But neither the reason, nor, indeed, the fact itself, is well ascertained.

It would be foreign to the object of these papers to enter into any description of the Deer, or indeed, of any animal that is not domesticated, which cannot be considered to be the case with Deer, Rabbits, Hares, &c., though all are tended in severe weather and provided with food, when | they would find a difficulty of procuring it for themselves. The uses to which the skin, fur, &c., of these as well as all other animals are put, will be mentioned in our account of particular arts.

THE HOG.

THE Wild Boar, though long since extirpated from Britain, is still abundant in many forests of every part of Europe. It is also indigenous in Africa and Asia, but is not so in America, where its place is supplied by the Peccari, and other related genera; it has, however, been introduced, and has multiplied over the whole of that continent.

The multiplication of breeds or varieties is the necessary result of domestication and culture, and the Hog forms no exception; nine or ten counties of England alone give names to distinct varieties, while Ireland and Scotland boast of their own. Our breeds have been greatly improved by the introduction of the Chinese species, from the East, which differs from the European in the shortness of the hair and legs, and their white and delicate flesh.

The male is called a Boar: those for stock, Hogs; the female, a Sow. The term Pig is applied to the young of either sex, and the genus is also called Swine. The Sow is extremely prolific; she goes four months with young, and produces from eight to twenty; perhaps eight or ten may be the average. From their small size compared with the dam, few large litters of Pigs are reared without the loss of three or four, either smothered by their mother lying down on them, or else being eaten by her; for the animal is omnivorous, though usually preferring vegetable food.

The great advantage attending the rearing of swine is owing to the facility with which the animal will thrive on any diet. Where there are Pigs, no vegetable offal need be wasted; and if the surrounding country be well wooded, the acorns and mast of the forest is the best and most natural food. But everywhere, even in towns, the careful housewife will find nearly enough to keep a Pig in the refuse vegetables, washings of dishes, &c. In large breweries, distilleries, and dairies, it becomes a source of profit to keep numbers of swine to be fed on the grains, buttermilk, &c. A few weeks before the animal is to be killed, a more abundant and more generous food, consisting of tares, potatoes, turnips, &c., must be given, with the addition of some oats, beans, or other farinaceous grain. During this period, the Pig is kept confined to its sty, and is not allowed to wander at large.

The Sucking-pig is a dainty food, esteemed by most persons; it is eaten before it has been weaned, when a few weeks old. Pork is the flesh of young Pigs before they are a twelvemonth old; at this stage the animals are hence called Porkers Fresh pork is usually roasted, but pork for boiling is always salted, or pickled. As constituting a principal part of the food of seamen, the pickling of pork

is an object of national importance, and there are establishments for the purpose at all our principal sea-ports. Cork, in Ireland, is a chief depôt for this article; indeed, the pork consumed in the Navy is principally prepared from Irish swine. Pork is pickled by simply pouring boiled strong brine over the pieces into which the carcass is cut; or else the flesh is covered with dry salt, and packed in air-tight barrels *.

But by far the most valuable, and most extensively used preparation of the flesh of swine, is Bacon, which constitutes the greater part of the animal food of our agricultural population, and which is a wholesome and nutritive diet for all who are engaged in hard labour in the open air. Bacon is prepared from the flesh of swine of two to three years of age. When the animal has been killed, cleaned and freed from the intestines, the carcass is laid on a table; the head and feet are cut off, and the body is split open up the spine; the hams are then separated from the sides and trimmed for curing. The sides, or flitches, are next piled alternately, crosswise, in heaps, and well covered with salt, to which some salt-petre is added, or else the flitches receive a separate dressing with nitre before the common salt is employed. They lie in this state for two or three weeks, being turned and resprinkled with salt once or twice during the time.

The hams are prepared in the same way. When ready for smoking, the hams and flitches used formerly to be hung up in the chimneys of the large kitchen fire-place of farmhouses, where wood, of course, was alone used as fuel. A better and more useful way, now used, is to smoke them in a small building erected for that purpose. The sides and hams are suspended from beams of the roof. The floor is covered five or six inches deep with dried saw-dust, which, being set on fire in two or three places, the door is closed, a small aperture for the admission of air being alone left. The bacon is left in this house for a week, which is sufficient, and it is then packed in hogsheads for sale.

Good Bacon should be a mass of fat, with the least possible quantity of lean; the lean, when salted and cured, being a hard, indigestible substance, equally unnutritious and disagrecable; while the pure fat, when of a pearly hue, is as delicate as any food that can be eaten. Bacon well cured is nearly as good uncooked as when boiled, for it should never be dressed otherwise.

The small intestines, when cleaned, serve as cases for sausages; the blood, mixed up with meal, lard, and spices, makes black-puddings; the hide is tanned for leather; and the bristles, or hair, is fabricated into brushes, and is employed by saddlers and shoemakers to point their twine with which they sew leather. The finest part of the fat is purified by melting and skimming, and is called lard.

THE PASSENGER-PIGEON OF AMERICA. THE immense number, and the extended flights of the Passenger or Wild Pigeons of America, and their extraordinary appearance when in motion, and when at their places of roost, have been noticed by several travellers, but none have given a more vivid description of these birds than Audubon, the Americau ornithologist, from whose splendid work on the Birds of America we have extracted the following account.

In passing over the Barrens, on the banks of the Ohio, a few miles beyond Hardensburgh, I observed the pigeons flying from north-east to south-west in greater numbers than I thought I had ever seen them before; and feeling an inclination to count the flocks that might pass within the reach of my eye in one hour, I dismounted, seated myself upon an eminence, and began to mark with my pencil, making a dot for every flock that passed. In a short time, finding the task which I had undertaken impracticable, as the birds poured on in countless multitudes, I rose, and counting the dots then put down, found that 163 had been made in twenty-one minutes. I travelled on, and still met more the further I proceeded. The air was literally filled with Pigeons, the light of noon-day was obscured as by an eclipse, and the continued buzz of wings seemed to lull the senses.

It is extremely interesting to see flock after flock performing exactly the same evolutions which had been traced

See Saturday Magazine, Vol. VII., p. 208.

in the air by the preceding flock; thus, should a hawk have charged on a group at a certain spot, the angles, curves, and undulations, that have been described by the birds, in their efforts to escape from their enemy, are undeviatingly followed by the next group that comes up.

It may not, perhaps, be out of place to attempt an estimate of the number of Pigeons contained in one of these mighty flocks, and of the quantity of food daily consumed by its members. Let us take a column of one mile in breadth, which is far below the average size, and suppose it passing over us without interruption for three hours, and at the rate mentioned above, of one mile in a minute, this will give us an oblong square of 180 miles by one, covering 180 square miles. Allowing two Pigeons in the square yard, we have one billion, one hundred and fifteen millions, and thirty-six thousand in one flock: as every Pigeon daily consumes half a pint of food, the quantity necessary to supply this vast multitude, must be eight millions, seven hundred and twelve thousand bushels a day. The flights of the Wild Pigeons are entirely caused by the necessity of procuring food, and are not performed with the view of escaping the severity of a northern latitude, or of seeking a southern one for the purpose of breeding; they, consequently do not take place at any fixed period or season of the year; indeed, it sometimes happens that a continuance of a sufficient supply of food in one district will keep these birds absent from another for years.

Let us now inspect their place of nightly rendezvous. At my first view of it I arrived on the spot nearly two hours before sunset. Few Pigeons were then to be seen; but a great number of persons, with horses and wagons, guns and ammunition, had already established encampments on the borders. Two farmers from the vicinity of Russelsville, distant more than a hundred miles, had driven upwards of three hundred hogs to be fattened on the Pigeons that were to be slaughtered. Here and there the people employed in plucking and salting what had already been procured, were seen sitting in the midst of large piles of these birds. Many trees, two feet in thickness, I observed, were broken off at no great distance from the ground; and the branches of many of the largest and tallest had given way, as if the forest had been swept by a tornado. Everything proved to me that the number of birds resorting to this part of the forest must be immense

beyond conception. As the period of their arrival approached, their foes anxiously prepared to receive them. Some were furnished with iron pots containing brimstone, others with torches of pine-knots, many with poles, and the rest with guns. The sun was lost to our view, yet not a Pigeon had arrived: everything was ready, and all eyes were gazing on the clear sky, which appeared in glimpses amid the tall trees. Suddenly there burst forth a general cry of Here they come! The noise which they made, though yet distant, reminded me of a hard gale at sea passing through the rigging of a close-reefed vessel. As the birds arrived, and passed over me, I felt a current of air that surprised me. Thousands were soon knocked down by the pole-men. The birds continued to pour in. The fires were lighted, and a magnificent as well as wonderful, and almost terrifying sight presented itself. The Pigeons, arriving in thousands, alighted everywhere, one above another, until solid masses as large as hogsheads were formed on the branches all around. Here and there the perches gave way under their weight, with a crash, and falling to the ground, destroyed hundreds of the birds beneath, forcing down the dense groups with which every stick was loaded. It was a scene of uproar and confusion. I found it quite useless to speak, or even to shout to those persons who were nearest to me. Even the reports of the guns were seldom heard, and I was aware of the firing only by seeing the shooters reloading.

No one dared venture within the line of devastation. The hogs had been penned up in good time; the picking up of the dead and wounded being left for the next morning's employment. The Pigeons were constantly coming, and it was past midnight before I perceived a decrease in the number of those that arrived. The uproar continued during the whole night. Towards the approach of day the noise in some measure subsided; and long before the objects were distinguishable, the Pigeons began to move off in a direction quite different from that in which they had arrived the evening before, and at sunrise all that were able to fly had disappeared.

It was then that the authors of all this devastation began their entry among the dead, the dying, and the mangled. The Pigeons were picked up, and piled in heaps until each had as many as he could possibly dispose of; then the hogs were let loose to feed on the remainder.

ROUEN. No. II.

THE GROSSE HORLOGE, OR GREAT CLOCK. THE effect which is produced upon the stranger who for the first time walks through the streets of Rouen, is described by all travellers as remarkable and peculiar. The general arrangement of the city,-the character of its architecture, and the bustling appearance of the multitudes which throng its crowded thoroughfares,-all serve to convince him that he is decidedly in one of the most picturesque, though he may not be in one of the most elegant, cities that he has ever seen. Dr. Dibdin unhesitatingly pronounces it to be the most extraordinary city in the world; and such it may easily seem to the eye of an antiquary, or of one who delights in being surrounded with objects which carry him back to the olden time. "One rubs one's eyes," says that gentleman, "and fancies one is dreaming, upon being carried through the streets of this old-fashioned place; or that, by some secret talismanic touch, we are absolutely mingling with human beings and objects of art at the commencement of the sixteenth century;-so very curious, and out of the common routine of things, is almost every object connected with Rouen." This city stands on the right bank of the Seine, about seventy miles to the north-west of Paris. It boasts a delightful situation, being embosomed in a beautiful valley, which is encircled towards the north by a range of lofty hills; while on the south it is washed by the waters of the river, which flows in a winding course, "proud of its willowy banks, and tufted islands." In approaching it by the road leading from Dieppe, the traveller has a very fine view of the town, when, after a long ascent, he reaches the edge of this amphitheatre of hills, and looks down upon it, seated in the plain beneath. As he draws nearer, he enters a noble alley of tall trees, which in the summer season spread their arches of foliage above his head, and allow him only at intervals to catch a glimpse of the buildings of the city. The most famous prospect, however, is that obtained from a part of the rising grounds called the Mount of St. Catherine: it is said to be magnificent beyond description. At one glance, the whole town is seen beneath in its full extent-" an immense stately mass of dark gray stone." In the midst of the general heap, and rising far above it, the eye instantly distinguishes the double towers of the old Gothic Cathedral, and the tapering spires of other churches, all lifting their heads aloft, to overlook, as it were, "the rich sunny valleys which stretch away in the distance." The whole surface of the hills is highly cultivated, and "sprinkled with gardens and villas to the very top;" while at times the walk leading to the summit of the mount is crowded with people enjoying the scene," adding to its animation by their intelligent, varying looks, and adorning it by their picturesque and richly-coloured dresses."

There is no town in England resembling Rouen, or calculated to convey a very distinct notion of its appearance and general attractions. Dr. Dibdin says that Chester can alone give an idea of it, although the similitude holds only in some particulars. Another modern writer says decidedly, that there is no town in England at the same time so fine and so finely situated as Rouen. Oxford, which is as fine in its buildings and associations, has not the same advantages of situation; and Bristol, which presents as fine a mass of buildings, wants the same striking accompaniments," the pomp of groves, and garniture of fields.' The comparison with Oxford was made two centuries ago by our countryman, Peter Heylin, whose

ingenuity discovered some fanciful points of resemblance between the two cities. "In ten hours," he says, speaking of his approach to Rouen, " our cart dragged us thither, the whole journey being in all six leagues French,-admirable speed! About three of the clock in the afternoon, we had a sight of the town, daintily seated in a valley on the river Seine, I know not any town better situate, Oxford excepted, which, indeed, it much resembleth in situation.

There are no fortifications encircling Rouen at the present day, though of course it is provided with those barriers which usually impede the entrance into French towns. Its walls and castles were levelled with the ground many years ago, and peaceful boulevards are now to be seen where formerly bristling ramparts frowned. Yet we are told, that, to borrow the pun of which old Peter Heylin is guilty, when describing Paris, Rouen is still a strong city," for it taketh you by the nose." Few of our countrymen, in describing it, fail to remark the dirtiness of the streets, and the offensive odours which commonly prevail in them: "the filth is extreme," says Mr. Dawson Turner, "villanous smells overcome you in every quarter, and from every quarter." The reproach is one not uncommonly urged against French towns; the wonder is that the citizens themselves are unconseious of their being open to it. A considerable degree of improvement has taken place of late years; yet more than a century ago, a French writer, who has left us a history and description of Rouen in two ponderous volumes, spoke of the magnificence of its buildings, and the care displayed in keeping the streets clean, as being among those characteristics of the city, which were so well known, and so generally admitted, that it was quite unnecessary to dilate upon them.

The internal disposition of this city betrays all the apparent features of antiquity: the streets are narrow and crooked, while their gloom is deepened by the loftiness of the houses on either side. This is peculiarly the case in the older quarters, which are those in the immediate neighbourhood of the cathedral; there the houses have a very crazy appearance, looking indeed as though it would take but a moderate breeze to bring them down about the heads of their occupants: they are mostly built of lath and plaster, having the larger timbers, which form their framework, completely exposed to view, and conspicuously painted red or, black. They usually consist of four stories, and seem higher than they are, because their fronts are so very narrow; the upper floors and the roofs (which are covered with " innumerable, small, tile-fashioned pieces of wood, like scales,") project boldly, and by their overshadowing masses, render the air of the streets still more heavy and gloomy to the eye of one passing beneath. A striking contrast to these antique thoroughfares is afforded by the broad and spacious quays which open on the river; there the sun shines freely, and there the "glittering streamers at innumerable mast-heads" present a pleasing sign of the wealth and prosperity of the town. All the activity of commerce is there displayed, and, on a fine day, hours might be spent with pleasure by a stranger, in contemplating the animated and interesting scene which is there presented to his view. Some of the houses bordering on the quays are in the old style; there are others of more modern architecture, which are built of white brick or stone, and are described as "really handsome, or it might be said elegant," edifices, though they look rather odd by the side of their dingy quaint neighbours of lath and plaster.

The subject of the engraving which we have