Being himself a physician, Peter Belon enlarges upon the maladies of birds; but he tells us that, with the exception of falcons, which are more especially under the care of man, they are their own doctors. “The pelican, which builds its nest on the ground, finding its young stung by a serpent, weeps bitterly, and piercing its own breast, gives its own blood to cure them.” (This is a new reading of the old story). “Quails, when they are indisposed, swallow the seeds of hellebore; and starlings take hemlock. The herb chélidoine (celandine, from the Greek kelidon, a swallow) derives its name from the fact that the swallow administers the juice of the plant to her young. The stork physics himself with marjoram. Wood pigeons, ravens, blackbirds, jays and partridges take laurel; while turtle-doves, pigeons, and cocks prescribe bird-weed. Ducks and geese eat sage.” (Sage enters largely into the affair, in combination with onions, when ducks and geese are eaten). “Cranes and herons employ marsh rushes. Thrushes and many smaller birds swallow the seeds of the ivy--which would be hurtful diet for man (qui seroit viande mauvaise à l’homme).” Not much worse, however, than hellebore or hemlock! But it would seem that the eagle family are exempt from the ordinary ailments of birds; for, in speaking of the Chrysaëtos, or great royal eagle, Belon tells us: “Eagles never change their place of abode, but always return to the same nest. It has thus been observed that they are long-lived. But becoming old, the beak grows so long that it becomes bent, and prevents the bird from eating, so that it dies, not of any malady, or extreme old age, but simply because it cannot make use of its beak.” I fear this is not one of the facts derived from Belon’s own observation. Our fashionable ladies have passion for eider-down; but did they ever hear that the vulture can supply them with an article quite as soft? “Their skin,” says our author, “is almost as thick as that of a kid, and under the throat is a spot about the breadth of a palm, where the feathers are reddish, like the hair of a calf; and these feathers have no quills, any more than those on both sides of the neck and under the wings, where the down is so white that it shines like silk. The furriers, after removing the large feathers, leave the down, and curry the skins for mantles, which are worth a sum of money. In France they use them chiefly to place on the stomach (what we call bosom-friends). It would scarcely be believed that the vulture’s skin is so stout, if one had not seen it. Being in Egypt and on the plains of Arabia Deserta, we have noticed that the vultures are large and numerous, and the down from a couple of dozen of these would quite suffice for a large robe. At Cairo, on the Bezestein, where merchandise is exposed for sale, the traveller may obtain silken dresses lined with the skins of vultures, both black and white.”