This bird, of which there are several kinds, all being about the size of the swan, is found in almost every part of the globe. Its neck somewhat resembles that of the swan, but its bill, and the pouch beneath, render it entirely different from all other birds. This bill is fifteen inches long, and at its lower edges hangs a bag, which, it is said, will hold fifteen quarts of water. When this is not in use, the bird wrinkles it up under his bill. The upper mandible is of a dull yellow in the middle, with a reddish tinge towards the edges, and a blood-red spot at the extremity. From this color of the bill, resembling blood, arose the idea, formerly entertained, that the bird fed its young with its blood. In disgorging the food, the full pouch is pressed against the chest, and the red spot on the bill comes against the delicate plumage of the breast, giving the bird an appearance of tearing away its feathers and drawing own blood. Some years ago, there were a male and female pelican in the menagerie at the Tower of London. The female built herself a nest, in which she laid three eggs. She then commenced sitting with the utmost patience, never leaving her eggs for a moment. When the male was fed, following the plan dictated by nature, even in confinement, he crammed his pouch in the first place with double the portion of the food offered to him, and then emptied half the quantity into the female’s pouch. This process over, they disgorged and devoured their food at leisure. In his natural state, the pelican is very inactive, sitting for hours in the same posture. When he feels the calls of hunger, he raises himself over the surface of the sea, and holding one eye downwards, watches with keenness for the appearance of his finny prey. When a fish approaches near the surface, he darts downwards with great swiftness, and never fails in securing his prize. In this way, he continues his labors, ascending and descending, putting one fish after another into his pouch, until he has laid up enough for a meal. Being a large and clumsy bird, he rises in the air with great difficulty; and we may suppose that the long repose in which he indulges, and which has gained him a sad character for indolence and inactivity, is really rendered necessary by the toilsome nature of his fishing. Pelicans are said sometimes to assemble in large numbers, and, rising in the air, hover about in a circle, gradually drawing nearer and nearer, thus driving the fish in the water beneath into a narrow space. They then plunge into the water suddenly, pick up their victims with great rapidity, and store them in their pouches. If this be true, it is certainly a very judicious plan, adopted probably by the oldest and most experienced fishermen among them.