“The Turkey,” said Uncle Thomas, “is a native of North America, and was unknown to Europeans before the discovery of that country. In some parts of America, however, it is now quite extinct as a wild bird, being only found in a state of domestication; but in the more western parts, where the native forests exist, it is still plentiful. The best account of the Turkey in its native haunts is that afforded by Prince Lucien Buonaparte, which Harry will have the goodness to read to us:— “The wild Turkeys do not confine themselves to any particular kind of food; they eat maize, all sorts of berries, fruits, grasses, Beetles, and even Tadpoles; young Frogs and Lizards are occasionally found in their crops; but when the pecan nut is plentiful, they prefer that fruit to any other nourishment. Their more general predilection is, however, for the acorn, on which they rapidly fatten. When an unusually profuse crop of acorns is produced in a particular section of country, great numbers of Turkeys are enticed from their ordinary haunts in the surrounding districts. About the beginning of October, while the mast still remains on the trees, they assemble in flocks, and direct their course to the rich bottom lands. At this season they are observed in great numbers in the Ohio and Mississippi. The time of this irruption is known to the Indians by the name of the _Turkey month_. “The male Turkeys, usually termed _gobblers_, associate in parties, numbering from ten to a hundred, and seek their food apart from the females; whilst the latter either move about singly with their young, then nearly two-thirds grown, or, in company with other females and their families, form troops, sometimes consisting of seventy or eighty individuals, all of whom are intent on avoiding the old males, who, whenever opportunity offers, attack and destroy the young, by repeated blows on the skull. All parties, however, travel in the same direction, and on foot, unless they are compelled to seek their individual safety by flying from the hunter’s-Dog, or their march is impeded by a large river. When about to cross a river, they select the highest eminences, that their flight may be the more certain; and here they sometimes remain for a day or more, as if for the purpose of consultation, or to be duly prepared for so hazardous a voyage. During this time the males gobble obstreperously, and strut with extraordinary importance, as if they would animate their companions, and inspire them with the utmost degree of hardihood; the females and young also assume much of the pompous air of the males, the former spreading their tails, and moving silently around. At length the assembled multitude mount to the tops of the highest trees, whence, at a signal note from a leader, the whole together wing their way towards the opposite shore. All the old and fat ones cross without difficulty, even when the river exceeds a mile in width; but the young, meagre, and weak, frequently fall short of the