'No; it's the California golden pigeon.' ('That will take very well,' quoth Barnum to himself.) So the pigeon went up to the Happy Family, and entered cordially into the innocent amusements of that blessed band. He sat on the cat's head, and on the dog's back, and suffered the mice to nestle under his wings, and never made them afraid. As for the owl, she fairly made love to him. Time rolled on. There came to New York ' a great old boy,' in the person of California Grizzly Bear Adams. 'Old Adams' he liked to be called, though he wasn't very aged. He was 'one of 'em.' 'See here, Barnum,' quoth he one day, in his rough voice; 'you've got a bird in your show which I've got to have. It's the Californy golden pigin. It's a sort o' mine anyhow--mine's a show of Californy critters, and nothing else.' 'You can't have _that_, Adams,' said Mr. Barnum. ' That's the greatest curiosity in the known world. Nothing like it--unique.' 'Sha--a--aw!' was the reply. 'Stuff! Don't run more o' that con-tusive stuff on me. _Rare!!_ here he winked; '_why, I've seen them yallar pigeons, three and four hundred in a flock_, up round Los Angeles and Cabeza del Diablo, and them places. The miners find where the gold is, by 'em.' 'Why didn't you bring some on with you?' inquired Barnum. 'Fact was, they were so everlastin' common that it didn't seem to me they were worth bringin'. Why, you can git a dozen of 'em any day in 'Frisco.' With much feigned reluctance Barnum yielded his pigeon up to the California show, and all went well--for a time. Perhaps two weeks had elapsed, when Old Adams burst into the office, excited. 'Barnum!' he cried, 'you infarnal old humbug--that California golden pigin is a darned swindle! It's painted!' 'Why, how you talk!' replied Barnum. 'Humbug, indeed! Haven't you seen golden pigeons, three and four hundred in a flock, in California?' 'It's painted and gilded, I tell you!' cried Adams. 'The color is all coming off the edges of the wings, and its tail is 'most rubbed white!' 'The idea!' replied Barnum, mildly, but with a droll, merry light in his eyes. 'You know you can send out to the San Francisco market any day and get a dozen!' That is the legend of Ye Golden Pigeon. No--hold on; it is told in the Museum that one day a lady charged Mr. Barnum with having had his Angel Fish artificially colored. 'Indigo,' she remarked. But the golden pigeon captivated her, and she implored Mr. B. for one of its eggs. He evaded the request on the ground that the 'sect' to which the pigeon belonged was not of the egg-laying kind. So we should think. Apropos of the Angel Fish, the CONTINENTAL heard a lady remark lately that they were well named, and lovely enough to have been caught in the ponds of paradise. 'They certainly must be the kind,' she added, 'which they fish for with golden hooks.' * * * * *