Birds remember individuals, and testify their love or hatred for such individuals in actions that are unmistakable. Thus, an eagle in Central Park, for some--to me--unknown reason, took a great dislike to myself, and, whenever I approached its cage, would erect its crest and regard me in the most belligerent manner. On several occasions it even left its perch and flew to the bars in its desire to attack me. A large, handsome gobbler belonging to my mother has shown the house boy that it is war to the death between them. This turkey never fails to attack the boy whenever opportunity offers; no other person is ever molested by him. A lady writes me as follows: "Last week my brother" (a lad of twelve) "killed a snake which was just in the act of robbing a song-sparrow's nest. Ever since then, the male sparrow has shown gratitude to George in a truly wonderful manner. When he goes into the garden the sparrow will fly to him, sometimes alighting on his head, at other times on his shoulder, all the while pouring out a tumultuous song of praise and gratitude. It will accompany him about the garden, never leaving him until he reaches the garden gate. George, as you know, is a quiet boy, who loves animals, and this may account, in a degree, for the sparrow's extraordinary actions." I am perfectly convinced that the nesting birds on my place know me, and that they remember me from one nesting-time to another. I have repeatedly approached my face to within a foot of setting birds without alarming them. On one occasion I even placed my hand on a brooding cardinal, which merely fluttered from beneath it without showing further alarm; yet no wild bird has ever evinced toward myself any special degree of friendship. When I was a lad I remember that a certain decrepit old drake would follow me like a dog, and appeared to enjoy himself in my society. I could not appreciate his friendship then, and greatly fear that I was, at times, rather cruel to the old fellow.