A SPECIMEN of the egg of that rara avis, the great auk, which was discovered after twenty-seven years in a disused attic in the house of Lord Garvagh in England, recalls to mind the fact that only about seventy of these zoÖlogical treasures are now known to exist. Of these G. F. Rowley of Brighton possesses half a dozen, while Prof. Alfred Newton of Cambridge, the well-known zoÖlogical expert, has half that number. The same gentleman discovered a splendid set of ten, labeled "penguin eggs," in the Royal College of Surgeons upward of thirty years ago, while the university museum at Cambridge possesses four, which were the gift of the late Lord Lilford, whose beautiful grounds at Oundle were a veritable paradise of bird life. One of these was brought to light in a farm-house in Dorsetshire, and another changed hands in Edinburgh for a mere trifle. It is a remarkable fact that, whereas in 1830 the market price of a great auk's eggs was no more than $1.25, Lord Garvagh's specimen was bought from Dr. Troughton in 1869 for $320; Sir Vauncey Crewe, in 1894, paid $1,575 for one; in 1897, another was knocked down in London for $1,470, and a slightly cracked specimen went about the same time for $840; not so long ago a couple of these eggs was purchased at a country sale for $19 and resold for $2,284.

Some few years ago a robin took up his abode near the communion table in the old abbey at Bath, England, and remained there for some considerable time; his victualing department being presided over by a friendly verger, he naturally had every inducement to remain, and remain he did. During sermon time, with the exception of an occasional chirp of approval, he preserved an exemplary silence, neither coughing nor yawning, but when the hymns were sung, and he perched himself on the communion rail, his voice could be heard high above those of the human singers. All redbreasts, however, do not behave so well, and one at Ely cathedral some time ago carried on in such a manner that he brought disgrace on his tiny head. During the service he behaved fairly well, but when the clergyman ascended the pulpit and began to speak, the robin deliberately perched himself on an adjacent pinnacle of the chancel screen and began to sing, and the louder the preacher spoke the greater volume of sound proceeded from the irreverent bird, till he had to be removed.

The first place in the ranks of birds was until lately given by naturalists to eagles and hawks. The low-foreheaded tyrants are now dethroned, and the highest development of the race is reached in the family of the sparrows, if the following story be true. A man was feeding with breadcrumbs a wood pigeon at his feet. One of the bird's feathers, which was ruffled and out of place, caught the eye of a sparrow; the little bird flew down, seized the feather in its beak and pulled its best. The feather did not yield at once, and the pigeon walked off with offended dignity. The sparrow followed, still holding on; and, in the end, flew off triumphant with the trophy to its nest.