Hatching Extraordinary.

Auckland Star, Volume XXIV, Issue 280, 25 November 1893, Page 4 (Supplement)

Hatching Extraordinary.

Among the latest acquisitions of the ornithological department in the Museum of Natural History at Soubh Kensington, is a very handsome emu in perfecb plumage, presented by the Rev. George Keighbley, Vicar of Stambridge, in Essex, to whom the museum was already indebted for anotherfinespecimen of the strange Australian birds. Both had been pets tor upward of 25 years, says Miss Gordon Cumming in the column of a contemporary, having been brought from the Antipodes, and their successive deaths have been somewha'j of the nature of family bereavements. The firsb died from nabural causes, bub th'a last was due to an unfortunate accident., some bullocks having broken into the emu's paddock and chased him, even following him into his shed. The poor bird probably died partly from terror. The erau is naturally very timid, and this one was almosb blind, as one eye had been destroyed by a clod of earth thrown ab him by a carter who declared that the emu's approach frightened his horses. The other eye suffered in sympathy. A curious incident in the life of this lonely bird is worth recording. Tho death of biß companion left him very desolate, and after awhile he seemed to sicken. His compassionate mistress brought dainties to tempt his appetite, also a daily jar of water. Again and again she remonstrated againsb some tiresome or cruel unknown person who, always carried off the jar, leaving thopoor bird without water. Finally Mr Emu retired into his shed, folded up his long leg., and sat down utterly refusing to come o.ub till his muster, convinced thab bhe bright sunshine would do him good, lifted him out by main force. There, beneath the birr} were all the missing »allipots ! The couseienbious emu, convinced thab he ought bo. be fulfilling his destiny by hatching some eggs, and having no wife to lay any tor him, had substituted the nice, smooth round jars which he had abstracted day by day 1 Of course his wife's eggs would have been dark green, but, as the French philosopher eaid, ' When we havo nob what we like, we must like what we have !' So he made the most of what he could geb. An amusing story is told concerning a setting of six or seven emu's eggs laid in Berkshire. The father having sat diligently for six weeks, unfortunately died jusb a week before the chicks were hatched. Arrangements were made by telegraph for the transfer of the eggs to the care of another emu in the Zoological Gardens in London, bub there was crave anxiety lest they should cool in tho interval ere bhe foster father was ready to receive them. Ab no patent incubator was available suitable for such huge eggs—they are about the size of an ostrich's—an enthusiastic lady took them into hor nice warm bed, and there remained, mothering them till the last momenb before the train started which conveyed them to the Zoo, where they were duly hatched a few days later. That lady's devotion reminds me of whab was told me by another lady, who when recently travelling in the south of France, halted at a farm where the careful peasant wifo thus utilised her fab, bed-rid-den husband, who was so unwieldy as to be unable to turn in bed. By alternate scolding and coaxing she persuaded him to do duty as an incubator, and to lie very still, hatching eggs for market by the natural warmth of his body. So there he lay with half-a-dozen eggs under each arm, atraid to make the slightest movement, and thus he had actually succeeded in hatching several coveys—an achievement of which he was half proud and half shy ! Of course, in this case the eggs were those of common domestic fowls.