In the morning we took breakfast in the garden, under the trees, in the delightful¹ German summer fashion. The air was filled with the fragrance² of flowers and wild animals; the living portion of the menagerie of the “Naturalist Tavern” was all about us. There were great cages populous³ with fluttering and chattering⁴ foreign birds, and other great cages and greater wire pens, populous with quadrupeds, both native and foreign. There were some free creatures, too, and quite sociable⁵ ones they were. White rabbits went loping about the place, and occasionally came and sniffed⁶ at our shoes and shins; a fawn⁷, with a red ribbon on its neck, walked up and examined us fearlessly; rare breeds of chickens and doves begged for crumbs⁸, and a poor old tailless raven⁹ hopped¹⁰ about with a humble¹¹, shamefaced mein which said, “Please do not notice my exposure—think how you would feel in my circumstances, and be charitable.” If he was observed too much, he would retire behind something and stay there until he judged the party’s interest had found another object. I never have seen another dumb creature that was so morbidly¹² sensitive. Bayard Taylor, who could interpret the dim reasonings of animals, and understood their moral natures better than most men, would have found some way to make this poor old chap forget his troubles for a while, but we have not his

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