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JACOB'S STORY.

before he was Jacob again to everybody, not quite the same dear bird, perhaps at first, to anybody, but he won his way back to his old place in our thoughts, and was dearer than ever before he died. For alas ! the usual ending of all pets was to be his also—disaster and death. Whether the cold March winds had chilled him, or the ivy-berries poisoned him, no one knew; he died after two or three days of pain.

And now what is left of Jacob ? A white pinnion from a wing, and a few primrose plumes from a crest, which we treasure as relics of this dearest of birds, and call his feathers, although we know they were hers; but feeling is still too strong for fact., and Jacob is not to his friends, and never will be, what he is and always was to the world, not Jacob at all------but a Hen-Cockatoo !