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ALBERT R. MANN
LIBRARY

Cornett University

Gift of

Wiliam E. Davis, Jr.

Cornell University

Library

The original of this book is in
the Cornell University Library.

There are no known copyright restrictions in
the United States on the use of the text.

http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924090299862

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CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

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BIRDS I HAVE KEPT.

tat
tae

ay a ri

PRAIRIE GOW,

THE

BIRDS I HAVE KEPT

IN YEARS GONE BY

WITH ORIGINAL ANECDOTES AND

FULL DIRECTIONS FOR KEEPING THEM SUCCESSFULLY.

BY

W. T. GREENE, M.A., M.D., F.Z.S., &c.,

Author of “Parrots in Captivity,” “The Amateur's Aviary,” Editor of “ Notes
on Cage Birds,” &c., &c.

LONDON:

L. UPCOTT GILL, 170, STRAND.
1885.

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Spee.
SE

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66S

TO HIS CHILDREN,
MINNIE, LISA, BERTIE, TONY AND CHARLIE,
THIS LITTLE WORK IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED

BY THE AUTHOR.

CONTENTS.

PAGE
Jay : 3 F 2 , . . 1
Wood Lark . F - : ‘ : ‘ 5
Canary (Illustrated) ‘ . . : F 9
Brown Linnet . . : - : i 16
Chaffinch : ‘ ‘ : ‘ : 20
Bullfinch (Illustrated) , : ‘ 4 : 25
Greenfinch : # ‘ a : 29
Hedge Accentor, or Spanaw : . : ; 31
Long-tailed Tit . ‘ . 3 i ‘ 33
Skylark 5 : : ’ F 38
Robin Redbreast (Illustrated) é : . ‘ 42
Wryneck ‘ : : , ‘ ; . 46
Blackecap . . 4 - : : : 50
Whitethroat . ; : i , : 55
Goldfinch (Illustr dea : , : : 57
Yellow Bunting i ‘ F ‘ ; : 62
House Sparrow . : : é - : 65
Blackbird .. ; ‘ , : : 68
Thrush. ‘ : : ‘ . ‘ 72
Magpie : . ' : : ‘ 76
Jackdaw (Illustr aed) : ‘ : : ‘ 80
Partridge 3 ‘ ‘ : : a 82
Lesser Redpoll . ; : : ; . 84
Cuckoo ‘ , . ‘ ‘ 3 ‘ 87
Quail ‘i . . : ij . F 92
Starling (Illustrated) ‘ : 3 ‘ . 95
Tree Sparrow. F : . ; 99
Budgerigar (Itustrated) F : < 100
Zebra, or Chesnut-eared Finch (Illustrated) : 108

Cockateel . ‘i - ‘ ‘ r P 113

viii CONTENTS.

Redrump .

Red-crested Gey Cardinal (Yilustrated):;
Virginian sia or Cardinal Grosbeak
Liothrix : : j
Spicebird . :

Orange-breasted Waxbill
Orange-cheeked Waxbill

Diamond Sparrow

Red-faced Love-bird (Illustr aia
Madagascar Love-bird ;
Blue-winged Love-bird .

Paradise Whydah-bird

Red-faced Weaver-bird (I Husteated)
Rufous or Red-beaked Weaver
Common Waxbill

Silverbill

Bengali : :

Java Sparrow (Illustrated)

Saffron Finch :

Goffin’s Cockatoo

Rosy Cockatoo (IUustrated)
Ring-necked Parrakeet ‘
Common Ring or Laughing Dove
White-breasted Pigeon

Combassou (Illustrated)

Giant Weaver :

Green Singing Finch

Avadavat

Piping Crow

Paradise Parrakeet

Mocking-bird

Golden Pheasant

Ribbon-Finch

Indigo-bird (Tluatrated)

Nonpareil

Black-headed Finch, or rae alee Nun

Snow Bunting
Prairie Owl (Rientiaotosd «

PAGE

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BIRDS LHAVE KEPT.

CHAPTER I.

THE JAY.

VER since I was quite a small boy I have kept birds of

one sort or another, sometimes a single one, sometimes a
number of them, in doors, and out of doors, British and foreign,
large and small, birds brought up by hand from the nest, or
captured or bought when full grown; I have tamed them, or
failing to reconcile them to captivity, have let them go again.
I have read a great many books on birds in English, some
in French, and a few in German, and plunge, without further
apology, in medias res, premising that the fullest particulars
will be given for its successful management in the chapter
devoted to each bird described; for I have very little faith in
‘“‘general directions” which I never read, and strongly suspect
that very few people do.

Contrary to the general practice of fanciers, who commence
to ride their hobby with a Canary, I started mine with a Jay,
which the farmer’s boy had taken, along with three or four
of its brothers and sisters from their comfortable nest in a
pollard oak. I had broken bounds that day, for I was not
permitted to associate with the children of the peasant who
occupied the farm-house belonging to the chdteau where my
father resided. I was very lonely by myself, which must be
my excuse, and frequently crept to the great porte-cochére to

B

2 Birds I Have Kept.

exchange a whisper through the key-hole with Jean Marie on
the other side. On the ever-memorable day when I first became
the owner of a bird, I ventured further than I had ever done
before, irresistably attracted by the seductive promise: ‘‘ Viens,
et je te montrerat un geat.’ I not only climbed to the top of
the dividing wall, but descended into the farm-yard on the
other side, and was immediately taken captive, not by the beauty
of the bird which the young farmer held in his hand, for it was
as ugly a little beast as can well be imagined, but by an in-
tense desire to become its possessor.

“ Veua-tu le vendre?’”? We were very democratic in those
days, Jean Marie and I—children usually are, until education
steps in and blunts the finer feelings of their nature, converting
them into fiery radicals and haughty aristocrats. ‘“‘ Veux-tu le
vendre?” Jean Marie was only too willing, but alas! I had
no money of my own.

To once more climb the wall, run into the house, and tear
upstairs to the nursery where my mother was sitting with the
baby, was but the work of a few seconds; while to rush into
her presence, hot and panting from my exertion, and blurt
out: ‘‘Mamma, may I buy a Jay?” occupied less time than
it has taken me to write this sentence. For a moment my
mother did not answer, indeed I think had scarcely heard, or
at least apprehended the meaning of what I said, for her
thoughts were often far away in those days, in the distant
land of her youth, perhaps, but when I repeated my request,
she readily agreed to it, adding: ‘‘How much does he want
for the bird?”” JI had told her that it belonged to Jean Marie.

How much did he want for it? I could not tell, and was
sent down to inquire. On the way, I deliberated with myself
how much I was to give for the coveted prize, and decided
that it must not be more than five francs. Five frances: I had
no very definite idea of the value of money then, but I knew
that ‘‘une piéce de cent sous”? was a respectable coin, and more
than that I was not prepared to give. If Jean Marie would

The Jay. 3

not part with his bird for that, he must keep it, I could not
give him more: but that sum I had quite settled in my own
mind it was to be, so that I was not a little disappointed when
the boy asked just “‘guatre sous,” and thought a great deal
less of the poor Jay, as I returned with it to my mother’s
room, than I had done a few minutes previously.

The wide-mouthed, gaping, half-naked, screeching little brute
was placed in a basket with some hay by way of a beginning,
and with the assistance of Marie, Virginie, Pépée, or Julie, I
quite forget the name of the demoiselle who condescended to
oceupy our kitchen at that time, the voracious appetite of the
creature was duly satisfied, when it tucked its head under its
wing, and went peacefully to sleep in the straw, without,
apparently, bestowing a thought on the mother and brethren
it was fated nevermore to see.

My Jay throve, & merveille, as Mlle. Virginie, I am almost
sure it was Virginie who lived with us then, used to say; and
my father one day, when he was in an unusually good humour,
bought me a wicker cage. After a while, however, the poor
bird rubbed the ends off his tail and wing feathers, and the
remainder of his plumage got clogged or glued together in a
manner that was sufficiently distressing to behold, and must
have been exceedingly disagreeable and uncomfortable for the
poor thing itself.

I regret to say that my interest in my purchase declined
from the moment it became my very own for the preposter-
ously insignificant sum of four sous, or twopence sterling, so
that although he lived long enough to feed himself, instead
of gaping to have the food thrust down his throat, and to
hop about the kitchen, and on the terrace, his career was not
a long one; and I quite forget what became of him at last,
whether Virginie trod on him by accident, whether “Lucie”,
the cat, made a meal of his not over plump carcase, or whether
my father mercifully put the poor thing out of his misery.
No: I am not quite sure what became of my “pet”, as it

4 Birds I Have Kept.

was called in the house, but was, on the whole, rather glad
when it disappeared, asking no questions about it, for it was
not by any means an interesting, or prepossessing-looking bird,
but was noisy and dirty, and not particularly tame.

So much by way of preface about Corvus glandarius, le geai,
called Holzeher by Bechstein, which is nevertheless a really
nice bird, easily kept, teachable and amusing; it is an excellent
mimic, if not much of a linguist; and may, with a little
trouble, be taught to go out and return at the word of com-
mand.

The Jay is about the size of a small pigeon, and is one of
the handsomest of our English birds. Purplish grey is the
predominant colour of its plumage, which is soft and silky;
the throat and rump are white, and the eyes reddish blue;
the large wing coverts have the outer side of the feathers
ornamented with narrow but deeply tinted alternate bands of
bluish white, light blue, and bluish black, which melt one
into the other, and are a great set-off to the bird, which has
the power of raising the head feathers into a crest, which
adds considerably to the attractiveness of its appearance. The
female bears a general resemblance to her mate, but the red-
dish or purplish grey of her throat is fainter than his.

The Jay is naturally a shy, wood-loving bird, feeding on
“insects, berries, acorns, etc., and now and then taking a fancy
to a nestful of eggs or young birds. In the house it may be
kept in a large roomy cage, or allowed to roam about the
garden with one wing cut. It is no favourite with gardeners,
owing to the havoc it makes among stone’ fruit and peas, and
in their anger at the bird’s depredations, they are apt to lose
sight of the benefits really conferred on them by the destruction
of grubs and insects of all kinds, to which the Jay is very
partial: so they call it “‘vermin’’, and use all the means in
their power to exterminate the race, which has, of late years,
become greatly reduced in numbers in this country.

The Jay is fond of building its nest of sticks, lined with

The Wood Lark. 5

hair, in dense masses of foliage, as for instance, against the
trunk of a pollard oak or ash, or towards the top of a fir
tree, preferring, however, the former situation. Its eggs are
grey, spotted with brown, and four or five in number; there
are usually two broods in the season; and if the young are
intended to be brought up by hand, they must be taken from
the nest when the tail and wing feathers are about an inch
long; they are easily reared on meat, raw or cooked, bread
crumbs and yolk of egg, or, preferably, the flesh of small
birds and insects, especially caterpillars: when full grown they
will eat, and thrive on, anything that comes to table. Hand-
reared Jays often become very tame, while those captured when
full-grown always retain their wildness.

As the Jay is a great eater, the utmost care and attention
and a large cage are necessary to keep its beautiful plumage
in good order; for this is, after all, its chief attraction, for it
rarely learns to speak more than a word or two, and cannot
be safely trusted at large among other birds.

CHAPTER II.

THE WOOD LARK.

N the early part of the winter following the purchase and

premature death of my poor Jay, our gardener, on her way

to work one morning, picked up in the snow a little half-dead

bird with a broken wing, the still-living proof of some bumpkin’s

unskilful gunnery, and brought it on to our house as a present
for me.

I was yet in bed when she arrived, but the news that
Marie Baudoin was down stairs with a live bird, acted like
a charm, so that I was up and dressed in a much shorter
space of time than had ever happened to me before.

“Poor little thing! How did you catch it?” and a hundred

6 Birds I Have Kept.

other questions were poured forth with childish volubility, and
answered, seriatim, with much patience, if a little bantering,
by Marie; who was, as I have said, our gardener, according
to the custom then in vogue in that part of the world, where
the women did all the work of the garden and farm, even to
ploughing and shoeing horses, haymaking and threshing corn
on the bare ground with wooden flails.

I would put it in Jacco’s (the Jay) wooden cage; but the
little thing hopped out between the bars as easily as if no
impediment whatever had been in its way; so it, too, was
temporarily placed in a basket, until further arrangements for
its accommodation could be made.

When my mother appeared on the scene, which she soon
afterwards did, she greatly shocked my youthful sense of the
fitness of things by advising the immediate destruction of the
poor suffering bird; ‘‘putting it out of its pain,” she said:
but I cried lustily, and leave was given me to keep it, if I
could.

I had not the least doubt that I could, and successfully
too, and at once ran off to the nursery with my prize, in
order to show it to Victoire, the nursemaid, who had had a
good deal of experience in similar matters, and, as soon as she
had seen it, authoritatively pronounced that the bird would
do very well. ‘‘Where was I to put it?’ ‘Why, in the
alcove bed, of course.’ Said alcove bed being a recess in the
wall, opposite the window, where I used to play sometimes,
for with us it was never put to the use intended for it by
the ancient builders of the house.

‘What a good idea! it could not fly out of that, and would
have plenty of light, and room to run about: so seed and
water were given to it, and crumbs of bread, and I was told
to ‘‘leave it alone for the present.”

When my father had finished his breakfast, he went up to
the nursery to look at the captive, and with a sharp penknife
cut off the broken pinion of its wing, which only hung on

The Wood Lark. 7

by a little bit of skin. The poor bird seemed relieved by the
operation, he said, and ate some bread crumbs and drank some
water as soon as he let it out of his hand; but next morning
we found it dead: possibly from the effects of the injury it
had sustained, possibly from not having been supplied with
appropriate food, for LZ’ Alouette des bois, die Waldlerche, as
the French and Germans respectively, call the Wood Lark, is,
in a great measure, an insectivorous bird.

It is about a third smaller than its relative the Sky Lark,
which, however, it much resembles in appearance and gait.
The top of the head is reddish brown, with four dark lines
upon it; the bird has the power of raising the long head
feathers into a crest, which is surrounded by a greyish white
line, that extends from eye to eye. The female is much lighter
in colour than her mate, and her breast more spotted, while
her crest is more prominent, and the line round the cheeks
more distinct than in his case; so that she is altogether a
handsomer bird.

When wild the Wood Lark subsists almost entirely on insects,
except during the winter, when it swallows blades of grass
or corn, and such seeds as it may find lying about, together
with small snails and the eggs of moths: in the house it had
better be fed on a mixture of bread-crumbs, grated carrot,
hard-boiled egg, the yolk only, and minced meat, such as
veal, and soaked poppy or maw seed: in addition to which
it must be supplied with young mealworms, black beetles, and
gentles in the pups stage, or ants’ eggs, that is to say the
larvee of the wood ant in their cocoons.

With every care, however, these beautiful birds do not
generally live long in the house, though they become very
tame, and apparently much attached to the person who feeds
them. Sometimes, however, they live very well in captivity,
as Bechstein relates: ‘“‘I once saw two Wood Larks that had
been kept in a cage for eight years, very healthy and gay,
with their feet quite free from disease, and singing perfectly.”

8 Birds I Have Kept.

“Their food,” continues the same author, ‘consisted of crumb
of white bread, enough for the day, soaked in milk, which
was poured boiling over it every morning, and some ants’ eggs
given two or three times a day for a treat. The bottom of
the cage was covered with sand, which, together with the
water, was changed regularly every day. They were always
kept, in summer, outside the window, exposed to the free air,
screening them from the sun by covering the top of the cage
with a sheet of paper, or piece of linen by way of parasol.
The cage was furnished with two perches, for the Wood Lark,
unlike its relative the Sky Lark, sits on the branches of the
trees in the woods where, or near to which, it is found.”

The Wood Lark, like all the other members of the family
to which it belongs, builds its nest on the ground, among
tall grass, and generally in the vicinity of a wood or copse.
The nest itself is made of grass and moss, lined with wool
and hair: the eggs are variegated with light grey and brownish
violet on a white ground; the young are best reared, if at-
tempted to be brought up by hand, on bread and milk, and
ants’ eggs; the more of the latter the better.

The Wood Lark’s weak point are its legs, which are ex-
tremely brittle and easily broken; so that the bird requires
plenty of water to bathe in, and great cleanliness in its sur-
roundings, to prevent any dirt from adhering to them. Although
it does not bathe when wild, it will do so freely in a cage,
and should always have the opportunity of doing so if it pleases.
When wild it is continually running through long damp grass,
which renders any other washing unnecessary, and keeps its
legs and plumage in order: in the house it is not unapt to
become infested with vermin.

Of all the Lark family the Wood Lark has by far the
sweetest song; its clear flute-like voice is particularly fasci-
nating, and no better teacher for a cage full of young Canaries,
not even excepting the Nightingale, can be found. When wild
these birds sing from March to July, and in the house from

THE CANARY.

The Canary. 9

February to August. They have been known to breed in a
large, well-planted garden aviary, where they had a good
range, good shelter, and an abundance of insect food: which
is decidedly the best way of keeping these beautiful birds and
most delightful songsters.

The female Wood Lark sings almost as well as the male,
though her strains are shorter and less sustained than his, as
obtains among all species of birds of which the female sings.
When singing, the Wood Lark rises from the tops of the trees
so high into the air that the eye can scarce discern it, and
then remains stationary, with expanded wings and tail, warbling
its sweet music uninterruptedly for an hour at a time. It also
frequently sings when perched in a tree, and in the house
pours forth the different modulations of its beautiful voice from
a retired corner, where it stands tranquil and motionless by
the hour together.

I cannot approve of the plan, recommended by some authors
of note, of trapping the Wood Lark when full grown; they
are not then easily reconciled to captivity, and too frequently
die: the young are easily reared, if treated as already recom-
mended, and none others ought to be kept in a cage.

CHAPTER IIL.

THE CANARY.

‘WAS inconsolable for the loss of my Wood Lark, so my
father, after a time, bought me a pair of Canaries, the
first of these birds I had ever seen. I was delighted, charmed!
and never weary—for at least two hours—of contemplating
the bright jonque dress of the male, and the mealy, or pale
primrose costume of his wife.
It was spring time when they were given to me, on my
birthday if I remember rightly, and the cage was hung up in

10 Birds I Have Kept.

the Mansarde window of the nursery. How splendidly that
bird sang to be sure! The Nightingales in the little beechen
copse at the foot of the garden, were as nothing compared to
him in my estimation; and very likely he sang louder than
they did, if he had the Sky Lark note, but I cannot remember.
After a time my mother put a little wicker basket, lined
with flannel, into the cage, and in a few days four or five
little pale blue eggs speckled with brown were, much to my
satisfaction, laid. The young were hatched in due course, to
the great delight, I doubt not, of the parent birds, who stood
together on the edge of the basket, attentively peering down
at the ugly, helpless, pink little things below; which they
probably thought the prettiest little Canaries in the world, for
they talked together quite confidentially for a long time in a
low key, until one of the little ones opened its beak, when
they fed it, and the mother settled herself down again to
keep them warm.

Those were my first Canaries: I wonder how many hun-
dreds, not to say thousands, have passed through my hands
since then. A bright yellow cock I once had paired with a
green hen, produced a beautiful fawn or dove-coloured bird,
of the kind now called cinnamon; and some others were vividly
green, with black wings and tail and orange breasts: while
others again were almost white.

The origin of the domesticated Canary is, unfortunately,
lost in impenetrable obscurity, for in this iconoclastic age, the
story that connects it with the shipwreck off the Island of
Elba and the Canaria or Isles of Dogs in the Atlantic, is
exploded, and voted by common consent altogether unworthy
of belief, like many another venerable tradition; and we are
compelled, in our inability to replace it by one more trust-
worthy, to confess our utter ignorance on the subject, and
content ourselves therewith. However that may be, there are
at the present day several distinct varieties of the Canary,
which mostly breed true to colour and other characteristic

The Oanary. 11

points; the most prominent among these being, perhaps, the
Lizard, then the London Fancy, the Belgian, Scotch, York-
shire, and Norwich, which each have a distinct individuality
of their own, and their circle of enthusiastic admirers: while
the rare Lancashire Coppy, in point of size and general ap-
pearance, takes precedence of them all as King of Canarydom:
anything like a good specimen of this variety not being pro-
curable for less than £20, while some specimens fetch twice
that amount, and even more.

The Lizard branch of the family is subdivided into two
varieties, the golden and the silver spangled; the former have
a yellow, and the latter a mealy head, while their back and
shoulder feathers are laced with a border of a darker colour
than the tint of the body plumage, giving to the birds a scal-
loped or undulated appearance, supposed to recall the effect of
the markings on the scaly coats of the little reptiles whose
name they bear. Lizard Canaries are chiefly of small size,
and scarcely as distinguished as songsters. as some of their
cousins. The Belgian Canary is a long slim bird, with his
head sunk down between his high shoulders, and in my opinion
is an unnatural looking creature, and no favourite of mine;
though it is not without its admirers too, who give long prices
for what they are pleased to call good birds.

As far as regards appearance, I prefer the Scotch to the
Belgian Canary, though I believe the former to be simply a
modification of the latter. The Scotch Canary is another long,
slim bird, like the Belgian, but wants the high shoulders and
depressed head of the latter; it holds itself rather erect, with
the tail sweeping in under the perch, and the head bowing
forward to meet it, so that as it stands it almost forms a seg-
ment of a circle: the Scotch Canary is a great singer, loud
and indefatigable.

The Norwich is a short, dumpy bird, larger than the Ger-
man, while the Yorkshire comes next to the Coppy in size
and gracefulness of carriage. Some writers make distinct

12 Birds I Have Kept.

varieties of the green, cinnamon, and crested Canaries; but
when one comes to recollect that these ‘sports’? are to be
met with in all the different varieties, excepting the Lizards,
it must, I think, be conceded, that they: cannot be so distin-
guished.

The London Fancy Canary is generally a bright jonque-
coloured bird, with black wings and tail; though a few mealy
specimens with grey or grizzled tail and wings are occasionally
met with: these birds, which have become rather scarce of
late, are usually undersized.

So much for the different kinds of Canaries that are to be
met with at present; they vary in song as much as they
do in shape and colour, some having the Nightingale, others
the Sky Lark, and others again the Wood Lark note; while
yet others have a prolonged song of their own, consisting of
inharmonious combinations of loud and harsh shrieks, that are
simply appalling to listen to. A Canary, if taught while quite
young, will generally pick up any air that is regularly whistled
to it, or played on a flageolet or bird-organ; but the lesson
must be frequently repeated, or the bird will forget part, and
transpose other portions of the melody, producing an odd, but
not by any means pleasing effect.

A common Canary I once owned actually spoke, repeating
incessantly by way of song the words, ‘‘Pretty Dick, pretty
Dick, pretty little Dick; kiss, kiss, kiss, pretty little Dickee.”
It had formerly belonged to an old lady, who had been in
the habit of talking to it; and strange to say, when placed
along with other birds, it forgot to speak, and learned to sing
as they did.

Some people, fond of trying experiments, have mated the
Canary with a number of our British Finches, with good re-
sults in the case of the Goldfinch, Linnet, Siskin, Greenfinch
and Serin Finch, which last-named bird is not, by the bye,
very often found in this country; while the results with the
Redpole and Bullfinch have been indifferent, and those with

The Canary. 13

the Chaffinch, Yellow-hammer, and Bramble Finch,‘ almost or
altogether nl.

Various foreign birds, such as the Grey and Green Singing
Finch, the Saffron Finch, the Blue or Indigo Finch, and the
Nonpareil or Painted Finch—le pape of the French dealers—
have also been paired with the Canary, with doubtful results,
though the union with the three former are said, on the
authority of Dr. Russ, of Berlin, a well-known ornithologist,
to have been productive of mules.

The only crosses I ever attempted have been with the
Brown Linnet and the Greenfinch, from which I obtained
hybrids, and the Chaffinch and the Saffron Finch, from which
I had no result. Iam not an admirer of mules, for I think
we can scarcely improve upon Nature’s handiwork, and Nature
has set her face against such intermeddling with her arrange
ments by stamping the offspring of these unnatural unions with
uniform sterility. :

Some Canaries are bad parents, and let brood after brood
of helpless nestlings die of starvation in the midst of plenty;
while others sit on the young ones so closely that they suffocate
them. Some have even been stigmatised as cannibals, but I
think unjustly, the fact being that the soft dead little bird
tore asunder when the old one was trying to remove it from
the nest. I believe that on the whole Canaries are far better
parents than they are often given credit for being, and that
a very large percentage of the failures that so mortify intending
breeders of these birds, are due to the presence of insects,
chiefly red mites, in the nest and cage, which by weakening
the young render them incapable of holding up their heads
to be fed, or so torment the old birds that they forsake the
nest.

Prevention is always better than cure, so the intending
breeder must see that his birds and cages are thoroughly clean
and free from vermin, before he puts the former up; and,
indeed, I think it is good economy to make, or buy, new cages

14 Birds I Have Kept.

every season; do not use what is called the London breeding
cage, but one that is open at the top, and hang it up in the
light, out of the reach of mice, and so that the old birds
can see to begin feeding the first thing in the morning; for
which purpose they should always be supplied with fresh food
over night; and every other day, or at farthest every three
or four days, let the nest, eggs or young, taking care that
the latter are not gaping at the time, be well sprinkled with
Keating’s Insect Powder, and I will guarantee that few
Canaries will then be lost from the inattention of their parents,
in cases, even, where every previous brood had been neglected.
That this is the true explanation of the losses complained of
by so many fanciers, is, I think, unquestionable, seeing that
these people always can tell of their great success the first
year they tried to breed Canaries, and their failure ever after.

The most elaborate receipts have been given for feeding
Canaries while nesting, and when they have young; but simple
soaked bread, with or without milk poured over it, and good
sweet canary seed, and a little hemp, will form a diet that
cannot be improved upon where it is desired to rear pale-
coloured birds. Should the breeder desire jonques, he must
give yolk of egg, the deeper coloured the better, and saffron:
but should he be desirous of obtaining deep- or high-tinted
birds, he must give bread-crumbs, egg, and cayenne pepper,
the latter prepared as will be directed further on.

In the matter of green food authorities differ widely: some
say, if you give it, you will have no luck, and confidently
assert that it is ‘‘rank poison”; while others attribute all
their success to its use. The fact being that both parties to
the controversy are right. Green food must not be given in
too large quantities at first, and it must be fresh and dry,
not rank and overgrown, especially in regard to chickweed
and groundsel, which is best gathered on the roadside, or at
all events on poor soil: plantain makes a good change, but had
better be given dry than green, as when unripe, it and millet

The Canary. 15

also is apt to bring on diarrhea if eaten in any quantity.
Watercress I consider too pungent, though many advocate its
use; I much prefer dandelion, which is bitter and strength-
ening. Marigold blossoms and nasturtium blooms Canaries
are very fond of, and they may be given to them freely,
unless it be wished to keep them pale in colour. Saffron, as
I have said, imparts to the birds fed on it a delicate lemon
tint that is very attractive; but cayenne pepper alone has the
power of producing that deep orange shade that provoked so
much astonishment and controversy among fanciers when it
was first made use of a few years ago.

It is not generally known that cayenne pepper (Capsicum
fastigiatum), if kept in a damp place and well exposed to light
and air, will, after a time, lose its pungency, while retaining
its colour, and power of dyeing Canaries red, and it should
never be used unless so prepared, which will take some months,
during which time it will require to be stirred every other
day, and must be spread out on an earthenware dish, or tray,
as wood or cardboard are apt to absorb too much of the
colouring ingredient it contains. It is to be given mixed with
bread-crumbs, and moistened with milk, during the moulting
season, to such birds as it is wished to colour; and if chiefly
fed on it, they become more or less red, as those fed prin-
cipally on green food, assume a distinctly greenish garb, and
those that are dieted on bread and milk, become nearly white:
it is pleasing to have a number of birds of different shades,
and interesting to watch how the yellow plumage of the
common Canary becomes, under the influence of the food given
to it, as the case may be, either white, or red, or green, some
being much more readily influenced than others by the nature
of their diet.

The Canary is subject, as might be expected from its long
domestication, to a variety of ailments, most of which are
more easily prevented than cured: draughts kill more Canaries
than anything else, and should be sedulously avoided. Ifa

16 Birds I Have Kept.

bird catches cold, remove it at once to a warm and sheltered
situation, give it a dose, one drop, of castor oil, feed on bread
and milk sop, and canary seed, and if the treatment has been
begun in time, Dicky, in a day or two, will be himself again.

In the matter of egg-binding, to which some hens are liable,
the owner must give plenty of mortar-rubbish for the bird to
peck at, and not put her up for breeding unless she is in
perfect health and condition: should egg-binding nevertheless
occur, a drop of oil administered internally, and another applied
to the vent, on the point of a camel-hair pencil, will probably
enable the bird to deposit her egg; if she seem exhausted after
the egg is laid, or the complication recur on the following
day, she is a weak bird, and it will be wisest not to attempt
to breed from her for a time. Asthma is a troublesome com-
plaint with which many parlour Canaries are afflicted; it is
produced by the heated atmosphere of the room in which the
cage is hung, fusty seed, and draughts, all of which faulty
conditions may be avoided; should the complaint be of recent
date, a few drops of lobelia tincture, or cubebs tincture, will
relieve the most distressing symptoms; but cure is unattainable
where the disorder has existed for any length of time. Di-
arrhea is caused by dirty water, too much green succulent
food, and sour sop; avoid such, and give the bird a little chalk
in its drinking water.

CHAPTER IV.

THE BROWN LINNET.

T the distance of about a mile from our house, on a little
furze-covered eminence, stood an old windmill, whose long

thin arms, wildly flung out in perpetual battle with the wind,
so irresistably reminded me of stories I had heard of monstrous
giants and ogres, who, besides defying Heaven, and doing all

The Brown Lnnnet. 17

kinds of-naughty deeds, had a strong partiality for eating little
boys au naturel, that it was always invested for me with a
degree of fascination it might not otherwise have possessed:
and in fact no greater treat could be afforded me, than to
accompany Marie Baudoin, when she periodically paid a visit
to the miller, for the purpose of having our corn ground.
Sometimes a large sack of plump white wheat would be placed
across the donkey’s back—the same donkey that once threw
me over a hedge and into a pond of water—and on this
sack I was allowed to take my seat, much after the fashion
of an organ grinder’s monkey perched on the top of his musical
instrament. Very frequently, however, she. carried what was
wanted for immediate consumption, a hundredweight or so,
upon her shoulders in a bag, and on these occasions I trotted
by her side.

What a queer old place that mill was to be sure! Two
enormous flat stones kept continually groaning, as they turned
round and round, one over the other, grinding to bran and
flour the corn that dropped between them from a large box
placed just over the axle whereon they revolved: how I wondered
to see the miller pouring the wheat into that box, in order
to reach which he had to climb up a ladder of many rungs;
and how my wonder increased as I beheld the flour running
down, white and soft, into the bag he had placed for its
reception. With what awe I gazed upon the rude, gaudy
_ representations of Saints and Virgins that were pasted on the
walls, and the framework of the mill. Young as I was, about
seven or ‘eight, I had heard of Napoleon Buonaparte, and
wondered how such a man could be a saint: yet there he
was, on the walls of the old mill, in complete armour, with
a halo round his head! While in another picture he was
represented in military costume, seated on a cloud, holding
out his hand to a miniature representation of himself that
was kneeling, apparently on nothing, before him; and under-
neath I spelled the legend ‘‘Napoléon recevant son fils en

ty

18 Birds I Have Kept.

Elysée.” I never wearied of looking at all these things, and
was always sorry when summoned to go home.

It was on the occasion of one of these periodical visits that
Marie or I, or both of us, I forget exactly which, discovered
in the furze a Linnet’s nest: there were five young ones in
it, just fit to be removed—and removed they accordingly were,
without the faintest qualm of conscience, and carried in triumph
home, while the bereaved parents were left to mourn in the
furze.

My mother was very angry, and gave us a long lecture on
our inhumanity: Marie defended our action, alleging that there
was no cruelty in taking a bird’s nest, for the old ones would
immediately begin to build another. However, the deed was
done, and was irremediable; for there was no use in replacing
the nest as my mother wished, the parents would not go near
it again, Marie declared: so I set to work to bring up the
little orphans by hand, and, with my mother’s help, succeeded,
on a mixture of blénoir or buckwheat flour, moistened with
milk, on which they throve famously; though they can also
be reared on bread and milk.

My Linnets grew up to be fine healthy strong birds, three
cocks and two hens, and in the following summer the two
latter made nests in their large cage, and laid a number of
eggs, but the incessant quarrels of the party ended disastrously
for the success of the attempt to bring up a family. One of
the cocks was subsequently mated with a pale yellow hen
Canary, and became the father of a numerous progeny of
mules. He lived for ten years, and was a most amiable bird,
when separated from his brothers and sisters, and an inde-
fatigable songster: he had acquired the Canary note, and
rendered it sweetly in a lower key than his teacher, which
was no inconsiderable advantage.

The Linnet, Fringilla cannabina of Linneeus, la Linotte of
French authors, and der Lanning of the Germans, is a pretty
little bird, rather more than five inches in length, of which

The Brown Linnet. 19

the tail measures two inches and a half. The beak of this
bird is dusky blue in summer, and whitish grey, with a brown
tip, in winter; the iris is dark brown, and the feet and legs
black. The general colour of the plumage is brown, but the
forehead and breast of the adult male are red: until they are
a year old they resemble their mothers, but never assume
the red cap and waistcoat in the house.

The female Linnet is rather smaller than the male, and
has the upper part of her body streaked with dusky brown,
and yellowish white spots, which increase in number on the
breast, and the wing coverts are a dusky chesnut. In the
nest the females can be distinguished from their brothers by
the greyness of their backs, and the number of spots on their
breasts, which resemble that of a Lark.

When wild the Linnet subsists on grass and other seeds,
such as thistle, and those of the different kinds of Polygonum
and Chenopodium. In the house they are usually fed on Canary
and German rape, to which a little hemp seed may be occa-
sionally added.

The eggs of the Linnet are from four to six in number,
and resemble those of the Canary; there are usually two broods
in the season, but sometimes three. Although it has been
asserted that these birds will not breed in captivity, they
certainly will do so, freely, in cage and aviary, providing
they have been brought up by hand, and are quite tame.
They will also pair and produce mules with the Canary,
Greenfinch, Goldfinch, and Bullfinch; and in the case of the
Canary, if the latter be a pale or mealy bird, the offspring
will be almost entirely white; while as regards the other
Finches, the hybrids will combine the colours of both parents,
and are not attractive-looking birds.

The natural song of the Linnet is agreeable and flute-like;
it consists of several strains succeeding each other very prettily,
and is only interrupted for a short time, while the bird is
moulting. The Linnet will also learn the notes of other birds,

20 Birds I Have Kept.

such as the Wood Lark, Canary, Blackcap, and in part that
of the Nightingale. It may also be taught a number of little
tricks, and to go and come at command.

The most common disorders of the domesticated Linnet are
constipation, from the -use of too much dry seed, and fits
from the accumulation of fat on the internal organs: it is a
hardy little bird on the whole, and generally lives from ten
to twelve years in the house; although instances are not
wanting of individuals having attained a much more advanced
age.

CHAPTER V.
THE CHAFFINCH.

T the right hand furthest corner of our garden, looking
from the house, stood an immense cherry-laurel tree,
whose long, strong branches spread out horizontally to a dis-
tance of many feet all around; so that we could, and very
often did, sit beneath its shade. It was so large that generally
every year a Magpie built its nest on one of its great boughs
that overhung the large pond, or little lake, that bounded our
domains to the south: while just over the rustic seat upon
which my mother often sat and worked in summer time, a
Chaffinch usually made her nest, and reared a brood or two.
I well remember how anxiously I waited for the little ones
to be hatched, in the first nest I had discovered in the laurel
tree; and how, one day, while I was playing in the shade
beside my mother, the old Chaffinch, who never seemed to
mind us in the least, suddenly flew off her nest with a twitter,
and darted into some bushes opposite.
“T believe the young ones have come out!” exclaimed my
mother. ‘Oh! do look,” I entreated: so she gently lowered
the bough upon which the nest was fixed, and peeped in:

The Chaffinch. 21

“There is a little one’, she said, carefully returning the
branch to its usual position. ‘‘Let me see, please?’”’ so she
lifted me up. ‘‘What a little black thing!” I cried; but
the old bird had returned, and was hopping about with a
small caterpillar in her beak, apparently afraid to approach
while we were near her treasure: so we retired, my mother
and I, and left her to her labour of love, in which she was
presently joined by the happy husband and father.

These young Chaffinches grew apace for some days; but one
morning we found, to our great grief, the nest deserted, and
the little birds gone: some cat, or owl, had made its supper
off them: ‘‘ What a pity! and they were growing so nicely, too.”

The parents, however, nothing daunted, and attached, appa-
rently, to the site, made a new nest not very far off, using
a portion of the first to construct the second nest, which was
finished in due course: and this time my father took one of
the pale bluish grey eggs, thickly spotted with brown, and
placed it under the Canary, which happened to be sitting.
She hatched the egg very carefully; but directly the dark
stranger made its appearance, she perceived that her good-
nature had been imposed upon, and straightway held a con-
sultation with her mate, the result of which was that the
poor little hungry gaping Chaffinch, instead of being fed and
eared for like one of their own offspring, was lifted out of
the nest, and thrown down upon the floor of the cage. Once
or twice my mother replaced it, but it was thrown out again,
and died.

Some time after this I became possessed, I forget exactly
in what manner, of a half-fledged Chaffinch, which I reared
successfully on d/énoir and milk, as I had done the Linnets,
and which proved to be a hen. She was placed with a fine
yellow Canary, and became great friends with him, so much
so that in the following spring they made a match of it, and
she building a nest in the cage, laid four eggs, upon which
she sat with praiseworthy patience; when, lo and behold! a

22 Birds I Have Kept.

day or two before we expected them to be hatched, a stray
cat got into the house, and knocked down the cage, killing
the two birds, and destroying the eggs.

Since then I have possessed other Chaffinches, both male
and female, but have never succeeded in getting them to pair,
either among themselves or with Canaries or other birds; so
that I the more regret the accident that marred what appeared
to be success when just at the culminating point.

Although it has long been an immense favourite with fanciers
on the continent, it is only of late years that the Chaffinch,
Fringilla celebs of Linnus, le Pinson of the French, and der
Buchfink of the Germans, has grown into favour and been
caged in England; and yet it is a very beautiful bird, hardy,
and tameable, and by no means a despicable songster.

The male Chaffinch is six inches and three quarters in length,
of which the tail measures two and a half. The forehead is
black, the top of the head and nape of the neck greyish blue,
deep blue in very old males; the breast is a bright reddish
brown, and the wing coverts are white; the tail is bluish black,
of avery dark shade, and the bird has the power of erecting
the head feathers into a crest. The beak is conical, pointed,
and in winter white; while in summer it changes to a deep
blue. The eye is chesnut brown, and the feet and legs dusky.

The female is rather smaller than her mate; her head, neck,:
and the upper part of her body are greyish brown, and all
the under parts dusky white, with a faint reddish tinge on
the breast. The beak, in spring, is greyish brown, and whitish
grey in winter.

The Chaffinch is naturally a frequenter of woods and orchards,
and is partially, at least in northern countries, a bird of
passage; though the females are of a more unsettled disposition
in this respect than the males, whom they leave behind them
at the end of autumn, whilst they themselves emigrate en masse.
It is owing to this disposition of the sexes to separate as soon
as the breeding season is over, that the name Fringilla celebs,-

The Chaffinch. 23

the bachelor Finch, has been bestowed upon the Chaffinch,
few of the females remaining with us in the winter, while
the males congregate together in large flocks.

There are few birds, certainly none of our European species,
that make so beautiful a nest as the Chaffinch. It is the
shape of a half-globe flattened on the upper part, and so per-
fectly rounded that it has the appearance of having been turned
out of a lathe. Cobwebs and wool fasten it to the branch,
bits of moss with small twigs entwined form the ground-work ;
while the lining is composed of small feathers, thistle-down,
the hair of horses and other animals, and the outer covering
is formed of the different lichens that grow on the tree on
which it is placed. This last finishing touch is probably
designed to deceive an enemy’s eye; and indeed it is extremely
difficult to distinguish the nest from the bark of the branch
upon which it is fastened.

There are commonly two broods during the season, rarely
three; and the eggs, which have been already described, are
usually five in number. The young resemble their mother
until after the first moult; but experienced fanciers can tell
which are the females in the nest. If it be desired to bring
up Chaffinches by hand, which if a more troublesome, is
decidedly a more satisfactory method of becoming possessed
of these birds, than taking them when full-grown, in which
case they seldom get over their natural shyness and become
tame, they had better be taken from the nest as soon as their
feathers begin to sprout. They can be very readily reared on
bread-crumbs soaked in milk, or buckwheat flour and egg, to
which had better be added small mealworms and gentles.

Chaffinches thus reared become very tame, and attached to
their owners, and will sometimes breed, not only in a garden
aviary, but even in a cage, though the young ones are not
always successfully reared.

In Germany these birds are very much sought after and
admired, and the greatest pains bestowed upon their education:

24 Birds I Have Kept.

enthusiastic fanciers going so far as to distinguish some twenty
distinct varieties of song, or ‘‘melodies”, such as the double
trill of the Hartz; the Brautigam, or bridegroom’s, and the
Reiterzong, or rider’s song.

The Chaffinch is quick at learning, and will repeat part
of the Canary’s and even of the Nightingale’s song, but is
always interpolating, often at the wrong point, its own sharp
note ‘pink, pink.” It is a hardy bird, and providing it is
occasionally supplied with flies and other insects, will live
for many years in the house: instances are given of its having
survived for eighteen or twenty years in a cage.

The chief affections to which this bird is subject in a state
of captivity are the pip, an obstruction of the rump-gland,
from insufficient opportunities for bathing: this complication
will be readily diagnosed by the bird continually turning round
to peck itself just above the insertion of the tail feathers, when
the obstructed gland must be relieved by fomenting it with
hot water, piercing the little yellowish tumour with a fine
needle, and gently pressing out its contents of inspissated oil.
Diarrhea is occasionally brought on by allowing the bird to
drink impure water, or to eat too much succulent green food,
such as rank chickweed: in which case a pinch of chalk, or
better still, of aromatic confection in its water will effect a
speedy cure. Should the diarrhea, however, be a symptom
of consumption, induced by confining the bird to a poor diet,
the disease and its most prominent symptom may be relieved,
and often cured by a regimen of insects; but should the dis-
order have existed for any length of time, there is no cure,
the case is hopeless.

CH,

THE BULLFIN

25

CHAPTER VI.

THE BULLFINCH.

Y mother having had occasion, as sometimes happened,

to pay a short visit to her native country, looked about

for some present for me when the time came for her to re-

turn home again; and rightly judging that nothing would please

me better than a bird, made choice of a Bullfinch, which was

quite a rara avis in our part of the world. JI had heard, it

is true, and read about such a bird in my Natural History

books, but had never seen one, nor do I think there were
any to be met with in our neighbourhood wild.

The reader will therefore understand the boyish delight
with which I contemplated the strange ‘“‘English Bird”, as
Perrine, our maid, called my mother’s present. We were never
tired of looking at it, and admiring its black head, red breast,
and grey back: then its song! what an extraordinary, and yet
what a sweet, note! and how tame and familiar it was! I
was charmed, and my mother equally so to see me pleased.

Poor dear Bully! his was a sad and a tragic end. He was
so tame, that we let him hop about the room occasionally,
and on one of these occasions I, inadvertently, put my great
clumsy foot upon him—you may, kind reader, imagine the
rest—after all these years I cannot bear to think about it.

Many years afterwards I purchased a piping German, a
charming bird, that would eat seed from my fingers, or from
between my lips: he had learned to say ‘Hip, hip, hurrah!”
bowing, and spreading out his wings and tail as he repeated
the words, which, doubtless, had some meaning for him; also
to say his own name “ Peter’, for which he was always
rewarded with a grain of hemp: he was almost as nice a
bird as my first dear Bully was.

26 Birds I Have Kept.

I bought him a wife one day, and turned the pair into a
large empty room we had at the top of the house. I scarcely
know whether Peter appreciated the lady’s society as well as
he did that of his human friends, at all events he taught
her the words he knew, and she soon called ‘Peter’, and
said ‘Hip, hip, hurrah!”’ as well as he did. After a time
she made a nest among some boughs I had placed in the
room, and laid five eggs, upon which she sat devotedly fora
fortnight, but they came to nothing. Peter, poor fellow, got
into a habit of sitting on the window sill, looking out into
the garden to watch the Sparrows, that often peeped at him
through the window-panes, but the draught that came up
between the two sashes gave him cold, and he died.

Since that melancholy event I have had many more Bull-
finches, but not one as nice as the two I have named; and
scarcely expect I ever shall, although Le bouvrewzl of the French,
der Gimpel of German authors, Loria pyrrhula of Linnzus, is
always a charming bird, which it is quite a mistake to term
“clumsy” as some writers have done; he is broad built for
his length, measuring six inches and three quarters from beak
to tail; the tail is two and a half inches long; the beak but
six lines, thick and black; the eye is chesnut; the feet and
legs black; the top of the head, a circle round the beak, and
the chin are a deep velvety black; the back of the neck,
back, and shoulders are bluish grey; the throat, breast, and
belly a lovely shade of reddish pink, and the rump pure
white; the wings and tail are black, shining with metallic
lustre, and the former are crossed about their middle by a
narrow band of grey.

The female Bullfinch can be readily distinguished from her
mate, for what in him is red, is reddish grey in her; while
her back is brownish grey, and she is, moreover, perceptibly
smaller than he is.

There is a variety about half as large again as the ordinary
Bullfinch, from which it differs in nothing but size: these

The Bullfinch. 27

giants are called Russian, or Siberian Bullfinches by the dealers,
and are not natives of this country: they are said to breed
freely in the aviary, a statement, however, which I am unable
to confirm, or refute, not having tried the experiment.

The ordinary Bullfinch is pretty generally distributed over
Europe, existing in great numbers in the mountainous forests
of Germany: the male and female keep together all the year
round. In their wild state these birds feed on all manner
of seeds, and are particularly fond of the buds of trees, for
which reason they are execrated by gardeners and horticul-
turists, who have succeeded in extirpating them from several
localities, and rendering them very scarce in-many others. In
the house they are usually fed on summer rape seed, which
may be advantageously soaked in cold water for a couple of
hours before being given to the birds: they will also eat
canary seed, and are very fond of hemp, which should only
be allowed as a great treat now and then, and only a few
seeds at a time, as it is very fattening, and if permitted, the
Bullfinch would eat of it to repletion. A regular supply of
fresh wholesome green food is necessary to maintain these
birds in health, and they are particularly fond of apple pips.

As the Bullfinch is a very shy bird, it naturally hides away
its nest in a thick bush, or a quickset hedge, where it is well
screened from observation. The nest is made of roots and
small twigs and moss, and is lined with hair; there are two
broods in the year, of four or five each time: the eggs are
bluish white, spotted with violet or brown at the large
end.

When it is wished to bring up Bullfinches by hand, the
young must be removed from the nest as soon as their feathers
begin to sprout; when they are easily reared on bread-crumbs
and soaked rape seed. At first the young resemble their
mother, but the red breast soon marks the male; however, as
the females are almost as good singers as their brothers, it is
best to take them all together, especially as the old ones are

28 Birds I Have Kept.

very apt to desert the nest, if they perceive that it has been
tampered with.

It is stated in different books that mules have been bred
between the Bullfinch and the Canary, but if so, the union
must be rarely fruitful, for I have never seen a specimen of
the cross, though I have attended the large Bird Shows for
years. However, mules between the Goldfinch and Bullfinch
are comparatively common, and are usually the offspring of
a female of the latter, and a male of the former species; the
eggs being hatched, and the young reared by Canaries.

Bullfinches vary as much as children do in their capacity
for receiving instruction; some individuals learning an air
thoroughly after a few lessons, while others take months and
are not then proficient; while others again seem unable to
learn at all, and remain mere chatterers all their lives. Bird
organs are not to be recommended for teaching Bullfinches to
pipe, as they are rarely accurate in tone, and the birds re-
peating exactly what they hear, the result is often far from
pleasing. The best instructor is a man who has the knack
of whistling correctly; or failing such a phenomenon, a flage-
olet.

It is a great pity that so pretty, intelligent, and interesting
a bird should be so delicate: but so it is. My experience of
Bulltinches, whether reared from the nest, or caught when
full grown, and the latter are considered to be the healthiest
by the German fanciers, is that they rarely live for more than
two years in the house, and many of them not more than
half that time. They suffer severely in moulting, and are
frequently troubled with constipation and diarrhea, as well
as epileptic fits. They are also very passionate, and frequently
injure themselves by dashing about wildly in what can only
be called a paroxysm of rage, or temper.

The best way to preserve them in health, is to rigorously
confine them to a rape seed diet, upon which they will live
longer than when pampered with all the delicacies an attached,

The Greenfinch. 29

but injudicious, owner can bestow. A few grains of hemp
daily, about twelve, will keep them in good humour, while
green food and clean water must not be forgotten. The floor
of the cage must be covered with river sand, which should
be renewed every other day, and the bird will pick up little
pebbles that will materially assist its digestion.

CHAPTER VII.

THE GREENFINCH.

NE of the most common birds in our neighbourhood was

the Greenfinch, or Green Bird, called by the local name
of le Zarin, by Buffon le Verdier, and by Linneus and the
Germans Loxva chloris and der Griinling, respectively.

It is rather a pretty bird, and I have a strong suspicion
that in some way or other it has had something to do with
founding the domesticated race of Canaries, which are supposed
to derive their origin from the Fortunate Isles. My reasons
for this belief being that the call of the Greenfinch can scarcely
be distinguished from that of the Canary, while the nests of
both birds greatly resemble each other, and the eggs only
differ in being a trifle paler in the case of the green bird,
and even this dissimilarity is not constant.

This bird is about the same length as the Chaffinch, but
' is of stouter build, and has a shorter tail. The prevailing
colour of its plumage is yellowish green, lighter on the lower
part of the body, and still more so on the breast and rump;
while many of the flight feathers of the wings are bright
yellow.

The female, which is rather smaller than her mate, is
greenish brown on the upper, and grey with a slight shade
of green on the lower parts of her body. The young are at

30 Birds I Have Kept.

first of a greenish grey; some yellow tints, however, may
already be seen in the male.

The Greenfinch is a very familiar bird, congregating round
the house in winter with the Sparrows and Robins, and fear-
lessly building in the garden, even close up to the windows.
In the playground of the school I attended there were a
number of young lime-trees (tilleul), the tops of which had
been cut off during the winter, and in several of these, as
soon as the young branches had sprouted out in spring, some
Greenfinches built their nests, with misplaced confidence, how-
ever, for the boys invariably stole the eggs and sucked them.

The Greenfinch has usually two, sometimes three, broods
in the season; the eggs, which are bluish white spotted with
violet and brown, chiefly at the larger end, are four or five
in number, and as I have already stated, can scarcely be
distinguished from those of a Canary; with which bird the
Greenfinch will very readily pair, producing fine strong, healthy
and handsome birds, partaking of the appearance of both
parents: these hybrids are said to be capable of reproducing
their kind, a statement which I have not tried to verify.

Hand-reared Greenfinches will breed in an aviary, or even
in a cage, among themselves and with all the other Finches.

When wild these birds feed on all sorts of seeds, and
should the supply of this, their natural diet, get short, they
will eat the buds of many kinds of trees, as well as the
tender sprouting corn. In the house they are not more par-
ticular, no seed, even hemp, seeming to come amiss to them,
or to do them any harm.

The young are easily reared on bread-crumbs, or buckwheat
flour, and soon get very tame. Bechstein gives the following
directions for teaching them to fly out and return:—

“After having taken the young from the nest, they must
be put ina cage, and placed at the foot of the tree in which
the nest is built, in a place dug for the purpose, and on the
cage a tit as a decoy. When left there, the old birds come

The Hedge Accentor. 31

to feed their young, and are caught in the snare. As soon
as they are taken, they must all be brought into the house,
where the old and young must be put together in any aviary,
or large cage, till the latter can fly: the window may then
be opened for them to go out, but hunger will soon bring
them back. As soon as they have exercised their wings, the
old birds should be placed on the table in the window to
call them back. In time, they become so familiar that they
will accompany one in a walk, and there is no fear of their
flying away. If they are not taken thus, it is necessary to
wait for winter and snow to let them go out, and if they
profit by the permission, to call them back by some of their
own species placed in a cage in the window. If you wish
to be quite sure of success, you have only to put a board
in the window, on which two females, with their wings cut,
can run about, go out, and return.”

The above directions are plain and simple enough; but what
the tit on the top of the cage is supposed to do, is a mystery
I am unable to solve.

Greenfinches are seldom troubled with disease of any kind,
and with the commonest attention will live for ten or fifteen
years in the house.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE HEDGE ACCENTOR, OR SPARROW.

HIS familiar bird, almost as well known as the Robin
: Redbreast, is also called the Dunnock, and used to bea
great favourite of mine when I was a schoolboy: its scien-
tific name is Accentor modularis, I quite forget what we used
to call it in Brittany, but its name according to Buffon is la
Fauvette d’ Hiver, or Traine Buisson, while the Germans call
it der Braunelle, which sounds uncommonly like broad Scotch:

32 Birds I Have Kept.

and a braw wee birdie it is, very confiding, lively, and merry
in winter time, though uncommonly shy in summer.

Not one of our wild birds lays such an egg, such a turquoise
gem rather, the much coveted prize of that variety of the
genus known as the country schoolboy. Dear me! what
dozens, scores, nay, hundreds of them I have taken in my
time, blown and strung upon a piece of twine! all unknown
to my excellent mother, who always discountenanced bird-
nesting; wisely as now I know, but very arbitrarily as I
thought in those far away days.

The length of the Hedge Accentor is five inches and a
half, of which the tail measures rather more than two. The
head, which is somewhat narrow, is, together with the neck,
of a dark ash colour, marked with very dark brown spots;
the breast is a deep slate colour.

The female is lighter, and has more brown spots on the
head than her mate; but it nevertheless takes some acquaint-
ance with these birds to readily distinguish the sexes from
each other.

This bird is found in all parts of Europe, frequenting every
hedgerow and copse, and even large gardens in the suburbs
of London: it forms a link between insect and seed-eating
birds, and partakes indiscriminately of either food, so that it
can be very readily kept in the house; where, however, unless
very tame, it has a mouse-like habit of hiding itself away
in holes and corners.

The Hedge Accentor makes a beautiful nest of moss and
roots, lined with wool and hair, usually selecting a thick
quickset hedge to build in, or a bushy shrub, such as an
arbor vite, or a clump of box. The nest is never far from
the ground, and usually contains from four to six eggs of a
beautiful turquoise blue. The young leave the nest early,
often before they can fly: there are two or three broods in
the year. The Hedge Accentor is more usually selected as a
foster-parent for its young than any other bird by the Cuckoo.

The Long-tailed Tit. 33

The young Accentors are very easily reared on soaked bread
and poppy seed moistened with milk, or buckwheat flour made
into a paste. The plumage of the young brood is very different
from that of their parents; the breast being spotted with grey
and yellow, and the back with brown and black, while the
nostrils and angles of the mouth are rose-coloured.

There is, perhaps, not one of our native birds that breeds
so freely in the aviary as this: the solitary female will lay
eggs or pair with a cock ‘Robin, and bring up a family of
mules.

I once caught an adult female, one of whose wings had
been injured, and she soon, without any particular notice on
my part, became so tame, that when I turned her out after
her recovery from the effects of her accident, I could not
drive her away from the house: finding she would not go
away, I let her do as she pleased, and she remained in the
garden for some months, coming to the kitchen window every
morning to be fed: she disappeared at last, whether killed
by acat, or impelled by the desire to make a nest, I cannot
say: I never saw her again.

In the matter of diseases I do not know of any incidental
to this species; those I have kept at different times always
seemed very strong and healthy. Bechstein, however, asserts
that they are, even when wild, subject to a pustular disorder
resembling small-pox! If so, I have not met with an instance
of such a complaint among them.

CHAPTER IX.

THE LONG-TAILED TIT.

fa pretty little bird, which some writers on ornithology

class with the Wrens, is not very common in England,

but is sufficiently so in wooded districts, especially pine woods,
D

34 Birds I Have Kept.

though from being of a particularly shy and retiring dispo-
sition it is not very often seen, except by those who are
accustomed to keep a look out for strange birds.

In the centre of our old Brittany garden rose a stately fir
tree, I am not quite sure to what species it belonged, but
it was a very handsome specimen, rising in true conical form
to what then appeared to me to be an extraordinary altitude,
but which subsequent experience has taught me was at least
a very respectable height. In summer time this great tree
was yearly tenanted by a pair of Magpies, of which bird
three couples usually built their nests in the garden, one,
as I have already stated, in the great cherry-laurel tree,
another in a huge pink thorn, and the third in this fir, at
its very summit; where one year they injured the terminal
shoot, in some way or other, so that it died, and was replaced
by two, which grew up and somewhat marred ever after the
perfect symmetry of its’ shape.

Many other birds, beside the Magpie, were in the habit of
using the fir as a nesting place, Chaffinches especially, which
tound plenty of lichens close at hand among its branches to
cover their nests with; and one summer [I found a ball of
moss, about the size of a cocoa-nut, hanging from the extremity
of one of its lower branches, at a distance of between four
and five feet from the ground. It was a perfect ball, as round
as possible, and was suspended by a few hairs, or threads; a
close scrutiny discovered a very small aperture on one side,
into which I inserted my finger, and amongst a mass of soft
warm feathers felt a number of tiny eggs, one of which I
gently rolled to the opening, and saw that it was pinky white;
I then replaced it, and hastened to inform my mother of the
discovery I had made, after effacing, as well as I could, the
marks of my rude intrusion into the little domicile.

After examining the nest carefully, my mother confessed her
inability to tell me to what kind of bird it belonged; nor was
Marie Baudoin, when summoned from the potato patch to assist

The Long-tailed Tit. 35

in our deliberations, in any way more qualified to enlighten
me: when suddenly the owners, irritated probably by our
continued presence so close to their abode, made their appear-
ance, chirping a little angry remonstrance, hopping among the
adjoining fir branches, and once or twice they almost brushed
our faces with their wings.

We then perceived that they were Long-tailed Tits, sweetly
pretty little things, with tails longer than their bodies, and
a coat of purplish grey, with white markings on the wings.
They are among the smallest of our native birds, being scarcely,
if at all, bigger than the Golden-crested Wren, though their
long tails make them appear rather larger.

We retired hastily, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing,
from a distance, the tiny couple enter their nest, and remain
there, so that they had evidently taken no offence at my
inspection. In process of time we were enabled to ascertain,
by their constant passing in and out of the nest all day, that
the old birds had a young family to attend to; and by and
bye a grasshopper-like chirping within the nest, and a per-
ceptible bulging of its sides, showed pretty plainly that the
youngsters were getting big, and would soon be able to come
out and cater for themselves. But alas! one morning, after a
terrible night of wind and rain, I found the nest lying, drenched
and flattened on the ground, while not a trace of the birds
was to be seen anywhere about.

“Ah! la! la! quel dommage!” was my involuntary excla-
mation, as I ran to pick it up, when lo! a movement, and
I felt that there was life within: so I ran hastily indoors,
and found my mother in the kitchen, intent on making jam.
We carefully examined the nest, and found no less than seven
little birds in it, warm and dry among their feathers, and
very nearly fledged. What was to be done? they were too
old to gape to any one but their parents, though we tenderly
chucked their little chins, chirruping as well as we could in
imitation of the old birds, as we proferred various dainties,

36 Birds I Have Kept.

but in vain: our attempts to feed the little ones only resulted
in driving them from the shelter of their nest, to set them
hopping about, in a tottering uncertain manner, all over the
table, whence one or two of the biggest fluttered on to the
floor.

There chanced to be an old cage in the house, and fortu-
nately the bars were very close together; so taking up the
nest, and spreading it out carefully, my mother placed it on
the bottom of the cage, and put the little birds into it again:
there they soon settled themselves down, with their heads all
turned one way.

“Perhaps they will let us feed them by and bye, when
they get hungry?” said my mother, stepping outside on to
the terrace as she spoke, where she perceived the old birds
in a tree opposite the kitchen window, and a happy thought
struck her that if she put the cage there, the parents would
feed the little ones until they were able to fly. No sooner
said than done: her surmise proved to be correct, for the
parents immediately began to feed their hungry brood, and
continued to do so assiduously for more than a week, when
the latter refused their attentions, and by incessantly pecking
at the nest, the bars of the cage, and each other, showed
plainly that they considered themselves capable of providing
for their own wants.

As they could not get food for themselves, and would not
take what was offered to them, either by their parents, or by
us, we had no alternative but to open their door and let them
fly away, for we could not see them starve. They very soon
availed themselves of the permission given them to escape, and
it was a pretty sight to see them, one after the other, hop
out of the cage among the branches of the lime tree, where
their father and mother were anxiously awaiting them, and
then to see the party of nine fly off in single file into the
woods, from whence not one of them ever returned to thank
us for our hospitality.

The Long-tailed Tit. 37

I have since found that the position chosen by the pair
alluded to above, is that selected by the species generally,
showing an amount of discrimination that is really wonderful
on the part of so small a bird, for it renders the nest almost
unassailable by bird or beast of prey.

The Long-tailed Tit in its wild state subsists exclusively
on insects, flies, gnats, small caterpillars, spiders, and especially
green flies (aphides): it is, consequently, no easy task to
keep it alive all the year round in the house: but even this
may be accomplished by means of small mealworms, black
beetles, and aphides reared for the purpose in a frame: and
as it is an exceedingly amusing little bird, full of the funniest
ways and tricks, it would be worth the while of amateurs
gifted with leisure and patience, to make the attempt: should
they do so and succeed, they will, I have no doubt, be well
rewarded for their pains.

These birds are very susceptible to cold, and should have
the room in which they are kept well warmed during the
winter. They should also be supplied with a cocoa-nut husk
and some nice soft feathers to make themselves a nest, for, like
the Wrens, they alway sleep in some warm nook or crevice,
out of reach of wind or rain, and a number of them usually con-
gregate together to keep out the frost by their mutual warmth.

Not having kept the Long-tailed Tit for any length of time,
nor heard of any one else who did, I cannot say how long
they would live in a cage, or to what ailments they are
subject. Intending keepers, however, must bear in mind that
these birds will only exist on an exclusively insect diet, of
which ants’ eggs may form the largest part in winter, when
however it is not difficult to have gentles, which have been
kept during the summer in a cool cellar, or some similar
place. Fur-moths, too, are a readily procurable article of diet
for insectivorous birds, and a good stock of them may be
kept up by means of a couple of rabbit skins in a loueely
covered box.

38

CHAPTER X.

THE SKYLARK.

HIS famous songster, Alauda arvensis of Linneus, is

LT Alouette of the French, and die Feldlerche of the Ger-
mans, and is no less well known than universally esteemed—
esteemed, alas! as a bonne bouche on the table by epicures, as
well as by aviarists as one of their most cherished pets.

It is a pretty and graceful bird, seven inches in length,
of which the tail measures three. The long straight beak
terminates in a sharp point, and has the upper mandible black
and the lower greyish white. The height of the shanks, which
are yellow, is nearly an inch, and the hind claw is much
longer than the toe from which it springs.

The female Lark can be distinguished from her mate by
the number of spots on her breast, which is tawny yellow,
with very few spots in the male, changing to white on the
lower breast and belly: the shoulders are brown spotted with
darker shades of the same colour. White Larks are occasion-
ally met with, black ones now and then, but the cinnamon
is perhaps the most uncommon variety of all.

The male Lark shows a white line above his eye, which
is surrounded by a dark circle, both of which distinctive marks
are wanting in the female. In their wild state these birds
are found all over Europe, and Northern Africa, frequenting
fields and meadows, and especially plains of large extent. It
is partly a migratory bird; the presence or absence of suitable
food in a particular locality regulating its movements, as well
as those of other kinds of birds.

The Lark is not a very suitable bird for a garden aviary,
for in such a situation it soon becomes very wild, even if
hand-reared, and is apt to injure itself by banging about in.

The Skylark. 39.

unreasoning fits of panic: it is, moreover, so defenceless and
timid that its stronger-billed companions are apt to break its
legs: in a cage, however, it will thrive admirably if properly
attended to.

The female Lark sings, not as well as the male, it is true,
but much better than most birds of her sex who indulge
themselves in minstrelsy; so much so, indeed, that one or two
females I have known were taken for cock birds by their
owners, so perfect was their song, until an egg deposited in
a corner of the cage one day, revealed the bird’s true sex
beyond dispute.

The best kind of Lark’s cage is a wooden one about eighteen
or twenty inches long, nine or ten inches wide, and some
fifteen inches high. The bottom of the cage -should be fitted
with a drawer, capable of holding fine dry sand to the depth
of a couple of inches, for the birds like to dust themselves,
and unless they are enabled to do so are very apt to become
infested with vermin. The front of the cage should be bowed,
and so contrived as to rise above the level of the back por-
tion; a sod of grass should be always provided, as it conduces
much to keep the bird in health. The top of the cage must
be of wood, and unless the bird is exceedingly tame, should
have a piece of calico or baize stretched tightly an inch below
it, so that the Lark, in rising, may not hurt its head. When
wild these birds never go near water, as they find enough
moisture on the grass amongst which they live to suffice them
for drinking and washing purposes, which is also the reason
why they never bathe.

When at liberty in its native fields, the Lark, during the
summer and autumn, lives chiefly on insects; in the spring
it eats grass, and the tender blades of growing corn, as well
as all kinds of seeds, especially if sprouting. In winter it
will eat anything it can find, from turnip tops to the odds
and ends of a farm-yard, to which in severe weather it fre-
quently resorts. In the house it may-be given bread crumbs,

40 Birds I Have Kept.

poppy seed, canary and millet, and a little crushed hemp,
suet finely chopped, yolk of egg and ants’ eggs and mealworms:
some people add ‘‘German paste”, an abomination, the basis
of which is pea-meal. A few oats, soaked in rain water until
they begin to sprout, are a favourite addition to the Lark’s
bill of fare, which should include an abundant supply of green
food, and a few insects, mealworms, gentles, or blackbeetles
every day. A Lark thus fed will sing nearly all the year
round, unless perhaps when moulting.

These birds have, usually, two broods during the season,
sometimes three, laying each time from three to five eggs of
a whitish grey, spotted with a darker shade of the same colour.
They incubate for fourteen days, and the young often leave
the nest before they can fly. The nest is generally placed
on the ground, in a little natural hollow, and is inartistically
made of grass, lined with wool and hair.

‘When it is desired to bring up young Larks by hand, they
must be taken from the nest before they can see, when they
are easily reared on bread-crumbs, or buckwheat flour, poppy
seed, ants’ eggs, and a little lean meat minced very fine. The
males can be readily distinguished from the females, even in
the nest, by their yellowish colour and the few marks upon
their breasts.

There are instances on record of these birds having bred in
a large garden aviary, and some females are of so benevolent
a disposition that they readily adopt and bring up the young
of other birds that are placed with them, as if they were
their own. And ‘‘this instinct”, says Buffon, “appears very
early, even before that which disposes them to become mothers.
In the month of May a young Lark was brought to me which
could not feed itself; I fed it, and it could hardly peck up,
when a brood of four young ones of the same species was
brought to me from another place. She exhibited a singular
affection for these new comers, which were not much younger
than herself; she nursed them night and day, warmed them

The Skylark. Al

under. her wings, and pushed the food into their mouths with
her beak; nothing could distract her from those interesting
duties. If she was removed from the young ones, she flew
back to them as soon as she was free, without ever thinking
of escaping, as she might have done a hundred times. Her
affection increased so much that she literally forgot to eat and
drink; and she lived only on the food which was given to
her as well as to her adopted young, and she died at length,
consumed by this sort of maternal passion. None of the young
survived her, they died one after the other, so necessary had
her maternal cares become to them.’ So ended as pretty a
little avian romance as I have ever heard of; though to my
mind it ought not to have had so tragic a termination, had
the persons who had the care of these unhappy little birds,
possessed an ordinary amount of feeling.

The charming song of the Lark consists of several strains,
trills and flourishes, with an occasional loud whistling. To
my taste it is quite too noisy for the house, where it never
sounds as well as when the little musician is poised on buoyant
wings high up in the air, and almost out of sight. It is very
susceptable of education, and will learn not only the notes of
any other bird near which it is placed when young, but tunes
played to it on a bird-organ or flageolet. When wild it sings
from the first fine days of Spring to July, when the cares
of its family demand its whole time and attention; but in
the house, if properly fed and cared for, it will sing on
nearly all the year.

Larks in confinement often suffer from bad feet; which is
as much owing to their inability to wash them as to anything
else; for when wild they keep them in order by continually
running among wet grass. The owner should therefore imi-
tate Nature for their benefit as nearly as possible, and place
a good sod of wet long grass every other day in their cage,
and he will be rewarded for his thoughtful attention by wit-
nessing the pleasure conferred on the little captive, who stamps

42 Birds I Have Kept.

with delight on the soft herbage, expressing the while his
joy by his exquisite strains. Unless a Lark has sand, or road-
sweepings to dust itself in, it is very apt to become infested
with a kind of lice, that torment the poor birds so sadly,
that they pluck out their feathers, making themselves nearly
bare; in which state, of course, it is preposterous to expect
that they will sing.

The best remedy for all the disorders of these birds, is to
see that they are supplied with good food, and if well at-
tended to they will live for a long time; instances being on
record of their having survived for thirty years in the house.

CHAPTER XI.

THE ROBIN REDBRBEAST.

HIS delightful little bird, to which so many charming

nursery legends belong, is, as he deserves to be, a uni-
versal favourite, and in this country, until very recent years,
it would have been considered almost a sacrilege to keep him
in a cage. Autre temps, autres meurs, however; he has now
become a recognised ‘‘Cage-bird” in England, as he has long
been on the continent, where he is also looked upon as a
legitimate object for Ja chasse, and is not unfrequently served
up as an article of food upon the table, upon which, with
us, he would only make his appearance to pick up the
crumbs.

The Robin Redbreast, Jfotacilla rubecula of Linneus, le
Rouge gorge of the French, and das Rothkelchen of the Germans,
is a bold and fearless bird in winter, when it approaches and
often enters the abode of man; where, in England at least,
it was until lately sure of a hearty welcome, and free to
come and go at pleasure. It measures five and three quarter
inches in length, two and a quarter of which belong to the

~ Min saeeense
SY i

ie

THE ROBIN REDBREAST.

The Robin Redbreast. 43

tail. The forehead, cheeks, and breast are orange red, and
the upper part of the body, and the tail and wings are dingy
olive green. .

The female is smaller, has less of the orange colour on her
forehead, and has a paler breast: her legs are a purplish
brown, while those of her mate are darker in colour. Unless
when very’old she also lacks the yellow spot on the wing
coverts, which is so conspicuous in the male.

The young, when first hatched, are covered with yellow
down, then they become grey, and their breast feathers are
fringed with dusky yellow, which gives them a mottled ap-
pearance, as unlike that of their parents as possible; nor do
they assume the adult plumage until the second moult.

Charmingly familiar in winter, the Robin is excessively
shy in summer, when the male retires with his partner to
the most solitary and out-of-the-way place he can find, to
rear his little family. The nest, inartistically built of leaves
and moss, lined with hair and a few small feathers, is va-
riously placed; sometimes on the ground amongst brambles,
against the trunk of a tree, in a hole in a wall,-or some
natural crevice in a rock, and occasionally in the most unlikely
places, such as an old watering-can, or a flower-pot on a shelf
in a garden outhouse, or the thatch of a barn or cottage: and
one instance has come under my observation of a pair of these
birds having made their nest on the curtain-pole, among the
curtains in a lady’s bedroom, the window of which was con-
siderately left partly open night and day, to enable them to
cater for the young brood, which they successfully reared in
this novel situation. The old birds never seemed to take the
least notice of the inmates of the house, or of the visitors
who were introduced for the purpose of seeing the strange
sight, but would fearlessly alight on the table or the floor to
pick up such crumbs and other food as were placed there on
purpose for them, and with which they fed the nestlings as
freely as if no eyes but their own beheld them.

44, Birds I Have Kept.

Robins usually have two broods of young ones during the
season, laying from five to seven eggs of a yellowish white
colour, speckled with spots and lines of a brick red at the
larger end. The young are hatched in about fourteen days,
and are fed entirely on insects, grubs and caterpillars
chiefly.

When wild these birds eat every kind of insect they can
lay hold of, as well as earthworms, of which they devour
vast numbers; a Robin thinking nothing of swallowing a great
worm as long as himself, or longer. In autumn the Robin
eats berries, and is especially fond of white currants, while
in winter he will satisfy his hunger on any scraps he can
find. In the house he will thrive on bread-crumbs, grated
carrot, yolk of egg, and sponge-cake, all mixed up together
lightly, but not wetted, as the grated carrot imparts sufficient
moisture to the mass, which should be prepared fresh every
morning: it is also advisable to add a few insects daily,
mealworms, small garden worms, blackbeetles or gentles. Some
writers recommend that crushed hempseed should form a con-
siderable part of the Robin’s food, which I think is a mistake;
for the little particles of shell which it is impossible to separate
from the bruised seed are very indigestible, and cause much
suffering to those soft-billed birds that are compelled to swallow
them. The Robin is fond of bathing, so fond, that I once
caught one that had so thoroughly wetted itself that it could
not fly away.

In my dear old Brittany home Robins were very numerous,
and we usually offered an asylum during the winter to one
of these birds, which would never permit another of the same
species to share its retreat, so that the rest of the little com-
pany had to be fed out of doors. I once saw a Robin in
the refreshment-room of a country railway-station, perched on
a champagne bottle on the topmost shelf behind the bar;
whence, as soon as the coast was clear, he descended to pick
up the crumbs left upon the counter, returning, as soon as

The Robin Redbreast. 45

he had satisfied his appetite, to his coign of vantage, whence

he gaily warbled a cheerful little song of thanksgiving.
- hat was the second winter, the attendant said, that he
had favoured them with his company. How did she know
that it was the same bird? Oh! readily: the first time he
came in he seemed quite at a loss where to settle down,
flying hither and thither as if in search of a secure resting
place; but when he came for the second season, he had dis-
appeared in the spring, he perched directly on that very
bottle, which he had finally selected as his perch, and sang
as if he was glad to be at home again. Did any other Robins
ever try to come in? Yes, lots of them, but Bobbie drove
them all away, evidently thinking that possession was not
only nine points but all ‘the law.

Yes, the Robin is by no means an amiable, or a sociable
bird, but fights so fiercely with his rival, as to become insen-
sible to danger, not seldom falling a prey to marauding cats
while engaged in battle with his foe. I once captured two
of these birds, that were so intent upon the settlement of
their dispute, that they never noticed me, until I had taken
them both in my hand; and so deep was their hatred of each
other, that they actually renewed the contest in the cage to
which I had transferred them, but where I did not keep
them long, as I loosed, first one, and then the other; when
let out, they made it up, and became good friends again.

It is impossible to keep two of these birds in the same
aviary, or indeed with any birds weaker than themselves, for
they are exceedingly tyrannical and quarrelsome, fighting
bitterly even with the females of the same species, except
during the breeding season, when no bird could be a more
devoted husband than Robin.

The song of the Robin Redbreast is very pleasing and agree-
able, the more so that it is most frequently heard when other
songsters are silent. .

This bird requires a good deal of attention in the matter

46 Birds I Have Kept.

of diet to keep it in good health in the house all the year
round: otherwise it soon becomes afflicted with diarrhea or
atrophy, often with both these complaints together, and when
such is the case, the best thing to do is to restore the bird
to liberty, when natural diet and fresh air will bring him
round if not too far gone. A Robin will sometimes cast up
a number of little pellets, consisting of morsels of food, this.
is a sign of indigestion, and indicates that the food must be
changed, if the bird is to live much longer.

The best way to keep a Robin Redbreast, is to let him have
the run of the house during the winter, he will often volun-
tarily establish himself in the kitchen or parlour, if not fright-
ened on his first entrance by attempts -to catch him, which he,
not unnaturally, resents, for they look like, and might be for
anything he knows to the contrary, designs upon his life.
No, let him alone, and he will soon become familiar, eating
at the table with the rest of the family, and sleeping snugly
at the top of the window curtains: should he fly away in
spring, he will return, if alive, as soon as the cold weather
sets in, and enliven the fireside with his pretty little song
during the long dark winter evenings.

CHAPTER XII.

THE WRYNECK.

HE charming but not very well known species that forms

the subject of the present chapter, is about one of the
nicest birds I know to make a pet of. A year or two before
’ I left da Bretagne, our gardener, an old soldier by the way,
and the successor of Marie Baudoin, whom my mother had
taken into the house as indoor servant, brought me a strange
looking little bird, which he had picked up on the road one
morning on his way to work.

The Wryneck. AT

It was about half grown, and had probably dropped out of
its nest and crawled away some distance from it: its plumage
was grey, or rather ash-coloured, spotted with rusty red and
white: it had moreover a decided crest, a yellow mouth, and
a very long tongue. At first I was-quite puzzled to make
outewhat kind of bird it could be, nor could Mendel, the
gardener, enlighten me: he had never seen one like it before.
Well, I turned over the pages of Cuvier, Bechstein, and an
odd volume of natural history, of which the title-page had
long disapeared, and at last identified the stranger as the
Yunx torquilla of Linneeus, Je Zorcol of the French, and der
germeiner Wendehals of the German author above mentioned.

Iwas a good deal from home at that time, attending some
classes, and preparing for an examination, so the bird was
handed over to Marguérite, our old cook, who was as great
an enthusiast in the matter of birds as I was myself. I had
attempted to feed the young thing with milk and blénoir,
egg and bread-crumbs, but in vain, for it would not open
its mouth, and I was obliged to leave it, scarcely expecting
to find it alive on my return, as it was puffed out, kept its
eyes shut, and was evidently very weak.

I thought a good deal about my bird during the day, and
fear that M.le Professeur Bazin must have found me an in-
attentive listener to his learned exposition of a Greek Play,
or some such important matter, for I could not recollect one
word of the lesson afterwards.

“Eh bien?” I enquired on reaching home, ‘‘eé J’ otseau?”

“Getting on beautifully”, replied the old woman, ‘dd a
une grande antipathie pour les mouches.”

“Tens !”’ I exclaimed, ‘‘I should have imagined he would
have liked them.” I had thought the matter over while I
should have been attending to the Professor, and had come
to the conclusion that my bird would require insect diet.

“Au contraire”, replied Marguérite, ‘‘he will not eat any-
thing else.”

48 Birds I Have Kept.

On flies we reared him, or rather old Marguérite did, to
maturity, when he also condescended, now and then, to eat
a little scraped raw meat. He was never kept in a cage,
but usually took up his stand on the top.of the kitchen
dresser, darting down, every now and then, to pick up with
his long tongue the flies that, for his especial benefit, were
enticed to settle on the table by a well-sugared bait.

He was perfectly tame, never attempting to escape when
the window was open, and taking flies and scraps of raw
beef from our fingers. He frequently sat upon his old nurse’s
shoulders, singing his little song, and twisting his head about
in all manner of queer attitudes, while she went about her
work. Poor, poor fellow! never bird, I think, had a sadder
fate than his. Careering round the kitchen one day, in pursuit
of flies, he unhappily dashed himself into the dripping pan
that was full of scalding fat, and was so terribly injured,
that in a few seconds he expired. I am not ashamed to say
that I cried heartily over the disfigured remains of the poor
bird; while good old Marguérite was so inconsolable that I
had to bring her home a nest of young Blackcaps I had not
intended disturbing, thinking that to give her some fresh object
upon which to bestow her affections and care, would be the
best way to console her for the loss of our favourite.

I have never had an opportunity of keeping a second bird
of this species, but if they are all, as I gather they are
from the accounts given of them by various writers, like
the individual whose brief history I have just related, few
birds can be more desirable as pets.

The Wryneck is a bird of passage, and not very common
in England, where the country people in ‘some places call it
the Cuckoo’s Mate. It arrives among us in April, and leaves
us again in September. In its wild state it subsists entirely
on insect food, particularly ants and flies, to which it is
very partial: its long cylindrical tongue, covered with adhesive
saliva, standing it in good stead for capturing these pests.

The Wryneck. 49

Bechstein avers that it will eat berries, but this I greatly
doubt, not having seen the statement confirmed by other and
more recent writers. Mr. Swaysland recommends that in the
house it should be fed on scraped beef and egg, soaked bread
and hemp seed; to which latter recommendation I demur, for
the reasons already given in the chapter on the Redbreast;
namely, that the shell, which it is impossible altogether to
separate from the kernel, is very indigestible, and unfit for
insectivorous birds, whose stomach and intestines it soon de-
ranges, giving rise to dyspepsia and its crowd of attendant
evils. Mr. Swaysland continues, ‘‘it should also be given ants’
eggs, mealworms, gentles, beetles, or other insects, either
separately, or mixed with its other food.”

The Wryneck is considered to be a member of the Wood-
pecker family, and like those birds climbs very nimbly up
the trunks of trees, probing every little crevice in the bark
with its long tongue, in search of insects. The arrangement
of the Wryneck’s toes is similar to that which obtains in the
Parrot and Woodpecker families; namely, two of them are
turned to the front and two behind.

The nest is made in a hollow branch, or trunk of a tree;
‘the eggs are white, and seven or eight in number, and the
young are reared on insects. All the writers I have seen
who treat of these birds, assert that if taken from the nest
while young, and fed on insects and scraped meat, they soon
become very familiar. M. de Schauroth had two of these
birds which learned to fly out into the garden and return
when called by their master, to whom they seemed to be
very much attached.

The plumage of the Wryneck is very pretty, and its move-
ments and antics very amusing; to which qualifications as a
home pet, if we add its tameness, it will be seen that few
birds are more desirable in the house, especially in the country,
where there would not be nearly as much difficulty in pro-
viding it with suitable food, as in a town.

E

50 Birds I Have Kept.

If dieted on indigestible food, the Wryneck will not long
survive; but if fed on suitable, that is to say natural food,
it will live for several years, endearing itself to every one
that comes in contact with it, by its numerous good qualities.

It requires to be warmly housed during the winter months,
which it passes, when wild, in a far more genial climate than

ours.

CHAPTER. XIII.

THE BLACKCAP.

LORIAN, in one of the most charming of his delightful

fables, narrates how the birds once met in conclave to
decide upon the relative merits of the Blackcap and Nightin-
gale, and their respective right to be considered queen, or
rather king of song. ‘‘The judges,” he proceeds to tells us,
“‘were the Linnet, the Canary, the Robin Redbreast, and the
Greenfinch: two old Goldfinches and two young Chaffinches
were appointed to keep order in the lists; and the Blackbird
with his sonorous notes was herald: he gave the signal for
the contest to begin, and straightway the Blackcap began her
sweetest strains: with consummate art she modulated the varied
inflections of her soul-entrancing harmony, and ravished all
hearts by the beauty of her song. The assembly applauded,
and silence having been again obtained, the Nightingale com-
menced,..... though her music filled the hearers with wonder
and delight, the judges found themselves unable to decide:
the Linnet and the Greenfinch, friends of the Blackcap, refused
to give their opinion, nor could the others any more agree,
but all at once an unlucky Jay decided the matter by calling
out, ‘Well done, Blackcap!’ when the whole feathered Areopagus
with one voice immediately pronounced for the Nightingale.
Thus the commendation of a fool does frequently more harm
than his rebuke.”

The Blackcap. 51

I am not quite sure, however, that I should have voted
with the majority on the interesting occasion alluded to by
the poet, or that I should have permitted the untutored ap-
probation of a boor to influence my judgment in a contrary
direction. It is true, I have never attempted to keep a
Nightingale, while I have had dozens of Blackcaps in my
possession at various times, and regard the latter birds with
the greatest favour, for I have found them easy to be reared,
comparatively hardy when properly treated, teachable to an
almost unlimited extent, singing frequently by night, as well
as by day, and living for a number of years in the house
in possession of perfect health; while it is, I believe, agreed
upon at all hands that the Nightingale is delicate and difficult
to keep, whether reared from the nest, or captured when
full grown; a recent writer in a popular magazine having
gone so far as to say that nine out every ten Nightingales,
trapped in the spring or autumn, or taken from the nest, died
within a week of their capture. Now if that statement is
correct, and I have never seen it denied, the Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals should see to it.

The first Blackcaps I ever reared were two females that
were hatched in a barberry bush in our garden, and jumped
out of their nest before they could fly, terrified by the sudden
intrusion upon their privacy of my baby brother, who meant
them no harm, but the poor little mites did not know that,
and a few hours after I found two of them dead on the grass
some little distance away from their birth-place, and the other
two in articulo mortis, for it seems the old ones had not
found them, or the poor little things were too much frightened
to open their mouths to be fed: however I carried these sur-
vivors home, and brought them up on blénoir flour and milk,
flies and ants’ eggs, and, as I have already stated, they turned
out to be hens: nevertheless they sang very prettily, and in
the following spring made nests in their cage, and laid several
eggs, which of course came to nothing. I have since then

52 Birds I Have Kept.

frequently tried to get these birds to breed in an aviary, but
have not succeeded, though one pair which was in my pos-
session for a considerable time, appeared to be in as good feather
and condition as if they had enjoyed full liberty in the ad-
joining wood.

I have heard one of these birds, belonging to an acquaint-
ance, whistle the air of the patriotic song, ‘‘Mourir pour la
patrie, ete.,” right through; while another, owned by the same
lady, had learned to repeat a few words: ‘‘cher petit”, and
some others which I now forget: accomplishments to which
I have never heard of a Nightingale attaining.

The Blackcap, Sylvia atricapilla, or Motacilla atricapilla of
scientific writers, Ja Fauvette of the French, and die schwars-
kopfige Grasmiicke of the Germans, is a small bird, about five
and a half inches in length, of which the tail measures more
than two: the brownish blue beak is five lines long, with
the edges of the lower mandible and the interior yellowish
white; the eye is reddish brown, and the feet and legs slate-
colour. The top of the head is a beautiful velvety black, the
cheeks and neck are a pale ash hue, and the upper parts of
the body, and the wing coverts olive grey; the under parts
are light grey, changing to white on the breast and belly:
the under wing and tail coverts are white, and the flight
feathers and tail dark brown edged with olive grey.

The female somewhat resembles the male, but is a little
paler in colour, and has her cap of a reddish brown, which
gives her so different an appearance, that some writers have
described her as a distinct variety, or even as a_ separate
species.

‘The silky plumage of these birds is so frail and delicate
that they require a large cage and very great care to keep
them from disfiguring their wings and tail.

The Blackcap is found throughout Europe, frequenting gardens
as well.as woods and orchards. I have known instances of
its building within a few feet of the windows of a common

The Blackeap. 58

sitting-room, and bringing up its young in that exposed
situation.

The Blackcap is a bird of passage, arriving in this country
in April, and taking its departure for a warmer climate in
September. It is one of the marvels of Nature how so delicate
a creature should be able to travel such vast distances over
land and sea, as we know the Blackcap to accomplish: for
its winter quarters are in Northern Africa, numbers of the
species retiring to Madeira, where many of them remain all
the year round. Caged specimens of the Blackcap are apt,
in the migratory season, to become exceedingly restless at
night, causing thereby much commotion among the other birds
in the aviary: hence it is advisable to keep them separate
until they have quieted down again, which they generally do
in ten days or a fortnight.

‘When wild the Blackcap feeds on insects of all kinds,
especially small caterpillars of the “looper” kind; but in autumn
it will eat berries, such as currants, elderberries, and so on,
and is particularly fond of a soft ripe pear. In the house
it must be fed on bread-crumbs or sponge-cake, grated carrot,
raw meat scraped, yolk of egg, and ants’ eggs, adding such
insects daily as are procurable. It is rather a large eater for
its size, voiding in proportion; so that it becomes necessary
to clean out the cage every day; and it is a good plan to
cover its perches with baize.

This bird is exceedingly fond of bathing, and should be
supplied with a bath, tepid in winter, suspended for a few
minutes every morning at the door of its cage. The latter
should have a piece of cotton or baize stretched below the
top, as recommended for the Lark, so that in rising to sing,
or when under the influence of the migratory impulse, it may
not hurt its head, as it would do by bumping it against hard
wood, or harder wire. oO

Specimens caught in the autumn can generally be reconciled
to captivity by means of an abundant supply of mealworms,

54 Birds I Have Kept.

for which these birds have a decided weakness; but they
become much more familiar if taken from the nest, which it
is absolutely necessary to do, if it be desired to teach them
an air, or any other accomplishment. The female also sings,
but her song is weaker, and not so well sustained as that
of the male.

The Blackcap has one, sometimes two broods in the season,
and lays four or five, rarely six, eggs of a yellowish white,
mottled with yellow, and thickly spotted with brown. The
nest is well and substantially built of grass, in a low bush
generally, and is lined with hair. The young are fed chiefly
on small caterpillars, and can be easily enough reared in the
house on scraped meat and ants’ eggs, or even bread and milk.
They resemble their mother until after their first moult, and
should not be taken until they are just ready to fly; when
it is a good plan to place them with their nest in a cage
suspended in a tree, near the spot where they were born,
and the old ones will continue to feed them, until they are
able to cater for themselves.

As Bechstein remarks, ‘‘it is perhaps a sufficient eulogium
to say that this bird rivals the Nightingale, and many persons
even give it the preference. If it has less volume, strength, and
expression, it is more pure, easy, and flute-like in its tones,
and its song is more varied, smooth, and delicate. It sings
also for a much longer period, both when wild and when in
confinement; its song being scarcely suspended through the
year, by day, and prolonged, like that of the Nightingale,
far into the night, though begun at dawn.”

Desirable as it is in many respects as an inmate of the
cage and aviary, no one but a person gifted with much patience,
‘ and a great love of birds, should attempt to keep a Blackeap
in this cold climate of ours: all soft-billed birds are more or
less trouble to keep, and the Blackcap more than all the rest,
except perhaps the Nightingale. Feed him, however, as I
have recommended, and keep him clean and warm, and he ,

The Whitethroat. 55

will do very well, and reward his owner for all the care and
attention bestowed upon him.

Unsuitable food, foremost among which is hemp seed, crushed
or whole, will soon bring on decline; in which case the poor
bird will not unfrequently fail and die with astonishing ra-
pidity. With care, however, as I have already observed, the
_Blackcap may be kept in the house for a number of years;
in Madeira it is almost the only bird so kept; but if not
well attended to and fed, and guarded from cold, it will not
survive its capture many months.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE WHITETHROAT.

HIS pretty and delicate little bird was one of the com-

monest residents in our old garden en Bretagne, where
it rivalled the Sparrows in familiarity, and the Blackcap, not
to mention the Nightingales that inhabited the beech copse at
the end of our domain, in song.

Properly speaking, I ought not to include this bird in the
present volume, for I cannot say that I have ever actually
kept it. I have tried to do so more than once, but without
success, and, at last, my mother peremptorily forbid me touching
its nest any more; a prohibition which my ill-luck, on several
occasions, inclined me the more readily to respect: for the
Whitethroat is a much more delicate bird that its black bonneted
relative, and even, I have been assured, than the Nightingale,
which was held sacred in the grounds of the chdteau, if not
outside our walls.

The Whitethroat, Sylvia hortensis of Linnzus, la Fauvette
grise of the French, and die graiie Grasmucke of German
writers, is a bird of passage, arriving earlier, and departing
later than the Blackcap. Like that bird it feeds on insects,

56 Birds I Have Kept.

and in the autumn will eat fruit, being particularly fond of
cherries and peaches, occasionally devouring, at one sitting, a
small-sized specimen of the latter fruit to the stone.

This bird is about the same size as the Blackcap, if anything
a trifle smaller; the upper part of its body is reddish grey,
shaded with brownish olive; the under parts are light grey,
and the belly white. ‘The female differs from the male in
being, generally, of a lighter colour. It is found all over
Europe, and is essentially a garden bird. The nest is usually
placed rather higher up in the bush it has selected for its
abode than is that of its relation the Blackcap, and is built of
grass stems, but very slenderly, and lined with hair. I remember
once seeing one that was begun in the morning with an egg
in it at night; said egg being quite visible from below through
the flimsy structure in which it was placed.

The young are even more timid than those of the preceding
species, and jump out of their nest the moment any one ap-
proaches it, long before they are fledged. The eggs are four
or five in number, spotted with grey and brown on a white
ground, but are not nearly as dark as those of the Blackcap, ;
which they resemble in shape.

The Whitethroat is a very pretty and active bird, very
lively, and singing incessantly, sometimes on the wingy some-
times when perched on the topmost bough of the bush in which
its mate is sitting patiently upon her eggs. Its song is one
of the first that is heard in the morning, and the last at
night; however, it is not so sustained as that of the Blackcap,
nor perhaps so sweet, as some harsh notes are invariably
introduced, not unlike the hoarse purring of a cat that is
labouring under a cold and sore throat.

As might be guessed from its exploits in the matter of
peaches, the Whitethroat is a great eater, and in confinement,
as often as not, dies from gorging itself: not that I ever got
even to that stage of keeping, for I only tried to rear the
nestlings, and failed in that, as I have said. However such,

‘HONIAGTOD WHHL
By

The Goldfinch. 57

is the character given it by Bechstein, who says that it will
not live more than two or three years in the house.

On the other hand, Mr. Swaysland says, “It will thrive in
an aviary”: if so, I imagine that its abode should be warmed
during the winter, and that it would require to be fed on
insects and fruit, and when the latter failed, grocers’ currants
soaked in warm water, and chopped figs might be substituted:
but no one should attempt to keep a bird which all writers
on the subject unite in describing as very delicate, unless he
or she is gifted with the most exemplary patience, and has
an abundance of leisure time to boot.

CHAPTER XV.
THE GOLDFINCH.

HIS universal favourite, now becoming rather scarce in
England, was but very rarely seen by me in the days
of “auld lang syne” in Brittany, where, on one or two
occasions it built in a large arbutus tree exactly opposite, and
at no great distance from, our drawing-room window: but
owing to some mischance or other never brought up a brood.
My father, however, bought several males, at different times,
at a bird-shop in the town, with a view to breeding mules
between them and our Canaries, but without succeeding in his
design: and once, during a fall of snow, or rather after the
fall, and while the ground was deeply covered with snow, I
caught one under a sieve, along with some Sparrows and
Yellow-hammers, and kept it for some time, when it acci-
dentally got one of its legs broken, and though my father set
the limb, the poor thing never did much good afterwards.
I must confess that I never cared a great deal about these
birds, nor very much admired them; certainly not to the extent
that Buffon did, who says, ‘“‘Beauty of plumage, softness of

58 Birds I Have Kept.

voice, quickness of instinct, remarkable cleverness, proved
docility, tender affection, are all united in this delightful little
bird; and if it were rare, or if it came from a foreign country,
it would then be valued as it deserves.” However, it is fast
fulfilling one of the conditions which the great naturalist con-
sidered necessary to its being appreciated, it is becoming rare.

The Goldfinch is rather a small bird, measuring five and
three quarter inches in length, two of which belong to the
tail. The beak is five lines long, very pointed, rather flattened
at the sides, and of a whitish colour, with a brownish tip.
The front of the head and a border round the beak are a
fine reddish crimson; the back, shoulders, and sides of the
neck are a rich brown; immediately round the beak is a narrow
circle of black, which is also the colour of the wings and ‘tail;
the centre of the wings is marked by a patch of golden
yellow, and the flight and tail feathers are tipped with white.

The female is a trifle smaller, and is less brilliantly coloured
than the male. Before moulting the young have grey heads,
and are then known to dealers and bird-catchers as ‘‘grey-
pates,” of which thousands are annually caught soon after
leaving the nest, often before they can feed themselves, with,
as might be expected, the result that nine of these helpless
little creatures die in a few days, out of every ten that are
caught.

Few birds of the same species, not even excepting the
Bullfinch, vary as much as the Goldfinch does in size and
colour: differences, however, which are not in themselves
sufficient to constitute the birds so differing into separate
species; for the large Goldfinch, and the small, the brilliantly
coloured, and the dingy, the white-legged and the dark, and
the chevril (one with a white streak from the base of the
lower mandible down the breast) are all Goldfinches; just as
a man of four foot and a half, and one of six foot four-inches,
and a dark and a fair man, are all men. Again, the dis-
tinction into “‘races,” one of which is supposed to emigrate,

The Goldfinch. 59

while the other remains with us all the year round, has little
foundation in fact, and is not much more rational than that
of ‘‘orchard” and ‘‘fir” Goldfinches insisted upon by some
continental writers, while the “harbour” or “arbour” birds
are much the same as the rest. :

Difference in size is accounted for by the fact that the
young which are first hatched are stronger and larger than
their juniors in the same nest, and often carry off the food
intended for the latter: again if there are two or three young
in a nest it stands to reason that they fare better, and con-
sequently grow larger than another brood of which there are
five or six little ones: that this is the case I have proved
with Canaries, having procured some unusually fine large birds,
by leaving one only of a brood to be reared by the parents,
when it monopolised the attentions that would have been
divided among four, and throve and grew accordingly.

When wild the Goldfinch is found all over the temperate
regions of Europe; those that live in the south being larger
and more brightly coloured than those which inhabit the
north: thus the continental Goldfinches are larger and hand-
somer than our English birds, which again are superior to
those found in Ireland, and these to the Scotch Goldfinches.
Though a shy and restless bird, the Goldfinch is not migratory
in its habits, and merely moves from place to place in search
of food, never proceeding to any great distance, certainly
never crossing the sea, as has been erroneously stated.

When wild the Goldfinch, Fringilla carduelis of Linneus,
le Chardonneret of Buffon, and der Distelfink of Bechstein,
feeds on a variety of seeds, such as those of the thistle, dif-
ferent kinds of grass, groundsel, dandelion, plantain, and
others: and in the house it will thrive better if supplied
with the same food: in time, however, it can be weaned from
‘this diet, and will do very well on canary, millet, and a
little hemp seed, and summer rape. Once it has become ac-
customed to the latter regimen, it will live for a very long

60 Birds I Have Kept.

time in a cage: one of these birds that belonged to a relative
of mine was known to be twenty years old when it passed
into my possession, and I kept it for four years longer; nor
was it until a few months before its death, in the twenty-
fourth or fifth year of its age, that its powers began to fail;
then it began to scatter its food, and could not shell the
seed provided for it, appearing to lack the necessary strength,
so the seed was regularly soaked for it over night, and it
was also given bread and milk sop, upon which it subsisted
for a time, together with a morsel of sponge-cake, continuing
to sing up, almost to the very last.

Green food is indispensable to keep these birds in health,
let some people say what they will to the contrary, but of
course it must be administered judiciously, fresh and in small
quantities until the birds have become re-accustomed to it.

The Goldfinch generally builds in orchards, and occasionally
in gardens, as I have already stated. I once saw a nest of
these birds in the top of a clump of mimosa in the Melbourne
Botanical Gardens, but cannot say whether the young were
successfully reared; though as the Sparrow has become accli-
matised at our Antipodes, as well as the Lark, it is not
improbable that there are now Australian Goldfinches too.
It makes the nicest nest, after the Chaffinch, of any of our
English birds, selecting the very topmost branches of the tree
for the purpose. The foundation of the little structure is
moss, and fibres, it is covered outwardly with grey lichens
and cobwebs, and lined with wool, hair, and the pappus of
various seeds; the eggs are from four to six, and bear a
general resemblance to those of the Canary, being spotted,
especially at the larger end, with rusty red and brownish
black on a bluish green ground.

If intended to be reared by hand, which is much better
than taking them when full grown, the young Goldfinches must
be removed when about ten days old, and fed on soaked stale
bread, soaked summer rape, and finely crushed and sifted

brie

The Goldfinch. 61

hemp seed, to which some fanciers add hard-boiled egg, an
addition that seems to me unnecessary, if not positively in-
jurious, seeing that the Goldfinch is a seed-eating bird, and
feeds its young from its own crop, and not on caterpillars,
as was erroneously asserted by Buffon. The eggs of the Gold-
finch may also be advantageously transferred to the care of
a pair of good feeding Canaries, who will hatch them, and
bring up the young, without a suspicion of the fraud that
has been practised upon them. Bechstein says that a Gold-
finch will also bring up young Canaries, but this, considering
the shyness of the wild Goldfinch, and the readiness with
which it forsakes its nest if tampered with, is, I think, at
least doubtful; at the same time if its young ones are placed
in their nest in a cage hung up in the tree where they were
hatched, the old ones will continue to feed them through
the bars, until they are able to provide for themselves, which
is, where practicable, the most satisfactory way of obtaining
these birds.

Goldfinches will breed in a garden aviary, or even in a
cage, with Canaries and other Finches, as well as among
themselves, and should they ever really seem about to become
extinct in a wild state, the race might thus be preserved in
a domesticated condition like the Canary.

Take him for all in all, the Goldfinch is a beautiful and
lively bird, constantly in motion, turning and twisting about
in a restless excitable manner that is almost bewildering to
the onlooker, for he is never at rest, but is a veritable
miniature Jem Crow. He sings, too, very agreeably, and
readily learns the notes of other birds, or even an air that
has been played to him on a bird-organ, or 4 flageolet, or
whistled to him by his owner. He is also capable of learning
a number of little tricks, such as drawing up his seed and
water, flying out and returning at command, etc.

In the house the Goldfinch suffers from a variety of com-
plaints, diarrhea and decline being the most dangerous and

4

62 Birds I Have Kept.

frequent; both are caused by errors in diet, and are easier
to prevent than to cure: but if fed as recommended, he will
live healthily as long as most birds, and a great deal longer
than some that are considered to be enduring. The Goldfinch
is occasionally subject to fits, which are the result of con-
stipation, from lack of green food, and a continued diet of
hard, dry, often musty, seed; the remedy is obvious, soaked
bread, watercress or lettuce, and soaked seed, treated properly
he is very healthy, and scarcely any trouble.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE YELLOW BUNTING.

HE Yellow Bunting, or Yellow-hammer, is a common,

but at the same time an exceedingly beautiful bird, that

is not often successfully kept, in consequence of the ignorance

of its custodians as to the treatment proper for preserving it,
not only in health, but in life.

It is about six and a half inches in length, of which the
forked tail measures three. There is considerable variation
of plumage among these birds, as the older they grow the
more showy does the dress of the male become. The head
of the adult male Yellow-hammer is a fine golden yellow,
marked with streaks of olive which get less in number every
year and finally disappear altogether when the bird is about
three years old, at which time he may be considered to have
attained his maximum of beauty. The upper part of the neck
is olive; the back is black, with markings of reddish grey;
the rump is red; the throat and the under part of the neck,
as well as the belly, are yellow, more or less golden according
to the age of the bird; the sides, and the tail coverts are
streaked with yellow and red.

The Yellow Bunting. 63

The female of this species is rather smaller than the male,
and the yellow of her plumage is so covered up with red
that it is scarcely seen. The young bear a general resem-
plance to their mother, but, even in the nest, the males have
a little yellow on the head.

Like all the rest of the Bunting family, the Yellow-hammer,
or ammer, Je Bruant of the French, der Goldammer of the
Germans, and Zmberiza citrinella of Linneus, lives, in its
wild state, almost entirely on insects, scarcely ever touching
seeds as long as it can find anything else; but in winter,
for it stays with us all the year round, it will eat anything
it comes across, even wheat and oats, and consequently during
a severe and inclement season it is as common a visitant of
the farm-yard as the Sparrow.

The young of these birds are brought up exclusively on
insects, chiefly caterpillars, of which vast numbers are con-
sumed every year during the breeding season, so that the
Yellow-hammers are very good friends indeed to the farmer,
who ought not, in consideration of the services thus rendered,
grudge them the few grains of corn they pilfer from his
stacks, when the severity of the weather renders it impossible
for them to find any of their favourite food.

In the house the Yellow-hammer will not endure for long
on an exclusively seed diet, which skould be varied by the
addition of yolk of hard-boiled egg, mealworms, ants’ eggs,
and any kind of insects that are procurable, and the seed
supplied is rendered more easy of digestion by being soaked
in cold water for some hours before being given to the little
prisoner; it is better, however, to keep it in a large garden
aviary than in a cage, for in addition to the fact that it will
thrive better in the former situation, it will frequently breed
there, and its quaint little song, resembling the words “A
little bit of bread and no cheese”, will be heard more fre-
quently and to much greater advantage in the aviary than
in the cage, where it will also more perfectly maintain the

64 Birds I Have Kept.

beauty of its coat, which is apt to grow dingy and brown in
the house.

The Yellow-hammer bathes freely, and should be afforded
the opportunity of doing so every day.

This bird generally has three broods in the year, laying
each time from three to five eggs of a dirty white colour,
marked with brown spots and zigzag lines resembling not a
little the angular handwriting lately so fashionable with ladies.
I have found the nest, with eggs in it, as late as the middle

of September, and as early as the first week in March, when

I lived in Brittany.

The young are by no means difficult to rear on bread and
milk, or blénoir, and ants’ eggs, lean meat scraped, and hard-
boiled yolk of egg. When thus brought up from the nest,
the young Yellow-hammers will learn to partially imitate the
songs of other birds, especially that of the Chaffinch.

Attempts have been made to pair these birds with Canaries,
but without success, so far as I am aware; with the American
Buntings, however, the Blue Bunting or Indigo Finch, and
the Painted Bunting or Nonpareil, the union ought not to be
so difficult, seeing the near relationship that exists between
all these birds, but it is not within my knowledge that the
experiment has been tried. Mules, however, have been obtained
between the Yellow-hammer and the Bramble Finch, which
are said to have proved fertile inter se: a statement, by the
way, in which I do not place much credence, and merely
give the story here for what it is worth, for it is a well
ascertained fact in Natural History that hybrids are incapable
of reproducing their kind, and the stories to the contrary,
which from time to time have found their way into print,
are altogether unsupported by evidence of any reliable kind,
the narrators reporting them on hearsay only.

Decline, or consumption, is the usual end of these birds in
the house, whether reared from the nest, or captured when
adult, and is caused by an insufficiently nutritious diet. The

«i

The House Sparrow. 65

fancier who desires to see these handsome birds in his aviary
in the full enjoyment of health, and in all the brilliance of
their feathering, must recollect that their natural diet, during
at least nine months of the year, is exclusively composed of
insects, and act accordingly; and he will then find that there
are not many more attractive birds than the Yellow-hammer.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE HOUSE SPARROW.

HIS really handsome bird is not often seen to advantage
in our gloomy and grimy metropolis, where he is among
the ‘“‘common objects” of the streets.

We used to make pies of him in France, and I believe
such is his occasional destination even here, where at all events
his opima spolia figure, in borrowed tints, on the hats and
bonnets of our wives and daughters, ‘‘our cousins, our sisters
and our aunts.”

The House Sparrow, Passer domesticus, le Moineau of the
French and der Haussperling of the Germans, is a stout thick-
set bird, five and three quarter inches in length, whose plumage
is of a dark, almost chesnut, shade of brown and ashen grey,
very prettily intermixed with black on the head, and yellowish
white on the wings; the beak, which is short and thick, is
of a bluish black colour, and the feet and legs are greyish
brown.

The female is greyish red on the upper part of the body,
spotted with black on the back: her breast and belly are
greyish white.

The young males at first resemble their mothers, but soon
develope the black marks on the face.

In London, except for a very brief period after moulting,
these birds are of a dingy greyish brown colour, and occa-

F

66 Birds I Have Kept.

sionally almost black. A white variety is sometimes met
with, and pied specimens are not particularly rare.

Although so bold and familiar a bird that in the crowded
street it will, when in search of food amongst the refuse,
allow a man to come within a foot or two of it before it
flies away, I have found the Sparrow practically untamable;
specimens that were taken from the nest, and kept in an
aviary among a number of perfectly tame birds, foreign and
British, remained as wild, at the end of two years, as they
were when first introduced. Other aviarists, however, have
succeeded in taming them, and praise them for their docility,
so I suppose there must have been a screw loose in my
management somewhere.

Buffon relates that a soldier owned one of these birds that
followed him wherever he went, and recognised him in the
midst of the regiment: and Bechstein writes, ‘‘The Sparrow
may be easily taught to go and come at command, by choosing
winter as the time to effect it. It is necessary first to keep
it a month near the window in a large cage supplied with the
best food, such as millet, meal or white bread soaked in milk.
It will even go there to deposit its eggs if a small box is
placed in the cage, with an opening for it to enter at. Finally,
no bird becomes more familiar, or testifies more attachment
to its master.”

I have frequently tried to bring Sparrows up by hand, but
invariably failed, and the only way I have succeeded in intro-
ducing them into my collection, has been by taking them
when fully fledged, putting them into a cage, hung out of a
window, where the old ones came and fed them, until they
were able to take care of themselves.

The song of the Sparrow is a monotonous, not to say dis-
agreeable, twittering; but if taken when young, and placed
in the company of other birds, it will pick up some of their
notes; for instance, a cock Sparrow I kept in a garden aviary
for a couple of years learned to imitate the warbling of the

The House Sparrow. 67

Budgerigar, so perfectly that it was difficult, unless you saw
the performer in the act of singing, to tell from which of
the two birds the notes proceeded.

Sparrows will eat anything, but the young are chiefly
brought up on insects, especially moths, of which a pair of
these birds will destroy a vast number during the summer;
that they do not entirely confine their broods to an insect
diet I am persuaded, for I have seen a hen Sparrow hop into
the Eagles’ aviary at the “Zoo”, when the royal birds were
feeding, and picking up the scraps left by the Eagles, fly
away with them to her nest in an adjoining tree, presumably
to feed her little ones. Those I kept were fed on seeds and
soaked bread, and never looked sick or sorry, though they
were wild and frightened to the last, when I opened the
door and they flew away, rejoicing doubtless at their recovered
liberty.

Sparrows will build in any convenient nook or cranny,
under the tiles or slates, in hollow trees, holes in a wall,
and among the upper branches of tall trees, and even occa-
sionally in bushes of no great altitude, such as lilac, red
thorn, ete. In our old Breton chateau, they made their nests
by the dozen in the grénier that ran the whole length of
the house, and which was lighted by means of panes of glass
inserted among, and instead of, the slates; and through one
of these panes, accidentally broken, they obtained admission
to the loft. Frequently, too, they build in chimneys, or in
the pipes that conduct the rain from the roof. Bechstein
asserts that they will breed in an aviary, or a room, which,
however, I have been unable to induce them to do—certainly
I never tried very much, which is, no doubt, the reason why
I failed.

He also says that a male Sparrow will pair and produce
mules with a hen Tree Sparrow, Passer montanus, ‘‘but a
male Tree Sparrow with a hen Sparrow does not succeed.”

In conclusion I do not think that I can recommend any-

68 Birds I Have Kept.

one to take the trouble to keep these birds; their attractive
qualities are about nd, in the aviary at all events; and if
they are possessed of any, it is when hopping about the streets,
but certainly not when swooping down in their hundreds
from the house-top to pilfer the chickens’ food.

The Sparrow has been recently introduced into Australia,
New Zealand, and the United States, and has made himself
so perfectly at home there, that he is now looked upon in
the light of a nuisance in them all.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE BLACKBIRD.

HE Blackbird was a common bird in Brittany, breeding
everywhere about the place, and singing from early dawn
to dewy eve; but I am obliged to say that he was not appre-
ciated, as perhaps he deserved to be, for his unintermitting
attention to our fruit and vegetable gardens made him some
enemies in our household; my father, to wit, who, enraged
by ‘“‘blacky’s” constant depredations, and especially by the
loss of some choice peaches which he was reserving, specially,
for a favoured visitor, set a price upon the poor bird’s head,
which, I regret to say, Marie Baudoin, and afterwards le
bonhomme Mendel, were only too ready to earn: so that I
cried over nest after nest of greenish blue eggs, thickly speckled
and streaked with blackish brown, which, by some, to me,
mysterious means were again and again spirited away, when
I believed that they were known to none but myself and
the parent birds.
The Blackbird, Zurdus merula in Latin, le Merle in French,
and der Schwarsdrossel in German, is a large bird, nine and a
half inches in length, of which the broad tail measures nearly

The Blackbird. 69

four. The beak of the male is of a bright orange colour, and
about an inch long; the eye is dark brown, and the eyelids
orange, all the plumage is of a rich velvety black.

The female is rather larger than her mate, of a brownish
black colour, redder on the breast and greyer on the belly;
her throat is slightly spotted with different shades of brown.

Albino specimens of this bird are not very uncommon, pied
still less so, and a cinnamon variety has also been met with.

Even in the nest the males are distinguishable from their
sisters by their darker plumage, but do not assume their adult
dress until the spring.

The Blackbird, like most of the Thrush family, is not a
migratory, but a stationary bird, much attached to the locality,
wood, copse, or garden where he was born; nothing but the
most dire distress in very severe weather causing him to for-
sake his native place, to which he invariably hastens back
as soon as the return of more genial weather permits him to
do so.

The Blackbird is usually kept in solitary confinement; but
a pair will occasionally, it is said, breed in a garden aviary.
I recollect seeing a female of this species very busy making
a nest in a box, hung up in the hope that she would use
it, in a large aviary in the Melbourne Botanical Gardens, but
her mate seemed quite indifferent to her proceedings. Whether
the same fate overtook him that is related of a similar un-
gallant husband of this species I cannot say; but it is said
that the lady, in the latter case, enraged by her spouse’s
conduct, fell upon him one day, and being the stronger of
the two, killed him outright.

There are usually three broods during the season, the female
laying from four to six eggs each time. The young are easily
reared on white bread or blénoir and milk, a little raw meat,
and any insects that can be obtained: the best time to take
them from the nest is when the quills are beginning to sprout;

70 Birds I Have Kept.

taught any tune or song; some of these birds have even
learned to speak a few words.

The natural song of the Blackbird is melodious enough, but
too loud for the house, though very pleasing when listened
to from a distance in the woods. Though naturally timid
and shy, the Blackbird is not difficult to tame, and may even
be taught to go and come at the word of command, if his
tuition in this respect is begun during the winter.

The nest is strong and well built of tough grass, roots and
moss plastered together with mud; the inside is lined with
fine hay, hair and wool. I have found it in all kinds of
places: in a hole in a wall, among the branches of a pear-
tree trained en espalier against the garden wall, in a vine,
in a heap of faggots, on the centre beam of a shed, and the
horizontal branch of a large oak that overhung a deep ravine,
as well as on a bank, and a ledge of rock in a quarry; in
a furze bush, and especially in thick clumps of ivy growing
against an old wall.

When wild, the Blackbird lives on insects, snails, worms,
fruit and berries, and is perhaps more of a friend than a foe
to the gardener. We generally netted our cherry and peach
trees, otherwise we should have had no fruit; as to peas, we
found the Blackbird as fond of them as the Jays were, which
is saying a good deal.

In the house the Blackbird is to be fed on bread and milk,
boiled vegetables, and ripe fruit, not forgetting a few insects
or snails when procurable. He drinks a good deal, and should
always have a bath provided for his use. Like the Thrush
he cracks the shell of the snails upon which he wishes to
make a meal against a stone, or the top of a wall; and like
the Starling and Robin Redbreast, he drives the worms up
out of the ground by stamping sharply with his foot close to
their burrows.

Though easily reared, the Blackbird is more delicate than
the rest of the family, and will frequently die of decline

The Blackbird. val

brought on by feeding him on insufficiently nutritious food:
with care, however, he will live from twelve to fifteen years
in a house, although Bechstein affirms that he will not endure
for more than five or six.

The Blackbird requires a large cage, and great attention
to cleanliness to keep his feet in good order, and to preserve
intact his beautiful plumage, which is apt to turn a dull
rusty black, if he is kept in a dark place and not allowed
to bathe, when he is also frequently troubled with enlarge-
ment and obstruction of the rump gland.

The remedies are obvious: for in this, as in so many other
cases, ‘‘prevention is better than cure.”

I venture here to quote Lord Tennyson’s beautiful lines on

THE BLACKBIRD.

O Blackbird! sing me something well:
While all the neighbours shoot thee round,
I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground,

Where thou may’st warble, eat, and dwell.

The espaliers and the standards all
Are thine; the range of lawn and park;
The unnetted black hearts ripen dark,
All thine, against the garden wall.

Yet, tho’ I spared thee all the spring,
Thy sole delight is, sitting still,
With that gold dagger of thy bill

To fret the summer jenneting.

A golden bill! the silver tongue,
‘ Cold February loved, is dry:
Plenty corrupts the melody
That made thee famous once, when young;

And in the sultry garden-squares,
Now thy flute notes are changed to coarse,
I hear thee not at all, or hoarse

As when a hawker hawks his wares.

Take warning! he that will not sing
While yon sun prospers in the blue,
Shall sing for want, ere leaves are new,

Caught in the frozen palms of Spring.

72

CHAPTER XIX.

THE THRUSH.

HE subject of the present chapter is the Thrush, par

excellence, though frequently called the Song Thrush, to
distinguish it from its less gifted brethern, the Missel Thrush,
Fieldfare, and Redwing. It was a much less frequent denizen
of the old Breton garden where I spent my early days than
its relative, whose biography I have sketched in the preceding
chapter; than which it is also a smaller bird, measuring but
eight inches in length, two and a half of which belong to
the tail. The beak of the Thrush is shorter than that of
the Blackbird, being but three quarters of an inch long; it
is of a dark horn colour, the lower mandible somewhat lighter
than the upper, and the inside of both is yellow. The eye
is brown, and the legs and feet dingy lead-blue. The plumage
on the upper part of the body is olive brown, the throat
yellowish white, with a black line on each side; the sides
of the neck and breast are reddish white, covered with a
number of heart-shaped brown spots, and the white belly is
similarly marked, but the spots are lighter in colour than
those on the breast.

The female is generally lighter in colour than the male,
and has smaller and rounder spots; but it takes a very ex-
perienced eye to detect these differences, especially when the
birds are seen apart from each other.

The young are more speckled, especially on the back, than
their parents.

The nest of the Thrush, Zurdus musica in Latin, la Grive
in French, and der Singdrossel in German, is usually built
on the branch of a tree, near water, and not very far from
the ground; but it also builds in ivy, and many other situ-

The Thrush. 73

ations, often the most unlikely, as for instance, the broken-
in hat of a “‘scarecrow” in a turnip-field. There are usually
three broods in the season, of from three to six young ones
each time, the first brood being ready to fly in April. The
eggs are greenish blue, speckled lightly with brown and
violet; but occasionally without a spot of any kind, and bearing
a strong resemblance in all but size to those of the Hedge
Accentor.

The young are easily reared on bread and milk, and may
be taken, as in the case of the Blackbird, as soon as the
quills are beginning to sprout, especially if it be desired to
teach them a tune. :

When wild the Thrush feeds chiefly on insects, but it also
has recourse to fruit and berries when its favourite food begins
to fail. In the house it will eat and thrive on almost any-
thing, even bran and water, with an occasional mealworm,
or blackbeetle: in fact it is almost impossible to starve a
Thrush, and yet thousands of these birds, as well as their
dark-plumaged relatives, the Blackbirds, die every winter, when
the snow has lain upon the ground for any length of time,
or a prolonged frost has cut off from them the ordinary sources
of food supply.

With common care a Thrush will live in a cage for fifteen
or twenty years, but its domicile must be roomy, and the
utmost attention to cleanliness is indispensable in order to
prevent its feathers from being broken and spoiled.

Bechstein, in writing of this bird, says, ‘‘The Song Thrush
is the great charm of our woods, which it enlivens by the
beauty of its song. The rival of the Nightingale, it announces
in varied accents the return of spring, and continues its de-
lightful notes during all the summer months, particularly at
morning and evening twilight: and it is to procure this grati-
fication in his dwelling that the bird-fancier rears it, and
deprives it of its liberty, and he thus enjoys the pleasures
of the woods in the midst of the city.”

74 Birds I Have Kept.

In Germany the Thrush is a bird of passage, departing in
October, and returning early in March; but in Britain he
remains all the year round, approaching our houses in the
winter, where he would soon become as familiar as the Robin
Redbreast, were it not for those implacable foes of all kinds
of birds, boys and cats.

When wild the Thrush sings from spring to autumn only,
but in the house will continue his flute-like notes all the
year round, except for a brief period while moulting.

As I have quoted the testimony of one poet in favour of
the Blackbird, I can scarcely do less for the Thrush.

TO A CAPTIVE THRUSH.

Speckled, mellow-throated Thrush,

While thy partner patient sets

On her blue eggs in the bush,

Forgetful thou of traps and nets

Pourest forth thy wondrous song,
All day long.

All day long thou pourest forth
Mellow notes in cadence rare;
Be the wind or south or north,
Thou carolest and dost not care,
Scarcely taking time to eat—
Sweet, O sweet.

Was it not a sin, a crime,

To capture and to pen thee in

A narrow cage for all thy time,

Lodge thee ’mid the city’s din,

Far from love and liberty,
Dear to thee?

Were I in thy place, I’d die;

Yes, I’d die before I’d sing

To a jailor; nay, not I,

I would eat the food they’d bring,

Just, my vocal friend, as thou
Eatest now.

The Thrush. 75

Life is dear to slave or free,

Life than liberty’s more dear;

Shall I then find fault with thee

For partaking of the cheer

That thy masters to thee bring?
No; I’d sing—

I’d sing, as thou art doing now,

Perhaps not qnite so merrily,

But as well as I know how,

For alas! I am not free.

Freedom ne’er shall I know more.
Ah! Lenore!

Ah! Lenore! thou fickle maid!
Thou my heart hast captive ta’en,
And prisoned it in utter shade,
Where it must for aye remain,
If thou wilt not set it free,

By loving me.

This bird has always been a favourite with the poets, and
if I were to collect all that they have written about him, I
should fill a good-sized volume: I cannot, however, refrain
from one more quotation, a sonnet by the village poet Clare.

THE THRUSH’S NEST.

Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush,

That overhung a mole-hill large and round,

I heard from morn to morn a merry Thrush

Sing hymns of rapture, while I drank the sound

With joy; and oft, an unintruding guest,

I watched her secret toils from day to day,

How true she wrapped the moss to form her nest,

And modelled it within with wool and clay.

And by and bye, like heath-bells gilt with dew,

There lay her shining eggs as bright as flowers,

Ink-spotted over, shells of green and blue;

And there I witnessed in the summer hours,

A brood of nature’s minstrels chirp and fly,

Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky.
CLARE.

76

CHAPTER XxX.

THE MAGPIE.

SUPPOSE there are few of my readers unacquainted with

the bold, not to say saucy, bird that forms the subject
of the present chapter; but if any are so unfortunate, let
them hasten, with what speed they may, to form his ac-
quaintance; and when they have done so, I think they will
agree with me, that a more charming, a more delightful, and
a more mischievous bird does not exist.

Clad in black and white, but such black and white! each
perfect in its way, the Magpie, Corvus pica (the Crow Pie)
in Latin, Ja Pie in French, and die Eister in German, is one
of the most conspicuous denizens of our woods and fields;
essentially a country bird, he is nevertheless extremely fond
of human society, but seldom comes near a town, opining
wisely, that the smoke and dirt incidental to such a situation
would soon mar the purity of his snow-white breast and
wing coverts; while the metallic lustre of his head, back and
tail would run a great risk of rapidly fading away.

The length of this bird is about eighteen inches, of which
the tail measures ten. It makes a nest of sticks plastered
together with mud, and domed over with thorns, reserving
two round apertures in the structure opposite each other for
entrance and exit; it is usually built in the tops of tall trees,
but I have seen the nest in a six-foot high bush, when no
better accommodation was to be had; it is lined with roots
and grass. The Magpie has generally two broods in the season,
laying each time from five to seven or eight bluish green
eggs spotted with grey and brown, but the more common
number is six, one of which I have invariably found to be
barren.

The Magpie. 77

When wild the Magpie feeds on insects of all kinds, snails,
small frogs, and, I regret to say, young birds, including young
Pheasants and Partridges, and even farm-yard chickens and
fruit, so that it is seldom at a loss for provender.

In the house it will eat anything that comes to table;
and if supplied with more food than it can directly consume,
it will hide the remainder away for another time.

Although by nature extremely suspicious and shy, the
Magpie is readily tamed, and can be taught to come and
go, perhaps, more easily than most other birds, nesting close
to the house of its protector, and seeking food for its young
ones at his table.

This bird is proverbially fond of small glittering objects,
such as rings, small silver spoons, etc.: and doubtless the
history of the Maid and the Magpie is familiar to most of
my readers; but if not, it is this. A maid-servant in a country
wayside inn, a pretty, and yet strange to say, friendless girl,
was suspected of having appropriated to her own use sundry
valuables belonging to her master and mistress: in vain she
protested her innocence, she was not believed, but was sent
for trial, convicted, and in due course, such was the barbarous
custom of the time, executed for the theft, protesting her
innocence with her last breath. A few days after this lament-
able tragedy had taken place, one of the customers of the
place dropped a small silver coin in the taproom, and was
astonished to see a pet Magpie-that was present, hop down
from its perch, pick up the coin, and fly off with it through
the window, before the owner could interfere. The bird
was seen to settle on the thatched roof of the inn, so a
ladder was procured, and a boy sent up to look for the coin,
which he found in a hole in the thatch, and along with it
the jewellery and silver, for stealing which the unfortunate
“maid” had been so recently done to death. Deep, of course,
was the regret, not to say remorse, of the host and hostess,
but that was of small avail to the unhappy girl, whose sad

78 Birds I Have Kept.

history is yet found recorded in the name of more than one
country inn.

The breeding time of the Magpie commences very early in
the spring, and Bishop Mant describes its mode and place of
building in the following lines:— ‘

“On turf-reared platform, intermixt,
With clay and cross-laid sticks betwixt,
*Mid hawthorn, fir, or elm-tree slung,
Is piled for the expected young,

A soft and neatly woven home;
Above of tangled thorns a dome,
Forms a sharp fence the nest about,
To keep all rash intruders out.

So, like a robber in his hold,

Or some marauding baron bold,

On coasted cliff in olden time,

They sit unblenched in state sublime,
And fortress intricately planned;

As if they felt that they whose hand
Is aimed at others, rightly deem

The hand of others aimed at them.
So there they dwell, man’s dwelling nigh,
But not in man’s society:
Arabian-like: and little share

His love, nor for his hatred care.”

I have often heard my father relate that when he was a
boy, it used to be the custom, in Ireland, to place a cock-
egg, that is to say a long narrow egg, of the game-fowl,
painted to resemble those of the Magpie, into a nest of these
birds; and, as the Magpie incubates a fortnight only, and the
fowl three weeks, the eggs of the unconscious foster-mother
were pricked with a fine needle to prevent them hatching, or
the fowl’s egg was introduced into the pie’s nest after its
own mother had sat upon it for a week: though the former
plan, he said, was the one he had always seen pursued. Of
course, when the young game-cock was hatched, it was re-
moved from the nest and brought up by hand indoors.

In reply to my query as to what good the cock was sup-

The Magpie. 79

posed to derive from its aerial hatching, my father said that
birds so brought into existence were popularly credited with
the possession of greater courage, and more indomitable spirit
than their brethren hatched in the ordinary way. ‘‘What if
the chicken turned out to be a hen?” I asked. ‘In that
case’’, returned my father, ‘‘there was nothing to be done
but wait until the following spring; but experienced cock-
fighters seldom made a mistake in their choice of the egg
that was to be hatched by the Magpie.”

These birds commit sad havoc among the cherries, as we
used to find to our cost at Launay, where, as I have already
said, two or three pairs, generally three, made their nests
every year: contenting themselves, however, with repairing
the old one when not blown down by the winter winds, or
removed by the hand of the gardener. And in this connection
I must mention what cannot fail to appear a very remarkable
circumstance, when one considers that the Magpie makes no
sort of scruple of dining off a nestful of young birds when he
can find one; namely, that a pair of Sparrows, sometimes two,
made a practice of building their nest just below that of the
Magpies that dwelt in our tall fir tree.

One summer, irritated beyond measure by their depredations
among the cherries, my father fired at and killed the mother
Magpie of the fir tree, shortly after her first brood was hatched:
the bereaved husband made such a to-do, and seemed so
thoroughly overcome by his grief, that “the Governor” had
not the heart to shoot him also, and really regretted that he
had deprived the poor fellow of his wife; after a while, how-
ever, Mr. Mag bethought him that his young progeny required
his attention, and recommenced his onslaught on our cherries
as boldly as if nothing had happened, flying to and from the
nest to the cherry trees a score of times, or more, in an
hour.

The strangest part of the tale, however, is to follow: the
next morning we were surprised to see two Magpies hard at

80 Birds I Have Kept.

work feeding the young ones in the fir tree. Had the deceased
come to life again? No, for her corpse was in the kitchen,
waiting to be skinned and stuffed. Had her ghost come back?
Not at all, there was nothing ghostly about the ‘‘caw” of
the new mother, as she thrust the cherries into the gaping
mouths of the youngsters. Perhaps, though, one of the other
Magpies, from the thorn, or from the cherry-laurel, had taken
pity on the poor widower, and was lending him a helping
hand. Not so, for they were all at their posts: the widower
had found another wife. ‘‘Where?” asked my mother, and
Echo answered, as her custom is, by repeating the. inquiry.
The stepmother reared the young brood successfully, and then
brought up a family of her own.

The tamed Magpie is very hardy, and will live for a number
of years, if he has his liberty, without forsaking those who
are kind to him: but a Magpie in a cage is a poor-looking
thing, bedraggled and dirty, and when hopping about with
his wing cut, he presents a more forlorn appearance still.
Monat: keep silver spoons and jewellery out of his reach.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE JACKDAW.

ONCE had a Jackdaw, but only for a very short time,
and, indeed, there is some doubt whether he was really
mine at all, so I cannot say a great deal about the bird,
except that it is even more easily and more perfectly tamed
than the Magpie; though far from being as handsome a bird,
it is a general favourite with schoolboys, learning to say a
few words, and to come and go at command.
Apropos of this bird I recollect reading somewhere a rather
curious story. Two boys determined to rob the nest of a
Jackdaw that had built upon some projection outside the highest

THE JACKDAW.

The Jackdaw. 81

part of a church tower, and in order to reach it, one of them
had to walk on a plank thrust out of the window, and sup-
ported by his companion inside.

The nest was reached, and the young birds, five in number,
were placed in the breast of the youthful adventurer, who
was about to return, when the other boy said that he must
have three of them. “No,” replied he on the plank; “I’ll
give you two.” “If you don’t give me three, I’ll drop you.”
“T shan’t.” Whereupon the young rascal actually let go the
plank, and the boy with the birds fell to the ground, a distance
of some sixty feet, unhurt, and on reaching terrd firmd, ran
away shouting: ‘‘Now I shall keep them all!”

He wore a stout smock frock, and the wind getting under
it, converted it into a parachute, and so saved his life.

Corvus monedula, the latter term supposed to be from monere,
to advise, in consequence of these birds being looked upon
as of bad omen in the science of augury, the Jackdaw, le
Chocas of Buffon, die Dodie of Bechstein, has been celebrated
by many poets, among others Cowper, Thomas Ingoldsby, and
Thomas Hood, whose well-known lines I refrain from quoting
here. He is a stoutly built bird, some thirteen or fourteen
inches in length, with a light grey head that imparts to him
a venerable appearance, which his well-known character but
too certainly belies.

He builds a nest of sticks in old buildings, the steeples
of country churches, and even in chimneys in the midst of
towns, where he shares with the semi-domesticated Pigeons
such coigns of vantage as the basso-relievos on the facades
of public buildings, not scrupling, when opportunity offers,
to make a meal off the young ones or eggs of his companions.
His own eggs, or I should say those of his wife, are of a
greenish blue colour, spotted with greyish brown, some speci-
mens being more thickly covered than others.

This bird often flies in company with the Rooks, whose
deserted nests it not unfrequently appropriates to its own use.

@

82 Birds I Have Kept.

“One circumstance connected with its nidification,” says an
old writer, ‘is the immense quantity of material it collects,
and many anecdotes are related of the ingenuity it manifests
in getting it into the desired position; often through narrow
loopholes and up winding staircases it contrives to convey
long sticks and pieces of wood in a manner truly surprising:
and the way in which it piles up the light fabric upon joists
and beams, or window sills, and makes all firm and stable, is
no less so.”

Occasionally the Jackdaw chooses less lofty stations for its
nest, and descends, as Bishop Mant, the laureate of the birds,
relates, when nature

“Prompts them in the waste to roam,
And seek a subterranean home,
The burrowing rabbit’s haunt, and there
Of sticks and matted wool prepare
Their dwelling, and produce their race
In that unlikely dwelling-place.”

Jackdaws have been known to live a long time in captivity,
but like their relative the Magpie, look better, and are far
happier when they can enjoy their liberty, than when closely
prisoned in a cage.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE PARTRIDGE.

HEN I was a boy, a friend made me a present of a

pair of Partridges, which, with a number of others,

he had reared under a common barn-door fowl. These birds

were full grown when given to me, and quite tame: I kept

them for some time in, for want of a more suitable situation,
the fire-place of one of our upstair rooms!

In France, be it understood, at that time wood was the

The Partridge. 83

most usual fuel, and a fireplace was quite a room within a
room. To this novel domicile they were confined by a wire
screen placed in front, while the aperture of the flue was
stopped up with a bag full of straw, in order to keep out
the draught; and as the chimney was placed opposite a large
window, they did not want for light. I fed them on canary
and hemp seed, French rape seed, bread, chopped cabbage, and
fresh grass, and a few scraps of meat now and then: a diet
upon which they seemed to thrive perfectly well, and soon
became exceedingly tame and gentle.

After I had kept them for some time, they disappeared one
day; how? no one could tell me; and I never suspected that
the perdriz aux choux, upon which I partially made my dinner
a day or two afterwards, were anything but relations of my
pets, and not their identical selves. When I did find out the
truth, it was too late to prevent the mischief. I quite forget
now for what reason they had been sacrificed, or whether
Nanon Magat, our then cook, had perpetrated the deed, almost
of sacrilege, on her own responsibility, or at the request of
some higher authority.

‘Que voulez-vous, Monsieur”: was the only answer I suc-
ceeded in getting to my passionate demands, rather than
entreaties, for an explanation of the cruel act. ‘‘ Que voulez-
vous? ce nest pas ma faute.”

The Partridge, Ja Perdrix grise in French, das gemeine
Rebhuhn in German, Tetrao perdriz of Linneus, is a plump
round bird, measuring twelve or thirteen inches in length,
and sparsely covered with reddish brown feathers. The fore-
head, a streak above the eyes, and the throat are chesnut
brown; the neck and breast are ash grey, marked with fine
black lines; on the middle of the breast is a horse-shoe-
shaped mark of dark chesnut, which is almost wanting in
the female. The wing feathers are dusky, with red cross
bars. The tail, which is very short, is reddish brown.

The Grey Partridge is common to most European countries,

84 Birds I Have Kept.

but in some places has been superseded by a larger red-legged
species. When wild it feeds on all kinds of grain and seeds,
small field snails and other insects, blades of grass and corn,
turnip-tops, etc., and in the house can be maintained in health
on the simple diet already mentioned.

It is useless attempting to tame a Partridge taken when
full grown: but if reared in the house, or in an aviary,
under a common barn-door fowl, or preferably a bantam, they
soon become quite familiar, and are as readily reared as
Pheasants, and upon the same food, namely, eggs, chopped
very fine, oatmeal, and ants’ eggs: and birds thus reared will,
it is said, breed in a garden aviary where long grass, or oats,
have been grown, providing they have the place to themselves,
and are not disturbed by rats or mice.

The female Partridge lays from ten to sixteen, or even
more, pale olive brown eggs, upon which she sits for twenty-
eight days, from the date of laying the last egg of the clutch.
The young run about directly they are hatched, frequently
with a portion of the shell sticking to their backs. There
is but one brood in the year, and the whole party keep
together until the spring, when they covey, as it is called,
separates into pairs, which never more part, ‘‘as long as they
both do live”: for unlike the generality of poultry, Partridges
are models of conjugal fidelity.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE LESSER REDPOLL.

HIS pretty little bird, which is a miniature Linnet, isa
great favourite with the humbler class of workpeople,
whom sedentary occupations confine indoors for the greater part
of the week. I have known as many as twenty Redpolls,
each in a tiny little cage about four inches square, hung round

The Lesser Redpoll. 85

a shoemaker’s shop, while a couple more were chained to
little stands, and had learned to open a small box containing
their seed, and pull up a tiny pail full of water, whenever
they wanted to eat or drink.

I never met with any of these birds in that part of France
where I was brought up, and where I lived until I arrived
at what are usually supposed to be ‘‘years of discretion”’;
when many changes having taken place in our family and
surroundings, I quitted Ja belle France, for good as I verily
believe: and it was shortly afterwards, while making a few
months’ stay in Dublin, that I first saw a Redpoll and found
its nest, which was built in a thick bush in Glasnevin Bo-
tanical Gardens. There were four young ones, nearly fledged
in the nest, and these, undeterred by the sacredness of the
place, I popped into my pocket, and carried safely home,
where I was successful in rearing three of them on bread-
crumbs and crushed hemp.

In plumage the Redpoll resembles the common Linnet, but
in size, activity, and figure more nearly approaches the Siskin;
for which reason, I suppose, it is usually classed with that
little bird at Shows. It measures about five inches in length,
of which two and a quarter inches belong to the tail. The
sharp yellow little beak is four lines-long, and the black legs
eight lines’ high. The top of the Redpoll’s head is, as the
name implies, of a rich crimson colour; the upper part of the
body is dark brown, spotted with white and reddish yellow,
the rump is rose, the throat black, and the under part of
the neck and breast bright red, with a fine white margin
to each feather. The rest of the under part of the body is
white. When confined in a cage, the males lose their bright
colour after the first moult, and hand-reared specimens never
acquire it in the house.

The female is lighter in colour than her mate, and lacks
his showy red breast; the upper part of her body is spotted
with white and deep brown, and the breast speckled with

86 Birds I Have Kept.

the same colours, which serves to distinguish her from the
young males that have not yet acquired the rose tint, but
are of the same dark colour on the back as their father.

In its wild state the Lesser Redpoll has its home in the
north, abounding in Scotland, Sweden, Norway, Lapland, and
Greenland, from whence vast flocks migrate south about the
end of October, returning north again in March or April, a
few stragglers remaining, here and there, to breed.

When wild it feeds on many kinds of seeds, preferring,
however, that of the alder-tree to any other. In the house
it may be kept on rape, poppy, canary, and hemp seed.

The Redpoll is a poor singer, its natural song consisting
of little more than a continual clicking sound. It is very
easily tamed, and can be taught a number of little tricks,
besides working for its living—to fire off a miniature cannon
for instance, feign death, and so on. It will occasionally breed
in the aviary, and mules have frequently been obtained be-
tween if and the Canary, Brown Linnet, and Goldfinch.

In disposition it is very confiding and affectionate, and even
when taken full grown, commences to eat the minute it is
placed in a cage. If a pair of these birds are kept in the
same aviary, they spend the greater portion of their time in
preening each other’s plumage and the exchange of caresses.
So attached to each other are they, that I have known a
wild female voluntarily share the captivity of a male that
was chained to a stand usually kept outside the window of
a shoemaker in one of our London suburbs.

The Redpoll is not by any means a delicate bird, and with
common care will live for several years in the house.

87

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE CUCKOO.

ONCE kept a Cuckoo, and for a considerable longer period
than I did the only Jackdaw I ever possessed, for some
months in fact, but I should not care to keep another. Yet
the Cuckoo is a handsome bird, and vastly intelligent, if lazy,
but I would not be paid a great deal to keep another, and
in the course of the present chapter I will tell you why.
Of course, every one knows that the female Cuckoo, like
the fine lady of the present day, cannot be troubled with the
care of her children, for whom, to do her justice, she inva-
riably selects a fitting and trustworthy nurse, which is more
than can always be said for her human prototype: and the
reason why she acts in the apparently unnatural manner
common to her race, has long been, and still is, a puzzle to
ornithologists. One of the explanations given being, that owing
to the peculiar formation of the breast-bone, she is naturally
incapacitated from performing her maternal duties: and fifty
other conjectures, as unreasonable and as devoid of foundation
in fact, have been advanced to explain what can, after all,
not be accounted for upon any other supposition than that,
Iong since given by Dr. Watts in another connection,

“Tt is her nature to’’,

or “too”, for there is some doubt whether it was the prepo-
sition or the adverb that the Doctor really used. Be that as
it may, however, the Cuckoo, Cuculus canorus in scientific
phrase, Je Coucow in French, and der gemeine Kuckuk in Ger-
man, is a strange bird, concerning which very much has been
surmised, and exceedingly little is really known.

The length of the Cuckoo is about fourteen inches, seven

88 Birds I Have Kept.

of which belong to the tail, which is more than half covered
by the folded wings. The head, upper part of the neck,
shoulders and back are of a dark ash colour, with a greenish
tinge, mottled and barred with a delicate shade of brown.
The tail is spotted and edged with white.

The female is rather smaller than her mate; the upper part
of her body is brown, with whitish grey spots; the belly is
greyish white, thickly marked with dark transverse lines.

The young have red and olive brown bars on their backs
and shoulders, darker in the case of the young males than in
that of their sisters.

The legs of the Cuckoo are very short, and the feathers
of the thigh project backwards for about an inch: the toes
are directed, as in the case of the Parrots, two forwards,
and two backwards, and are of unequal length: hence the
term Zygodactylous applied to these birds.

The Cuckoo is a bird of passage, arriving, as an old rhyme
says, in April. ‘

“In April, come he will:
In May, he sings all day:
In June, he’s out of tune:

In July, he prepares to fly:
In August, go he must.”

Nevertheless, many of these birds remain with us until the
middle or even the end of September.

‘Having selected the nest in which to deposit her small
greyish white egg, covered with rusty brown spots, though
occasionally it is quite white, without any markings whatever,
it is a great mystery how the mother Cuckoo accomplishes
her purpose, as sometimes the nest chosen is situated in a
hole, in a wall for instance, into which it would be impossible
for the Cuckoo to enter, and occasionally, when hatched, the
young interloper is unable to get out, like Sterne’s poor Star-
ling, of which more in a subsequent chapter.

It is not often, however, that the Cuckoo makes such a

The Ouckon. 89

blunder as that, for she generally chooses the Hedge Accentor,
or the Yellow-hammer, to be the foster-parent of her child
that is to be: and here again mystery surrounds the bird from
its very birth, for soon after it is hatched the young inmates
proper disappear from the nest, and the big ugly changeling
is left alone to benefit by the foster-parents’ care.

What becomes of the young Accentors, or Yellow-hammers,
as the case may be? Some writers have given a most graphic
account of the mode in which the two-day-old Cuckoo takes
up the helpless birdies on his back, and pitches them out of
the nest, to die of cold and hunger on the ground below;
averring that Nature has considerately provided him with a
hollow back, the better to accomplish his nefarious purpose:
to which I reply that, in my opinion, the force of imagination
could scarcely further go; and after all the matter is simple
enough.

When hatched, the young Cuckoo is fully twice the size of
its foster-brothers and sisters, and generally gets a day’s start
of them, sometimes two; it grows very fast, is very strong,
and so voracious that it grabs all the food intended for the
whole family, so that the other poor little mites are starved,
and possibly smothered, too, by their huge foster-brother, and
when dead are thrown out of the nest by their parents, as
is customary with all birds; or else they are pressed down to
the bottom, trampled, in fact, by the Cuckoo, and as the little
frames are not much more than skin and bone, they soon
dry up and disappear. This, I think, is the true explanation
of the fact, that out of a whole nestful of young birds, the
changeling Cuckoo is the only one that is reared.

When wild, these birds feed almost entirely on insects,
chiefly caterpillars, hairy caterpillars some writers say, but these
were the death of my Cuckoo, as I shall presently relate.

Everyone is acquainted with the note of this bird, which has
given it its name in almost every language: thus the Romans
called it Cuculus, the English Cuckoo, the Germans Kuckuk

90 Birds I Have Kept.

(Koo-kook), the French Coucou, ete. This peculiar note is only
uttered by the male, and is by him seldom repeated after the
middle of June; his voice then changes, and becomes as harsh
and disagreeable as that of a stripling of fourteen.

A good many years ago I went to live for a short time
in the north of Ireland, not far from Belfast, and found that
the country round literally swarmed with these birds, whose
loud and sonorous notes, never monotonous, though consisting
of the repetition merely of a single word, resounded from
every tree, and struck me as so pleasing, that I became
possessed with the desire to rear a young Cuckoo. With this
object in view, I spoke to one of the village lads one day,
and promised him a shilling if he would find me one, which
in a day or two he did, a fine half-grown specimen which
he had taken, he said, from the nest of a Yellow-hammer.
A shilling seemed a large sum of money to those poor boys,
whose fathers worked on the farms for nine shillings a week,
and their mothers for five, so that in a short time no less than
fourteen young Cuckoos were brought to me by different lads,
who thought, no doubt, that they would each receive a similar
reward.

Fancy! fifteen Cuckoos to feed and provide for! I had
already found that one was quite as much as I wanted, if
not more, eo I declined them all, and can but imagine the
end of the others to have been an untimely one.

After consulting such books as I had by me, I began by
feeding my young Cuckoo on raw meat, chopped fine; he
took it, of course, as he would anything I had put into his
ever-open beak, but he did’ not seem to thrive upon his
changed diet: he got thin, puffed out his feathers, or bristles
rather, screamed incessantly, and made an awful mess, and
I thought, not regretfully, that he was going to die: but he
had no such intention, then at all events.

Going into the garden of the house where I was staying,
I found one day that a large bed of cabbages was infested

The Cuckoo. 91

with caterpillars, and remembering that I had read somewhere
that these nasty insects were the natural food of the Cuckoo,
I collected a handful of them, and carried them indoors to
the young changeling, who speedily disposed of the lot, and
seemed so delighted and invigorated by the repast, that I
fed him on no other food as long as the supply lasted, which
was for a few weeks: they failed at last, however, and I
had to fall back upon raw meat, which the Cuckoo took
without apparent inconvenience—I suppose his digestion was
stronger then. Whenever I went out, I examined the hedges
and collected all the caterpillars for my bird, in whom I was
beginning to take a good deal of interest; for he had grown
a fine fellow, and could, when he liked, feed himself; though,
like a fat Chinese Mandarin, he much preferred having the
food crammed down his throat.

One day, quite late in the autumn, towards the beginning
of November, as well as I recollect, I was driving home, and
espied some black hairy caterpillars feeding on some groundsel
by the road-side. To jump down and pop them into a small
tin-box I usually carried about with me, and which was called
“the Cuckoo’s larder”, was the work of a few seconds. On
reaching home, I gave them to the Cuckoo, who devoured
them with much gusto, and in about an hour afterwards I
found him dead!

I must confess that, all things considered, I was not incon-
solable for his loss, for he was, if handsome, and apparently
healthy, terribly dirty in his habits, extremely noisy, unsociable
and wild; and moreover I had doubts as to the possibility of
keeping him over the winter.

The following season several boys brought me more youthful
Cuckoos, but I declined having anything to say to them.

Herr Von Schauroth and other amateurs give the Cuckoo
a bad character as a pet, and say that he is seldom kept
through the cold season successfully. I do not, for my part,
intend to make the attempt again.

92

CHAPTER XXV.
THE QUAIL.

ECHSTEIN considered the Quail a very charming bird,

and never liked to be without some of them in his aviary.
Well, tastes differ, and no doubt it is very wisely arranged
that this should be so, for if every one were of the same
mind, the world, I fancy, would soon come to an end.

However that may be, my advice to any one who is thinking
of keeping these birds, is that given long since by a facetious
public character to persons about to marry: ‘‘Don’t”—advice
which I repeat with regard to keeping Quails, for really, le
jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle.

A pretty bird, and a neatly made little bird, the Quail is
nevertheless an extremely undesirable bird to introduce into a
mixed aviary, for it has a nasty habit of bouncing about,
especially during thé night in the migratory season, without
looking, or seeing, where it is going, banging violently against
everything that happens to be in its way, often injuring
itself seriously, generally knocking all the feathers, and some-
times the skin, off the top of its own head, and setting the
whole place in an uproar. The Quail is hardy, and not
difficult to keep as regards feeding.

Tetrao coturniz, la Caille, in French, die Wachtel, in Ger-
man, is about seven or eight inches in length, plump and
round, with close lying feathers, and a quick bright eye of
a dark olive brown; the upper part of the body is covered
with dark and rusty red spots, and white streaks and lines,
on a pale chesnut ground. The throat is dusky, surrounded
with chesnut-coloured bands; the front of the neck and the
breast are light rusty red, with long dark streaks; the belly
is greyish white, the thighs reddish grey: the wing feathers

The Quail. 93

are dark grey, crossed by many red bars; and the short tail
is brown, barred with red lines.

In the female the throat is white, and her breast, paler
than that of the male, is covered with black spots.

In Europe the Quail is migratory, arriving in England in
May, and departing in September: it usually frequents corn-
fields, and lives on all kinds of grain, insects, small slugs and
worms, and green grass.

In the house it will do very well on seed, with the addition
of green food, soaked bread, and as many insects as are ob-
tainable, particularly ants’ eggs, to which it is extremely
partial. It is very fond of drinking, and should always have
an abundant supply of fresh clean water. It does not bathe,
but rolls itself in the sand, like the common poultry, to
which family it belongs.

The Quail usually nests in July, laying from seven to
fourteen eggs, of a bluish white colour, with large brown
spots. Incubation lasts about three weeks from the laying
of the last egg: the young run about directly they come out
of the shell, and grow so rapidly that they are able to take
their departure to a warmer country with their parents in
the autumn.

The Quail will occasionally breed in the aviary, but usually
the female, though laying an immense number of eggs, never
attempts to sit. During the first year of their lives, the young
ones all resemble their mother; and if it is desired to bring
them up in the house, they must be fed on hard-boiled yolk
of egg, crumbled up fine, the crumb of white bread, and
grated carrot, mixed with ants’ eggs; they will be more likely
to be successfully reared if the eggs are placed under, and
hatched by, a very tame bantam hen.

Bechstein vaunts the “song” of the Quail, which he thus
describes: ‘‘The song of this bird is no slight recommendation
to the amateur: in the breeding season the male commences
by repeating softly, tones resembling ‘verra, verra’, followed

94 Birds I Have Kept.

by the word pievervie, uttered in a bold tone, with the neck
raised, the eyes shut, and the head inclined to one side.
Those that repeat the last syllable ten or twelve times are
the most admired, The song of the female only consists of
the words ‘verra, verra, pupu, pupu’, the two last syllables
being those by which the male and the female attract each
other’s attention: when alarmed or angry, their cry resembles
‘guillah!” but at other times it is only a murmur, resembling
the purring of a cat.”

Quails are found in all parts of the world, and differ little
from one another in size or plumage, with the exception of
the Californian, which has a tuft on the top of its head.
I have never kept any of the foreign varieties. In Australia
Quails are very abundant; they are rather smaller than those
which frequent these islands, and of a paler colour, and I
have frequently obtained a number of them, by the device
of sending a dog into a field of standing corn frequented by
these birds, which, terrified by the intrusion into their peaceful
haunts, would dash themselves blindly against the wire fence
surrounding the field, and with such violence that they often
killed themselves by fracturing their neck or breastbone. These
birds are also frequently killed by flying, during the migratory
season, against telegraph wires, and the lanterns of lighthouses.
The reason of this apparent stupidity on the part of an other-
wise intelligent bird is that their eyes are placed so far back
in the head that they cannot see anything that is directly
in front of them without turning the head, so that when
frightened, or in a hurry, they are apt to come with the
full force of their extremely powerful flight against any and
every obstacle that lies in their way.

This chapter would scarcely be complete without some
reference to the enormous flights of these birds that served
to feed the wandering Israelites in the desert of Sinai, where,
even in the present day, they are met with in large flocks
during their passage from Africa to a milder climate for the

PNILTUVIS WAHL

The Starling. 95

breeding season, as well as when returning home again. When
settled down’ into their summer locations, these birds divide
off into little companies of one male and two or three females,
though sometimes they pair male and female together: during
this period the cocks fight fiercely among themselves, and
not a seraglio is formed without a pitched battle or two
taking place among the rival suitors.

In China and India advantage is taken of the pugnacious
disposition of these birds during the breeding season, to train
them for fighting matches, as was formerly done in England
with game cocks; and large sums of money are not unfre-
quently staked upon the issue of an encounter; which is
arranged as follows:—a number of people match their own
Quails against an equal number of these birds belonging to
others of their acquaintance; the victors in this preliminary
contest are then made to fight among themselves, and so on,
until only one bird is left, which is pronounced the winner,
and the fortunate owner of this bird pockets the stakes.

It is unnecessary for me to protest against the barbarity
of the practice, and I am glad to think that if it ever existed
in this country, Quail fighting, as an amusement (!) for
human lookers on, has ceased as entirely as cock-fighting, which
‘was once an every-day pastime for high and low, but is now
put down by the strong arm of the law, as a practice un-
worthy of a civilized community.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE STARLING.

“NHIS is another bird I have not cared to keep for any
length of time. I have never attempted to bring it up
by hand from the nest, but once caught one that had fallen

96 Birds I Have Kept.

down the chimney, and fluttered through the register of the
grate into the room where it was found. It was so wild
and restless that I could not find it in my heart to keep the
poor thing a captive, so after trying for a short time what
could be done in the way of taming it, and not succeeding
to my satisfaction, I opened the window and let it fly away;
which it did right joyfully I have no doubt, for settling on
a garden wall a few doors off, it commenced to preen its
plumage, which had not only been dirtied by the soot that
accompanied it in its fall down the chimney, but deranged
and broken by its frantic endeavours to escape. As soon as
it had finished its toilette, it uttered a loud note of triumph,
and flew off to rejoin its companions in the adjoining trees.

Everybody remembers Sterne’s Starling, I have no doubt,
and its plaintive cry of “I can’t get out! I can’t get out!”
How could I keep such a bird in a cage? its continual efforts
to escape would have been a standing reproach to my hu-
manity.

I was rather sorry, too, for when tame the Starling is a
very nice bird, learning to whistle, speak, and imitate all
kinds of domestic sounds. I remember once paying a visit
to a friend, and wondering at -the alternate, but sometimes
confused, sounds of whistling, laughing, and sawing (as of a
carpenter sawing a piece of wood) that proceeded from an
adjoining room, and after a while could not help asking what
it meant. ‘‘That’s the bird’, replied my friend. ‘‘ What
bird?” I asked. ‘‘My Starling.” What a beauty he was!
and clever as handsome: but he, too, looked as if he wanted
sadly to ‘‘get out.”

These birds make their nests of grass and leaves under
the eaves of houses, in pigeon-cotes, holes of trees, and any
convenient nook or crevice they can find, including the de-
serted nests of Rooks and Magpies, sharing the church towers
and steeples with the Daws, and the groups of statuary on
the fronts of public buildings with the Sparrows and Pigeons.

The Starling. 97

‘Sturnus vulgaris in Latin, the common, not ‘‘vulgar” Star-
ling, ?’Htourneau of the French, and der gemeine Staar of the
Germans, is a handsome bird, measuring about nine inches in
length, two and a half of which belong to the tail. The
ground colour of the plumage is black, with a purple shading
on the front, and a green tinge on the hinder parts of the
_body; many of the feathers are tipped with white, which gives
to the bird a mottled appearance, that becomes less conspicuous
as it grows older.

The female is rather smaller than the male, not so black,
less glossy, and has more white spots.

The young are so thickly spotted that they seem to be
almost grey. There are two broods in the season, consisting
of from five to seven young ones each time: the eggs are of
a delicate greenish blue colour, sometimes dotted over with
small black spots, but more frequently quite plain. The young
are hatched in about fourteen days, and are said to be easily
reared on bread and milk.

“In Voightland”’, says Bechstein, ‘‘the peasants use the Star-
ling like Domestic Pigeons, and eat the young, which they
take before they can fly; by this means they obtain three
broods in the season, but never touch the last, in order not
to discourage the parents, as well as not to diminish so pro-
fitable a branch of industry.”

When wild these birds feed on insects of all kinds, snails,
worms, and fruit, also grain and seeds when they cannot find
anything they like better: they are partly migratory, but
numbers of them remain with us all the year round: their
departure from our midst in spring being probably caused by
the scarcity of suitable nesting places.

In confinement the Starling will eat, and thrive on, almost
everything that is brought to its master’s table, and evinces,
says an old writer, a strong partiality for cheese: it drinks
a good deal, and is fond of bathing, consequently it should
not be left without free access to water.

i

98 Birds I Have Kept.

“This bird”, says Bechstein, of whom it seems to have
been a favourite, ‘‘becomes wonderfully familiar in the house;
as docile and cunning as a dog, he is always gay, wakeful,
soon knows all the inhabitants of the house, remarks their
motions and air, and adapts himself to their humours. In
his solemn tottering step, he appears to go stupidly forward;
but nothing escapes his eye. He learns to pronounce words
without having his tongue cut, which proves the uselessness
of this cruel operation. He repeats correctly the airs which
are taught him, as does also the female, imitates the cries
of men and animals, and the songs of all the birds in the
room with him. Not only are the young susceptible of these
instructions, the oldest even show the most astonishing
docility.”

Perhaps I did not persevere long enough in my endeavours
to tame the individual an accident put temporarily into my
possession; and very likely I may make another attempt.

“The Starling is a very hardy bird, and will live”, says
the same authority, ‘for a number of years in the house.”
It should, however, be always provided in its cage with a sod
of grass to dig in; and if a few worms are hidden underneath
it, the bird will derive much benefit and enjoyment from its
attempts to root them out of their concealment. Without this
precaution the beak of all the Starlings, foreign, as well as
British, is apt to become long and deformed. The bottom of
the cage must be covered with a thich layer of coarse sand
in order to keep the claws of the feet from getting too long.

99

CHAPTER XXVILI.

THE TREE SPARROW.

CANNOT help thinking, when I read of tame Sparrows,

that the writers are referring to this bird, and not to
Pass:r domesticus: there is a good deal of resemblance between
the two species, with this remarkable difference, that the
female of the bird under consideration cannot be distinguished
from her mate, except by an internal, and consequently post
mortem examination, so exactly alike are they in outward
appearance.

The Tree, or Mountain Sparrow, for it is called indifferently
by both names, is the Passer montana of Ray, le Moineau des
haies, or le Friquet of Buffon, and der Feldsperling of Bech-
stein, and is an exceedingly pretty and interesting bird of
some five and a half inches in length. The upper part of
the head as far as the neck is reddish brown, the cheeks are
white with a black spot on each, a white ring surrounds the
neck, the back is spotted with red and black, the rump and
the lower part of the back are greyish brown, the throat
white and the breast ash-coloured; the belly is dusky white,
the flight feathers of the wings and the tail dark brown,
the lesser wing coverts rusty red, and the greater wing coverts
black with red edges and white tips, which form two trans-
verse bars on the wings; the beak is dusky, and the feet
and legs bluish flesh-coloured.

The Tree Sparrow is a widely diffused, but nowhere a very
common bird: unlike its congener it shuns the society of man,
preferring woods and fields to the street and farm-yard, wherein
the Common Sparrow is so much at home.

The nest of the Tree Sparrow is usually built in holes of
trees, but when placed among the boughs, as it not unfre-

100 Birds I Have Kept.

quently is, it is domed with grass stems: there are usually
two broods of four or five, each season.

When wild this bird subsists upon seeds of all kinds, but
brings up its young ones on insect food, of which the parents
also partake during the breeding season. In the house it will
thrive upon any kind of seed, but gives the preference to
hemp and oats. It very soon becomes reconciled to captivity,
and grows quite tame: so much so that it may be taught to
go and come at command with the greatest facility.

A pair will nest and bring up their young in a garden
aviary, where a male will mate with a common hen-Sparrow,
and produce hybrids.

The Tree Sparrows are very hardy birds, and will live in
the house for a number of years.

The sexes, as I have said, are undistinguishable while alive,
so that a number of these birds must be procured, on the
chance of there being a female among them, and when two
are observed to be paired they must be separated from the
rest, and given a large cage, or aviary, to themselves, when,
if supplied with suitable building materials, they will begin
to make a nest directly.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE BUDGERIGAR,

Ho years I longed to possess a pair of the bright green
Love-birds, as all small Parrots used to be formerly
called, which I had so often seen sporting in countless myriads
in the bush, sucking the nectar from the blossoms of the
gum-trees, but I longed in vain; for although the purser of
the ship I returned to Europe in had invested in some hun-
dreds of ‘‘Shell Parrots”, which he hoped to dispose of at a
premium on his arrival in Liverpool, I scrupled to pay some-

THE BUDGERIGAR,

The Budgerigar. 101

thing about the weight of the birds in gold to gratify my
fancy.

The birds, however, which my friend the purser brought
over were not the bright green creatures I had seen in Vic-
toria, but were natives of South Australia, where the settlers
called them ‘Shell Parrots’, or Parrakeets, and the aborigines
“‘Budgerigars”, which is now their popular designation in this
country, although the Zoological Society, and the various
‘‘bird-shows”’ throughout the kingdom, persist in calling them
“Undulated Grass Parrakeets.”’ Although, as I have said,
these birds are natives of the province of South Australia, I
have nevertheless seen them in Victoria, two or three together,
but suspect that these were stragglers from beyond their
natural limits, or perhaps fortunate individuals who had made
good their escape from captivity.

At one time these birds commanded as high a price as two
or three pounds sterling a pair in the bird-market, while Dr.
Russ, I know not on what authority, affirms that the first
pair brought to England were immediately sold for £25: which
reminds me that when, many years ago, I landed on the wharf,
Raleigh’s wharf in Melbourne, with a cage containing a pair
of common Canaries in my hand, I had not proceeded half a
dozen paces on my way when I was accosted by a man who
offered me £10 for the lot, and on my declining his proposal,
doubled his offer, which I was silly enough to refuse. But
to resume, this first “pair” of Budgerigars were two males
in all probability, for they made no attempt, that Dr. Russ
ever heard of, to breed. After a while the price came down,
and when it reached fifteen shillings a pair, I made my first
investment: however, I have already related elsewhere my
experience with these birds, and must not repeat myself.

The Budgerigar, Undulated, or Shell Parrot, or Parrakeet,
Helospittacus undulatus in scientific parlance, la Perruche on-
dulée of the French, der Wellensittich of the Germans, is now
almost as well known as the Canary, and as cheap, cheaper

102 Birds I Have Kept.

in fact, and like the latter bird, has for some time past been
bred of various colours; namely, pale green, with scarcely
any sign of the characteristic undulations to which the bird
is indebted for so many of its names; yellow, without a trace
of markings of any kind, except the little patches on the
throat and the sides of the face which are blue, and blue-
black in the wild bird, but dead-white in the yellow do-
mesticated variety. The latest. and rarest “‘sport” is a blue
Budgerigar, which I have not seen, but which, I am credibly
informed, has been recently produced in Germany: while a
variety has also been obtained, by careful selection, that rivals
in size the Turquoisine. In my own bird-room I have had
some specimens scarcely larger than a Redpoll hatched by
very juvenile parents.

The ordinary Budgerigar measures about seven inches in
length, of which three and a half inches belong to the tail.
The principal colour of the bird is bright green: the breast,
back, and belly are of this hue, but the top of the head and
the throat are primrose yellow; the cheeks are of the same
colour, but each small feather is crossed by two or three fine
circular lines of black, that impart a greyish appearance to
the face: several small spots of blue are situated just below
the cheeks, and the lower series are of such a deep tint, that,
at first sight, they might be mistaken for black. The back
of the head, the neck, shoulders, and wing coverts are yellow,
marked with undulations similar to those on the face in regard
to colour, but of larger size; the flight feathers are greenish
black, edged with yellow on the outer aspect of each: the
two long central tail feathers are deep blue, and the others,
broadly barred with yellow, are greenish blue at their ends
and tips. The beak is greyish white, and the feet and legs
are grey.

In the male the cere, or bare place surrounding the nostrils,
is bright blue; while in the female it is white, or whitish
blue in young specimens, and brown in those that are mature.

The Budgerigar. 103

The plumage of the young is greyer on the neck and
shoulders, and less vividly green on the breast and back than
in the case of their parents, while the undulations of the
neck feathers are continued all over the head; a juvenile type
which is sometimes simulated in very old specimens.

Some writers have had a great deal to say about ‘‘mani-
pulated birds”; that is, males whose blue noses were turned
brown by the application of lunar caustic to the cere, for
the purpose of fraudulently palming them off on customers
as females. If ever such a paltry fraud was really perpetrated,
it certainly is more likely to have been done by unprincipled
“amateurs”, than by importers and dealers, who cannot afford
to play fast and loose with their reputation: but I am in-
clined to think the notion had its rise in the imagination of
an excessively suspicious person, and never had any foundation
in fact, for the simple reason that it would not “pay.”

On the other hand, it is extremely difficult at times to
determine whether a given number of young Budgerigars are
really cocks or hens; 1 have myself picked out a couple of
what I thought to be males, from the bluish plum colour
of their ceres, caged them by themselves, and after a few
weeks found that they were undoubtedly hens, not only from
the fact that their noses had become quite brown, but because
they laid some eggs on the bottom of their cage.

Like most of the Parrot family, Budgerigars in their wild
state bring up their young ones in holes in trees, making no
nest, but laying their five or six white eggs on the bare wood.
Although I have kept these birds for years, I cannot say
with certainty how long they take to incubate, but the best
- authorities on the subject consider that the young are hatched
in fifteen or sixteen days: the fact of the hen sometimes
commencing to sit when she has laid her first egg, and
sometimes not until several have been deposited, introduces a
considerable element of uncertainty into the matter: it is,
however, quite certain, in my opinion, that the Budgerigar

104 Birds I Have Kept.

does not, as one writer has maintained, ‘“‘lay over”, that is,
bring out a pair of young ones, then when these are a week
or so old, lay again, and so on; thus accounting for the fact
of young birds of very different sizes being not unfrequently
found in the same nest: but the fact of the incubation com-
mencing with the first egg is quite sufficient to account for
the eldest being much larger than the youngest in cases, not
at all uncommon, where five, six, or even seven eggs have
been laid.

The young Budgerigars do not gape, but the old ones take
their beaks into their own, and the nestlings feed themselves
on the half-digested seeds which the parents have the faculty
of regurgitating for their benefit: the duration of the young
birds’ stay in the nest, as well as the rapidity, or slowness,
of their growth, depends mainly on the weather; about six
weeks is the average time in this country, though I have
had young Budgerigars that left their birth-place both con-
siderably before and after the time mentioned.

Budgerigars, it has been asserted, will not breed until they
have been at least two years in this country: but this state-
ment is decidedly incorrect: for I have had some of these
birds that laid within a fortnight of my turning them into
my bird-room, and when I bought them they were quite
recently imported from Australia. Budgerigars are very pre-
cocious; some that were hatched in my aviary paired among
themselves, laid, and brought up young ones before they had
moulted their own nest feathers! but the young ones thus
prematurely brought into the world, were undersized, weak,
and dingy in colour.

A cocoa-nut husk is perhaps the best nest than can be
provided for the Budgerigar: some specimens persistently
refusing to breed in anything else. I have had brood after
brood of five or six fine healthy young birds turn out of
the same husk in a twelvemonth: still many of these birds
are not at all particular, and will make themselves quite at

‘

The Budgerigar. 105

home in a small box, or a hollow log: and I have even known
a pair that bred in an ordinary London-Canary-breeding cage.
If a small box is given to them to nest in, it will be ad-
visable to place a small quantity of sawdust on the bottom;
otherwise the eggs are apt to roll about on the smooth surface
and take cold; while if too much padding be used, the eggs
will get buried in it, and not hatch at all: but the natural
concavity of the cocoa-nut husk affords a capital receptacle
for the eggs and young; the greatest drawback to its use
being the harbour it provides for parasites, and if these in-
crease to any extent there will be small likelihood of success
in breeding: a husk that is found to be infested had better
be burnt at once.

In their wild state the Budgerigars feed entirely on the
seeds of indigenous Australian grasses, and in captivity live
almost exclusively on canary and millet seed; but when they
have young ones to feed, it is as well to supply them with
a few oats, and a piece of stale bread soaked for a few minutes
in boiling water, and then squeezed dry. A sod of grass should
always be at their disposal; and, contrary to the directions
given by a recent writer, it is unnecessary as well as unde-
sirable to deprive them of this luxury during the winter:
if, however, they have not been accustomed to it, it is better
not to give them any green food until warm weather has
set in.

Budgerigars will exist for a marvellously long time without
drinking, but that is no reason why they should be kept
continually without water, especially if their diet is dry seed,
as I have seen recommended in a book: on the contrary
this deprivation of drink induces many diseases, such as con-
stipation, fits, and enlargement of the liver. I have noticed
that Budgerigars kept in an out-door aviary, in which, perhaps,
they succeed better than indoors, seldom drink or bathe, but
are very fond of rolling themselves in the wet grass, after
a shower of rain, or a heavy fall of dew; when I have also

106 Birds I Have Kept.

seen them sip the drops of moisture that clung to the blades
of grass, which I have no doubt is their custom in their
native land, where, although rain may not fall for many
months in summer, heavy dew at night is the natural order
of things.

Budgerigars are very hardy birds, caring little or nothing
for the severest weather in this changeable climate of ours,
providing they have an abundant supply of wholesome food:
they are, however, very subject to egg-binding, as well as
to convulsions, or fits. The latter complication is caused by
constipation, which is itself induced by continued feeding on
dry, and too often stale, food; the obvious remedy being a
change to a more succulent diet. I am utterly at a loss,
however, to account for the former troublesome and most dis-
tressing malady; for I have known it to occur in young as well
as in old birds, in aviary-bred as well as in imported specimens,
in fat birds and lean birds, in summer and in winter, in cages
and in aviaries, indoors and out: and I further believe that
a bird once attacked is ever after useless for breeding purposes,
and had better be at once destroyed, or, at all events, con-
demned to single blessedness for the remainder of her days;
otherwise the complication will sooner or later recur, and the
bird inevitably die. Relief may be afforded by the applica-
tion of a drop or two of castor, or even olive oil to the
egg-passage by means of a small brush, or a feather, while
a drop may be administered internally at the same time;
which can be readily done by holding the bird with its head
on one side, and placing the drop of medicine on the beak,
when it will be immediately swallowed; but as soon as the
poor bird is relieved I would strongly advise that she be not
permitted to go to nest again.

Budgerigars will exist on very plain food, such as an all
the year round diet of millet or canary seed, but can scarcely
be expected to successfully breed thereon. It is cruel to keep
such extremely lively birds confined in a small cage, where

The Budgerigar. 107

they have barely room to turn themselves round: but in a
good-sized aviary or bird-room, where they have sufficient
space to exercise their naturally active little wings, they are
the gems of every collection.

Budgerigars are very restless, and not unfrequently seized
by a panic at night, when they dash wildly about the aviary,
disturbing the rest of the inmates, and causing the loss of
many broods through frightening the mothers off their nests;
so that it is preferable to keep them by themselves, and as
they are eminently gregarious, as many scores, or hundreds,
of them as there is room for may be located in the same
enclosure, where they will live in perfect harmony together,
providing that there is a sufficiency of nest-accommodation in
the place, without which precaution the females will fight
fiercely, aye, and kill each other sometimes, in a contest for
a favourite site: but if a superabundance of nesting-places is
provided for them, they will form a truly ‘‘happy family”,
the more the merrier, and charm their owner by their beautiful
plumage, lively, vivacious ways, and wonderful fecundity.

The Budgerigar seldom gets very tame: never, unless kept
in a small cage, and very much talked to and fussed over.
In a large room, or out-door aviary, they are usually very
wild; quite as much so, in fact, as their brethren in the
bush: but that they are happier and healthier thus, than
when confined in a narrow space and ‘‘petted” by never so
gentle a hand, is, I think, unquestionable.

I have seen these birds taught to do a number of tricks,
such as flying off the owner’s hand, and returning to him
from a neighbouring tree or wall, when called or whistled
for; running their heads into a miniature yoke and drawing
a small carriage; climbing up a pole, like a white mouse,
and coming down again with a little flag in their beak; but
for my part I would utterly hate the amount of coercion,
euphemistically called teaching, necessary to bring about such
a result.

108 Birds I Have Kept.

Some Budgerigars have learned to repeat a few words, and
others to partially imitate the song of a Canary or Linnet;
though the latter are much more likely to acquire the warbling
of the Budgerigar, which is itself sufficiently pleasing, especially
when the bright, merry, green-coated little fellow is paying
his addresses to the “lady of his love.”

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE ZEBRA, OR CHESNUT-EARED FINCH.

FORGET how many years since, but at one of the Crystal

Palace Bird Shows, I, in common, I doubt not, with
many other aviarists, was much struck with an exhibit by
Mr. A. Wiener, in one cage, of some thirty or more of these
little birds, the produce of two pairs in twelve months, and
immediately concluded to go and do likewise.

Shortly afterwards I procured a pair, and turned them
into a small conservatory that had nothing in it but an old
and barren grape-vine. No sooner were they released from
the small travelling-cage in which I had brought them from
Covent Garden, than they darted up among the vine leaves,
where the little cock blew his tiny trumpet with unwonted
vigour. Well, I have already related the history of this little
couple elsewhere, and must pass on to other matters, pre-
mising that since then I have had a good number of these
charming birds in my possession, and have found them to be
as hardy and docile as they are pretty.

The male Zebra, or Chesnut-eared Finch, scientifically
Amadina castanotis, in French le diamant Zebré, or le diamant
d moustache; in German der Zebrafink, is, as may be gathered
from the above introductory remarks, an agreeable and ex-
tremely desirable inmate of the aviary. In length he measures
about four and a half inches, of which one and a half belong

THE ZEBRA, OR CHESNUT-EARED FINC.:!

The Zebra Finch. 109

to the tail. He is rather a difficult bird to describe on account
of his plumage being so varied, and made up of such a variety
of tints. To begin, his head is ash grey, his wings and back
brownish grey, the tips of the flight feathers being almost
black. His cheeks; marked at their anterior aspect by a
narrow line of black, that gives the bird somewhat the
appearance of wearing a moustache, are bright chesnut; the
tail is dark grey, and the long upper tail coverts are dotted
with round white spots. The throat is white, but as each
feather is edged with a narrow black line, this part of the
plumage presents a greyish undulated or zebrafied appearance:
in some specimens the lower part of the throat is quite black,
in consequence of the increased breadth of the little black
lines. The breast and belly are white, and the sides are red-
dish purple, dotted with numerous white spots. The beak is
coral red, and the feet and legs reddish orange.

The female is an ashen grey bird, with a whitish grey
breast and belly; she has a black moustache like her partner,
and a narrow line of black surrounds her beak, which, as
well as her legs and feet, are of the same colour as those
parts in the male, but of a somewhat fainter shade: her tail
coverts are also spotted with white; but taking her for all
in all she is a very unpretending, but nevertheless extremely
interesting little personage.

The young on leaving the nest resemble their mother, with
the exception that their beak, legs, and feet are black. In
about three months, however, the males assume the adult
plumage, and the females the red extremities of their mother,
and begin to set up housekeeping for themselves: but, as
in the case of the Budgerigar, it is not well to permit the
precocious little creatures to burden themselves so prematurely
with the care of a family; and in order to effect this the
sexes should be separated, as soon as they can, be differentiated,
until they are at least a twelvemonth old.

The Zebra Finch is a native of New South Wales and

110 Birds I Have Kept.

Queensland, whence vast numbers are annually imported into
Europe and America, without, as yet, producing any apparent
diminution in their numbers in their native land.

When wild these little birds make a large grass nest, lined
with feathers, in the hole of a tree, or even in a bush, for
they are not at all particular as to the site of the birthplace
of their future brood; though, on the whole, they evince an
evident desire to save themselves the trouble of building a
dome over their nest, by placing it in a hollow branch, or
some suitable crevice. In the aviary they never build in a
bush if a cocoa-nut husk, or a small box has been placed
at their disposal. The eggs are from three to seven in number,
quite white, and about the same size as those of a European
Wren: the young are hatched in about twelve days, and
there is little doubt are, in their wild state, fed upon small
insects: in captivity, however, I have known them to be very
successfully reared on seed, sopped bread, and yolk of egg;
though, as there were many other kinds of birds in the aviary,
I cannot positively affirm that the Zebras made use of the
latter, but I suspect they did, as they are certainly insec-
tivorous during the breeding season, like our Sparrows, and
some other birds.

I have not tried to breed Zebra Finches in a cage; but
other connoisseurs have, and have had fair success; one
gentleman in particular having obtained several broods from
a pair of these birds caged in his nursery, where, to use his
own words, ‘‘there was always plenty of noise and_ball-
throwing.”

In their native country these birds usually produce but
two broods in the year; but in the house, over here, they
breed all the year round, summer and winter alike, stopping
for a short time sometimes when moulting. In an out-door
aviary, where the temperature is not raised for their especial
benefit, they generally adhere to the two broods in the season,
which is, I have said, their custom in their native woods.

The Zebra Finch. 111

In their wild state the Chesnut-eared Finches subsist mainly
on grass-seeds and small insects, but in the house will do
very well on white millet or canary seed, or a mixture of
both: when breeding, however, their diet should be more
varied, and sponge-cake may be advantageously added to the
items already prescribed.

They are very healthy and hardy birds, and are subject
to very few ailments except egg-binding, which is, unfortu-
nately, rather common with the hen Zebra Finch, whether
imported or aviary-bred: and I repeat that I have never
known one that was so attacked to completely recover. The
first time a bird is affected a drop of castor or olive oil
applied to the vent, as well as administered internally, and
warmth, which is a sine gud non in such cases, will afford
relief; but sooner or later the poor bird will die if permitted
to go to nest. Once a Zebra Finch, or any other bird, has
been egg-bound, it is best to make a nun of her at once
in order to save her from much suffering and an untimely
death. Ergot of rye, or rather a tincture made from that
destructive and poisonous fungus, has been recommended by
several writers and dealers as an infallible cure for egg-
binding; but I may take this opportunity of declaring that
I have not a particle of faith in its supposed virtues in the
case of egg-bound birds. When it seems to have acted bene-
ficially in some reported cases, I believe the relief has been
due, not to the drug, but to the mechanical relaxation of
the spasm of the cloacal sphincter by the little brush that
was employed in administering the medicine.

I cannot close this brief account of a great favourite of mine
without confessing that the Zebra Finch, despite his attractive
appearance, winning ways, and many other good qualities,
is a decidedly quarrelsome fellow; though I cannot exactly
call him a dangerous neighbour to birds smaller than himself,
he will, nevertheless, persistently harass them, and ought
not, as a rule, to be confined with such ‘‘feeble folk” as

112 Birds I Have Kept.

the tiny Waxbills in the same cage; while in the aviary he
will oust them from their nests in sheer wantonness, and
appropriate the material to his own use, the whole edifice
sometimes, although there may be any amount of nesting
places, hay, fibre, etc., about the place.

So ardent is the temperament of this bird, and so keen
his desire to keep house and rear a family, that, sooner than
remain in single-blessedness, he will form an alliance with
a lady twice his size, such as a Diamond Sparrow or a
Mannikin, and bring up a nest of mules.

Take him for all in all, his pretty and diversified plumage,
his charming miniature trumpet-like note, sprightliness, and
the facility with which he adapts himself to his surroundings,
combine to make him one of the most desirable little birds
of my acquaintance, so that I can most cordially recommend
him to those who are about to make their maiden essay in
foreign bird keeping.

With regard to the hardiness of these birds, I must say
that I have never attempted to keep them out of doors during
the winter; although I have little doubt that they would
successfully brave the severity of our climate during the cold
weather, providing they had a snug nest to sleep in at night,
and were supplied with a varied assortment of suitable food,
for I have habitually kept them in an unheated room all the
year round, where the water in the drinking pan was frozen
every morning during frost, and they did not seem to mind
it in the least, sleeping as they did in a snug husk, or a
nest of their own contrivance: and other connoisseurs have
kept them in a garden aviary during the severest weather,
.and found that they throve admirably in such a situation:
though, of course, they did not produce as many young ones
there, as they would have done had their abode been main-
tained at an equable temperature during the entire year. It
is, however, unnatural, and consequently detrimental to the
birds themselves, to permit them to go on producing brood

The Cockateel. 113

after brood of young ones without taking a rest, such as the
changes of the seasons would compel them to observe in their
native wilds.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE COCKATEEL.

i es most sober-suited of all the Parrot family, except
the black Parrots, Psittacus vaza and Psittacus niger, the
Cockateel is nevertheless a very attractive bird: white and a
pale lavender grey are the prevailing tints of its plumage,
the face being relieved by a patch of primrose yellow, in
the centre of which is a smaller spot of a brick-red colour;
the head is ornamented with a crest of fine pointed yellowish
feathers, which the bird has not the power of erecting or
depressing at will, differing thus from the true Cockatoos; so:
that in reality it is a crested Parrakeet, and not a “little
Cockatoo.” The wing coverts are white, and the under surface
of the tail jet-black.

The crest of the female is grey, and she has no yellow on
her face; her outer tail feathers are broadly, and the others
finely, spotted with yellow on their anterior aspect; underneath
they are crossed by numerous yellow bars, a disposition of
colours that extends to the middle of the abdomen.

The Cockateel measures about twelve inches in length, five
of which belong to the tail. It is a very docile bird, and
breeds freely in captivity, choosing, according to my experience
of this species, the highest possible nesting-place it can find;
nor have I ever known it to build upon the ground, which
a recent writer has asserted to be its usual habit. The eggs
are about the size of those. of the Collared or Laughing
Dove, and are quite white; they are frequently seven or eight
in number, but more often from three to five. When located

I

114 Birds I Have Kept.

in an out-door aviary, these birds have two or three broods
in the year, but if their abode is heated during the cold
weather, they will continue to breed all the year round like
Pigeons. The male assists in the onerous task of incubation,
sitting all day; he is also the chief caterer for the young,
and sometimes is so absorbed by his care for his children,
that he forgets to feed himself, and grows quite weak and
thin.

A male Cockateel now in my possession was so neglectful
of himself that he shrank down to nearly half his former
size, and became so feeble that he could scarcely fly; while
his partner took things very quietly, leaving her nest soon
after daybreak, and absolutely refusing to return to it until
dusk, though her poor husband frequently left the eggs for
a minute or two in the afternoon in order to try and persuade
her to resume her duties, but in vain; when finding that it
was impossible to awaken her to a proper sense of her re-
sponsibilities, he sorrowfully returned to the nest, fearing no
doubt that if he stayed away any longer the precious eggs
would take cold; and so matters went on until, as I have
said, he became so weak that, in order to save his life, I
had to interfere, and take away the nest, when he soon
recovered,

The Cockateel has received a number of scientific names,
among others Colopsitha Nove Hollandie, Psittacus Nove
Hollandie, Leptolophus auricomis, Nymphacus Nove Hollandia,
which last is, perhaps, that most frequently applied to it in
books. The Germans call it der Nymfensittich, or Korella,
and the French /a Perruche Calopsitte.

In its wild state this bird makes its nest in a hollow
branch of a tree, and in the house will make use of a small
box, or hollow log, or a hole in the wall; incubation lasts
for about eighteen days, and in fine weather the young fledge
rapidly: they are able to feed themselves, at least partially,
almost as soon as they leave the nest, to which it is very

The Cockateel. 115

rare for them to return again. Imported specimens evince a
desire to breed about Christmas, but birds which have been
reared in England nest in April or May. They are perfectly
hardy, although natives of Australia, and seem to be quite
indifferent to the severest weather; for I have repeatedly seen
mine roosting out of doors during hard frost, when they might
just as well have gone under cover, and not suffering in the
least from the exposure,

Cocxateels permit themselves to be bullied to any extent
without attempting to retalliate on their tormentors; not only
Redru ups and Turquoisines, but even Cardinals and Bud-
gerigars driving them away from the food-pan with impunity.

When wild the Cockateel feeds on grass seeds, passing much
of its time on the ground, where, as its legs are longer than
those of most of its congeners, it can run very swiftly. I
am not aware whether it eats insects in its native haunts,
but mine will when they can get them, mealworms, black-
beetles, and even green caterpillars with apparent relish. This
bird is also very strong on the wing, and it is a pretty sight
to see it wheeling round and round at a great height, gradually
restricting the circle, and descending in a spiral to rest on
its master’s hand or shoulder, for it is readily tamed, and
even occasionally learns to repeat a few words.

The natural warbling note of the Cockateel is rather loud
and harsh, and it has, moreover, a sharp squeal, when frightened
or hurt, that is exceedingly distressing to a sensitive ear.
The female is a particularly silent bird, seldom making a noise
of any kind, but she is far, nevertheless, from being dumb,
and can upon occasion scream as loudly as her mate.

As Cockateels are very active and lively it is a pity to
keep them in a cage, where they always look unhappy: with
plenty of space to play in, few birds are more attractive.

116

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE REDRUMP.

HIS very beautiful Parrakeet, called by the Germans der
Singsittich, from the faculty of song it possesses, is one
of the most desirable birds that can be placed in a large
garden aviary. In a small enclosure it will not do, at least
all the specimens I have had have been of a most quarrelsome
and tyrannical disposition; but I may have been unfortunate
in my experience, for birds, like men, have each his own
special idiosyncrasy, and Dr. Russ is scarcely likely to have
made a mistake when he wrote concerning the bird under
consideration: “ Vertrdglich unter kleinen Vogeln,” (it is amiable
among small birds), which has certainly not been the case
with my Redrumps, which have killed Canaries and Budger-
igars, and so persecuted their larger companions that I was
compelled to allow them an aviary to themselves: but given
plenty of room, or kept in a good-sized aviary by themselves,
they are charming birds, very easily tamed, and more readily
taught to go and come than almost any other bird. They
are very strong on the wing, and have a powerful and graceful
flight, which they are able to sustain for a considerable time,
and when wheeling round and round in the sunshine, look
like flashes of richly coloured light. There would not be
the least difficulty in acclimatising the Redrump, were it not
for cockney sportsmen, who must fire at, maim, or kill any
strange bird they chance to see flying about, even when
perfectly aware that it is the property of their next-door
neighbour quite as much as their pigeons and poultry belong
to them.
The first time my cock Redrump got out, and how he did

The Redrump. 117

enjoy the outing! my neighbours all round were instantly on
the qui vive; some of them placed cages in their windows,
in order to try and tempt him in, while others stalked him
round the gardens where he happened to alight, and one
adventurous spirit attempted to secure him by the device of
throwing a cloth over him, as he walked about on the grass,
but “Reddy” was too nimble for his would-be captor, and
flew off with a loud whistle, which he no doubt meant for
a laugh of good-natured contempt. Then how he revelled
in a good climb among the branches of a large elm tree,
from whence, as soon as he had finished his survey, he
took a rapid flight round and round the house, and finally
settled with a complacent whistle on the trap-cage, inside
which his sober-suited little wife was impatiently awaiting
his return; and when he was safely secured she was, in her
turn, permitted to enjoy a ramble, and after a good fly,
came home again contentedly to her husband and her supper.

There is not the least fear of losing these birds when they
are let out; that is, unless some kind neighbour should succeed.
in trapping them, but I am not so sure that they would
come back again if both were let out together, except when
they had young ones in their nest, to whom they would be
certain to return.

The Redrump is rather smaller than the Cockateel, measuring
ten inches in total length, of which the tail comprises about
half. Psittacus hematonotus is the scientific name of this
pretty bird, which the late Mr. Gould classed among the
Psephoti, which is manifestly wrong, for the Redrump belongs
to the family, a numerous one, of the Grass Parrakeets, and
subsists, in its wild state, almost entirely on the seeds of the
various grasses indigenous to Australia, making occasional
inroads on the settlers’ oats, but otherwise it is harmless to
the crops.

The upper part of the body of the male is of a beautiful
glossy grass green; the breast and belly are yellowish green,

118 Birds I Have Kept.

and a patch of bluish red occupies the region of the rump,
extending some distance up the back; a peculiarity of colouring
which has given to this bird its most usual English name.
The two central tail feathers are blue towards their extremities,
the others bluish green.

The female is rather smaller than her mate, and is greyish
green, or rather greyish olive green, the back and rump are
bright green, and the under surface of the body yellowish
grey.

The Redrump is a native of most parts of Australia, except
the west. Like most of the members of the Parrot family,
it nests in hollow boughs, laying three or four white eggs,
intermediate in size between those of a Budgerigar and those
of a Cockateel: the young resemble their parents, but the
youthful males are duller in colour than their father.

Dr. Russ recommends that during the breeding season they
should be supplied with ‘‘egg-bread, ants’ eggs, boiled rice,
and fruit, mealworms, green food and poppy-seed.” It seems
almost presumptuous to differ from so eminent an authority,
but I have found oats and soaked bread a sufficient addition
to the ordinary diet of canary, millet, and hemp seed. Green
food my birds are never without.

The feathers of the Redrump come out on the least handling,
but grow again very rapidly: it is a perfectly hardy bird,
and may be safely kept out of doors all the year round.

A pair I once kept in an enclosure along with some bantam
chickens, would run to the old hen whenever she called her
brood, of which she evidently thought they formed a part,
for she never interfered with them even when they chased
and pecked her children, as they often did.

The “‘song” of the male is a low and rather sweet warble,
somewhat more sustained than that of the Budgerigar, and
as Mr. Wiener says ‘‘is quite surprisingly agreeable.” I
imagine the Redrump might be taught to speak, but not
having tried the experiment, I cannot say for certain.

THE RED-CRESTED GREY CARDINAL.

119

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE RED-CRESTED GREY CARDINAL.

HIS handsome bird is a native of Brazil, but nevertheless

perfectly hardy, enduring, in this country, our severest
winters out of doors with impunity. It breeds, moreover,
freely in a good-sized garden aviary, providing it is not
interfered with by other birds, and has a nice retired place
to build in.

I am extremely partial to the Grey Cardinal, and have kept
some of them for a good many years: nor have I found them
to be at all deserving of the bad character so often given to
them by other connoisseurs, who seem to have been exceptionally
unfortunate in their experience with these birds. It is true
that during the breeding season it is not safe to keep two
pairs of them together, but at other times fifty will live in
perfect harmony in the same enclosure, or even cage, nor will
they, then, molest any other, even the smallest, bird.

When the nesting passion is strong upon them, however,
they are as quarrelsome as Robins, and that is saying a good
deal, and should on no account be kept with little birds. A
pair of Cockateels, or Pennants, or even Redrumps may be
lodged with them, and they will not materially interfere
with one another; but Weavers, large or small, or Virginian
Nightingales, not of speak of Canaries et hoc genus omne, they
will at that season harass most unmercifully: but to give
them a bad character, and even call them cannibals, and other
hard names, for endeavouring, according to the light that is
in them, to protect their nest and young, and drive away
intruders, is, in my opinion, as unreasonable as it would be
to blame a man, the father of a family, for shooting a burglar
invading his premises in the middle of the night.

120 Birds I Have Kept.

The Red-crested Grey Cardinal, Cardinalis cucullatus, der
graue Kardinal in German, le Paroare ou Cardinal huppé in
French, is a bold handsome bird, whose head, ever erect
crest, and throat are bright cardinal red; the breast, belly,
and under tail coverts are white: a white collar almost meets
at the back of the neck, which, as well as the back, rump,
and wings are a delicate lavender grey. The tail is black,
and the flight feathers of the wings are the same colour, but
fringed on their outer aspect with a narrow line of grey.

The female is decidedly smaller than her mate, but so
generally resembles him that it is difficult, unless to a very
experienced eye, to say to which sex a given bird belongs:
some females, however, have a patch of white on the wings,
which is scarcely visible unless the bird is flying, when it
becomes sufficiently conspicuous: I have never seen it in the
male. ;

It is a curious fact that too liberal a supply of hemp seed,
of which by the way these birds are extremely fond, will turn
the beautiful white breast of the hen bird a dingy black,
although I have not observed that it had the same effect
upon the male. At the next ensuing moulting season, how-
ever, the bird will regain the usual spotless purity of its
snow-white breast, providing the hemp seed is withheld.

The young resemble their parents, but are lighter in their
body colours generally, and have smaller and darker crests.

The adult Grey Cardinal is about the same size as the
English Song Thrush, and is every whit as hardy. I have
found it a very free breeder in the aviary, producing two,
sometimes three broods in the season, which commences in
April or May, and is often prolonged into September. The
eggs are from three to five in number, rather small for the
size of the bird, and bearing a general resemblance in colour
and markings to those of the European Blackbird. The young
are hatched in the extraordinarily short time of twelve days,
and grow rapidly if the weather is warm: if it is cold and

The Red-crested Grey Cardinal. 121

damp, however, they do not get on very well, but are apt
to grow up lame and otherwise crippled, so that it is a good
plan to take the young ones in-doors, and bring them up by
hand, which is easily done on mealworms, beetles, ants’ eggs,
and egg and bread-crumbs.

The female will sometimes build a nest of grass, lined
preferentially with horse-hair, in a bush; but more often she
will avail herself of some artificial foundation for the nest,
which is always a very neat and compact structure.

This bird is a mixed feeder, insects entering as largely into
its diet as seeds; beetles, caterpillars, gentles, soaked bread
or sponge-cake, and egg must be added to the ordinary diet
when there are young ones to be fed; at other times canary,
millet and a little hemp seed will be sufficient, with a few
mealworms now and then, if the birds are kept in the house;
but if the aviary is situated out of doors, the Cardinals will
find enough animal food in their abode to preserve them in
health and beauty.

I do not think that any one who has kept the Cardinal
in a good-sized aviary could confine him in a cage, he is so
active and lively, and seems so thoroughly to enjoy his com-
parative freedom. In the house, however, he will become
very tame, taking flies and other insects from the fingers;
or, if allowed to fly about the room he will nimbly catch
them for himself upon the wing.

It would be quite easy to acclimatise these birds in England,
were it not for cats and sportsmen, who are directly attracted
by a strange bird, and cannot rest until they have compassed
its destruction. This was the case with an old male I had
kept for eight or nine years; he had escaped several times
during that time, remaining out on one occasion for three
days, when he returned to his cage; however, he went out
once too often, for he never came back the last time, nabbed
by a cat probably, or perhaps trapped by a neighbour.

The song of the Cardinal is Thrush-like and agreeable, and

122 Birds I Have Kept.

he is very fond of serenading his mate, around whom he dances
in the most grotesque fashion, with crest erect, and wings
and tail outspread. He commences to sing with the dawn,
and prolongs his music until darkness warns him that it is
time to rest. He does not seem to care whether the day
is warm or cold, for I have heard my birds singing as merrily
when hopping about in the snow, as when the weather was
warm, and the sun shining brightly overhead.

To resume: no bird, in my opinion, is more worthy of the
notice of connoisseurs, and providing the following points are
attended to, he will afford his owner the liveliest satisfaction,
for he breeds freely, and, as a rule, is a most exemplary
husband and father, although instances are on record in which,
I am sorry to say, he proved himself to be neither. Give
him plenty of room, and no aviary companion but his wife;
nice dry hay and bass, or aloe fibre, to make the foundation
of the nest, a wire basket hung up in a quiet corner, and a
free supply of horse-hair to line the nest: attract moths into
the enclosure by ‘‘sugaring’’, and flies by the bait of a piece
of liver or lights, and he and his family will flourish to
admiration.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

VIRGINIAN NIGHTINGALE, OR CARDINAL GROSBEAK.

HIS bird is a native of the Southern States of North

America, where it is found in great numbers. As a
songster I conceive it to have been vastly overrated; but it
is a fine handsome bird that deserves a place in every col-
lection. Although it is not as hardy a bird as the Grey
Cardinal, it will nevertheless live for a number of years in
the house: one that belonged to a friend of mine survived

The Virginian Nightingale. 128

for more than fifteen years, and was an adult bird when it
came into his possession.

Slightly larger than the Grey Cardinal, the Cardinal Gros-
beak is a much more brilliantly coloured bird: the male is
of a uniform deep red, with the exception of his face, which
is black: the crest can be raised and depressed at pleasure,
and altogether this Grosbeak forms a very striking object in
a garden aviary, where, proyiding he has a sufficiency of
animal food, he will do very well all the year round.

The Cardinal Grosbeak, Coccothraustes Cardinalis; der rothe
Kardinal in German, and le Cardinal de Virginie in French,
is said to breed very freely in the aviary, but none of those
I have possessed ever evinced the least disposition to do so,
which is, perhaps, to be accounted for by the fact of their
not having a sufficiently secluded corner in which to establish
themselves.

The female is reddish brown, and although not nearly as
showy and brilliant as her mate, is nevertheless a very pretty
bird. In my experience these Grosbeaks have been quiet and
peaceable, never interfering with any of their companions,
whom, indeed, they permitted to bully them, without the
least attempt at retaliation: but whether such a state of affairs
would have continued if they had made up their minds to go
to nest, I cannot say, but I do not considerable it probable.

Acting on the recommendation of a recent writer on foreign
birds, who says they will agree perfectly well together, I
placed a pair of these birds in the same compartment of the
aviary with a pair of Grey Cardinals, but was obliged, almost
immediately, to remove them, or they would most certainly
have been killed.

Mr. Wiener considers it is not difficult to breed this Gros-
beak, ‘‘for he will build his nest in a box, or after the
manner of Thrushes in a bush, and rear his brood with fair
success, unless too many mealworms be given: the eggs are
hatched in a fortnight, and both parents feed the young.”

124 Birds I Have Kept.

The same writer adds: “If I had had to name this bird,
I should have felt inclined to call him Mephistopheles.” Dr.
Russ states that the eggs, which vary in number from four
to six, are bluish white, speckled with olive green and brownish
spots: he gives the names of a number of amateurs who have
bred the Cardinal Grosbeak successfully in Germany, and relates
that a pair which escaped in autumn made a nest in a wood,
and reared four young ones during the following summer; so
that there would be no difficulty in acclimatising them in
this country, as far as climatic influences are concerned.

The song of the male bird is sufficiently pleasing, and the
female also sings a little, but they are utterly unworthy of
sharing with the Queen or rather King of Song the name of
Nightingale: however, as they are among the best, if not the
very best, of the American songsters, they may, perhaps, have
permission to be so called in their native land, where they
are, naturally, thought a good deal of.

When wild the Cardinal Grosbeak is pretty well omnivorous;
seeds, fruit, green peas, and insects of all kinds finding favour
with it as articles of diet: in the house it must be fed in a
similar manner, substituting grocers’ currants and raisins for
ripe fruit in winter: if kept in a dark room, its plumage soon
loses its brilliancy, and the rich Mephistophelian garb grows
dull and brown, so that after a while the male can scarcely
be distinguished from his sober-suited {mate. These birds are
extremely fond of bathing, and should always have access to
a liberal supply of clean water for drinking and bathing pur-
poses: a certain amount of insect food, for which egg and
milk are but poor and inadequate substitutes, are essential to
the well-being of these brilliant creatures.

The Cardinal Grosbeak is naturally shy and timid, and when
newly imported must be treated carefully, every precaution
being taken not to startle it, because when frightened it is
apt to-bang itself violently about the cage, and injure its
head. It is a good plan when the bird is first brought into

The Virginian Nightingale. 125

the house, to keep it in a cage with a canvas top until it
has become tame, and accustomed to its new surroundings,
which a judiciously administered course of mealworms will
effect in a week or two.

If the diet is not sufficiently liberal the Cardinal Grosbeak
will moult with difficulty, fail to reproduce his feathers, and,
perhaps, fall into a decline; otherwise I am not aware of his
suffering from any disease, but have found him quite strong
and hardy.

I append copies of two letters which I received from a
correspondent relative to one of these birds, as I consider them
instructive, illustrating as they do the beneficial effects of the
mode of treatment I have just recommended.—

“July 13th, 1881.

Will you kindly give me some advice
respecting Virginian Nightingales? A friend of mine bought
one about six months ago, and paid sixteen shillings and sixpence
for it, and the bird was in splendid plumage when he received
it, and he had nothing to keep it in but a cage about two feet
six inches long. After being in the cage about two months,
the bird began to lose his feathers, beginning round his eyes,
and so continued until he has lost them all except the flight
feathers of the wings, and his tail, and there is no sign of any
more coming in their place. He has been fed on canary and
hemp seed mixed, nothing else, as my friend did not know what
else to give him. The bird is now in my care. I am giving
him canary seed, boiled egg, and blackbeetles, about two or three
a day. Kindly advise me how tv treat him, and oblige yours
faithfully,

The above graphic confession of ignorance would represent
the amount of knowledge possessed by a very large number
of persons who will keep birds, too often with even more
disastrous results than those mentioned above. After some

126 Birds I Have Kept.

months I received a second letter from my correspondent,
whom I had advised to the best of my ability, and was gratified
to find that my prescription had been of use.

“November 20th. 1881.

I must thank you for your kindness in
answering my former letter concerning the Virginian Nightin-
gale; and I am happy to be able to inform you that he has
come into splendid plumage. I had not got a spare room to
turn him into, as you advised, but I put him in a room with
about thirty Canaries, with whom he has agreed perfectly. I
am very anxious to hear him sing, but he has not made any
attempt to do so as yet; and I am ignorant whether it is the
right time of year at present or not, and should be so glad if
you would give me some information on this point, also what
kind of place these birds require for breeding in, as I am about
to purchase a female.”

Whether or not my correspondent succeeded in breeding
young Virginians the following summer I cannot say, but am
inclined to doubt the fact, of which I should in all probability
have been duly informed: still it is just possible he did; and
if so, it will give me pleasure to hear from him again, should
he chance to see these lines. I may also add that the Cardinal
Grosbeak begins to sing about the middle of March; and con-
tinues his song far into July, or even to the beginning of
August.

CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE LIOTHRIX.

sf lies exceedingly pretty bird is of comparatively recent
introduction, and is known to dealers and amateurs by
a variety of names, among others by those of Pekin Night-

The Liothriz. 127

ingale, Japanese Robin, and vice-versd, and Sunbird, as well
as by the specific name which I have adopted for the heading
of this chapter.

The Liothrix, Ledothriz luteus in Latin, der Sonnenvogel
in German, le Rossignol du Japon in French, is, Mr. Wiener
thinks, more nearly allied to the Tits than the Warblers; but
to me it seems a true Robin, with all the characteristics be-
longing to that family: namely, the large head, thick neck,
sharp-pointed bill, full black eye, quick restless motion, sharp
jerky little song, and general impatience of the presence of
other members of its own species.

It is found in considerable numbers in the Himalayas, and
also occurs in China and Japan, so that it is tolerably hardy,
and indifferent to climatic influences; but, like all the soft-
billed birds, keeping it involves a considerable amount of trouble,
which few but true bird-fanciers would care to encounter.
The food should consist of a mixture of bread-crumbs, soaked ,
currants and grated carrot, also a little lean meat scraped fine,
and as many insects as are procurable, especially ants’ eggs,
which tend to keep the bird in health; but mealworms must
be given sparingly, if at all, as they are very stimulating.
Some writers recommend crushed hemp seed, which I have
found to disagree.

None of the Sunbirds I have possessed ever showed the
slightest desire to make a nest; Dr. Russ, however, succeeded
in breeding them as far back as 1874, and in the following
year, if my memory serves me right, exhibited some of the
young ones at the Crystal Palace Show. ‘‘The young of the
Liothrix”, he adds, ‘‘are more easily reared than those of
most insectivorous birds.”

The nest, according to the same high authority, is not a
very elaborate affair, and is made sometimes in a bush, but
more frequently in a little Hartz cage, or a small box, of
which one half of the lid has been removed. It lays four
eggs of a bluish or greenish white, spotted and speckled with

128 Birds I Have Kept.

dull and bright red spots. Incubation lasts twelve days, and
both parents assist alternately in the task. The young ones
resemble the old birds, but are duller in all their colours.

The male Liothrix is about the same size as the English
Robin, to which it bears a considerable resemblance. The
back is greenish olive brown, changing to yellow on the head
and grey on the sides. The throat and breast are bright
orange; the wings are black, but each quill feather is bor-
dered on its outer edge by a narrow line of orange chesnut;
a conspicuous line of black extends down the sides of the
throat from the corners of the mouth, for about half an inch,
and give the bird the appearance of wearing a moustache, to
which a number of projecting black bristles arising from the
same spot give a further resemblance. The tail is shining
black, and the three longest of the upper tail coverts are edged
with white.

The’ female bears a general likeness to her mate, but is
duller in all her colours, and has no white on the tail coverts.

These handsome birds seem to be rather subject to fits:
several specimens I have lost having succumbed, almost instan-
taneously, to this distressing malady. One minute they seemed
to be in the best of health and spirits, singing and dancing about
the aviary, and the next they were struggling on the ground,
and dead before relief could be afforded; a catastrophe which,
in some instances, I attributed to hemp seed, and in others to
a too liberal supply of mealworms.

129

CHAPTER XXXV.

THE SPICE-BIRD.

HIS pretty little bird is about four and a half inches in

length, of which the tail measures one inch and a quarter.
The head, back, and wings are a bright chesnut brown, which
is also the colour of the tail. The feathers on the rump are
lighter than those of the back, and are bordered at their free
edges by a darker line of brown, which gives a mottled, or
undulated appearance to that part. The breast, neck, and sides
are white, but each feather is marked with three semicircular
bands of black, producing an ocellated effect. The belly and
under tail-coverts are yellowish white. The beak is black,
and the legs and feet greyish blue. The iris is dark brown.

The female is rather smaller than the male, lighter in colour,
and has considerably more of the undulated markings on the
rump.

These birds have no audible song, but are, nevertheless,
most indefatigable warblers; it is quite amusing to watch one
of them when pretending to sing: he suddenly starts up from
a doze, stands upright on the perch, opens his beak, and
ruffles his throat feathers, yet not a sound is heard, save,
occasionally when the room is very still, a tiny indistinct
murmur, like the distant chirp of a grasshopper, and the
buzzing of bees. Then, when the performance has come to an
end, the actor and his companions, who had been listening
with bent head and evidently attentive ear on either side, all
fly off to the seed-pan together.

Dr. Russ has succeeded in breeding these birds, but so far
the achievement remains unique; and yet the Spice-bird is an
indefatigable nest builder, piling enormous quantities of bass,
fibre, and hay together in a bush, lining the small cavity in

K

130 Birds I Have Kept.

the interior with feathers, but rarely producing an egg.

The Spice or Nutmeg Bird, Spermestes punctularia, der
Muskatvogel in German, and le Grosbec tacheté de Java in
French, is found in large numbers in all parts of India, and
the islands of the Indian Ocean, whence it is imported in
thousands into Europe every year: ten years ago I received
a present of about twenty of these birds, brought over by a
friend from Aden, and five of them are yet living, apparently
in perfect health and vigour; while those of the little party
that I have lost, with the exception of three that were acci-
dentally poisoned, seemed to have died of old age. They are
really very pretty birds, and perfectly harmless in the aviary.

These birds are frugal feeders, confining themselves almost
entirely to white millet, though sometimes they will take a
little canary seed by way of a change. They are very fond
of pecking grass in flower, loving dearly to hop about through
the long stalks: they are also much addicted to bathing, and
will dip themselves four or five times a day in fine weather.

They seem to be quite hardy, for I have always kept mine
in an unheated room, where however they had plenty of nest-
ing accommodation, to which they usually retire at night. The
only trouble I have had with them is from the overgrowth of
their claws, which require to be regularly cut, especially if
the birds are kept in a cage; but even when flying about a
large room, where they necessarily wear them down more or
less by hopping about on the gravel, the nails have to be
looked to occasionally.

It was formerly thought that the Spice-bird was the origin
of the Japanese Bengali, but Dr. Russ, by a series of careful
experiments, has proved that these peculiar birds are descended
from a little grey Finch, called Spermestes acuticauda, which
I have never kept.

Since writing the above I have received a communication
from a lady correspondent, to the effect that she has succeeded
in breeding these birds in her conservatory.

131

CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE ORANGE-BREASTED WAXBILL.

HIS, the most charming of all the Waxbills, is the greatest

favourite I have among the birds, native and foreign, I
have ever kept, and I would not willingly be without a num-
ber of them in my bird-room. The total length of this bird
is not quite three inches, of which the tail measures rather
more than one inch.

The plumage of the male is dark greenish brown on the
back; the throat is yellow, and the breast and belly bright
orange, which in older specimens becomes so dark as to be
almost black. The vent and rump are reddish orange, and -the
beak the colour of red sealing-wax, while a narrow line of
vivid red runs from the angles of the mouth past the eyes
to the middle of the head. The legs and feet are yellowish
green.

The female is rather greyer than her mate on the upper
parts of her body, and has no orange on her breast, which is
a pale greyish yellow, deepening to dim orange at the vent.

These birds nest very freely in confinement, and live well
in an unheated room, though natives of Western Africa. The
eggs are very minute and quite white. The young are hatched
in ten or twelve days, and are fed on sponge-cake, ants’ eggs,
soaked seeds, green food, especially the unripe seeds of grass,
and aphides.

Although such miniature birds, the Orange-breasted Wax-
bills will live for a long time in confinement, and that, as I
have said, in an unwarmed apartment; but they usually sleep
in their snug little nests during the cold weather, from which
they seem to receive no injury.

1382 Birds I Have Kept.

Dr. Russ relates an instance of one of these little things
producing in one year the enormous number of one hundred
and twenty-one eggs, from which fifty-four young ones were
actually reared; and adds that even this extraordinary instance
of prolificacy has been exceeded, which seems almost impossible.

The nest is neatly built in a cocoa-nut husk, or shell, of
fine hay, aloe fibre, and blades of grass, and is lined with hair
and small feathers: the female alone incubates, but is assidu-
ously fed by her mate, who jealously guards the nest, driving
away every other bird that ventures near the spot where his
little wife is setting.

I am not aware of any disease peculiar to these birds, but
have lost some hens from egg-binding: however, on the whole
they are wonderfully enduring.'

The large numbers of these birds that are annually imported
from Western Africa enable them to be sold at a price that
places them within reach of. every amateur.

Among a multitude of scientific names given to these little
birds I prefer that of Zstrelda subflava, which very well des-
cribes them: the German name is das Goldbriistchen, and the
French le Sénégali a ventre orange.

The song of the male is weak but sweet, and the way in
which he dances, with outspread wings and tail, round his
little partner, singing his song the while, is very amusing.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE ORANGE-CHEEKED WAXBILL.

HIS is another very charming little bird, rather larger

than the Orange-breast, and quite as desirable in a col-
lection. Its scientific name is Estrelda melpoda: the Germans
call it das Orangebdckchen, and the French la Joue orange.

The Orange-cheeked Wacxbill. 133

The top of the head is dark grey, the back, wings, and
tail reddish brown, and the rump and upper tail coverts bright
red. Under and round the eye is a patch of orange, whence
the name of the bird in English, German, and French. The
chin is very light grey, almost white, the neck a little darker
than the chin, and the breast and belly darker still; the beak
is red, and the legs and feet bluish grey.

The Orange-cheek is a very active and lively little bird,
but very shy: it is continually on the move, spreading its
tail from side to side, and flitting restlessly from bough to
bough in the aviary; the song is very trifling, and scarcely
ever heard, except in the spring for a short time.

The female is, perhaps, a trifle greyer than her mate, but
it is almost impossible to distinguish between the sexes: the
best plan is to buy a number of these pretty little creatures,
on the chance of there been some females among them, and
there need be no fear of the unmated members of the party
causing any disturbance, for they are extremely peaceable little
things, and utterly incapable of fomenting a quarrel, much
less getting up a fight. ,

I have not succeeded in getting these birds to breed; but
other amateurs have been more fortunate, and I think it
would not be difficult to rear them in a well-warmed con-
servatory, where the presence of aphides, of which the Orange-
cheek is very fond, could be encouraged. At the same time
they will live quite well all the year round in an unheated
room; but, like the rest of the Waxbills, they, at that season,
spend a great part of their time warmly tucked up in their
cozy little nests.

The chief food of the Orange-cheeked Waxbill is millet,
but canary seed, and soaked bread, or sponge-cake are occa-
sionally partaken of; it is also very fond of green food, and
of bathing, and has no special disease that I am aware of:
the only deaths I have had among these birds having been
from egg-binding in a couple of instances, and old age.

134

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE DIAMOND SPARROW.

HE Diamond Sparrow called, among many other scientific

names, Amadina Lathami, and Spermestes guttata, which
last I much prefer as descriptive of the bird, is named der
Diamant Sperling, or der Tropfenfink by the Germans, and
LT? Oiseau diamant by the French.

It is about the size of an English Linnet, and is a very
handsome bird, with a grey head, brownish grey back and
wings, bright red rump, and short black tail about an inch
long. The beak is red, the throat and neck white, a broad
black band crosses the middle of the breast, the belly, vent,
and under tail coverts are white, the sides are black, with
a number of round white spots on them, from which pecu-
liarity many of the bird’s names are derived. The feet and
legs are bluish grey, and between the beak and the eyes is
a small black spot on either side of the head.

The female resembles the male in general appearance, but
is rather larger, and has usually more white spots on her
sides than he has; her head, too, is greyer: it is difficult,
however, to say to which sex a given bird belongs, but when
a pair are placed together, the more independent and bolder
carriage of the male at once reveals his sex.

When wild, these birds live partly on insects and partly
on seeds, building a large, rough, domed nest of grass, lined
with feathers, on the top of a small bush, or even an isolated
sapling, and lay five or six, or even seven or more, white
eggs, which are hatched in about twelve days.

In the house these birds may be kept in a cage or in a
Dird-room or aviary. I have not tested their endurance out of
doors during the winter, and I have not found them at all

The Diamond Sparrow. 135

quarrelsome, a character given to them by several writers.
The female, if supplied with an abundance of building material,
such as hay, bass, cocoa or aloe fibre, and feathers, makes a
nest for herself in a bush; but if there are other birds in
the aviary, she prefers the protection of a small box, or a
German wicker-cage, usually rearing her young without the
slightest difficulty or fuss on sponge-cake, soaked millet, bread,
and ants’ eggs: the young greatly resemble their parents.

The cry or call-note of the Diamond Sparrow is one of the
most melancholy sounds I ever heard, and that, too, without
being in the least degree musical; it is drawn out to an
unconscionable length, and capable, I should think, of turning
the brain of any unfortunate mortal condemned to listen to
it continuously for any length of time. The male has a little
song, which is tolerably sweet, but only heard during the
brief season of courtship. There are frequently two, sometimes
three broods in the season; but occasionally, if the hen has
been disturbed by mice, or other birds, with her first brood,
she will, apparently in disgust, give up the attempt to become
a mother for the remainder of the year, and will not lay
again till spring.

The Diamond Sparrow inhabits all the temperate parts of
Australia, especially the valley of the river Murray, where I
have frequently found its nest in the mallee scrub, but never
at any great distance from water.

In the house a diet of seeds, canary and millet, with green
food, grass and groundsel (poor groundsel) will keep these
birds in perfect health; but when breeding they must, in
addition, be supplied with the various extras already enu- ‘
merated.

When it arrives in this country, the Diamond Sparrow is
usually in the most deplorable condition, almost entirely
featherless, and exhausted; but when transferred to a larger
cage, or, better still, restored to comparative freedom in a
large room or aviary, it soon regains its feathers and condition.

136 Birds I Hawe Kept.

I have never lost a Diamond Sparrow except from egg-
binding, a complication, however, to which it is not nearly
so subject as many other foreign birds.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE RED-FACED LOVE-BIRD.

HIS miniature Parrot measures some five inches in total

length, nearly two of which belong to the tail: it is a
well-known and favourite bird with amateurs, who indulge
in much harmless sentimentality over its constancy to and
affection for its mate, which, as the supposed ‘‘pair” are very
frequently of the same sex, is, I need scarcely say, no more
than a popular, if pleasing, error; for one of these birds will
live quite as well without a companion as with one, and does
not seem in the least to mourn for the loss of a friend, much
less die of grief unless a substitute for the departed is quickly
found.

Agapornis pullaria, in German der Unzertrennliche, or the
inseparable, which is also its French name 2’ Jnséparable, is a
bright green bird, with a red mask extending round the beak
to a varying depth according to the age of the specimen; it
is a native of Abyssinia, and according to my experience not
a long liver in this country, even when kept during the
winter in a well-warmed conservatory. Other aviarists, how-
ever, have a different tale to tell concerning the Red-faced
Love-bird, one in particular insinuating that he has even
bred it in his bird-room, which I, in common with Dr. Russ
and Mr. Wiener, am reluctantly compelled to doubt.

The female can be readily distinguished from the male Red-
face, not by the extent or intensity of colour of her rubicund
mask, which some writers tell us is the differentiating mark

THK RED-FACED LOVE-BIRD.

The Red-faced Love-bird. 137

between the sexes, but by the under side of her wings being
green, while those of her mate are black.

These birds are natives of the western coast of Africa, and
are specially abundant in Abyssinia, where they are said to
bring up their young families in the hollow branch of a tree,
and to feed on all manner of seeds, preferring millet and
maize, which should also be their chief food in this country,
taking care that both seeds are frequently given soaked.

The principal disease to which these birds are subject is
decline; brought on, I have no doubt, by confining them to a
dry and insufficiently nutritious diet. I have not any of them
in my collection at present, but if I thought of getting any
more, I should feed them altogether on soaked sceds, millet,
maize, and oats: but I hold them most uninteresting whether
kept in cage or aviary, for they are listless and apathetic to
an aggravating degree, seldom stirring from the perch where
they sit dozing for hours side by side, except when impelled
by the cravings of their appetite: they have no song that I
have ever heard, scarcely a squeak, and have not, I think,
ever learned to repeat a word.

The only way, I imagine, to induce these birds to breed
in England, would be to place them in a conservatory, where
the temperature would continually remind them of their native
land, and then, if provided with suitable hollow logs, they
might perhaps condescend to nest; but seeing that they can
now be bought for a mere trifle in all the bird-shops, I do
not think it would be worth any one’s while to try the ex-
periment, except, perhaps, once from curiosity.

138

CHAPTER XL.

THE MADAGASCAR LOVE-BIRD.

HIS is a much nicer, more interesting, and hardier bird

than the Abyssinian, which it about equals in size: the
general colour of the plumage is bright green, but the head
and neck of the male are pale lavender: the female is uniformly
green, so that there is no chance in this case of manipulating
hens, as is said to have been done with the Budgerigar;
though I am strongly inclined to believe that such a paltry
fraud has never been practised to any extent, if, indeed, at
all.

The Grey-headed Parrakeet, Agapornis cana, der graukopfige
Zwergpapaget, la Perruche a téte grise, is a native of the island
of Madagascar, whence considerable numbers of these pretty
and interesting birds are annually imported into Europe, where,
however, especially in Holland, they are largely bred in
aviaries.

Not long ago the White-headed Love-bird was very dear
in London, but he can now be purchased very nearly as
cheaply as the Budgerigar, or the Red-faced Parrakeet. I
have kept these pretty creatures for some time, but have not,
so far, succeeded in inducing them to make a nest, although
they seem to be in as perfect health, as they certainly are
in feather. Many other amateurs, however, have reared them
successfully, and a recent article in a tri-weekly newspaper,
describing their mode of nidification in the writer’s aviary,
confirms the account given by Mr. Wiener of their peculiar
habits in this respect.

“The Grey-headed Love-birds”’, says that graphic and
agreeable author, ‘‘construct a kind of nest in a curious way,
for they will tear wood into strips, and placing these strips

The Blue-winged Love-bird. 189

between the feathers of their back, will carry them into the
hole selected for a nest. As these bits of wood mostly fall
to the ground during their flight, or in entering the nest,
extraordinary assiduity and patience are shown by the quantity
of splinters which a hen Grey-headed Love-bird accumulates
in her nest.”

The lady whose account of these birds I have already alluded
to, says that they carry paper and bits of twigs, as well as
splinters of wood into their breeding place, which is certainly
a curious fact, quite contrary to the general custom of the
Parrot family, which, with the exception of the birds under
consideration and the Rosy-faced.Love-birds, Agapornis roset-
colitis, lay their eggs on the bare wood.

Little is known of the habits of these pretty birds in their
wild state, but in the house I have found some of them
peaceable, although Dr. Russ warns amateurs against placing
them in a small cage with little birds, whose legs, he says,
they are apt to bite.

They feed, in the house, on canary and millet seed, but
will also eat oats, hemp seed and bread-crumbs. They do not
appear to suffer from the cold of our winters in an unwarmed
room, but I have not tested their endurance out of doors.
The breeding season, in this country, commences about Oc-
tober. They are strong flyers, and active and sprightly little
birds.

CHAPTER XLI.

THE BLUE-WINGED LOVE-BIRD.

il Migr very charming little Parrot is smaller than either
the Red-faced Abyssinian, or the White-headed Mada-
gascarene Love-bird; in colour it is bright green, with blue
on the rump and large wing coverts.

140 Birds I Have Kept.

In the female the rump is the same colour as the rest of
her -body, and the blue patch on her wings smaller than in
the case of her spouse.

It is a native of Brazil, but, like many other importations
from that country, is, nevertheless, perfectly hardy, and ap-
parently quite indifferent to the many vicissitudes of our ever
changing climate.

Dr. Russ, to quote once moré from that distinguished
naturalist and authority in all matters pertaining to bird lore,
has succeeded in breeding these birds to the third generation ;
but the specimens in my possession have not as yet attempted
to perpetuate their race.

The Blue-wing, which is also called the Passerine Parrot,
or Parrakeet, is one of the very few foreign birds described
by Bechstein in his admirable book, published originally in
1792; he gives it the name of Sperlings papaget, its scientific
appellation is Psittacus passerinus, and its French name La
Perruche passerine été, or le Trout été (Buffon).

So far I have found these birds quite peaceable in the
aviary, and Dr. Russ says that they are usually so, though
an old male will sometimes attack small birds and bite their
legs. Like the rest of the Parrot family, the Blue-wings are
said to nest in the hollow branch of a tree, but I cannot
say whether or not they make a nest of splinters of wood
like their relatives of the white head, and the rosy face.

In the house their food consists of millet and canary seed,
but they also eat hemp, especially in winter, and seem to
like it. I have not observed them bathe, but they like to
roll in wet grass, after the fashion of the Budgerigar. They
are not such active birds as the White-heads on the wing,
but are for ever climbing among the branches in the aviary,
where they may frequently be seen walking head downwards
from one end of a bough to the other.

The male has a sharp little cry, which would be called a
harsh scream if it were louder.

The Paradise Whydah-bird. 141

They do not learn to speak, wrote Bechstein, but are very
sociable and affectionate, which is quite correct; but the futher
-of bird-lore very seldom made a mistake.

CHAPTER XLII.

THE PARADISE WHYDAH-BIRD.

He amateurs would consider their collection complete
without a pair, or two, of these curious birds, which,
in spite of their wonderful tails, and glossy black plumage,
are not great favourites of mine, for I have been rather un-
fortunate in my experience with them, having rarely been
able to keep them for more than a year or so.

Between January and July both sexes of this species are
alike in colour, and somewhat resemble a Grey Linnet, which
they about equal in size, although the undress tail of the
male is decidedly longer than that of the English bird.

About midsummer the male of the Whydah-bird begins to
put on his wedding dress, which consists of a deep, almost
jet, black body-coat, with a broad collar of rich chesnut-brown;
his vest and continuations are snow-white, and in a surpris-
ingly short time he produces four black tail feathers, the
outer pair of which are more than twice the length of hig
body, occasionally attaining the prodigious length of fourteen
inches from shaft to tip.

The female retains her simple brown costume throughout
the year, but can readily, at all seasons, be distinguished
from her mate by her inferior size.

The Whydah family, generally, have a curious habit of
scratching with their feet in the sand that should always be
plentifully scattered on the floor of their abode; and this
they presumably do in search of insects, for I have never

142 Birds I Have Kept.

seen them pick up any of the seeds they might have un-
covered: and it is, perhaps, in consequence of their inability
to procure this kind of food that I have failed in my attempts
to keep them for any length of time.

Decline, and inability to cast their feathers, seem to be
the principal diseases incidental to these birds: those I have
lost appeared in good health only two or three days before
their death. One day I found them sitting bundled up on
their perch, with head under wing; the next they were unable
to fly, and on the following morning I found them stiff and
cold, and nothing but a bag of bones.

The Whydahs will eat mealworms and blackbeetles, small
ones, but I do not fancy that these insects agree with them:
a friend of mine who lives in South Africa has told me that
these birds chiefly subsist when wild on a kind of small shining
beetle that is very abundant in the woods frequented by these
beautiful and quaint-looking creatures.

I well remember the feeling of longing, not to say envy,
with which, then a youngster myself, I contemplated a sailor
lad at Havre, who was carrying one of these remarkable
creatures in a bamboo cage past the window of the house
where we were staying; presumably the young fellow was just
off ship, and had brought the bird from Africa as a present
for his mother, or possibly for someone ‘‘nearer and dearer”
still, if that can be. Yet, when my desire was fulfilled, many
years afterwards, and I became the actual possessor of a real
live pair of Whydah-birds, I did not care nearly as much
about them as might have been expected: which, after all, is
human nature.

To resume: Vidua paradisea, die Paradies Witve, and la
Veuve ad Collier d'or, as the bird is named in Latin, German
and French, respectively, is, properly speaking the Whydah-
bird: the popular designation of ‘‘widow”’ bird being, I fancy,
a free translation of the Latin word vidwa, as their true name
was Latinised by Linneus, rather than an actual name be-

THE RED-BEAKED WRAVER

The Red-faced Weaver-bird. 148

stowed upon them by that distinguished naturalist, in conse-
quence of their sombre appearance; for they are really not at
all widow-like, but, on the contrary, rather gay, and, if not
exactly vivacious in manner, yet not quite as quiet and sub-
dued as a mourning widow is popularly supposed to be.

CHAPTER XLIII.

THE RED-FACED WEAVER-BIED.

ONCE, and once only, possessed two of these birds, which
—L had been sold to me for a pair, but turned out to be two
males, and I found them the most indefatigable constructors
of neat toy nests I ever saw.

They were small birds, about the size of the Greater Red-
poll, or Siskin, and when out of colour bore a great resem-
blance to a hen House Sparrow: but when they assumed their
summer dress, the ordinary brown and black of their feathers
became intensified, and a ring of deep red made its appearance
round their beaks.

I am not quite certain of their identity, but imagine them
to have been a variety of the Red-headed Weaver, Ploceus
erythrops, der rothkopfige Webervogel of the Germans, and la
Dioche a téte rouge of the French. Unfortunately they did
not remain very long in my possession, for, having sent them
to one of the bird shows at the Crystal Palace, someone took
a fancy to them, and, in spite of the supposed prohibitive
price I had placed upon them, became their purchaser.

While they were with me I fed them on canary and millet,
with a few mealworms now and then, and they seemed in
capital health and spirits.

All the Weavers are natives of Southern Africa, except one
species found in Madagascar, Ploceus Madagascariensis, which

144 Birds I Have Kept.

is a gorgeously appareled bird, that has been acclimatised in
St. Helena, the Island of Reunion and the Mauritius.
Though I have often looked for them, I have not hitherto
met with any more of the Red-faced Weavers in the shops
of the London dealers, and imagine them to be rather scarce.

CHAPTER XLIV.

THE RUFOUS OR RED-BEAKED WEAVER.

N its undress this bird is almost exactly like that described

in the last chapter, but the summer dress of the male
at once proves it to belong to a different species. When in
colour, the whole of the breast and belly become a bright
yellowish red, and a beautiful bloom appears on the brown
and grey back.

The female, of course, does not change her dress, and may
be known from the male when out of colour by her smaller
size. The beak, in both sexes, is coral red. The tail of these
pirds is peculiarly short, not measuring more than an inch, or
thereabouts, the total length of the bird being four and a half
inches.

The Red-beaked Weaver is also an indefatigable nest builder,
and the way he commences his task extremely curious. Having
fixed upon an appropriate site for his operations, he commences
by binding two twiglets together with a piece of fibre, forming
a circle, round which he twists blades of grass, or pieces of
fibre, but preferring fresh grass, when he can get it: as soon
as the circle is about the thickness of a goose-quill, he begins
to extend it, and standing at what forms the entrance of the
future nest, he weaves on, gradually contracting the opening,
until at length it disappears and a perfect nest is formed:

The Common Wazbiil. 145

then turning round he fills up the opening, reducing it from
a diameter of about three inches, to one of an inch and a half.
The nest being then finished, the little architect forsakes it,
and proceeds to build another, leaving his work of many days
to be occupied by a pair of Waxbills, who delight in such
structures which they partially fill with feathers or cottonwool.,

The real nest of the Weaver-bird, always the work of the
female, is a much more elaborate affair than that which I have
just described, but is very seldom constructed in this country;
and when it is occasionally made, it is still less frequently
oceupied, for it is very rare indeed for any of the Weaver-
birds to breed in captivity.

Like the preceding species, the Red-beaked Weaver, Ploceus
sanguintrostris, der rothschnabeliger Webervogel in German,
called Je Travailleur by the French, can be kept on a seed
diet for a long time, but appears to moult better if a few
insects are added now and then.

These birds are perfectly hardy, and: may be kept out of
doors all the year round, if first turned out in June or July,
and the coldest weather scarcely stops the building labours of
the male.

CHAPTER XLV.

THE COMMON WAXBILL.

HIS is a delightful little creature, about the same size as

. the Zebra, or Orange-breasted Waxbill, and is often called

the Lavender Finch, and the St. Helena Waxbill, but erro-

neously so, for it is quite a different bird from either of those
with which it is occasionally confounded.

The prevailing colour of this little Waxbill is a delicate

grey, lighter on the under than on the upper parts of the body ;

L

146 Birds I Have Kept.

the wings and tail are black, and the vent and under tail
coverts rose. A red line starts from the insertion of the red
beak, crosses the eye, and reaches to the middle of the head
on either side.

These small creatures are very hardy, very pretty, and most
inoffensive: they are very fond of nest-making, and occasionally
deposit a tiny white egg in the enormous mass of hay, fibre
and feathers they are pleased to consider a nest. I have not
succeeded in getting them to set, but Dr. Russ has often bred
them.

The chief food of these birds is white millet; but they will
eat sponge-cake, and even soaked bread, but are particularly
fond of aphides, which they will clear off the branches of a
rose-tree with a rapidity quite wonderful to behold.

It is one of the prettiest sights imaginable to see a number
of these delicate little things sitting close together on a bough,
engaged in preening their feathers, or singing their pretty
little song; then, as soon as they are tired of singing, or have
finished their toilette, it is most amusing to watch their antics
when sporting among the boughs, or helping themselves from
the seed pan, where with outspread wings and ever twitching
tail they recall to mind a little poem, ‘“‘Puppy Dogs’ Tails,”
that appeared, some years ago, in a long since defunct peri-
odical.

“Now there hangs by these tails a peculiar fact,
For the reason of which I am mentally rackt;
Tis that whether in anger, in pain, or in play,
They continue eternally wagging away,”

which is an undoubted fact, and a very pretty sight in the
case of the birds under consideration.

When the breeding season has set in the scene changes:
what quarrels and jealousies one has to witness among these
small people! how they chase each other about the aviary,
with shrill and angry cries! how they tilt against each other

The Silverbill. 147

on the wing for the possession of some coveted nesting place!
but the tiny combatants are so light that the severest tussels
in which they engage are very harmless affairs indeed.

The Common Waxbill is perfectly hardy, and will live for
years in an unwarmed bird room, but will not, under such
circumstances, breed, even if a few eggs are now and then
deposited: but if its native climate of Western Africa can be
reproduced for its benefit in this cold and smoke-begrimed
island, few birds will rear a greater number of young ones in
@ season, on a diet of soaked seeds, ants’ eggs, sponge-cake
and aphides.

One or two I have lost from egg-binding, and a few more
apparently from old age. It is said that they will live out of
doors all the year round, but this I have not proved.

The scientific name of this species is Hstrelda, or gintha
cinerea, the Germans call it die graue Astrild, and the French
le Bee de Coratl ordinaire.

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE SILVERBILL.

HE subject of the present chapter is one of the sweetest
and most indefatigable little songsters with which I am
acquainted: in fact he scarcely ever stops singing, and the
female is almost as accomplished a performer as her mate.
The Silverbills are very gentle and inoffensive birds, breeding
freely, whether in cage or aviary; all they require for nesting
purposes being a cocoa-nut shell, not husk, and some fine hay
and feathers.
The length of this bird is about three and a half inches, of
which one inch and a quarter belong to the tail. The sexes
are very much alike in appearance, so much so that it is

148 Birds I Have Kept.

difficult to tell which is which. The female is, perhaps, a
trifle smaller, and just a shade lighter in colour than the
male, so that when seen together, she may with tolerable cer-
tainty be picked out: but when viewed alone it would take
a very experienced eye indeed to determine to which sex a
given bird belonged.

The head, back, and large wing coverts are light brownish
grey, the shoulders and flight feathers of the wings are many
shades darker, and the tail so dark that it appears almost
black. The throat and breast are a little lighter than the
back; the belly and lower tail coverts are almost white; the
beak is a bluish silver grey, the lower mandible being paler
than the upper. The legs and feet are greyish flesh colour.

These little birds will, under favourable circumstances, pro-
duce two or three broods, of from three to five young ones,
in the season, and rear them on soaked seed, sponge-cake,
ants’ eggs, and aphides.

The best way to induce all the small Finches and Grosbeaks
to breed in this country, is to turn them into a large conser-
vatory, well planted with common evergreen shrubs, the larger
the better, where the temperature can be properly regulated,
and maintained equably all the year round, when brood after
brood of every kind will make its appearance to delight the
heart of the owner, and put money in his pocket too: if an
abundant supply of aphides can be cultivated in the place,
success will be even more certain.

I am aware that many connoisseurs will exclaim at this,
and say that they have perfectly well succeeded without any
such fuss, in an ordinary aviary: but cross-questioned, I fancy,
they would be fain to admit that their ‘‘success’”’ consisted of
a few odd birds now and then, not always successfully reared,
and frequently crippled and deformed. Let them try my plan,
and I am satisfied they will admit, after trial, that it is the
only way to command real success.

One other point must always be remembered, viz: that

The Bengali. 149

birds of the same size only, and living upon the same kind of
food, should be kept in the same enclosure.

That the Silverbill has been officially recognised as a mu-
sician of no mean ability, is manifest from the scientific name
of Munia cantans that has been bestowed upon it. The Ger-
mans and the French, however, like ourselves, take its name
from the colour of its beak, and call it, respectively, der
Silberschnabel, and le Bee ad’ Argent.

These birds appear to be very hardy, for I have been able
to keep them for years, at all seasons, in an unwarmed room;
the only losses I have had having been from egg-binding in
one or two cases, and from old age in one or two more.

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE BENGALI.

HE first time I ever saw any of these curious little

birds was at one of the Crystal Palace Shows, some
years ago, when a pair were exhibited in the ‘‘any other
variety” class, and attracted a good deal of attention, though
I forget whether they obtained a prize. They spent the
greater part of their time in a cocoa-nut shell half filled with
cotton wool, and seemed such nervous, chilly little beings
that, after a look at them, I passed on, and dismissed their
memory from my mind as utterly unattainable; nor was it
until some considerable time had elapsed that I again saw
some of them at a dealer’s, when, although the price was
very high, I invested in a pair; which, however, turned out
badly with me, for the hen died egg-bound soon afterwards,
and the cock, who did not seem to miss his wife in the least,
grew so enormously fat, that he dropped off his perch one
day in an apoplectic fit.

150 Birds I Have Kept.

The Bengali is supposed by Dr. Russ to be descended from
the Sharp-tailed Finch (Munia acuticauda), and. by others from
the Striated Finch (I. striata); the plumage of these birds
having undergone so many alterations during centuries of do-
mestication, that, as in the case of the Canary, it is now
difficult to determine exactly from which original they are really
descended.

The Bengali is about four inches in length, one inch and a
quarter of which belong to the tail, the two central feathers
of which appendage are pointed, and a quarter of an inch
longer than the others.

There are said to be three varieties of Bengalis, the pure
white, the white and brown, and the white and buff; but as
these varieties, so called, do not always breed true to colour,
it is at least doubtful whether they are not one and the
same.

Like most of the small Finches, these birds prefer to make
their nest in a cocoa-nut shell, a small box, or better still,
in the deserted toy-nest of a Weaver-bird; where, as a rule,
they breed as freely and with as little trouble to their
owner as a Canary, or less. The adult Bengali lives on canary
and millet seed; but where there are young ones in the nest
to be fed, sponge-cake, ants’ eggs, and soaked seeds, must
in addition be supplied. These birds are not always good
feeders; though I imagine that much of the failure expe-
rienced with them is owing to the presence of parasites in
the nest, which either so torment the old birds that they
desert their brood, or so weaken the young ones that they
are unable, from want of rest, and actual loss of blood, to
stand up in the nest to be fed, and soon die miserably from
exhaustion.

I need scarcely, in this connection, observe that prevention
is very much better, if not easier, than cure; and would re-
commend Keating’s insect powder, well sprinkled over the
nest, which will prevent the appearance of vermin, and quickly

LHE FAVA SPARROW

The Java Sparrow. 151

kill them if any are present: it may safely be dusted over
eggs and young birds, providing the latter are not actually
gaping at the time when it is being used, for if it were to
get down their throats it would certainly not have a bene-
ficial effect upon them, if indeed it did not kill them outright.

I have already mentioned the diseases to which I have
found the Bengalis subject, and would merely further remark
under this heading, that it is unwise to turn them at once
into a large aviary after purchase; for they have so long
been used to a confined space, that they seem to have par-
tially lost the use of their wings, and are lost and bewildered
when they find themselves turned loose, and not unfrequently
perish from absolute inability to find their food.

The better plan is to transfer them into a cage about twice
the size of the one they have been accustomed to, and to
go on gradually increasing the dimensions of their abode until
they are able to use their wings, and make their way about.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

THE JAVA SPARROW.

i Newnes really handsome birds are very old favourites with
fanciers, and were comparatively common in Bechstein’s
time. ‘There are few vessels”, said that excellent authority
on bird-matters, toward the close of the last century, ‘coming
from Java, and the Cape of Good Hope, that do not bring
numbers of these birds, which have as bad’a character in those
countries, and particularly in China, their native place, as
the Sparrows have amongst us, on account of the ravages they
make in the rice fields. They have nothing attractive but
‘their beauty, for their song is short and monotonous. They
cost four or five pounds sterling a pair in Germany.”

152 Birds I Have Kept.

There are one or two points in the foregoing extract that
require a little explanation: in the first place, the Java Sparrow,
‘Loxia orycivora (Linnweus), der Reisvogel (Russ) and le Padda
(Buffon), is not a native of the Cape of Good Hope, nor is
it indigenous in China, although largely bred there: its nat-
ural habitat is Java, Borneo, Sumatra, and the Islands of the
Indian Ocean, and the price has declined from that mentioned
by Bechstein, to some three, four, or even less, shillings a pair.

The Java Sparrow is about the size of an English Bull-
finch, but as it is a much more closely feathered bird, it
appears smaller. The beak is large and thick, and of a
reddish rose colour; the head and throat are black, and the
cheeks white; the tail and flight feathers of the wings are
black, but all the rest of the upper part of the body is a
delicate slate grey; the breast and belly have a purplish tinge,
and the under tail-coverts are white. ‘(The whole plumage,”
says Buffon, speaking of the Java Sparrow, ‘‘is so well ar-
ranged that no one feather passes another, and they all appear
downy, or rather covered with that kind of bloom which you
see on ripe plums.”

The female is exactly like her mate, which can only be
distinguished from her by his somewhat more bounceable
manner; for it is a mistake to suppose, as Bechstein seems to
have done, that the hen Java Sparrow ‘‘is irregularly spotted
with dark brown on the cheeks and lower part of the belly.”

Captive Java Sparrows breed freely enough, whether in
cage or aviary, if supplied with nesting material, hay, grass,
feathers, etc., and suitable nesting places, such as cocoa-nut
husks, small boxes, Hartz-cages, and such like; though I have
not myself succeeded in obtaining young ones from them, but
that may be because I have taken no pains with them, but
left them very much to themselves, and even then I think
they would have bred successfully if they had not been dis-
turbed by mice.

The white variety, which is a Japanese creation, is said,

The Saffron Finch. 153

both by Dr. Russer and Herr Wiener, to be very easily kept
and bred: however, as I have not tried it, I shall merely
observe that it is much cheaper than it used to be, the price
having declined from £8 to eighteen shillings or fifteen shillings
a pair.

The common Java Sparrow is a perfectly hardy bird, and
may be safely wintered out of doors; it is a frugal feeder,
and will thrive on canary and millet seed.

CHAPTER XLIX.

THE SAFFRON FINCH.

HIS bird, of which the scientific name is Sycalis Bra-

sthensis, the German der Safranfink, and the French le
Chardonneret a front @ or, is one of the most charming birds
I know, and is, I fancy, the same that is described by Bech-
stein under the name of der griine Stieglitz, for in some specimens
the deep orange tint of the forehead in the male assumes a
positively red shade, such as the Father of cage-bird lore
attributes to his Green Goldfinch.

In size the Saffron Finch is equal to an ordinary Norwich
Canary, with which bird it freely forms an alliance, and
hybrids are said to have been obtained from it by Dr. Russ,
and others; but the eggs of a Canary I paired with one of
these birds were all barren. The general colour of the Saffron
Finch is greenish yellow, the throat and forehead are golden
orange, and the flight and tail feathers black, with yellowish
green edges.

The colours of the female are lighter than those of the
male, and she bears a considerable resemblance to a buff cin-
namon Canary that has been moulted on green food, for she

154 Birds I Have Kept.

has very little orange on her head, and none to speak of on
her throat.

The young, on leaving the nest, are very much like a hen
Sparrow, and they do not attain to their full plumage until
they are two years old, at which time also they first evince
a desire to breed: I do not assert this to be their universal
custom, but in my experience of them it is so.

The nest is made in a cocoa-nut husk with a largish opening,
or a shell, or small box, of hay, fibre, etc., and lined with
hair and feathers; the eggs, which are from four to six in
number, vary greatly in colour, some being as light as those
of a Canary, and others so dark as to be almost black. It
is a curious fact that, although barren, the eggs laid by my
hen Norwich Canary that was paired with a Saffron Finch
greatly resembled those of the latter bird in colour. The
period of incubation lasts about thirteen or fourteen days, and
I have not observed that the male took any part in it, though
he was most attentive in feeding the young, which are easily
reared on soaked bread, insects and soaked seed.

The song of the male Saffron Finch is sweet, but he in-
troduces some harsh notes into it that somewhat mar its effect.

I have not found these birds quite as hardy as most of
the other Brazilians, for they do not seem able to stand our
winters without a good deal of protection out of doors: though
at the same time they are certainly not as delicate as Mr.
Gedney says they are; for I have kept them for eight or
nine years in perfect health and increasing beauty, while he
says he has lost upwards of twenty pairs in the same time,
which is, surely, a most unfortunate experience.

During the breeding season these birds will eat insect food,
on which they chiefly feed their nestlings, but at other times
they are quite content with seed.

The Saffron Finch will soon become very tame, and indeed
I know of few more desirable birds: some writers assert them
to be quarrelsome, but I have not found them so.

155

CHAPTER L.

GOFFIN’S COCKATOO.

HAVE already said so much about this bird in my “Am-

ateur’s Aviary”’, that very little now remains to be added.
His scientific name is Psittacus or Cacatua Gofini, in German
he is called der Goffin’s Kakadu, and in French, le petit
Cacatois d huppe rougedtre. He is a native of the Solomon
Islands; the general colour of his plumage, which secretes
a quantity of pearly white powder not unlike glove chalk,
is white; the under wing feathers are pale primrose yellow,
and so are the under tail coverts, but the crest feathers, which
are broad and white, are reddish salmon colour at the base,
with the exception of the largest in front, which are white
throughout.

Goffin’s Cockatoo is about the same size as the common
Grey Parrot, his beak is greyish white, and his feet and legs
a very pale slate colour: the iris of the eye is black in the
male, and brown in the female, which may thus be distinguished
at a glance from her partner: difference of size exists among
these birds, but indicates age, not sex; they grow slowly,
and live for a great many years: mine is now fifteen years
in England, and shows not the least sign of decrepitude as
yet. It is a very intelligent bird, a good talker, and could,
I believe, be easily bred, if_a young healthy "pair could be
obtained. Being scarce it commands a high price in the bird
market; as much as £5 or £6 being asked for an adult
specimen.

The ordinary diet of Goffin’s Cockatoo should be canary
and hemp seed, but he may also be given boiled potato, rice
cooked, bread, and a little egg, or a well-picked chicken bone

156 Birds I Have Kept.

now and then assists him to moult, but should not be given
too frequently or his feathers will be always falling out. I
have not observed that he drinks much, but if given a dry
crust, he will at once dip it in his water tin, and not attempt
to eat it until he thinks it has been sufficiently soaked. He
is a very hardy bird, as well as a long liver, and I know
of no complaints to which he is subject. I certainly lost the
only female I ever possessed in a fit, caused, I think, by
egg-binding; but this I suspect was more an accident arising
from her age, than from natural delicacy of constitution.

CHAPTER LI.

THE ROSY COCKATOO.

HIS is a very handsome but not, in my opinion, a de-
sirable bird: true, I have never owned but a single
specimen, but which I found so highly objectionable in every
respect, that I have not had the courage to venture on another.
The Rosy, or Rose-breasted Cockatoo is about the same
size as the bird described in the last chapter; the upper part
of its body is slate grey, the under rose colour; the short
crest is rose and white, and the under part of the tail black.
The male, as in the case of Goffin’s Cockatoo, can be rea-
dily distinguished by the black colour of the iris, that of the
female being brown; otherwise the sexes are indistinguishable
apart.

These birds are fed on canary and hemp seed, with the
addition of oats and soaked maize as a change, now and then.
They do not learn to speak much, but one of them will
occasionally say a word or two: they scream, however, awfully
and almost incessantly: but on the other hand, are quite
hardy and will survive in captivity for a number of years.

THE ROSE-BREASTED COCKATOO.

The Ring-necked Parrakeet. 157

The scientific name of the Rosy Cockatoo is Psittacus
roseicapillus; in German des rosenrothe Kakadu, and in French
le Cacatois gris-rose.

To Mr. Gedney belongs the distinction of being the only
person who has, so far, succeeded in breeding the Rosy Cock-
atoo in captivity; but what he has done can, no doubt, be
accomplished by others, that is, if they think it worth their ‘
while, which I certainly do not, to make the attempt.

Both the Rosy and Goffin’s Cockatoos require a very strong
cage or aviary to lodge them in, for they have immensely
powerful beaks, which they are only too ready to exercise on
the furniture when they have the chance.

CHAPTER LII.

THE RING-NECKED PARRAKEET.

HIS well known species, which, strange to say, is not

alluded to by Bechstein, although its Plum-headed rela-
tion (Paleornis cyanocephalus) is, is the only member of the
Parrot family that inhabits the African and Asiatic continents,
whence it used formerly to be imported into Imperial Rome;
and is probably the only bird belonging to the Psittacide
that was known to the ancients.

It abounds in most parts of India, and is especially plen-
tiful in the vicinity of Calcutta. Once this bird has become
tame and acclimatised it bears our climate well, and will live
for quite a number of years in the house. It is said to be
spiteful with other Parrots, but I have never tried it in an
aviary out of doors, so cannot say anything to its conduct
under such conditions.

The general colour of the species is green, lighter below

158 Birds I Have Kept.

than above: the throat is black, and a ring, partly of the
same colour, and partly rose, surrounds the neck; whence some
of the names by which it is known: its scientific designation
is Psittacus or Palaornis torquatus, the French call it la
Perruche & collier rose, but the Germans have given it the
_ name of der kleine Alexander Sittich.

This bird measures about twenty inches in total length, ten
of which belong to the tail: the ‘‘ Gefiederte Welt” for 1873
contains an account of the successful endeavours of a pair of
these birds belonging to Herr Otto Wiegand, to, rear a brood
of their own.

Some of the Ring-necked Parrakeets learn to speak very
freely and distinctly, while others are not at all docile, and
can scarcely say a word.

The staple diet is hemp and canary seed; milk and meat
cause irritation of the skin, in order to allay which the un-
happy bird plucks out its feathers until it leaves itself quite
bare.

It is not a great drinker, but it is, nevertheless, cruel to
keep the poor creatures without water, under which circum-
stances their thirst compels them to eat a great deal more
“sop” than they can digest: still, the notion has taken a
firm hold on the public mind, that Parrots require nothing
to drink; so firm, indeed, that the authorities of the London
Zoological Gardens deprive many of the Parrots under their
care of water, and maintain that this is the proper course to
adopt towards them: in reply to which I would merely re-
quest the visitor at the ‘‘Zoo” to look at the labels on the
cages in the Parrot House, and, if I am not very grievously
mistaken, I think he will find the greater part of them to
be of ominously recent date.

My Ring-neck was very fond of bathing, and drank mo-
derately: maize and oats may be given occasionally by way
of a change.

: 159

CHAPTER LIII. -

THE COMMON RING OR LAUGHING DOVE.

HIS familiar pet of my boyhood ought, perhaps, to have

been included among the British, and not among the
foreign birds I have kept, for like the Canary, though of
exotic origin, it has long since become naturalized in this
country.

Unlike the Canary, however, it has, so far, scarcely de-
parted from its original; only one variety, the White, often
called the Japanese Dove, has been produced: and even this
is doubtful, for it frequently has red eyes, and is probably
nothing but an albino.

It used to be kept much more frequently some years ago
than itis at present, new and more showily feathered species
having taken its place in the estimation of juvenile connoisseurs,
to whose consideration I can nevertheless most heartily re-
commend it as a very charming pet, capable of becoming so
tame as to sit on its young owner's shoulder, and eat bread
and seed from his hand. It is not well to let these birds
fly out of doors, for they have none of the homing instinct
of the Pigeon, and will sooner or later stray and be lost.

The Laughing Dove is about twelve inches in length, and
is reddish grey above, and whitish grey on the under parts of
the body; the legs and feet are red, and a semicircle of
black marks the back of the neck and gives the bird one
of its names, the Ring or Collared Dove; its scientific desig-
nation is Columba risorius, its French name la Zourtouredle
a collier, and its German name die Lachtaube, or the Laughing
Dove.-

There is scarcely any difference in the appearance of the

160 Birds I Have Kept.

sexes; the female, however, is if anything a trifle smaller
than her mate.

The cooing of these birds has some resemblance to laughter,
and when the cock bird is addressing his spouse, he does not
turn round like the true Pigeons, but hops forward, stops,
bows his head, and swells out his crop, giving rise at the
same time to his peculiar, but not unmusical notes.

The Laughing Dove has about three broods of young during
the year; but occasionally may produce as many as four, or
even five: the eggs are white, smaller than those of a Pigeon,
and sat upon for fourteen or fifteen days: one of the eggs
is usually barren, but sometimes both will prove to be fertile

and hatch.

CHAPTER LIV.

THE WHITE-BREASTED PIGEON.

OME years ago I bought of a London dealer a pair of

extremely pretty birds, which he called White-breasted
Pigeons, but which I am unable to identify with any species
of the Columbide described by the authors to whose works I
have had access. They were rather stouter in build than the
Laughing Dove, had shorter tails, and were altogether plumper
in proportion to their size.

The male was a beautiful rich chesnut on the upper part
of the body, and his breast and belly were the purest white
imaginable, the under feathers of his wings were bright red,
and his feet and legs were rose coloured.

The female was duller in her upper parts, and greyer on
the lower, nor had she the red underwing of the male.

I placed them in a corner wired off the conservatory, where,
during the summer months, they seemed to get on very well,

The White-breasted Pigeon. 161

feeding on canary, millet, and hemp seed. I kept a pair of
Virginian Nightingales in the same place, and soon found
that my Pigeons were as fond of mealworms and other in-
sects as the Scarlet Grosbeaks were.

After a while they made a slight nest of sticks on the
top of a small square cage that was hung up in the enclosure
where they lived, so I was in hopes of a brood, but cold
weather setting in, no eggs were laid, and the birds fell
into moult. I kept the place as warm as I could, but they
gradually pined away, and died before spring, evidently from
decline. I deeply regretted their loss, for they were very
interesting as well as very pretty birds.

Instead of cooing, the cock made a peculiar noise like the
pouring of water from a bottle; while the hen grunted ex-
actly like a guinea pig.

The dealer I bought my birds of said they came from
Africa, and evidently they required more heat than I was
able to give them, for as long as the weather was warm
they seemed lively and happy, but the least cold seemed to
benumb them at once. They were exceedingly gentle and in-
offensive, and permitted the Red Grosbeaks to bully them to
any extent. I have not met with any more of the species
since: but should I do so, I would adopt a different mode
of treatment; that is to say, keep them at a minimum tem-
perature of 60° Fahr., and give them a liberal supply of
insect food.

162

CHAPTER LV.

THE COMBASSOU.

LTHOUGH differing from them by the absence of the
elongated tail feathers, this bird is thought by many
writers to belong to the family of the Whydah birds, for it
comes into colour just as they do, and has the same habit of
scratching with its feet in the dust; it is also said to build
a similar nest, but upon this point I can say nothing, for
none of my Combassous ever made the least attempt to build.
Dr. Russ, however, is of opinion that these birds form a
class by themselves; among many scientific names that have
been bestowed that which seems to me the most suitable is
Fringilla nitens, for the summer plumage of the male really
shines with a true metallic lustre. The Germans call it der
Stahlblaue Widafink, oder der Atlas Vogel, and the French Le
Combasou.

The female always, and the male when out of colour, re-
semble a hen Redpoll.

A recent writer has stated that these birds breed freely in
captivity, and gives his readers to understand, without exactly
saying so in as many words, that they have nested in his
aviary: but Dr. Russ, in my opinion an incomparably higher
authority, says that breeding is very difficult, for after long
years of trial he only obtained one brood (Die Zuchtung ist
ausserordentlich schwer: ich habe bet jahrelangen Versuchen nur
eme Brut erlangt.)

The food of these birds consists mainly of seeds, but they
will greedily devour all the insects they can get hold of, and
seem to be especially partial to spiders and aphides; and it
is possibly on account of the insufficient supply of this kind
of food, that my Combassous made no attempt to breed.

THE COMEBASSOU,

The Giant Weaver. 163

I do not consider them hardy, and lost all I attempted to
keep during the moulting season; the reproduction of their
feathers seeming to exhaust the birds, which died either during,
or immediately after moult.

Mr. Wiener, on the other hand, ‘‘found this bird quite
hardy, and ever lively and in good condition”, so that I
must have been as exceptionally unfortunate with them, as
Mr. Gedney was with his Saffron Finches: however I did
not consider them sufficiently interesting to make it worth my
while to try them a second time.

The Combassou is a native of the western parts of Africa,
and is especially abundant in Abyssinia, where it is said to
occupy the place of the Sparrow in this country.

CHAPTER LVI.

THE GIANT WEAVER.

NCE upon a time, several years ago, I saw an advertisement

in the Exchange and Mart, to the effect that some one
wanted to exchange a pair of “Orioles” for a pair of Budger-
igars; and as I had a number of the latter birds, and none
of the former, I replied, and in due course received the birds:
which turned out not to be Orioles at all, but a kind of
Weaver-bird as large as the Grey Red-crested Cardinal.

They, the cock especially, were very showy and handsome
birds, green, yellow and black, with a bold, independent carriage,
that made them look handsomer still.

The female was darker, less brilliant in her colours, and
considerably smaller than her mate, who had a loud and not
unmusical whistle, while she was exceptionally mute.

Not exactly liking the look of their powerful black beaks
and feet, I hesitated to introduce them to the company of

164 Birds I Have Kept.

my little Finches indoors, and, the weather being mild, placed
them in a garden aviary already tenanted by a pair of Cocka-
teels, and a pair of Grey Cardinals; with the latter of whom
they at once engaged in deadly combat: so fierce was the
encounter, that I thought I should have had to interfere and
separate the belligerents, but after a few minutes the Cardinals
were defeated and beat a hasty retreat: the Weavers content
with the victory, let their enemies alone, and the four after-
wards got on very comfortably together, an armed truce having,
apparently, been agreed to between them. With the quiet,
easy-going Cockateels, my Orioles, as I continued to call them,
never interfered in the least.

I soon found that my new acquisitions were extremely fond
of insects, but they eat all manner of seeds, and seemed strong
and healthy.

After they had been in my possession for some weeks, I
imagined, when I saw the male flying about with pieces of
fibre in his beak, that I might shortly expect a young brood:
but no such good fortune was in store for me, the fellow was
only intending to build a toy-nest, which he did after this
manner: taking a long stalk of grass in his beak, he threw
it over one of the perches in the aviary, and fastened the
two ends together, by twisting them round and round each
other, then twining other stalks of grass round the foundation
he had thus made for himself, he soon framed a wonderfully
constructed nest, the size of a cocoa-nut husk, which presented
a very curious appearance from the fact of the clever architect
having left about an inch of each grass stem sticking out, so
that the general effect reminded the spectator of a porcupine,
or rather of a hedgehog rolled up. One of these nests I
exhibited along with the birds at one of the Crystal Palace
Bird Shows, when they were seen and admired by some amateur,
who carried them off after payment of the price I had placed
upon them, and which I thought would have been prohibitive.

The female never made the least attempt to build, though the

The Green Singing Finch. 165

male seemed very anxious to induce her to do so, and frequently

chased her about the enclosure until she fell exhausted to the
ground.

CHAPTER LVII.
THE GREEN SINGING FINCH.

i Diese pretty little bird only requires to be known, in order
to be appreciated as he deserves: he is about the same size
as the Siskin, a bird which he greatly resembles, with the
exception that he had not so much black on the head.

The top of the head, black, wings and tail are greyish green,
the throat, breast and belly greenish yellow, which is also the
colour of the rump and face.

The female is almost exactly like her mate, but is just a very
little greyer on the back.

They make an open nest in a bush, and lay about four bluish-
white eggs, which are sometimes speckled with a number of small
spots of a darker shade of blue, and sometimes quite plain.

Mules have been produced between these little birds and
the Canary.

The scientific name of the Green Singing Finch is Fringilla
Butyracea, in allusion to its colour, while the Germans name
it der Hartlaubs, oder der Wozambik-seisig, and the French, le
Chanteur vert o% le Chanteur de Mozambique. It is a native
of the western coast of Africa, but has been naturalized at
St. Helena, whence it is often called the St. Helena seed-eater..

The song of this little bird is very sweet, and is, moreover,
continued during the summer and autumn months. Mr. Wiener
pronounces the Green Singing Finch to be ‘‘the best songster
among the small foreign Finches,” a verdict which I cordially
endorse.

166 Birds I Have Kept.

The food of these birds consists of seeds of various kinds,
canary, millet, grass seeds, plantain, etc., some of which had
better be soaked before being given to the birds, especially when
these have young ones in the nest.

They are sufficiently hardy to live all the year round in an
unwarmed room, but I doubt whether they would successfully
brave the severity of one of our winters out of doors.

CHAPTER LVIII.

THE AVADAVAT.

HIS pretty and very old favourite is der Tigerfink of the
Germans, le Bengali pigqueté of the French, and Fringilla.
amandava of scientific writers.

It is almost superfluous to attempt the description of so well
known a bird, which measures some three and a half inches in
length, one and a quarter of which belong to the tail. When in
his full summer dress the male Avadavat is a very fine fellow,
of a deep reddish brown colour, spotted all over with small
white spots.

The female is brown, darker above than on the under parts
of the body.

Some Avadavats which I kept for several years in a con-
servatory, invariably made their nest on the ground, at the root
of a vine that grew there: they domed their little abode and
lined it with wool and feathers, leaving only a very small hole
on one side for entrance and exit.

The eggs are white, and five or six in number: but I never
succeeded in obtaining any young birds; probably the temper-
ature of their abode was not sufficiently high.

The food of the Avadavat consists chiefly of white millet;,
it will, however, eat a little canary and grass seed now and

The Avadavat. 167

then; they are very partial to aphides, and small flies, upon
which they are said to rear their young.

The male has a pretty little song, surprisingly loud, for the
size of the bird, which he is constantly singing: he is also very
lively and active, and extremely attentive to his little wife,
whose head and neck feathers he is continually preening, unless
when engaged in eating and singing.

Avadavats are imported in thousands from India, and live
for a long time in this country, once they have become accli-
matised; but unfortunately many of them die before that desirable
consummation is attained: and the reason, I think, of this is
that they are imported in small boxes wired in front, in large
numbers, they keep each other warm, no matter how severe the
weather, by their mutual heat: but when two or three pairs
are separated from their companions, and placed by themselves
in an open cage, they soon get a chill, which, if it does not
kill them right off, sows the seeds of various complaints to
which the poor little creatures soon succumb. The only time
to buy these birds is during the summer months; although
the purchaser will then have to pay a larger price than during
the winter: a moment's reflection will satisfy the reader as
to the correctness of my views in this respect, I think, and save
him from some.loss, and a great deal of disappointment.

The Avadavat, as I have said, is, when once acclimatised,
sufficiently hardy to live all the year round in an ordinary sitting
room; but under such circumstances he is often apt to become
bald; the remedy is to place him in a temperature of about 85°
Fahr. by day, and not lower than 60° by night, when he will
grow his feathers again rapidly.

There is no doubt these birds would breed freely in a well
heated aviary; but as they can be purchased for two or three
shillings a pair, it seems scarcely worth while taking any trouble
to produce them at home.

168

CHAPTER LIX.

THE PIPING CROW.

HIS large and handsome bird, which is a member of the
Crow family, is a native of Australia, where it is one of the
most common birds in the vicinity of farms and stations.

It is rather larger than an English Jackdaw, and black and
white like one of our Magpies, but without the long tail of the
latter birds: its beak is greyish blue; the strong legs and feet
are grey.

There is not much difference between the sexes in outward
appearance, but the female has, perhaps, less white about her
than her mate.

When wild the Piping Crow, or Native Magpie, as it is
termed by the colonists, feeds on insects and small reptiles;
and, it is said, upon young birds. In the house, it will devour
anything that comes to table, but prefers meat, and is especially
fond of picking a bone.

The natural note of the Piping Crow is very sonorous and
musical, bearing no small resemblance to that, of the English
Thrush, only many times louder.

These birds are great favourites with the settlers, who protect
the wild birds, and generally have a tame one hopping about
the place among the poultry. * They soon learn to speak many
words, and even long sentences: one that belonged to a friend
of mine was in the habit every morning at day-break of calling
the servant, ‘‘Bella, Bella, get up, and get Micky’s breakfast.”
‘Micky’ being himself, nor would he desist until she came in
and gave him his matutinal bone.

The same bird was a capital hand at whistling ‘‘There’s nae
guid luck aboot the house,’ which in that particular case was
singularly appropriate; he had his liberty all day, but invariably

The Piping Crow. 169

returned to the house at night, never attempting to consort with
his wild relations, whom he seemed to hold in considerable con-
tempt, calling out whenever he chanced to see one, ‘“Who are
you?” in no very complimentary tones.

I remember once seeing another of these birds that belonged
to an acquaintance, and also had full liberty to go and come
about the place, busily engaged one day in picking up grubs
on a piece of newly-ploughed ground, which the man had just-
left to go to his dinner; when lo and behold! Mag. was suddenly
surrounded by a flock of wild Crows, some of which commenced
an attack on the domesticated bird, which at once threw himself
upon his back, and commenced, as their manner is, fighting
with beak and claw: the odds were against him however, and
he doubtless felt that he must adopt other tactics if he wished
to save his bacon. Whether or not, after a few minutes of his
aboriginal method of warfare, he suddenly jumped to his feet,
and swelling out his breast began to repeat, as loudly as he
waa able, his whole not very choice vocabulary, which so aston-
ished, and no doubt frightened his adversaries, that they at
once flew away, and Mag. returned, whistling, to the house in
triumph.

When it was required to call this bird in from his rambles
about the farm, and he never ventured to any great distance, all
that was necessary was to go to the door, and rub two knives
briskly together, when he directly made his appearance, thinking
no doubt, that it was dinner-time, a delusion he was always en-
couraged to retain by giving him a bone to pick.

I always looked upon this bird as mine, and was to have
taken him with me when I returned to Europe, but some month
or two before the time fixed for my departure he unfortunately
disappeared, whether stolen by some passing tramp, or killed by
a marauding cat, no one ever knew.

The Piping Crow is perfectly hardy, and would live in an
out-door aviary all the year round, in this country, without
inconvenience.

170

CHAPTER Lx.

THE PARADISE PARRAKEET.

di Neen wonderously beautiful but most unsatisfactory birds
feed in their wild state almost entirely on the blossoms
of the gum and acacia trees, and are, consequently, extremely
difficult to keep alive for any length of time in this country.

The male has an emerald green neck and breast, a crimson
band across his forehead, a yellow ring round his eyes, and
crimson thighs and vent. The crown of the head is velvet
black, the neck brown, and the back brown with a greenish
tinge; the wings are blue, the tail is green above, with the
under surface white, and the tips of the feathers blue. The
feet and beak are grey.

The female is very soberly attired compared to her mate,
being almost uniformly grey, with a greenish or reddish tinge
here and there.

I would not recommend an inexperienced amateur to be
tempted by their beauty to buy these birds, for they are very
expensive, and rarely live long in this country: instances,
however, have come to my knowledge of an odd one surviving
for a couple of years, but such exceptions to the general rule
are few and far between.

All the specimens that I have possessed died, apparently of
inanition, in the course of a few months, in spite of all my
endeavours to keep them alive, whether in a cage, or loose
in an aviary, where, by-the-bye, I have seen a male bird
eating mealworms, and tipula flies, commonly called ‘daddy
long-legs.””

If it is desired to try to keep the Paradiseas, flowering
groundsel and mignonette supplied freely during the summer

The Paradise Parrakeet. 171

months will alone avail: towards autumn they must be grad-
ually weaned off to seed and boiled rice, sweetened with honey
or syrup: to try and keep them on seed alone will nearly
always end in disappointment.

Dr. Russ gives the following recipe for feeding these birds,
which I mean to strictly follow next time I make up my
mind to invest in a pair:—‘‘Canary seed, millet, hemp, and
oats, together with ‘egg-bread’, boiled rice, fresh or dried
ants’ eggs, sweet ripe fruit, cherries, straw- and raspberries,
grapes, dates and figs.”

The scientific name is Psephotus pulcherrimus, and the Ger-
man .der Paradiessittich; I am not acquainted with its French
appellation.

So far I do not believe that these birds have been bred in
Europe, although recently aviary-bred specimens have been
advertised. Dr. Russ had a hen that produced several eggs,
and that, I think, is the full extent to which the domesti-
cation of this beautiful species has proceeded so far.

The price of the Paradise Parrakeet has declined somewhat
of late years, in consequence of aviarists declining to pay the
large sums asked for birds that only lived a few weeks, or
at most months, after coming into their possession, and they
can now be purchased for about two sovereigns a piece, which
is, however, much too high a price to pay for them at present,
and until we are better acquainted with their habits and re-
quirements in captivity.

They are natives of New South Wales and Queensland.

172

CHAPTER LxXI.

THE MOCKING-BIRD.

NTHUSIASTIC Americans are never tired of loudly

proclaiming that the Mocking-bird, their best indigenous
songster, ‘‘bangs all creation’; but we who are accustomed
to hear the Nightingale, the Blackcap and the Thrush, are
compelled to demur to such a sweeping assertion; while at the
same time we are quite ready to admit that he possesses some
merit, if not quite as much as his countrymen fondly flatter
themselves, and would fain persuade us, he has.

It would not be difficult to fill pages with the praises of
this bird, as sung by too partial American ornithologists, but
considerations of space, if nothing else, forbid.

There are several kinds of Mocking-birds, but the species
of which the present chapter treats, is the Mocking-bird, par
excellence, the Turdus polyglottus of scientific writers, and the
Spotdrossel of the Germans.

It is a native of North America, migratory in the Northern,
and stationary in the Southern States of the Union. In size
it is somewhat less than our Song Thrush, to which it bears.
a strong family likeness. The predominant colours of its
plumage are grey and white, variously blended with pleasing
effect all over the body.

The male can be distinguished from the female by having
a wider band of white on his wing.

The Mocking-bird is quite hardy, and will live for a number
of years, twelve or fifteen, or even more, in the house, where
he soon becomes very tame: he is best fed on Thrush’s food,
that is, sop, fruit, insects of all kinds, a snail or a few small
garden worms now and then, and scraps of raw lean meat.

The Mocking-bird. 173

It is a quarrelsome bird, and cannot be trusted in a mixed
aviary without danger to its smaller companions.

A pair of Mocking-birds require a good-sized garden aviary
to themselves, if it be desired that they should breed, which
they are ready enough to do; making a nest in an open box,
or a Hartz-cage from which the top has been removed, or a
wire basket. The eggs, from three to seven in number, are
bluish green with brown spots, and are hatthed in about
fourteen days.

So far all ordinarily goes well: but disappointment is almost
certain to follow later on; for, after a few days, the old ones
too often desert their helpless- brood, which, of course, must
then perish miserably, if, indeed, they are not killed outright
by the unnatural parents, who, stimulated by eating too many
good things, want to go to nest again. The only course for
the owner to adopt under such circumstances is, as soon as
he perceives the least tendency on the part of the parents to
neglect their duty, to at once constitute himself the foster-
father of the little brood, and bring them up by hand, which
is not a very difficult task.

Nest and all ‘should be removed indoors, care being taken
that the young ones are not disturbed: they must be kept
in a warm place, be covered over with cotton-wool, and fed,
about once an hour, from dawn to dusk, on gentles in the
pupa stage, small black beetles, yolk of egg, scraps of lean
raw meat, and green caterpillars, if obtainable. Thus managed
the youthful Mocking-birds will thrive to admiration, and be
able, in about three weeks’ time, to take good care of them-
selves. By thus acting three good broods will in all proba-
bility be obtained from a single pair each season, whereas if
the birds were left to themselves, most likely not a single
one would be reared.

The Mocking-bird requires a large-sized cage, or his plumage
will very soon be spoiled: he thrives best in a large, well-
planted aviary out of doors, where he can get both air and

174 Birds I Have Kept.

light, but a portion of it must be covered in, and otherwise
well protected from the weather.
The breeding season extends from May to September.

CHAPTER LXIL

THE GOLDEN PHEASANT.

HIS magnificent bird, rivalling even the Birds of Paradise
by the gorgeousness of its attire, is not by any means
as desirable a possession as might at first sight appear.

Surely no one beholding for the first time his golden crest,
purple tippet, red back, yellow breast, and graceful tail, would
suspect that so splendid a creature could be the utter savage
he undoubtedly is, and, like most other savages, an arrant
coward to boot, but such is nevertheless the fact.

The female is a very unpretending plain brown bird, without
a trace about her of the magnificent colours of her mate.

Three or four hens should always be allowed to one cock,
and the better plan is to take away the eggs as they are
laid, and hatch them under bantams, or in an incubator: the
chicks are easily reared on yolk of egg, ants’ eggs, and the
pup, not the larve, of the flesh-fly, adding, when they get
a little older, some of Sprats’ excellent food.

The hen Pheasant makes no nest, but merely scratches a
hole in the ground, pulling into it such grass stems as she
may find lying close by, and lays her eight or ten chocolate
coloured eggs on each succeeding day until the batch is com-
plete. The period of incubation is twenty-one days, and the
young are able to run strongly almost immediately upon leaving
the shell.

Young Pheasants have a nasty habit of pecking each other,
and pulling out, especially, the large feathers of the wings

The Golden Pheasant. 175

and tails, as soon as they make their appearance, in order
to eat them: and this can only be prevented by separating
the birds until they are fully fledged, which is rather a
nuisance, if there are many of them, but better than allowing
them to eat each other, which is what they would do if they
were left together.

It will be readily gathered from the above that the pos-
session of a covey (I suppose I may use the expression in
this connection) of Golden Pheasants is not an unmixed blessing.
It was one of the dreams of my boyhood to possess a pair
of these beautiful birds: but when, at length, my desire was
gratified, I must admit that they scarcely realized my ex-
pectations.

A cock and hen were advertised in the Bazaar newspaper,
and as the price asked seemed reasonable, I invested, and in
due season received the birds. The cock was minus his tail,
which he had, evidently, lost en route, for the feathers were
in the box in which the pair had travelled. It was a much
more serious case with the hen, she—both birds were ex-
ceedingly wild—came out of the box with her scalp hanging
down over one side of her face.

Truly a sorry plight! the tail would grow, that did not
‘matter much: but the scalp? I replaced the skin as well as
I could, but feared that it was too late, as it was already
nearly dry; and my fears were realized, union did not take
place, and the poor thing remained to her dying day with a
portion of it hanging on one cheek. However, it did not
seem to cause her much inconvenience, she ate well, and
seemed lively, and after a while both she and her husband
became very much tamer than they had been at first.

They had a good house and a good run, and when the fine
weather set in, I gave them a flat basket containing some
hay, which I placed behind some boards in a corner of their
house on the ground, and was pleased to see shortly after-
wards that it had been occupied. Several days passed, but

176 Birds I Have Kept.

no egg made its appearance, and one morning I found the
poor hen dead, with her bald head split open, and all the
feathers torn off her back.

Yes: he did it, the wretch! there was no doubt about that,
for there was blood on the end of his yellow beak, and on
his feet, and I felt terribly tempted to wring his beautiful
neck, but refrained for my own sake, not for his.

I have said he was a coward, and so he was; for he per-
mitted a cock Redrump Parrakeet that inhabited the same
enclosure to drive him about, without attempting the least
resistance; and when later on I introduced some bantam
pullets to his company in lieu of his murdered wife, they led
him such a life, that I should think he must have felt sorry
for what he had done.

Hybrids between a common fowl and a Pheasant are not
uncommon, but are sterile; whereas crosses between different
species of Pheasants are fertile, whether among themselves,
or with the parent stock on either side; from which I take
it that the Pheasant and the fowl, though both supposed to
belong to the same family, are not descended from ‘‘a common
ancestor’, though the different sorts of Pheasants possibly

may.

CHAPTER LXIII.

THE RIBBON-FINCH.

HIS curiously marked Sparrow, for it is nothing else, is
very commonly called by the repulsive name of ‘Cut-
throat’’, in consequence of a red mark that encircles the throat
of the male: a peculiarity which has given rise to the more
euphonious German name of Bandfink; its scientific appellation
is Spermestes fasciata; but the French, like ourselves, see a

The Ribbon-Finch. ; 177

symbol of murder, or suicide, in its crimson cravatte, and call
it le Cow coupé, which, to English ears at least, does not
sound quite as dreadful as the designation by which it is
generally known to dealers in this country, and which I hope
soon to see altogether banished from ornithological nomen-
clature.

The ground colour of the plumage is reddish, almost chocolate
brown; the upper parts darker and the under lighter, but all
spotted alike, and flecked with small patches of a darker shade
than the ground colour: while the neck of the male, as I
have already said, is encircled by a crimson band, extending
from ear to ear.

The female can be readily distinguished from her mate by
the absence, in her case, of the crimson band.

The young males even in the nest show the distinctive
mark of their sex; so that here again there is no possibility
of fraudulent dealers .palming off on their unwary customers
a male for a female, or vice-versa.

The Ribbon-Finches are excellent breeders, and great fa-
vourites with many people. Dr. Russ relates that a pair in
his possession from the 8th. of November to the 20th. of June
reared no less than twenty-one young ones; while a lady in
Vienna had, in the course of three years, no less than one
hundred and seventy-six young ones from a single pair, the
female of which during that time deposited the extraordinary
number of two hundred and forty eggs!

The young females are quite ready to take the cares of a
family upon them at the early age of between two and three
months. But it is not advisable to encourage such unnatural
precocity, for the produce of these immature unions is inva-
riably lacking in stamina.

Dr. Russ gives the Ribbon-Finches a bad character, but his
countryman Herr Wiener has found them peaceable enough;
nor have I observed that they disagreed with their com-
panions. In a crowded aviary, quarrels among the inmates

N

178 Birds I Have Kept.

are inevitable; but given plenty of room, birds of different
species will not, as a rule, interfere with one another.

If the temperature of their abode is maintained at a min-
imum of 60° Fahr., these birds will keep on breeding with
scarcely any intermission all the year round.

The nest is made in a box, or a Hartz-cage, of hay, straw,
fibre, etc., just like that of a Sparrow, and is lined with wool
and feathers: the eggs are from four to seven in number,
and are hatched in twelve days. The young are readily |
enough reared on ants’ eggs, egg-food and soaked seeds.

The old birds are sometimes excellent feeders, and sometimes
will not rear a single young one, deserting the nest when
the nestlings are about a week old; when this happens they
can be brought up by hand.

The Ribbon-Finch is a native of Africa, but nevertheless
extremely hardy: I have not, however, tested its endurance
out of doors during the winter.

CHAPTER LXIV.

THE INDIGO BIRD.

HIS bird and its congener, which forms the subject of

the next chapter, are rather Buntings than true Finches,
as any one who has tried keeping them on a Finch’s diet has
soon found out to his cost.

The Indigo Bunting measures about five inches in length,
and, during the summer, as may be gathered from its name, is
of a deep indigo blue colour, which is more intense on the
crown of the head than on any other part of the bird’s body:
but this bright attire he only wears for about the four warmest
months of the year, after which he puts on an unpretending
brownish grey suit, with a very slight and indistinct shade

THN INDIGO BIRD

The Indigo Bird. 179

of blue running through it, especially on the head and breast.

The female is always an insignificant looking little brown
thing, quite unworthy, as regards appearance at all events,
of being the wife of so richly clothed a mate.

The Indigo Bunting is a native of North America, migratory
in the Northern States, and stationary in the Southern. From
among a number of scientific names that have been bestowed
upon it, I select that of Hmberiza cyanea as, in my opinion,
the most appropriate. Its French designation is le Ministre,
but the Germans call it der Indigofink. It is described by
Bechstein, who evidently knew but little of its habits and
true character, for he dismisses it in a few lines with the
following recommendation as to diet: ‘Its food is canary seed,
millet, poppy seed, and bruised hemp seed”, upon which it
will no doubt survive for a time, but will soon fall into a
decline, unless a liberal supply of insects can be added; egg
and sponge-cake, as advised by some writers, forming but a
poor substitute for its natural diet.

In a sheltered and well-wooded aviary, these birds will
pass the winter in this country without apparent inconve-
_ nience, and breed in the following spring, if not molested by
mice and other birds. ‘The nest”, says Dr. Russ, from whom
I am obliged to borrow this description, for my birds never
attempted to build, and indeed were not in a suitable position
to induce them to do so, ‘“‘is built in a thicket, near the
ground, of grass stems, leaves, etc. The eggs are about five in
number, blue, speckled with dark spots.”

“The young”, continues the same authority, “ resemble their
mother.”

These birds become very restless, especially at night, during
the migratory season, but settle down again after a week or
ten days.

They seldom rear a brood in captivity, and. the better plan,
when they do nest, is to take away the young ones, as was
advised in the case of the Mocking-bird, and bring them up

180 Birds I Have Kept.

by hand, on ants’ eggs, gentles in the pupa stage, and scraps
of raw meat.

Mules are said to have been obtained between these birds
and the Canary: but I very much doubt the fact, from the
different mode of feeding peculiar to the two species.-

Decline is the usual cause of the death of the Indigo Bunting
in captivity: it may be prevented by a liberal supply of insect
food, especially during the period of moult; but once it has
declared itself it cannot be cured.

CHAPTER LXV.

THE NONPAREIL.

HIS wonderfully beautiful bird is a near relation of the

Indigo Bunting, hailing from the same region, feeding
on the same kind of food, and having the same habits, except
that it does not come into, and go out of, colour, but retains
its gorgeously tinted dress right through the year.

The head and neck of the adult male are violet, wees a
red circle round the eyes; the upper part of the back and
the shoulders are yellowish green, the lower part of the back,
the rump, and all the under part of the body are red; the
lesser wing coverts are violet brown, with a reddish tinge;
the flight feathers are brown, bordered, some of ‘them with
grey, and some of them with red; the two central tail feathers
are vermilion, and the others brown with red edges.

The female is of a dull olive colour throughout, darker on
the back than on the lower portion of the body.

The young resemble their mother, and do not acquire their
full attire until the third year of their age.

‘The scientific name of this bird is Emberiza ciris; the French

The Nonpareil. 181

call it Ze Pape, from its gorgeous attire no doubt, and the
Germans der Papstfink, perhaps for the same reason.

Like the Indigo bird, the Nonpareil is a tolerable songster,
and will survive our winters in a well-sheltered out-door
aviary; in which situation it will be more likely to breed and
retain the brilliancy of its coat of many colours, than if kept
in the house.

The young, if any should be hatched, will stand more
chance of being reared if they are taken away as soon as
possible, and brought up by hand, as recommended for the
young of the Indigo Bunting, than if left to the tender mercies
of their parents, who would probably desert them before they
were fledged, or brain them as soon as they commenced to
fly about.

A good plan to obtain a constant supply of gentles for the _
use of insect-eating birds during the winter months, is to
hang a paunch, sheep’s or bullock’s, toward the end of autumn
in an out-house, taking care to place just beneath it a large
flat box, about four or five inches deep, and filled with fine
dry sand, or well-sifted ashes, to within about an inch of
the top; the paunch will very soon be filled with millions
of maggots, which will feed and thrive on the inner parts,
while the outside, drying in the air, will give off no offensive
odour, and the larve, as soon as they have finished feeding,
will drop from it and bury themselves in the sand or ashes,
in order to undergo their transformation into the pupal stage.

As soon as the whole colony has buried itself, the box
must be removed into a cool cellar, where the pupe will
remain quiescent all through the winter, and far into the
spring, and in the meantime a few handfuls of the earth of
ashes, scattered lightly over the floor of the aviary every
morning, will serve to keep the insectivorous birds in it
healthily employed for an hour or two each day in picking
up the grubs.

Another good plan to secure a supply of insect food, is to

182 Birds I Have Kept.

put some rabbit skins into a box with a loosely fitting lid, stow
the box away in a loft, and leave it untouched for six months
or so, when it will be found to be literally swarming with
the fur-moth and its larve, both of which are exceedingly
acceptable to the small foreign Finches and Waxbills.

Failing gentles and fur-moths, aphides may be cultivated
to any extent in a small glass-house, or even a garden frame,
from which the frost can be excluded, without shutting out
the light: no insects are better for rearing young Waxbills of
all kinds, and small Finches, from the Zebra Finch, to the
Orange-breasted Waxbill.

CHAPTER LXVI.

THE BLACK-HEADED FINCH, OR THE THREE-COLOURED NUN.

HE Black-headed Finch has doubtless received its second

English name from its quiet garb of black, white, and
brown, which gives it a certain staid conventual air, which
its habits do not at all belie; for it is an extremely quiet,
not to say indolent, bird.

It is a native of Southern India, but does not appear to
be particularly delicate, or susceptible to cold: I have not
tried it out of doors, but it passes the winter uninjured in
an unheated aviary indoors.

It requires a good deal of looking after in the matter of
claws; these grow very rapidly, and unless they are attended
to, the poor bird is apt to be caught by them in its nest, or
among the furniture of the aviary, where it will perish
miserably, unless speedily relieved.

It feeds entirely on seed, chiefly white millet, and is very
fond of bathing.

The scientific name of this quiet bird is Spermestes malac-

The Snow Bunting. 188

censis, the Germans term it die dreifarbige Nonne, and the
French la Nonnette d téte noire, or la Nonnette a ventre bleu
et noir.

The lower part of the body is pure white, the head black,
and the back a rich brown. There is no difference in the
outward appearance of the sexes; but the female is a trifle
smaller than her mate, and just the least bit less thick about
the head and neck.

These Black-headed Nuns are very peaceable, inoffensive
birds, never interfering with any of their companions, and yet
able to take their own part, should occasion require them to
do so. It is said that they will pair and produce mules with
the Bengali, but I have no personal experience of this cross,
which is also said to be fertile, cnter se, as well as with either
of the parents.

CHAPTER LXVII.

THE SNOW BUNTING.

MAY say that I never possessed a bird I thought more

of than the fine handsome fellow that forms the subject
of the present chapter, for my children, quite unknown to,
and unsuspected by me, bought him, with their own pocket-
money, and presented him to me for a Christmas-box. They
had heard me mention that I had seen one of these birds
in a shop in the town, and that I should have purchased it,
only I happened not to have had any change with me at the
time: and when afterwards, I would have done so, the bird
was gone. I little suspected who the purchasers had been,
or thought that I should ever see it again; but I was wrong,
for once in my life, for before many days had passed, I not
only’ saw, but possessed the largest, and one of the handsomest

184 Birds I Have Kept.

members of the Bunting family; which, as I have said, I
immensely appreciate, not only for his own sake, but more
especially for that of the young donors, and I trust that he
may long survive to remind me of their thoughtfulness and
attention.

The Snow Bunting, Emberiza nivalis in scientific nomenclature,
? Ortolan de neige of Buffon, and der Schneeammer of Bechstein,
is a fine plump bird, about the size of a Lark, but with a shorter
tail: the feathers of the back and rump are black, edged, the
former with white, and the latter with yellowish brown; there
is a bar of white on the brown wings, and the outer feathers
on each side of the tail are of the same colour, tipped with cin-
namon brown: a small patch of brown marks the cheek; the
face, throat and belly are greyish white.

The female is smaller and has more white about her than
the male. The rather small beak is yellow, with a black tip
in both sexes, but it turns uniformly black in the male in
summer.

These birds are natives of the extreme north of Europe;
breeding, it- is said, within the Arctic Circle, and only moving
south in search of food during severe winters: they are shy,
and are scarcely ever seen in the vicinity of human habitations-
The call is loud, but not unmelodious, resembling a sharp whistle,
but the song is spoiled by an admixture of harsh notes.

The food of these birds consists principally of insects, seeds
being partaken of only when animal food has failed. My bird
was nearly starved when I first had him, and was so weak he
could not fly, or, indeed, scarcely stand: he soon recovered his
health and vigour, however, when a few mealworms were added
to his daily bill of fare. Oats, hemp, and canary seed appear
to be the seeds he prefers, but even these he will scarcely touch
as long as he can find an insect of any kind: but he is not a
large eater, on the contrary, he grew quite fat on a dozen or so
mealworms a day. He is fond of bathing, and picks the tops
off the blades of a sod of grass like the Lark.

The Prairie Owl. 185

The Snow Bunting seldom perches on trees, but appears to
prefer resting on the ground, or rather on a stone or a little
mound of earth. Bechstein relates that he kept a pair for
six years in his aviary, and found them to be very tame and
gentle, but extremely impatient of heat; which is not surprising,
when one considers that the habitat of this bird is among the
snows of Lapland, and more northern regions still.

I have omitted to state that the strong legs and feet of the
Snow Bunting are black.

Little or nothing is known of the habits of these birds in
their wild state, but from the fact of their breeding in high
latitudes, where the summer is of short duration, it is presum-
able that there is only one brood of young in the season: there
is no record of the Snow Bunting remaining to breed in this
country that I am aware of.

CHAPTER LXVIII.

THE PRAIRIE OWL.

HERE are few birds that bear so strong a likeness to

each other as the Owls, that constitute, so to speak, such
a distinct “natural family” as these nocturnal Raptatores, in
all of which the body is small and compactly put together;
small, that is to say for the height, and expanse of wing of
the bird, but made to look ever so much larger than it really
is by the strong pinions furnished with broad soft primaries,
and the immensely thick covering of downy feathers with
which it is warmly clad.

This lightness of body, large expanse of wing, and density
of coating, enable the Owls to glide noiselessly, if not swiftly,
through the stillness and gloom of the night, to creep silently
and surely on their slumbering or unsuspecting prey, and to

186 Birds I Have Kept.

secure if in the strong grip of their powerful talons before it
has had time to wake, or make the slightest effort to escape
from its enemy.

Flesh is the natural food of the Owls, although some of
the smaller species partly feed on nocturnal insects, as well
as on small quadrupeds and birds: but many of the larger
sorts are so fierce and strong, that the hare, and even, it is
said, young lambs not unfrequently fall into their clutches,
from which, once seized, there is no possible escape for the
victim, unless all-conquering man should chance to appear upon
the scene, and, a veritable deus ex machind, put a summary:
end to the midnight marauder’s career, by shooting a rifle
bullet through his body.

The Owls, merciless as they are towards other birds, are
admirable parents, and patterns of conjugal devotion and ten-
derness; they pair for life, and each couple keeps closely
together, summer and winter, sharing all their joys and sorrows,
their seasons of prosperity and times of scarceness and adver-
sity; even in moments of direst distress one partner will not
forsake the other, but rather, perish with it, than survive to
mourn its untimely end: whether the woods be clothed with
verdure, or mantled in a garb of spotless white, you will never
find an Owl alone, always two of them fly together, and for
constancy they might indeed supplant the proverbial Dove,
which really is anything but the model of connubial faithful-
ness it is popularly supposed to be.

One of the most remarkable characteristics of the Owl family
is the eye, which is large and full, and placed more directly
in the front of the head, than happens in the case of any
other bird: an arrangement that adapts it for, or rather is
suited to, its mode of life, which is strictly nocturnal; so
much so that the majority of these birds are actually unable
to face the light of day, but sit blinking and almost helpless
in the sunshine, until the glare of midday has melted into
the softer radiance of twilight: then, when the rest of the

The Prairie Owl. 187

feathered world has sunk into repose, the Owl sallies forth
on downy wing, and expanding to the fullest the pupils of
its wonderful organs of vision, or rather contracting the iris
to its smallest compass, glides along silently, like an animated
powder-puff, over the furrows, in search of lawful prey, namely,
the field mouse, which, pattering among the stubble, is all
unconscious of its impending fate, and never dreams that its
every movement is being watched by the small fleecy cloud
that hovers over the field, awaiting an opportunity to pounce
upon a victim.

Nor has the Owl to wait very long: presently the mouse
finds a plump ear of corn, left by the gleaners when they
paced the furrows one by one to pick up all that the reapers
and binders had left behind; but scarce has the small rodent
squatted down upon its haunches, and borne the dainty morsel
to its mouth with its handy fore-paws, than a fearful foot,
emblematic indeed of destiny, is stretched down from the stars
and clutches mousie in a grip that is never more relaxed,
until the heart of the terror-stricken prey has beat its last;
when it is either devoured on the nearest stone, or fence, or
else borne away to the distant nest, where four clamorous
Owlets are awaiting, with what patience they can command,
the arrival of their parent with the evening meal, which to
them is breakfast.

Ha! ha! he! he! they shout and hiss when he arrives, and
struggle which of them shall be the first to receive his share:
but the old Owl has no preference for one of his offspring to
the prejudice of the rest, he loves them all alike, and equally
divides the prey, which he conveys to each in turn: one, of
course, must receive his portion first, but it is always passed
by the impartial parent to the youngster that happens to be
nearest to him at the time, for there is no favouritism, no
rights of primogeniture in the Owl family, where all share
and share alike.

The nest of the Owl, as might be gathered from the habits

188 Birds I Have Kept.

of the bird, is generally placed in the darkest corner it can
find; a hole far down in the trunk of a tree, in a ruined
wall, the dark inside of a church steeple, or some similar spot,
to which the obnoxious rays of the sun can not very readily
penetrate: instances, however, are on record where an Owl
has appropriated to its own use the deserted tenement of a
Rook or a Magpie, and has even dived down into the bowels
of the earth, and laid its four white eggs, and reared its
callow brood in a convenient rabbit-burrow; but these are the
exceptions to the general rule that is observed by these wise-
looking and really sagacious birds in their choice of a nesting-
place, at least in the old world, for in the new there is an
Owl that never makes use of any other than a subterranean
abode.

This curious bird, of which I possess a fine example, is the
Prairie Owl, which is also named Coquimbo and Burrowing
Owl; its scientific names are various, that of Athene cunicularia
being a trifle less cacophonous than some of the others that
have been imposed upon it: it is not a large bird, about
eleven inches in length, but stands upon long legs, which are
closely covered, down nearly to the tips of the toes, with
short feathers so thin and, narrow they are more like hair:
the expanse of wing is considerable, quite two feet, and the
general appearance of the creature indicative of large capacity
for noiseless and powerful flight.

A native of several parts of America, many strange stories
are related of the Burrowing Owl: how it shares the dwellings
of the marmot amicably with no less a formidable reptile than
the rattlesnake, but does not prey upon the offspring of its
hosts, or neighbours, preferring to make its repasts off the
many coleopterous and other insects that abound in the regions
where it has taken up its dwelling; all of which may be
received cum grano: at least in captivity it eats birds and
mice, as well as insects, and does not by any means disdain
a slice of ‘‘cats’ meat” cold. :

The Prairie Owl. 189

The general colour is brownish grey, regularly marked with
whitish grey spots; the eyes are full and of a greenish yellow
colour. It does not appear to be nearly as nocturnal in its
habits as most of its congeners, but stands out boldly in the
daylight, seldom retiring to its ‘dark chamber” unless frightened
by the approach of a stranger, when it bolts quickly into the
inner apartment of its cage, but soon returns to take up its
station upon its log, or perch, and amuses itself by staring
with alternately dilated and contracted pupils at the passers
by, spreading out its wings until the tips cover its feet, and
giving expression to its feelings by a series of squealing grunts,
that are not by any means harmonious.

It is particularly fond of young birds, and will devour a
Pigeon squab of a few days’ old in the day-time, whereas I
have not known it to touch anything else until the evening
was well set in, except it was very hungry indeed: it is ap-
parently fond of black beetles and large moths, which it eats
wings, wing-cases and all, rejecting the latter, as well as the
fur of mice, and the feathers and bones of small birds, in
little pellets of an oblong form, after the manner of other
Owls.

Yes, the Coquimbo is a bird with a history, as I have
hinted, but it does not appear to be of a confiding temper,
at least so far it has made no advance towards familiarity
with any of us, which is, after all, perhaps not so very won-
derful, seeing that it no doubt looks upon us as its enemies
for having deprived it of liberty, and penned it in a narrow
cage. I have noticed that it drinks freely, but so far have
not seen it bathe, nor does it appear to scratch up the dry
earth that has been placed upon the floor of its enforced
domicile.

As I observed a while back, it has a history, more or less
authentic, more or less tinged with a suspicion of romance.
Hear the Rev. J. G. Wood upon this head: ‘‘The prairie dogs
(marmots) and Burrowing Owls live together very harmoniously ;

190 Birds I Have Kept.

and this strange society is said also to be augmented by a
third member, namely, the rattlesnake.”

What a charming as well as a strange society! Herbivorous
rodents, carnivorous, or at least insectivorous birds, and reptiles
—by-the-bye, what do rattlesnakes feed on? I confess my
ignorance of their menu: young marmots possibly? baby Owls,
perhaps? who can tell? or occasionally, appetite pressing, some
of the adult members of the mixed colony, which also includes
‘lizards and other reptiles?”

Who are the original inhabitants of these prairie burrows?
the marmots unquestionably: ergo, both Owls and snakes are
lodgers, or perhaps ‘‘unwelcome intruders”, &s Mr. Wood
seems to think; if not, do they pay any rent to the rightful
owners in the shape of services rendered? it is very probable:
the Owl is the night watchman, and the rattlesnake the Cer-
berus that strikes terror to the hearts of would-be oppressors
of the rodent city, in the day-time, for they have an evil
fame, those ophidian rattlers, when the sun shines, but are
powerless for harm when night has cast her sable mantle over
exhausted Nature, and that indulgent but somewhat careless
mother has composed herself to sleep.

Do the Owls take toll from the marmots, in the shape of
a succulent baby rodent now and then? Mr. Wood says not:
“As the stomach of the Burrowing Owl has only been found
to contain the wing-cases and other indigestible parts of beetles
and various large insects, the bird may be pronounced guiltless
on this charge.”—to wit, juvenile rodenticide.

Mr. Darwin, on the other hand, found that ‘‘those specimens
(of the Burrowing Owl) that inhabit the plains of Buenos
Ayres feed on mice, small reptiles, and even on the little
crabs of the sea-shore”: a tolerably varied dietary, fully borne
out by the accommodating appetite of my own Coquimbo,
which (I do not know to which sex it belongs, and therefore
prefer to speak of it in the neuter gender, which is less com-
promising than if I were to dub it ‘he’ or ‘she’, and

The Prairie Owl. 191

discover some day that I had made a mistake) if it evinces
a preference for any one thing above another, it is for a fat
young Pigeon of about a week old, as I have already stated.

“Tt is a lively little bird”, continues the Rev. Mr. Wood,
‘“‘moving about among the burrows with considerable vivacity,
Tising on the wing if suddenly disturbed, and making a short
undulating aerial journey before it again settles upon the
ground. When it has alighted from one of these little flights,
it turns round and earnestly regards the pursuer.”’

Yes: I can quite believe it, for although I have not yet
trusted my bird with the free use of its wings in the garden,
or even in the house, the quick way in which it half opens
them out, and with a little squeal of fear, or perhaps defiance,
jumps into the dark part of its house, returning again almost
directly to blink at its visitor, with its great greenish yellow
eyes, is very suggestive of the movements described by Mr.
‘Wood in the passage which I have just quoted. I shall let
the Owl have a fly out some day, and then we shall see what
it will do.

“The cry of this curious bird”, observes the same author,
‘is unlike that of any other Owl, and bears a very great
resemblance to the short, sharp bark of the prairie dog.” I
may as well at once admit that I have never heard the sound
of this intelligent animal’s voice, but the noise made by my
Owl is neither “sharp” nor ‘“‘short”, but a long series of
squealing grunts, intermixed with the well-known sibilant
utterances common to other members of the family to which
it belongs: of course it may give expression to the ‘sharp,
short bark” by and bye, and if it does, I shall be very glad
to hear it and bear due witness to the fact.

Do the burrows of the prairie dogs, otherwise marmots,
intercommunicate, as I believe those of their congeners the
rabbits always do? If so, the fact mentioned by Mr. Wood
that ‘‘marmot, Owl and snake come to be found in the same
burrow”, is explainable otherwise than by supposing the bird

192 Birds I Have Kept.

to “‘dive into one of the burrows, heedless of prior occupants”,
which certainly would point to some intellectual deficiency
on the part of a bird that appears to be, if it is not, very
wise.

Do Owls always swallow mice whole? Mr. Wood says 80}
but Coquimbo does not, at least my Coquimbo does not, he
eats the head first, and then the body; but the latter portion
of the animal, if not very hungry, he hides away in a corner
of his cage for a future meal; but possibly he never does feel
right hungry now, and in his wild state may swallow his
prey entire in his haste to gratify the cravings of his appetite.

The female among the Owls, as happens also among the
diurnal birds of prey, is nearly always larger, sometimes con-
siderably so, than her mate; but whether this holds good with
respect to Madame Coquimbo, I am not in a position to say,
nor is the fact alluded to by any writer on ornithology to
whose works I have at present access.

“Tf all had their rights”, remarks the same author from
whose account of this bird I have already freely quoted, ‘‘it
would seem that the (burrowing) Owl is nearly as much an
intruder as the snake, and that it only takes possession of the
burrow excavated by the prairie dog in order to save itself
the trouble of making a subterranean abode for itself. Indeed
there are some parts of the country where the Owl is per
force obliged to be its own workman, and in default of con-
venient ‘dog’ burrows, is fain to employ its own claws and
bill in excavating a home for itself.”

Well, if it is laziness that prompts the Burrowing Owl to
force its company upon the much enduring prairie dog, such
conduct on its part cannot be too highly reprehended; but
when I look at Coquimbo’s feet, it strikes me that they are
not exactly adapted for digging: that is to say, they are not
just the feet you would expect to find on a burrowing bird,
for the toes are short, and the nails not immoderately long,
while the legs are so decidedly tall for the size of their owner,

a

e

The Prairie Owl. 193

that they must of necéssity be exceedingly inconvenient for
it when it is obliged by the force of circumstances ‘to be
its own workman”, so that I can pardon its usurpation of
the marmot’s burrows, for I am sure it must be a terrible
trial for the poor bird to have to excavate a dwelling for
itself.

That this is really the case Mr. Wood goes on to prove,
for a little further on he says: ‘‘The tunnel which is made
by the Owl is not nearly so deep or so neatly constructed
as that which is dug by the marmot, being only plgbiaes
inches or two feet in depth, and very rough in the interior.”
To which I reply, that with the tools at its disposal, I think
it is highly creditable to this little long- legged Owl that it
manages to make a burrow even two feet deep, for it does
not look as if it could mine to a depth of two inches. It
makes a nest, however, at the bottom of the burrow, ‘“‘a
tolerably-sized heap of dried grass”, says our author, ‘moss,
leaves, and othér Bat substances, upon which are deposited
its white-shelled eggs.”

By-the-bye, all the Owls lay white, and rather round eggs,
do they not? I think so: I hope my Coquimbo will lay an
egg some day. ;

“While sitting on the little earth mounds, or moving among
the burrows”, continues our author, ‘‘the Coquimbo Owl
presents a very cuvious likeness to the prairie dog itself, and
at a little distance might easily be taken for the little marmot
as it sits erect at the mouth of its domicile.” Well, I have
seen the marmots at the ‘‘Zoo”, and I have a Coquimbo
Owl before me as I write, and I must say I cannot trace
the resemblance: the marmot is of a uniform yellowish grey,
darker above than on the belly, and the Owl is brownish
grey, with greyish white spots, the eyes again: are not a bit
alike in the two ill-assorted neighbours, and the marmot has
ears, which the Owl—I was going to say has not, but which
at all events do not display themselves externally. No, I

0

194 Birds I Have Kept.

cannot see the likeness, not a bit of it, but possibly other
people might: some, I know, are great adepts at this sort of
thing.

Other Owls that I have seen contract the pupil of the eye
to the merest point in full daylight, and seem blunt-witted
and dazed even then, but Coquimbo does not, he looks boldly
about him in the day-time, and very evidently sees all that
is going on, recognizing a stranger directly, and especially a
marauding cat, which he certainly does not confound with his
quondam friend and neighbour the marmot or prairie dog.

I don’t know that I should again choose an Owl for a pet,
but chance having thrown Coquimbo in my way, I was taken
by his funny habit of spreading out his wings and swearing
at me when I looked at him, and as Mr. A. H. Jamrach asked
me a reasonable price for him, I brought him home to add
to my list of birds. By-the-bye I find I have called the
bird “he” after all—so be it, perhaps he is a male.

Coquimbo developes new and peculiar qualities every day,
he really is, as the late Artemus Ward used to observe of his
“Kangaroo”, ‘‘an amoosin little cuss”; the way he hops about
and then comes back and ‘stares at one is enough to cause
the most melancholy Jacques to split his sides with laughing;
then his appetite is so good, and all seems fish that comes
to his net. For instance, our old cat kittened the other day,
and her progeny met the usual fate of so many juvenile
members of the feline race, an untimely end in the water-
tub, but probably their after destiny was different to anything
that had previously befallen kittens; for one of them formed
a capital supper for my Burrowing Owl, which he seemed
most heartily to enjoy, and he should have had the others
only they were buried away out of sight before I thought of
securing them.

It was a good-sized kitten, and fat, and was almost too
much for Coquimbo to demolish at one sitting; however, he
seemed to do his best to give it speedy and decent burial

The Prairie Owl. 195

beginning with the head, eating downwards as far and as tast
as he was able, and when he could positively stow away no
more, placing the remainder in that corner of his cage which
he usually devotes to the same purpose. After a short rest,
however, he returned bravely to the work, and succeeded in
disposing of the last remaining morsel of the young ‘“domes-
ticated feline.”

From the very strong partiality which he displays for young
prey, to wit, Pigeons in the squab stage of their development,
young Sparrows, and lastly newly-born kittens, I think we
must consider it more than likely that the report which
credits him with demolishing a young marmot now and then
must be not very far from the truth, notwithstanding the
fact that nothing but wings of beetles were found in his
stomach on dissection: he prefers a young mouse to an old
one, and will scarcely touch a full-grown bird, as for instance
a venerable Canary I recently gave him, which had departed
this life after a somewhat lengthened career. Possibly he found
her carcase tough, for he would not touch it for three days,
when it began to get “high”, then he eat it, not as if he
cared about it, but felt it to be a disagreeable duty which
it was incumbent upon him to perform.

I have said I never saw him bathe, but I find he does,
for the other evening when I went to give him his supper,
his breast and wings were quite wet, and the water in his
pan splashed about, as if he had been having a tub, and on
taking out the pan to replenish it, I saw that what water
was left was dirty, just as might have been expected, from
his trampling about in it.

I believe these birds are not often brought to Europe, and
that at this moment the Zoological Gardens of London are
without an example of the Prairie Owl.

As I have said, my Coquimbo develops new traits of character
every day: for instance, I wanted to have his portrait taken,
but for reasons best known to himself he objected, objected

196 Birds I Have Kept.

as strongly and as vehemently as he possibly could. You
shall be drawn, I said: I sha’n’t, he replied, and swore to
it, a good round oath in his Owlish language; but I was
determined: the artist had come out for the express purpose
of taking a sketch of him in one of his most characteristic
and striking attitudes, but he would not allow it to be done,
On the contrary, far from stretching out his wings, he kept
them even more tightly pressed against his sides than usual,
and growled and swore, vowing that nothing would, could,
or should tempt him to unfold them. In vain I poked him
with a stick, he only jumped down to the bottom of his
domicile, and, still swearing, thrust himself into its darkest
corner, sq that the artist could not. even obtain a glimpse of
him.

What was to be done? One of my old hens happened just
then to pass that way, and the thought struck me that if I
showed the old lady to him, the sight of her venerable face
and still red and upright comb might tempt him to spread
out his wings. I therefore caught her up in my hands, and
placed her close to the bars of the Owl’s cage; but he merely
swore a little ‘louder, as much as to say: Why the: blank
can’t you let me alone! and his wings remained as tightly
folded as ever.

What was to be done? The valuable time of the artist
was not to be wasted: he had come out expressly to take a
portrait of him as he stood on his log with expanded wings,
and a mouse under his foot, but the Owl declined to be a
party to the arrangement: possibly because the mice too had
entered into the conspiracy, and absolutely refused to be
caught. From mice to cats the transition is natural and
easy; so, failing a mouse ‘to tempt him from his resolution,
I suddenly bethought me that a cat might do as well. One
of my youngsters accordingly ran off, and soon returned with
“Miss Taylor” under his arm. Now this lady, notwithstanding
her maidenly designation, is the lawful wife of ‘‘Tim”, and

The Prairie Owl. 197

the mother of the kitten already referred to as having found
a tomb in Coquimbo’s maw: I held her close to the cage,
and as soon as the Owl saw her he became tremendously
excited, more so than ever I had seen him before, made a
terrific noise, and spread out not only his wings but his tail,
as in the accompanying illustration; loudly, if not deeply,
_ protesting the while his entire innocence of the charge he
doubtless imagined was about to be preferred against him,
that is to say, of having caused the death of the youthful
offspring of the lady who then regarded him with two angry
eyes not very much unlike his own.

So Coquimbo’s portrait in the required attitude was taken
at last: his resistance reminding me of a picture I ‘have some-
where seen, entitled, ‘‘A Bashful Sitter”, and representing a
group of policemen attempting to photograph a prisoner who
was violently objecting, and required at least six stalwart
‘““bobbies” to hold him in position while the operator adjusted
his camera and sensitized plate.

“The tact is, I suppose, that my Prairie Owl is becoming
accustomed to us, and though he still swears when we go near
him, has given up trying to frighten us by spreading out his
wings, as he always did at first, when anyone approached his °
cage; but the sight of a cat, to which he is not much used,
no doubt aroused his’ anger, or his fear, and caused him to
assume the position we desired, for it is scarcely reasonable .
to suppose that he is really capable of any feeling of com-
punction for having made a meal off a kitten he had not « even
killed. —

I have a difficulty in providing my Owl with suitable food:
beetles I find he does not care much about; fowls’.heads and
necks, the only parts my wife can spare him, he decidedly
objects to: sheep’s liver he will only condescend to taste when
very hungry indeed; and of cats’ meat he is not particularly
fond, though he will eat it when he cannot find anything
else: the supply of young Pigeons, Sparrows and kittens is

198 Birds I Have Kept.

necessarily limited, and the mice have grown so cunning that
they can be but very rarely caught. I apprehend therefore
that I shall have to get rid of Master Coquimbo in the end;
I shall be sorry, very sorry to have to do so, but on the other
hand I cannot see the poor fellow slowly starve. If only I
could catch more mice! there are plenty of them about, but
they soon get to know all about the various kinds of traps,
and will not go near them. Can anyone suggest a snare that
will not frighten them away, one that will kill as well as
catch them? I have tried many kinds, but after a few days
they become useless, for the mice refuse to be tempted into
them by the most enticing bait.

Without a doubt my Prairie Owl is ‘‘an amoosin little cuss”,
but I shall -have, sooner or later, to get rid of him I fear.
He starves on butcher’s meat and the various delicacies I have
enumerated; mice appear to be his favourite food, and he pre-
fers them young and tender: birds he will eat, if not too
tough, as he did two Budgerigars the other day, but these are
not always to be obtained, and to buy them specially for his
table would involve me in greater expense than I care to
incur for his sake.

Since writing the above, I have heard my Prairie Owl give
utterance to a sound that may be described as ‘“‘a short sharp
bark” —it is not unlike the impatient yelping of a young
puppy, and is emitted, I find, when the bird is hungry: I
have not noticed it at any ‘other time, but invariably when
he ‘has barked, I have found that all his provisions were
consumed, and that like Oliver he was ‘“‘asking for more.”
The question here arises, when the Prairie Owl in his wild
state utters this ‘‘short sharp bark” is he hungry? and, if
so, to whom does he address his appeal for food?

THE END.

B, FAWCETT, ENGRAVER AND PRINTER, DRIFFIELD.

MANOMET Di"3 C3SE°VATORY LIBRARY,
MANOMET, MASS. 02348