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Oliver Twist, Catbird 



BY ISABELLA McC. LEMMON 



ON July g, 1898, we caught a young Catbird. He 

 had left the nest the day before, and had then 

 eluded all our efforts, but by morning a pouring 

 rain had removed his objections to captivity, and a very 

 wet, bedraggled little Catbird was established in the big 

 cage. He soon stopped trying to get out, and seemed 

 quite contented — except occasionally when the old birds 

 heard him calling for food and came to the rescue. But 

 that was carefully guarded against, and as his voice lost its baby tone 

 they left him in peace. 



A name was quickly given, the frequency and great size of his 

 meals promptly gaining for him the title of 'Oliver Twist.' Worms, 

 currants, goose-, rasp-, black-, and huckleberrries, bits of bread 

 soaked in milk, all went down, but the fruit seemed somewhat more 

 acceptable. On July 16, the amount of food was greatest : 43 earth- 

 worms and 81 berries between 7 a. m. and 6.50 p. m. 



As the different berries ripened he gave up the early kinds and 

 accepted the new ones most eagerly, elderberries especially. These 

 last he ate by the bunch — indeed one need only walk past a patch 

 of the bushes when the fruit is ripe, to appreciate a Catbird's fond- 

 ness for them. 



By the i6th Oliver had taken his first bath, and for the first time 

 I saw him drink. Four days later, when he must have been about 

 four weeks old, we heard him trying to sing — queer little chirps and 

 gurgles in the lowest of tones, but evidently intended for a song. 

 He stopped as soon as he saw me, raising his wings and begging 

 for food, and for some time we were obliged to enjoy his musical 

 efforts by stealth. 



By August I, he was pretty well feathered ; the tail was almost 

 full length, and even the little feathers over the nostrils had started 

 to grow. He was also able to feed himself then, but greatly pre- 

 ferred being fed ; often, when I offered him more than he wanted, 

 giving a low 'chuck' very like the old birds' call. 



As August progressed worms were refused, and though bread and 

 milk and all sorts of berries were eaten, the bird evidently missed 

 something. He was molting a little — if the loss of so few feathers 



(163) 



