154 



THE OSPREY. 



cook to 'kiss him and love him,' and was paying- 

 the housemaid extravagant compliments when 

 I appeared on the scene. To say he Hew into 

 his grandmother's arms, is but feebly to express 

 the dutiful warmth of his g-reeting-. In less 

 than ten minutes that artful bird had taken 

 complete possession of the small household, and 

 assumed his place as its head and master. Ever 

 since that moment he has reig'-ned supi-eme, and 

 I foresee that he will always so reig-n. 



But he is certainly the most mischievous and 

 destructive of his mischievous species. Nothing- 

 is safe from his sudden and unexpected tits of 

 energy. I first pvit him in a little conservatory 

 where he had light and air, and the cheerful 

 society of other birds. This plan, however, 

 only worked for two or three days. One Sunday 

 morning I was awakened by ear-piercing shrieks 

 and yells from Master Cockie, only slightly 

 softened by distance. These went on for some 

 time until I perceived a gradual increase of their 

 jubilant note, which I felt sure betokened mis- 

 chief, so I hastily got myself into a dressing- 

 gown and slippers and started off to investigate 

 what trouble was 'toward.' It was so early that 

 the glass doors were still shut, and I was able 

 to contemplate Master Cockle's mancjeuvres un- 

 seen. The floor of the little greenhou.se was 

 strewn with fern-leaves, for garden ing^-, or 

 rather pruning, had evidently been his first 

 idea. The door of his travelling cage—which I 

 had left overnight securely fastened— lay flat on 

 the pavement, and Cockie with extended wings 

 was solemnly executing a sort oi pas scitl in front 

 of another cage divided by partitions, in which 

 dwelt a Goldfinch and a Bullfinch side by side. 

 Both doors were wide open and the Bullfinch's 

 compartment was empty, but the Goldfinch was 

 crouched, paralysed with terror, on the floor of 

 his abode. He "evidently wanted to get out very 

 badly, but did not dare to pass the yelling door- 

 keeper, who apparently was inviting the trem- 

 bling little bird to come forth. The instant the 

 artful villain perceived me, he aftected perfect 

 innocence and harmlessness, returning in- 

 stantly to his cage, and commenced his best 

 performance of a flock of sheep passing, doubt- 

 less in order to distract my attention. How 

 could one scold with deserved severity a mimic 

 who took off not only the barking dogs and 



bleating sheep, but the very shuffle of their feet, 

 and the despairing cry of a lot of lambs. And 

 he pretended great joy when the Bullfinch — 

 more dead than alive — at last emerged from the 

 shelter of the thick creeper where he had found 

 sanctuary, asking repeatedly after his health in 

 persuasive tones. 



I gave up the cage after that and established 

 him on a smart stand in the dining-room win- 

 dow; for I found that the birds in the conserva- 

 tory literally could not bear the sight of him. A 

 ligiit chain securely fastened on his leg pro- 

 mised safety, but he contrived to get within 

 reach of my new curtains and rapidly devoured 

 some half-yard or so of a hand-painted border 

 which was the pride of my heart. Then came an 

 interval of calm and exemplary behaviour which 

 lulled me into a false security. Cockie seemed 

 to have but one object in life, which was to pull 

 out all his own feathers, and by evening the 

 dining-room often looked as thoug'h a white fowl 

 had been plucked in it. I consulted a bird doctor, 

 but as Cockle's health was perfectly good, and 

 his diet all that could be i-ecommended, it was 

 supposed he only plucked himself for want of 

 occupation, and firewood was recommended as a 

 substitute. This answered very well, and he 

 spent his leisure in g^nawing'- sticks of deal — 

 only when no one chanced to be in the room he 

 used to unfasten the swivel of his chain, leave 

 it dangiing on the stand, and descend in search 

 of his playthings. When the fire had not been 

 lightened I often found half the coals pulled out 

 of the grate, and the firewood in splinters. At 

 last, with warmer weather, both coals and wood 

 were removed, so the next time Master Cockie 

 found himself short of a job he set to work on 

 the dining-room chairs, first pulled out all their 

 bright nails, and next tore holes in the leather, 

 through which he triumphantly dragged the 

 stuffing! 



At one time he went on a visit for some weeks 

 and ate up everything within his reach in that 

 friendly establishment. His 'bag' for one after- 

 noon consisted of a venerable fern and a large 

 palm, some library books, newspapers, a pack 

 of cards, and an armchair. And yet everyone 

 adores him, and he is the spoiled child of more 

 than one family. 



WILLIAM SWAINSON AND HIS TIMES.— IV. 

 By Theodore Gill, Washington, D. C. 

 (Continued from page 138.) 



MAKK1.A.GE AND PROFESSIONAL AUTHORSHIP. 



Swainson had been paying attention for 

 several years to a young lady, "the only 

 daughter of John Parks, Esq., of Warwick," a 

 "borough" or town near the center of England, 

 but, as he was largely dependent on his father, 

 hesitated to marry till he should secure the 

 means of support for himself, and his prospec- 

 tive family. "A vacancj^ in the British Museum, 

 about this time, caused by the deplorable ill- 

 ness" of his friend, Dr. Leach, occurred, and 



Swainson applied for the position. He " pro- 

 duced the highest testimonials from such men 

 as Cuvier, Roscoe, Dr. Rees, Sir James Smith, 

 Dr. Trail, Sir W. J. Hooker, Dr. Scoresby, and 

 numerous others." Some of these gentlemen 

 were not personally acquainted with Swainson, 

 and only knew him by reputation; but in England 

 it was (and still is) regarded as quite proper to 

 apply for and give letters of recommendation 

 under such conditions. However, the applica- 

 tion was not successful. Swainson "was re- 

 fused, and a gentleman (I. G. Children, Esq)., 



