took her place upon the eggs, only 

 leaving them for lood and water, and 

 finally brought out six babies, two 

 days after the other hen hatched 

 twenty-three little ones. For six days 

 the six followed the lone cock around 

 the aviary, when three of them left him 

 and went over to the others. A few 

 days later another little fellow aban- 

 doned him and took up with a Cali- 

 fornia Quail hen. The next day the 

 poor fellow was alone, every chick 

 having deserted him. The last little 

 one remained with his adopted mother 

 over two weeks, but at last he too 

 went with the crowd. These birds 

 seemed just as happy as though they 

 were unconfined to the limits of an 

 aviary. 



"We have had this aviary over two 

 years and have raised a large number 

 of birds. All are healthy and happy, 

 although they are out in the open 

 both day and night all the year round. 

 Many persons, observant of the happi- 

 ness and security of our family of 

 birds, have brought us their pets for 

 safe-keeping, being unwilling, after 

 seeing the freedom which our birds 

 enjoy, to keep them longer confined in 

 small cages. 



"Around the fountain are calla 

 lillies, flags, and other growing plaii.ts, 

 small trees are scattered about, and 

 the merry whistles and sweet songs 

 testify to the perfect contentment of 

 this happy family." 



Yes, these birds are happy in 

 such confinement. They are actually 

 deprived of nothing but the oppor- 

 tunity to migrate. They have abund- 

 ance of food, are protected from 

 predatory animals. Hawks, conscience- 

 less hunters, small boys, and nature 

 herself, who destroys more of them 

 than all other instrumentalities com- 

 bined. Under the snow lie the bodies 

 of hundreds of frozen birds whenever 

 the winter has seemed unkind. A 

 walk in the park, just after the thaw 

 in early March, revealed to us the 

 remorselessness of winter. They have 

 no defense against the icy blast of a 



severe season. And yet, how many 

 escape its ruthlessness. On the first 

 day of March we saw a white-breasted 

 Sparrow standing on the crust of snow 

 by the roadside. When we came up 

 close to it it flew a few yards and 

 alighted. As we again approached, 

 thinking to catch it, and extending our 

 hand for the purpose, it flew farther 

 away, on apparently feeble wing. It 

 was in need of food. The whole earth 

 seemed covered with snow, and where 

 food might be found was the problem 

 the poor Sparrow was no doubt consid- 

 ering. 



Yes, the birds are happy when 

 nature is bountiful. And they are 

 none the less happy when man provides 

 for them with humane tenderness. 

 For two years we devoted a large room 

 — which we never thought of calling 

 an aviary — to the exclusive use of a 

 beautiful pair of Hartz mountain 

 Canaries. In that short time they 

 increased to the number of more than 

 three dozen. All were healthy; many 

 of them sang with ecstacy, especially 

 when the sun shone brightly; in the 

 warmth of the sun they would lie with 

 wings raised and seem to fairly revel in 

 it; they would bathe once every day, 

 sometimes twice, and, like the English 

 Sparrows and the barnyard fowl, they 

 would wallow in dry sand provided for 

 them; they would recognize a call 

 note and become attentive to its mean- 

 ing, take a seed from the hand or the 

 lips, derive infinite pleasure from any 

 vegetable food of which they had long 

 been deprived; if a Sparrow Hawk, 

 which they seemed to see instantly, 

 appeared at a great height they hastily 

 took refuge in the darkest corner of 

 the room, venturing to the windows 

 only after all danger seemed past; at 

 the first glimmering of dawn they 

 twittered, preened, and sang a prodi- 

 gious welcome to the morn, and as the 

 evening shades began to appear they 

 became as silent as midnight and put 

 their little heads away under their 

 delicate yellow wings. 



Charles C. Marble. 



