173



CORRESPONDENCE.



NESTING OE A HEN NONPAREIL, AND CHANGE OF

PLUMAGE IN COCKS.


I venture to relate the story of a widowed Nonpareil, which nested in

one of my aviaries last year, and which, but for a torrential storm of rain,

would, in all probability, have succeeded in rearing a young one. It is not

easy to procure hen Nonpareils; but in 1S97 I succeeded in purchasing a

nice pair. The cock subsequently died, but in time I got a new husband

for the widowed hen. Last year I turned them out into a nice umbrageous

aviary. On June 30th I ran into the aviary to look to some young Passerine

Doves, whose parents had according to their custom begun to neglect them.

As I went hurriedly out I had a vague suspicion that a bird flew out of the

door over my head. It was too well founded, the cock Nonpareil had

escaped. I was going out and could not stay to watch him. In the evening

I found him making frantic efforts to get through the wire to his mate.-but

he never came near the door. He slept on a Scotch fir tree, and next morn¬

ing renewed his efforts to get in. Then he went off, and was only once seen

again, about a week afterwards, in my coachman’s garden, a quarter of a

mile from the aviar) T . On the 9U1 of July, to my great surprise, I found the

little wddow sitting on three eggs in a neat little nest which she had built

in a China rose bush. Of course, at first I had but faint hopes of her per¬

severing in her solitary task, but on referring to Mr. Farrar’s account of the

nesting of his Nonpareils, I took heart when I read that the hen did most of

the feeding. She sat indefatigably, and in due time hatched one very strong

young one, and then a weaker one, which died in a few days. The third

egg was unfertile. She continued most assiduous in her care of the sur¬

viving youngster. When I came round with mealworms, she generally flew r

to the wire to meet me, but at times I was obliged to push her off the nest

to induce her to feed. Things went on well for tw'elve days; the young

bird grew and feathered fast; but then came a terrible night of thunder and

torrential rain. The nest was somewhat exposed; the next morning the

hen looked drenched and wretched, and seemed inattentive to the nestling.

The nest was wet and the inmate miserable. When the mother at last took

it a bit of a mealworm it was listless and indifferent, and in 24 hours it was

dead.


I think it worth while relating this story, for, had it not been for this

violent storm, the solitary hen would in all probability have reared her

offspring unaided. Should any of our members have an accident like my

own (and I know of no birds so clever at escaping as Nonpareils) it would

be well at least to give a hen Nonpareil the chance of nesting. I am just

now turning out the same hen with a handsome new mate, into the same

aviary, in which the foundation of her last year’s nest still remains.


While writing of Nonpareils I cannot help referring to the question,

which has been raised in the pages of the Magazine, as to whether male

birds have or have not both summer and winter garbs. O11 page 166 of

Vol. V., I read that Mr. Farrar’s undoubtedly have changed colour. He

wrote, “ In the winter the cock is quite a sober looking gentleman, and onlv

gets his splendid livery as summer draws on.” I11 a note, however, to this

Dr. Butler wrote, “ I have had a good many of these birds, but my males

never put on a different plumage for the winter.” My own experience, in



