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a state of confusion. I began to think sorrowfully that I must

part with my handsome birds, but the first encounter was

reassuring. My little Pileated Finch, “Jan,” a great favourite of

mine, stood bravely up to the cock Diuca, raising his scarlet

crest in great indignation, and to his shame the big bird beat a

retreat.


I purchased the Diucas in October, and in December they

began a nest of heather, but fortunately, as it was so late, it came

to nothing. Another nest was started in March, this time a very

pretty one, composed of fine shavings, butthey again seemed to tire

of it, and pulled it to pieces. Both birds were extremely fond of

rape seedlings, and would nip off the heads as cleanly as if cut

with a pair of scissors.


About this time I noticed one day an amusing incident, as

illustrating what a coward the Diuca really was. I had had a

Grey Cardinal given to me, brought by some friends of mine from

Madeira. It was then, and always has been, the quietest of birds,

and at present is constantly chased by a fiery little cock

Combasou, but this by the way. On the introduction of the

Cardinal into the aviary the cock Diuca—thinking to make a

grand show off before the hen (I am certain it was for no other

reason, for she watched the whole time), ran after the Cardinal,

and pecked him from behind; the latter seemed perfectly uncon¬

scious, but finally turned round accidently, when the Diuca at

once fled. He tried to renew his attacks, but the Cardinal was

quite indifferent to him, so he gave it up, evidently concluding

that it is very poor fun bullying anyone who doesn’t even notice

you. Again the Diucas began a nest, this time in a cigar box, and

progressed so far as to hatch a fine young one. They fed it on

nothing but insects, and unfortunately my supply ran short, and

to my great grief it died, and was thrown out of the nest. Had

I had a sufficient supply of mealworms it would probably have

lived, but I had then no idea that the young fed on only insect food,

and my stock had got low. I gave them my last mealworm, and

tried in vain to get more in time, but, though I had some ordered,

the tradesman would not send them promptly, and despite his

promise to despatch them on a certain day, (in reply to my

urgent telegram) he failed me, and the poor little Diuca died of

, starvation. I tried to substitute woodlice, but the old birds,

though they took them at first, soon tired of them. It was

pitiful to see the anxiety of the parents, how they flew to me for

mealworms every time I came into the aviary, when I had

none to give them. I tried at the flour mills, but could hear of



