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the garden, and guarding them jealously, so specially did he

associate them with me.


As all who have kept Cranes know, insects form a large

portion of their food, and are sought by them continually

with great diligence. Now, I have observed that all outdoor

birds are particularly partial to Spiders —certainly Demoiselle

Cranes have a great weakness that way. If my husband found a

nice, large, fat spider and offered it to Carlos, thinking to pro¬

pitiate him—down he would flop upon his breast in that sudden

unexpected way these birds have—right on the top of the spider

which remained hidden underneath, until my husband walked

away ; then the Crane immediately allowed it to crawl lortli,

when he would eat it with much relish. He would never allow

anyone but myself to give him any food. To walk into the

aviaries behind me (closely following like a dog, which was his

habit always in the garden) was a daily pleasure to my dear bird ;

and he would patiently wait, standing by my side, as I fed

Golden, Silver, and Amherst Pheasants with mealworms,

knowing his turn would come last of all; and this, with his

imperious masterful disposition, was very wonderful, for I have

never known him to allow the hen Crane either to eat, drink, or

enter their enclosure before him.


One of his prettiest ways was to come to all the lower

windows of the house in turn, peering into each room and gently

tapping with his beak to find out where I was. As soon as he

caught sight of me he was perfectly content to take up his stand

and remain for hours watching me, and waiting till I came out.

Without exception he was the most faithful follower that ever

was, outdoing dogs in his affection, which was never that of

cupboard love or greediness : in this he differed from most pets.

His dancing (which he always commenced at a signal from me),

his posturing, bowing, and curtseying, were all of a piece with

his graceful form and elegant exotic appearance, so that he was

a thing of beauty from morn till dewy eve ; and on my first

rising, his dear face and keen and anxious eyes would be gazing

up at my window; and the last thing, as I looked out on a fine

moonlight night, I would see him standing like a sentinel,

guarding—not only the other birds—but the house in which he

knew his mistress slept.


And now to tell the sorrowful end of this most loved and

loving bird! One morning after dancing over the lawn in

perfect health and spirits, seeming as if in the joyousness of his

heart he could go on for ever—I left him—and in another hour



