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THE INDIAN PITTA.


Pitta brachyura.


By Reginald Phillipps.


(Concluded from page /SjJ


When first I wrote out the earlier part of the account of the

Pitta, which appeared in onr July number, I gave quite a glowing

account of the solitary survivor, of its powers of flight, how it

kept to the high perches, and of other matters, in a general

vaunting strain, to impress upon my readers what a successful

keeper I am of a single Pitta—but once more I had to haul down

my flag. Before the MS. had left my hands, it dawned upon me

that the Pitta was unwell, was ill, was dying, could not possibly

survive the night. I suppose it was the sudden cold that came

back upon us in June. Moreover a fresh arrival, a Coach-whip

Bird, had driven the Pitta Irom its usual haunts, and probably it

got into a draught; any way, the bird was suffering from a

serious internal chill, and was in a critical condition. I shut it

up, gave it fluid magnesia, then ipecacuanha wine, then sulphate

of quinine, feeding it all the while on the very plainest food

possible; and the dying bird, after trying to die for a few days,

thought better of it, and slowly, very slowly, recovered. But the

boastful lines had to be erased, and the milk-and-watery

sentences substituted, which have already appeared. I mention

this sickness of the Pitta for more reasons than one. The Pitta

never left the shelter of the bird-room, but was so susceptible to

atmospheric changes that the cold of an English June nearly

proved fatal to it. Again, I have had several cases of chill in which

I have found ipecacuanha wine in the drinking water most

beneficial. The Pitta, by the way, is a thirsty soul—an invaluable

lever to assist one in pitchforking a bird out of the grave. And

yet again, some species are chicken-hearted, and when they fall

ill they make no fight, but settle down to die. Thus the Pitta:—

and a tonic of some kind is indispensable. The symptoms of

this particular sickness were those of certain death, and yet it

lives. At the present moment (July 15th) it seems in perfect

health, its feet exhibit no signs of tenderness, and its powers ot

flight have been fully recovered, as I find to my hindrance when

I try to get near enough to examine its present plumage.


Visitors to my bird-room not infrequently remark, in one

form or another, when the Pitta is pointed out to them, that they

had expected to see a much brighter plumaged bird. The

remark is not an unnatural one, but it shews that those who



