60 The Canary, 



did our imagination paint the lost one in our eyes, and 

 the more convinced we became that we should never 

 look upon her like again. We tried to think that as 

 there was " more fish still in the sea than ever came 

 out of it/' so it might be with the feathered tribe, and 

 we might therefore yet retrieve our loss. Weeks glided 

 away when, passing down a street in a distant part of 

 the town bent on other business, Judy and I espied 

 another bird-dealer's shop, when the thought occurred 

 to us to inquire if they had any cinnamon canaries on 

 sale. At first the reply was in the negative, but on 

 our lingering and repeating the question, the man began 

 to scratch his head, and think over the matter, and 

 then turning short round, and reaching down a cage 

 full of birds immediately behind him, he added in a 

 way that gave us to understand he should not give 

 himself much trouble about the matter, he thought 

 there was a hen of this kind among them, which assu- 

 redly there was. The birds were wretchedly dirty and 

 looked very miserable and forlorn through long neglect, 

 but a glance showed us the bird we were in search of. 

 There could be no mistake about the matter. Though 

 she was now quite changed and hardly recognisable 

 from filth, we felt sure that it was the very bird we had 

 seen at Mr. M — 's shop, and in the market some weeks 

 before, as she had a peculiar narrow white stripe at the 

 back of her head, something like that of a young 

 cuckoo. Judy recognised her at once, but prudently 

 kept her own counsel, only giving me a significant look 

 and nudge. Besides, on closely inspecting the others 

 we further recognised two of her companions as well, so 



