THE BRAZILIAN BULLFINCH. 77 



in Europe. I am bound to confess that it was not 

 much to look at, for its plumage was frayed, scanty 

 on the head and neck, and dull everywhere. 



My friend said the bird was extremely delicate, so 

 I placed it in a box-cage which I stood on the kitchen- 

 dresser, as the warmest place in the house, and took 

 care to cover it every night. The Bicudo was lively 

 enough but rather wild, it ate and drank well, but 

 made no sound, beyond an occasional "cheep, cheep", 

 which had nothing particularly musical about it, but 

 then, of course, the call-note of our own incomparable 

 Philomela is eminently harsh. 



I waited in anxious expectation of the "outburst of 

 triumphant song" of which my friend had spoken, but 

 I waited in vain; the Black Bullfinch had evidently 

 made up his mind not to gratify my curiosity, which 

 it may have looked upon as a piece of unpardonable 

 impertinence that must be repressed at any cost, even 

 that of perpetual silence. 



Presently, I noticed a decided change coming over 

 the bird; it had not had much to boast of in the way 

 of feathers when it arrived, but little by little what it 

 had fell out, until at last it lost them all and presented 

 the extraordinary spectacle of a plump naked bird, 

 active and lively but, of course, able only to hop and 

 run. Then, strange to say, for the first time since 

 it had been in my possession it was heard to warble! 

 Its tones were low and sweet, and more frequently 



