THE BIRDS OF THE GARDEN. 139 



monkey, which has no dignity to forget. You never catch 

 it indulging in contemptible pranks or vulgar tomfoolery 

 of any kind, nor in unworthy grimaces and contortions of 

 the visage. Nor can you make a parrot look small or 

 appear put out, unless by pulling its long tail. That does, 

 indeed, try it. And all this is true, not only of caged 

 parrots. The wild ones are constantly about my house, 

 either chewing neem seeds, or exploring the roof for nest- 

 ing quarters, or dealing at leisure with ears of jowarce 

 obtained in the neighbouring field, and I find them the 

 same judicious birds as Polly. There is one on a rafter of 

 the verandah at this moment. He has nothing particular 

 to do, and is taking my measure with one eye, which gives 

 a fine view of his side face a disc of vivid green, orna- 

 mented on one side with a coral-red beak, half buried in 

 comfortable black whiskers, and on the other side marked 

 off from the neck by a narrow black collar, bordered with 

 delicate pink. In the centre is that reasonable black eye 

 of which I am the cynosure. I do believe he is counting 

 my buttons, and considering whether it would be practi- 

 cable to nip them off. Yes, the parrot is a sagacious bird. 

 So are the mynas, which pace the verandah making 

 quaint remarks, especially one with bells on its feet, which 



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