Our Infirmary. 133 



other breeds, are of most indolent habits, to be getting 

 daily rougher in their feathers, and to begin to shed 

 those of the wing until the pinions became quite bare 

 and red. What was the matter we could not tell, and, 

 therefore, what to do we were entirely at a loss, until 

 we accidentally met with a small German pamphlet on 

 piping bullfinches, which at once explained the mystery. 

 By this, we discovered our birds were infested with a 

 number of small red lice, nearly invisible to the naked 

 eye, but which often become so numerous as to suck 

 their blood to such an extent that they not only speedily 

 become emaciated, but even died. Various remedies 

 I have since found are recommended in various books, 

 such as a pinch of Scotch snuff sprinkled under the 

 wing and which at best can but afford partial relief. 

 The one I adopted I feel convinced to be the best, 

 though I should only recommend it to be used by a 

 grown up person, as the solution is a deadly poison, 

 which may prove riot only fatal to the bird but to others 

 if carelessly left about. Dissolving a pennyworth of 

 white precipitate powder into half a teacupful of 

 warm water, I made a solution with which by means 

 of a small brush I dressed each bird thoroughly all 

 over, taking especial care that the mixture did not get 

 either into his mouth or eyes. Then washing the whole 

 off with soap and warm water, I wrapped the bird in a 

 piece of flannel, and laid it before the fire until it was 

 partially dry, when I placed it in a cage covered over 

 with the same material, keeping it still before the fire 

 until it was thoroughly comfortable as before. They 

 looked wretched objects for a time, indeed so much so 



