4248 The Zoologist — December, 1874. 



unobservant, and self-indulgent. I kept one canary eight years, alter- 

 nately in solitude and society ; he was a confirmed hermit in his tastes, 

 preferring isolation to the charms of any companionship whatever. Alone, 

 he was affectionate, lively, and content; iu an aviary, he made himself hated 

 by the hen birds, and bulUed by all those of his own sex ! Timid to a 

 degree, he would be frightened out of his wits by any of his friends opening 

 their eyes at him, whereas his owner might handle him as often and as long 

 as he pleased, without arousing the slightest alarm ! His son, on the other 

 hand, was merry and popular iu a crowd of other birds of various kinds, as 

 his father was the reverse. Everlastingly feeding or being fed by his neigh- 

 bours, personally investigating everything, copying the notes of each wild 

 bird he overheard, flying about and singing from dawn till dai-k, and even 

 after — for gas and caudle-light was always the signal for him to commence 

 his droll antics, and wake up the entire aviary. This canary was so irre- 

 pressible that nothing daunted him, bursting into ringing song on a noisy, 

 rattling railway-truck, after a long night-journey from the South of England 

 to the Highlands. ' Study the disposition of your bird ; many a good 

 canary has been lost through this being neglected,' and do not believe people 

 when they teU you that this or that species is ' always mopish.' Depend on 

 it poor Dick is sick, dull or unhappy, if he persists in sulking. When in 

 sound health or proper condition, it is perfectly unnatural for any of the 

 feathered tribe ever to be otherwise than absolutely lively and gay, even on 

 dark daj's, and during moulting. 



" We once had the misfortune to lose a hen canary when her chicks were 

 only a week old. Unwilling to let these die, we reared them as best we 

 might until fledged, feeding them once every quarter of an hour by means 

 of a quill containing biscuit, soaked and moistened with yolk of egg and 

 water. One died, and the other lived to be my inseparable companion. 

 Never in his cage except at night, I carried him unfettered everywhere 

 about the house and garden, on hand or neck. He knew my voice so well, 

 that if I was upstairs, he down, and his cage-door open, I had only to call, 

 and whirr— a flutter of wings — and happy Dick was once more in his old 

 place upon my shoulder ! His great delight was to perch on the pen with 

 which any one was writing, and do his utmost to catch the flying nib ; if 

 successful and rewarded by a beakful of ink, away went Dick spluttering 

 and scolding with rage, and, forgetful of the past, repeat the experiment at 

 the very next opportunity. He was equally fond of prancing about upon the 

 keys of a piano, becoming furious when an octave or scale passage for a 

 moment cut short his amusement. Another favourite trick was to insist on 

 bathing each time he saw me meddling with water, and when dripping wet 

 flying to get warmed and dried on my neck and hair, grumbling with all 

 his might if not allowed. This absurd bird showed a passion for being 

 kissed, the colour and softness of the lips seeming to excite his curiosity. 



