152 Bird - Lore 



sides with soft bits of pampas plume, or any tiny feathers they can find. 

 This is the 'lying in' room, as it were. Then down by the opening they 

 weave the grass and any soft bits left over, into another nest. The eggs, 

 usually four, are laid in the soft, dark nest, where the young stay until 

 pretty nearly feathered; then they come down into the outer nest, where 

 they stay until ready to fly out. They never go back into either nest again. 



The Weavers, as their name implies, weave their nests, using the 

 threads from the fan-palms. The Canaries build beautiful little nests among 

 the calla lilies and in the marguerite bushes, but we find they have more 

 success rearing their young in regular nesting cages away from the other 

 birds. A Canary is a regular gossip, and will often neglect its home duties 

 for the society of others. 



Several years ago, we had a bird of the Grosbeak family. He was a 

 beauty, gray with a bright scarlet head and crest. He never sang; indeed, 

 I can't even recall a whistle, but he would sit for hours on a perch and we often 

 remarked on his apparent loneliness. On day a gentleman who has traveled 

 much arid made a study of bird language, called and asked to see our col- 

 lection. While looking at them he said, "I see you have an Brazilian 

 Cardinal; does he sing?" I told him the bird was apparently dumb. 



"Strange, strange!" he said. "Why, in their native home they are 

 wonderful singers" — and then occurred a remarkable thing. The man, 

 whispering to me to watch the bird, drew close to the wire, uttering a low, 

 peculiar whistle. Instantly the Cardinal seemed to awaken, his crest lifted, 

 he seemed to be listening; then, as the whistle continued, he answered 

 sharply, eagerly, flew over to a pei'ch by the side of the wire from whence 

 came the whistle, and broke forth into a perfect torrent of melody. 



The gentleman called a number of times afterward, and at each visit 

 the bird sang to him, but never, as far as we know, at any other time. 

 When the traveler's visits ceased the bird again lapsed into silence, and a 

 few months later he died, — I always will, believe from homesickness, for 

 perhaps in his far-away home across the ' seas another lonely bird called 

 vainly for his mate. ' 



The Redbird, or Cardinal, is a remarkably handsome bird, but of so jealous 

 a disposition that it is impossible to keep more than one pair in the same enclos- 

 ure. You can put a dozen males together and all is peace and harmony, but put 

 one female in and it is simply a survival of the fittest; so we have but two 

 pairs — one on each side of the aviary. The female of one pair is as fine a 

 singer as her mate, and he is a Caruso. They build fine nests, lay eggs and 

 hatch their young, but never raise them. 



Of all our birds I think we love the Robins best — perhaps because their 

 voices recall the childhood home so far away, for whenever I hear a Robin's 

 call I seem to hear the voices of old friends, see their faces and smell the 

 blossoms from the apple orchard close by. We have Robins in San Diego 



