A Southern California Aviary 153 



but only for a very few weeks in early spring; they simply stop to say 

 ^Howdy' on their way to other lands. We had two Robins in our aviary — 

 Rob and Bob. The latter was a rarely intelligent bird; he would stand with 

 his head on one side and listen intently while the Skylark sang, or a Nightingale 

 trilled, and then, at first very softly, he would try the notes over and over 

 until he learned many of them. He knew my footsteps, and before he saw 

 me would call a welcome. The many visitors to the aviary naturally gave 

 more attention to the rarer birds; but one day when a gentleman visitor 

 and I were standing looking at them, Bob walked gravely up and com- 

 menced his wonderful song. In amazement the gentleman listened, and 

 then turning, asked, 'Tsn't that bird just an ordinary Robin?" Most 

 indignantly I replied, "Indeed not; that bird is a most extraordinary 

 Robin." We still have Rob, for, as is always the case, those whom the 

 gods love die, and poor Bob sings no more for us. We laid him away as 

 befitted so rare a bird, his casket a dainty white box filled with the petals of 

 the fragrant La France rose, among which we laid him, and then buried 

 him at the foot of a royal palm. ^ 



With over six hundred birds to feed, the question of proper food is no 

 small one. We mix in large bins, built for the purpose, our own seeds, buy- 

 ing it direct from the importers in great sacks, and accepting only clean, 

 bright seed. We use mostly canary and millet, with a little hemp in winter 

 (which is very fattening) , some sunflower seed, wheat and cracked corn. We 

 have little rustic tables on which, twice a day, the seed is placed, and each 

 bird takes what best suits its fancy. We always have cuttlebone and 

 crushed shell scattered about, and once a week a little plate of raw ground 

 beef is put on each side; those that need the meat eat it, others leave it 

 alone. 



One can learn much from the study of birds. They teach us virtue, 

 generosity, kindness, gratitude — all those things that go to make living 

 worth while. Many would glance at those birds, perhaps see nothing in 

 them and pass on; others would be attracted by their plumage, by their 

 song, by the beautiful whole of the great cage, with its tropical setting 

 filled with life and song; but the student, he who sits and watches and 

 studies, can learn much. 



Briefly I will try to prove all I claim for them. The birds do not, except 

 on rare occasions, hybridize. Each stays by his or her mate, each bearing 

 his share of the burden and responsibility of the family. They are gener- 

 ous to the stranger that alights on the wire, going to him, giving him a 

 friendly greeting, — so much so that on more than one occasion strange 

 birds have of their own accord, after several visits through the wires, hopped 

 down, and into, the half-open outer door (it is made double, one swinging 

 out, the other in) and gone in to dwell among them; and surely it shows 

 kindness to feed a nestful of half-starved babies they never saw before, and 



