A BIRD AMONG BIRDS. 



I AM very glad to learn that we are to 

 have an Audubon Magazine. All 

 lovers of birds will be pleased, but to me it 

 is a source of especial pleasure, as afford- 

 ing a fitting opportunity of chronicling the 

 life and adventures, the talents and virtues, 

 the sayings and doings of a bird primus 

 inter pares — a bird among birds — which was 

 my constant companion and devoted friend 

 for a period of more than twenty long 

 years. Death has, alas! parted us, and 

 nothing remains to me but the sad pleas- 

 ure of immortalizing his memory in the 

 columns of the Audubon. 



As all birds of the parrot kind are by 

 common consent called " Polly," I will not 

 deviate from that rule, although in this 

 case it might be called a misnomer, for my 

 ''Polly" was not only not a polly of the 

 common kind, but a cockatoo of the larger 

 species, as white as snow, "orange-crested," 

 and withal a male, and for that reason not 

 entitled to the feminine appellation, Polly. 

 Yet I prefer to call my departed friend and 

 companion of twenty-two years, "Polly," 

 more as expressive of endearment than of 

 propriety. AVell, Polly had a history, and 

 it is that I propose to interest your readers 

 with. 



Somewhere back in the dark past, 

 say about fifty years ago, there lived in 

 Philadelphia a family named Miller, who 

 kept a hotel on Chestnut street (Sam Mil- 

 ler's). By some means not known to me, 

 this Polly got into the possession of that 

 family. How old he may have been when 

 he arrived from Australia has never been 

 established, but it is likely he was full- 

 grown and probably two or three years old. 

 Some time in the beginning of the for- 

 ties, Polly came into the hands of a Wentz 

 family at Lancaster, Pa., who had him for 

 perhaps ten or fifteen years, when he was 

 sold to a Mr Connell, in Leacock Town- 



ship, Lancaster county. Here he had the 

 misfortune to break a leg, which disabled 

 him so that he could not feed himself prop- 

 erly, and came very near being sacrificed 

 to relieve him of his misery, when a good 

 Samaritan in the person of a Mr. Crick, a 

 butcher, who supplied the Connell family 

 with meat, seeing the unfortunate condi- 

 tion of the bird, suggested that perhaps he 

 might be healed. Mr. Connell had very 

 little hopes of such a happy result, but 

 told Mr. Crick to take him and see what 

 he could do with him. Thus Mr. Crick 

 became Polly's new owner, successfully 

 splinted and bandaged the broken limb, 

 and in a short time healed the fracture. 

 From this time forth the history of Polly's 

 precocity begins. It was never known be- 

 fore what " was in " the bird. The sequel 

 will show that there was much "in him" 

 that was only waiting an opportunity to 

 be developed, more perhaps than some 

 people would have given a bird credit for. 

 Polly was given a wide range on the 

 little farm, where he mingled with geese, 

 ducks, chickens and pigs, and by degrees 

 became a mimic unparalleled by anything 

 recorded in history. When he cackled, any 

 one not aware of his presence naturally 

 concluded that a hen was just glorying 

 over her " last lay." When he crowed all 

 the barn-yard strutters joined in chorus to 

 outcrow him. When he imitated the small 

 "chick" with a shrill and quick "peep" 

 as if in pain, clucking mothers would run 

 in the direction whence the sound came, to 

 the rescue of the supposed little victim, 

 only to be confronted by the mischievous 

 hook-billed counterfeit. His braying of a 

 mule was perfect in modulation, but some- 

 what lacking in volume, and for that reason 

 was one of his very best efforts. No wo- 

 man ever laughed more heartily than Polly 

 could laugh ; in fact, so natural was this 



