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spoonful of milk with a lump of sugar in it, which he greatly enjoys. He

always has a bath hung over the door of his cage, but he never goes into it,

but contents himself with flicking the water over himself with his beak—■

this he will do several times in the day. In the summer he is often hung

out of doors or allowed to spend the day in a sunny aviary.


During the first winter we had him he became very ill, lost his

plumage, moped and was very weak, and we feared he was going to die, so

I put him in a little basket on a bed of cotton wool with hot flannel over

him, and he soon began to recover. Since then, summer and winter, he

has always gone to bed in that same basket. When his bed and blanket have

been well warmed, the basket is held to the cage door and Baby at once

jumps in and nestles down, and is then covered up with his hot blanket

with only the tip of his nose sticking out. The basket is tied down and

placed on a table with a cloth over it to keep the warmth in. If, on getting

into his basket, he finds the bed has not been warmed, instead of nestling

down he hops back into his cage and “ cheeps ” in a plaintive, discontented

voice. In the morning, when his basket is opened, he usually hops out

and begins a loud, cheerful whistle; but sometimes, when, on putting his

nose out he finds it cold, he just cuddles down again, as much as to say,

“You have called me too earl}'.” I am sure that heat is life to the Baby.

As I sit by the fire in the evening he loves to creep under a fold in my dress

on my lap and will remain there quiet for an hour, or he will sit nestled

under my chin while I am writing letters, only now and then making a

dart at the feather of the pen if it comes too near him.


With me he is never cross, but with my husband he dearly loves to

have a fight: he is placed on his back on the table and then my husband

attacks him with his fingers, and the bird strikes at him with his sharp

pointed beak with all his force, but shows no signs of fear, for he allows

himself to be rolled about and lifted up by his tail, and all the time he

keeps up his sharp, clear, pretty whistle. If strangers come into the room

the Baby will fly on to their heads and attack them or their hats in a fury.

But his bite noire is the housemaid’s cap : on two occasions he escaped out

of an open window and flew on to the roof of the house, but each time the

housemaid came into the garden and the bird at once flew down on to her

cap and was so intent upon tearing it to pieces that he allowed himself to

be caught readily.


Curiosity is the Baby’s besetting sin : when loose in the room he

pokes his head into everything, opens books and peeps in between the

leaves, lifts the lids of little boxes and turns over papers; but the first

thing he makes for is the inkstand, lifts the lid and, unless stopped, will

drink the ink !


In conclusion, I may say that I am at all times delighted to show my

bird to anyone who takes an interest in such pets—and he has many

visitors. S. I. P. Barkley.



THE TRAFFIC IN INSECTIVOROUS BRITISH BIRDS.


Sir,—I am sorry to have incurred Mr. Fulljames’ displeasure. I can

assure him (and “Varet” also, assuming them to be distinct person¬

alities*) that nothing was further from my intention than to be impolite to

“ Varet.”


The primary object of my hastily-written letter was to thank “Varet ”



