Some Grass finches in my Aviary.



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SOME GRASS FINCHES IN MY AVIARY.


By Dr. L. Lovell-Keays.


Lest our members should think I have lost my reason over

sexing birds, I have taken refuge under the above heading to give

my experience with certain of the Grass finches. To my mind

the Grass finches (Muniince) are among the most captivating and

interesting of all the hard-bills. Their love-dances and their extra¬

ordinary affection for their mates, or, if a bird of the opposite sex is

not available, for one of the same sex is simply wonderful to behold.

My first Grass finches were a pair of Diamond Sparrows, or better

called the Spotted-sided finch (Steganopleura guttata). They were

simply perfect, and I was assured that they were a true pair. They

had been sexed by several leading “fanciers” (Ugh! the hateful

term). One at least had been discarded by a well-known aviculturist

as a cock; in fact both were dubbed cocks, and as such by half-a-

dozen well-known and experienced aviculturists. I am beginning to

lose faith in my fellow aviculturists, and if you will bear with me to

the end you will see why. The first surprise came when cock No. 1

laid an egg and was in no wise ashamed of the fact, but after being

lectured on the unseemliness of a cock laying eggs proceeded to lay

another. However, the second bird did not so far forget himself as

to lay eggs, but displayed his crimson, beak to all and sundry. In

this guise they came into my possession last May. They built and

laid and sat in a way that would shame any advanced woman.

But all to no purpose. I got Butler’s “ How to Sex Cage Birds,”

and further advice was sought and taken. Great pity was expressed

for my lack of experience and sanguine hopes of a brood of young

from every pair of birds. Like Ag'rippa, I was almost, but not quite,

persuaded. The affection of my birds was manifest and unquestion¬

able. At last, November’s dreary night-like days appeared, and one

of my Diamond finches got very humpy, and evinced that degree of

uncanny tameness that speaks of a happy hunting ground where

there are no bars, no cats, and no Owls at night, and where every

mother bird can hear the music of hungry nestlings calling for their

ministrations. I easily caught her up and put her in my warm

bird-room, where she became my closest friend, but death, the evil



