72



B. Whitlaw—Notes on Various Birds



Some years ago you were kind enough to publish a letter of

mine on the feeding of Nightingales ; on the strength of which the

editor of a well-known nature magazine, who happened to be in the

neighbourhood, called and begged an interview with the hero of the

story. “ Tamagno ” had just dined and was in rather a supercilious

frame of mind — however, he came and sat on the mealworm tin while

his visitor grubbed busily for choice offerings which he condescended to

accept—and then calmly went to sleep !


“ Well I’m blest,” commented the interviewer, contemplating the

round ball of indifference—“ Well I’m blest ! ”


Both my ’Gales flourished for four or five years and were both

ridiculously tame. “ Caruso ” lived in the aviary and “ Tamagno ”

had a large cage, but was usually loose in the room. Whenever

“ Caruso ” visited the cage or “ Tamagno ” paid a return call to the

aviary the “ language ” was a revelation. I am glad to say there was

always wire between them on these meetings, or there would have been

murder and sudden death. “ Caruso ” was the smaller and more

intelligent of the two, delighting in a game of tug-of-war with me, but

he did not sing. “ Tamagno,” however, was a great songster. They

were both hand-reared, and are by far the most delightful of all bird

pets ; but Nightingales should only be attempted by experts.


For some years I had a very fine pair of Bearded Tits, who lived in

a big cage—I tried them in the aviary but they would do nothing but

dash madly against the wires and would not feed, so I was obliged to

catch them up again.


I filled a small travelling cage with coarse, dry grass, and they spent

a great deal of time arranging it to their satisfaction, and always

slept in the nest. Every year there were several clutches of eggs, but

no attempt at incubation. One chick hatched under a canary, but

died at once. I never chanced on a wild insectivorous bird’s nest at

the right time, or I might have got better results.


Most bird-lovers must have observed queer friendships from time

to time among their q»ets. At one time I happened to have in the aviary

two cock Paradise Whydahs, in full war paint, and a pair of Doves—

a common hen mated to a Turtle I had picked up with his wing half

shot away. For months each Dove was always attended by its own



