Ill



on Ring-necked Parrakeets at large in Hampshire.


pets, but terrible marauders, and tlieir introduction in large numbers into-

England might be a curse and not a blessing.


“A number of Cockatoos were turned out in a park in Hampshire

some years ago, and the project proved successful, but they were all shot,

eventually, by first one Cockney sportsman and then another.


“My Parrots will fly after me along the roads, and across the fields, for

a couple of miles and more—now hovering above my head, now flying on to

my shoulders, now on to an oak tree, now on to a fence, then on to the

ground at my feet—chattering all the time. Last October, in company with

a friend, I called upon the Vicar of a neighbouring parish, who lives two

miles distant from me. Our homeward journey lay through a beautiful

copse—‘ Cattle Copse ’—where are ‘ cedar and pine and fir ’ and

‘branching’ hawthorn, the deciduous trees at that time gorgeous in

autumn attire. All at once, if you please, out flew the two birds from a

hawthorn bush where they had been feeding. They had no doubt followed

my friend and me—unknown to us—for a couple of miles, and were await¬

ing our return. Mutual salutations over, they then accompanied us home

—now on our heads and shoulders, then at our feet. Sometimes they would

allow us to get ahead for some distance and then enjoy the fun of catching

us up.


“ At the beginning of last February they visited a neighbouring

Rectory—a few miles off. Having entertained the school children, who

were enjoying their dinner time, for half an hour or so, they started for

Turgiss. I happened to be walking by a footpath, through some fields,

midway between my house and that which the Parrots had been visiting,

when, all at once, I heard the well-known chatter. There, at a great height

in the air were the Parrots. They recognized me and the bull terriers at

once, and then made the most delightful swoop down, and settled—one on

my right and the other on my left shoulder.


“ Between Rectory' and Church twenty acres of glebe and two large

fields intervene. On a Sunday morning, after service is over, they are

almost invariably holding sentinel in one of the trees which surround the

house. Directly I pass through a wicket gate, they are ‘ ware of it ’ and fly

to meet me, across the glebe, in an abandonment of delight.


“Some naturalists have been of opinion, I believe, that birds have a

sixth sense. The probability is illustrated in this way. A camel dies in the

desert. No Vulture was near when the death struggle took place, but

the body of the poor creature is not long without company. Presently

a dot is observed in the sky. This gradually comes nearer and nearer and

proves to be a Vulture. Well it is argued that it is highly improbable that

the bird could either see or smell the carcase of the camel, and that hence

there is some undiscovered sense peculiar to birds. Now if I go away from

home for a day or two, and return late in the evening, these birds



