226 cassell's book of birds. 



little to fear, for by him their numerous services are too fully appreciated to allow of any great number 

 being doomed to a life of confinement. Still, when caged their qualifications are such as to render 

 them general favourites. When kept alone they are readily tamed, but, on the contrary, should they 

 be placed with other birds, they soon become quarrelsome : and, not content with constantly 

 squabbling with their companions, have often been known to tear the nests of the latter to pieces, and 

 throw out not merely the eggs but the young. In our own aviary we on one occasion found a very 

 lively Starling flying about with a piece of white paper in its beak, and chasing the terrified occupants 

 in all directions, this sportive performance apparently affording the greatest delight to the perpetrator 

 of the joke, who seemed to enjoy the alarm and screams thus excited. Most extraordinary are the 

 tales told of the facility with which this species can be taught to speak or imitate almost any sound ; 

 an instance is recorded of a Starling having learnt to repeat the Lord's Prayer quite distinctly, without 

 missing a word ; the naturalist Lenz, to whose curious calculations respecting these birds we have 

 already alluded, kept one of them tame, and tells us that this creature not only whistled two tunes, 

 and could utter syllables, but that it understood and obeyed his words and gestures like a dog. 



The following narrative, for which we are indebted to the kindness of Dr. McFarlane McBirnie, 

 will be read with interest : — " My father," writes Dr. Birnie, " from boyhood was passionately fond of 

 birds, when under ten years of age he travelled from Balpon to Linlithgow and back, a distance of 

 forty miles, in order to get a canary. A few years after, having broken his leg, he was confined to 

 the recumbent position for two months, the tedium of which was relieved by the company of his 

 favourites. In 1845 he bought a fledgling Starling for eighteen-pence, and at once commenced its 

 education. He spent three hours a day (not, of course, consecutively) for twelve months before he 

 brought it to perfection. From the very first, poor ' Richard,' as it was called, showed a love of 

 learning, he seemed actually to drink it in ; he would lie with his head inclined, as a person does 

 when he wishes to listen intently, and would lean against the wires of his cage to be as near as 

 possible to the sound ; and I would here remark that in training a bird to sing and speak, the 

 instruction should be imparted in a subdued, semi-whispering tone, in a darkened chamber, where 

 there is nothing to distract the attention. My father made it a point to give Richard half an hour's 

 tuition every night after ten o'clock, in total darkness, and he says he found it more tractable then 

 than at any other time. It would take up too much space to show the rationale of this ; I may state, 

 however, that in early morning birds are intent on procuring food, and cannot be expected to listen 

 to instruction, and then, during the day there are so many things going on in a house, so many diverse 

 sounds, that it is impossible for them to single out the vocables we wish, whereas, after three hours' 

 repose, when there is no desire for food, no wish for the pleasure of muscular motion, no sounds or 

 sights to withdraw their attention, then is the fitting time to teach. By the time Richard was able to 

 hop from perch to perch, his master saw that his pupil was striving to imitate him ; never was scholar 

 more apt or more gratified at receiving a prize than Richard was at getting a bit of hard-boiled egg on 

 achieving two or three additional notes, and in this way he soon became the Mario of Starlings. At the 

 word of command — as at the down-beat of a conductor's baton — Richard started off with the ' Hills of 

 Glenorchy.' I regretted my father had not selected a more popular tune ; yet I question if one could 

 have been got more adapted for the vocalisation of a bird : prolonged notes, such as minims or 

 dotted crotchets, a bird is not able to maintain ; a tune with quavers, and in marching time, is best 

 adapted to their sustaining powers. After having whistled the ' Hills of Glenorchy,' Richard paused, 

 as it were to draw breath, and said, ' That's the " Hills of Glenorchy" — that's a tune for the ladies ;' 

 ' A wee gill o' the best, here — quick, quick, make haste ;' ' Richard's a pretty, pretty bird ;' ' A coach 

 and six for pretty Richard ;' ' Richard's the boy for kissing the lasses ;' here he imitated the sound of 

 kissing, familiar to every one, which convulsed his audience with laughter, especially if a number of 



