1879.] Rob: A Bird Biography. 359 
ROB: A BIRD BIOGRAPHY. 
BY REV. SAMUEL LOCKWOOD, PH.D. 
N the clearer light of these latter days, a higher value has set- 
À tled on the so-called small things of nature. To-day the 
student thinks he finds in the lower realms of animate beings a 
psychology, perhaps also a morality, and a self consciousness, 
which he asserts are the “baby figures” of better things that 
were ordained to come. It may be that Mrs. Partington spoke 
wiser than she knew when she said; “ Human nature is human 
nature, if you do find it ina cow.” And though so lowly, how 
educable are these emotional and sensitive creatures! Could one 
know all about them, perhaps each would be found to have an 
interesting biography. Let us attempt to tell the story of a tame 
robin, Turdus migratorious. . ; 
Rob, for so we shall call him, was taken from a nest on Long 
Island. Though passed the callow stage, he was not fairly 
fledged. His pap was meal mixed with fresh milk, a point which 
he insisted on ever after. He was turned a year old when he 
became one of our pets, and very soon he had established him- 
self in our affections. He was very exacting of attention—so 
demonstrative and familiar. In the very pertness of its humor 
the conduct of the bird seemed paradoxical; for though in its way 
almost beseeching your notice, it would, on your approach, assume 
a repellant attitude, with wings striking and bill snapping. But 
to witness the “ high-jinks” of his fury, it was only necessary to 
intrude a hand into the cage, keeping the back upwards, and Rob 
would seem wild with savage gladness, for he would settle on it 
and peck away with his sharp bill at the knuckles as if he were 
picking into a big bonanza. Much sentiment is wasted about 
keeping birds in confinement. Does it not generally come from 
such as are intolerant of pets? “It is a deprivation of natural 
freedom.” So thought the horse in the meadow, as he beheld 
the ass roaming in the unfenced sand lots. Even birds may have 
“hard times.” Yes, I have known the free wild birds to be 
starved to death within the sound of a canary’s song. But per- 
haps Rob was unsentimental, for it was plain that prison or not 
he liked his cage. In it he was at home, and well to do—away from 
it he was a-drift and unsettled. The door of the cage was some- 
times left open for a little while, a proceeding which usually called 
