THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 197 
The groves had listeii'd to the tongue 
Of their own feathered choir ; 
Nor on the vocal strings had hung. 
But on their boughs the lyre. 
A hen canary in my possession is the most amusing 
little thing imaginable ; she has no idea of singing, 
nor any note, save a harsh sort of scream, more like 
the sharpening of a saw than anything else ; but 
when she hears the other birds warbling forth their 
lovely tones, she watches them, swells her little 
throat, and endeavours to imitate all their motions in 
singing, every now and then pouring out her harsh 
scream, and ending with her call of sweet, sweet. 
She is particularly fond of hemp-seed, but they 
being large^ she finds a difficulty in breaking the shell ; 
to obviate this, she throws them into the water, till 
they get a little soft ; when she thinks they are suffi- 
ciently soaked to crack the outside, she takes them 
out, shells them, breaks them in small portions, 
which she places on the side of her cage, and when 
all have been thus prepared, commences to feed upon 
them. She does the same with a piece of biscuit, 
if too hard to peck. When her cup is full of water j 
s 2 
