48 
NATURE NOTES. 
ing, two months hence. He is now dissecting and separating 
the wool with a knowing air. His name is Napoleon. For the 
rest, he has a little rosy waistcoat and a scarlet bill, with a 
distinctly fiery eye, and is of the huge length of my thumb — -not 
so long, indeed, without his tail. 
Yet this mite hunts all intruders from his domain and drives 
off the fat bullfinch with furious ardour if that sleek gentleman 
alights for a moment on his cage, his plant pot, or even his table ! 
The cage may be at the extreme end of the room from him, but 
his quick ear and e}'e detect an intruder instantly, and in a 
moment he darts over, quivering with rage, and hurries out the 
big bird, three times his size. One old yellow canary (the pic- 
ture of a particular old bachelor), allowed out sometimes, is an 
exception. I think his slim golden beauty appeals to certain 
tropical instincts of the little emperor — in a lordly way he wel- 
comes him if he does not stay too long ! If he outstays his 
welcome, he is hurried off, much flustered and amazed, making 
little protests in a very weak voice. Napoleon has now become 
the master of Rollo, a fine sable collie, lately given to us, a big 
creature for whom he would be but a small mouthful. Perhaps 
he is jealous of him ; anyhow, should the dog cross a certain 
imaginary line, which includes a bay window and all his trea- 
sures, he flies at him fluttering like an angry butterfl}’, and so 
abashes and confounds the animal that he hastily retreats. 
Then comes the song of ecstacy and sometimes the dance ! 
Napoleon is not expected to go back to prison until nightfall, 
but being a prisoner on parole, he has to respect orders to some 
extent, and he does so under protest. He never sees his cage 
when first offered to him — never ; he is always bus)' and pre-oc- 
cupied. Then he seems to say, “ Excuse me, there is still my 
evening constitutional,” and deliberately flies to and fro a few 
times before going in. 
A year ago I began to fear that vanity was the leading passion 
of my little autocrat. I constantly found him bowing and 
scraping to his own reflection in the glass of photo-frames, 
polished wood, &c., making soft cooing sounds and joyous 
whistles, and kissing the reflected little bird again and again, 
sometimes thirty or forty times running. At first I thought he 
had developed a beautiful affection for Mr. Ruskin, he gave his 
picture so many kisses, but I was at length obliged to acknow- 
ledge that he was loving himself ! and tlien it struck me that he 
believed he had found a mate, and was lavishing endearments 
upon her, so a friend gave him a little looking-glass which has 
been, and is, a source of endless satisfaction and of occasional 
disappointment. For instance, in the spring last year, a good 
six weeks later than our English birds, he grew intent on nest- 
building. Everything was examined, and all sorts of treasures 
accumulated behind a letter-weight in a dark little corner of the 
writing-table. Bits of cotton-wool, tassels, cotton, leaves, grass, 
and feathers lay in a confused heap, being constantly dragged 
