SYMPATHY OF BIRDS WITH THEIR KIN D. 175 
From several facts, however, which have come under my 
notice I am inclined to think that cruelty is less common among 
domesticated creatures — that they are even capable of showing 
between themselves remarkable powers of sympathy. 
I have two caged birds, a canary and a goldfinch, both 
cocks, which are allowed to fly freely about the room by the 
hour together. One day the goldfinch half stunned himself 
against the window-pane, and became suddenly quiet. The 
canary flew from a picture-frame across the room, saw at once 
that something was wrong, and, perching itself on a flower-pot 
near to its companion, looked at him with its black, bright, 
anxious eye, and puffing out its feathers like a sick bird, moped 
disconsolately — apparently out of pure sympathy. 
A friend of mine, living near here, has a large aviary for 
birds, and has told me many stories of their mutual affection, 
even between birds of different tribes, and from widely distant 
parts of the world. I give her own words : — “ I was living in 
town a short time ago, and bought in February a pair of Java 
sparrows (natives of Melanesia, China and Japan) and a pair 
of avadavats (natives of Central Africa). I put them into a 
large cage with some canaries. On looking at them all in the 
evening, I missed the avadavats, and on closer inspection found 
that the two Java sparrows were sitting close together, and had 
each taken under its outer wing one of the avadavats for 
shelter. For many nights I noticed that the little avadavats 
sought the same kindly protection, and even in the day-time would 
creep under the wings of the Java sparrows when the weather 
was very bitter. . . . Zebra finches and silver-bills (natives 
of Australia and of Africa respectively) are most affectionate to 
each other, and will also take up with any other little forlorn 
foreigner in the aviary, though often coming from quite different 
parts of the world. I had a pheasant finch (from West Coast 
of Africa and St. Helena) and a silver-bill who lived happily 
together for three years, roosting always in the same nest at 
night and often sitting on the same perch by day, pruning each 
other’s feathers. . . . The silver-bill would often stand and 
sing, whilst the pheasant finch sat beside, listening apparently 
with great pleasure. Both these birds had lost their mates. 
When the pheasant finch died, the silver-bill transferred its 
affections to a lonely Indian spice-bird — also a widower. . . .” 
Another friend of mine has a small aviary of birds in 
London, in which lives a silver-bill which has long been 
without one foot. It hops about cheerfully all day, but every 
night a little friend, in the shape of an avadavat, roosts close 
beside it on the same perch, to give it the support its injured 
leg is incapable of doing. 
These facts are, I think, interesting, and quite beyond mere 
stories of pets. Perhaps they may elicit others from other 
lovers of living things, to prove that even among dumb creatures, 
adversity sometimes breeds kindness. 
A. M. Bucktox. 
