142 
TALKING BIRDS 
Edgar Allen Poe, or in plain business, like the raven 
in Guildford Street, which used to say “ Ostler, here’s 
a gentleman,” when a customer arrived, its powers are 
generally marked and recorded. A fine bird, belong- 
ing to a “ statesman” in Northumberland, used to 
say “ Poor old Ralph,” or call the collie dog in the 
exact tones used by its master. “ It’s my very own 
voice,” its owner used to say, laughing, as the dog 
came running in from the garden. But the crow 
tribe, though as clever as some parrots, are not so 
easily domesticated, and their beaks and tongues are 
less well suited for the musical sounds of human speech. 
Most of the parrots, and some cockatoos and macaws, 
have both the mental and physical gifts necessary to 
make them excel in talking. Parrots of all classes 
have fleshy tongues, moistened with saliva, and the 
arched beak provides a substitute for our palate and 
teeth. They have also wide nostrils, and their natural 
voices are loud enough and strong enough to equal 
the volume of human speech. In disposition they are 
highly imitative. Cockatoos are almost like monkeys 
in mimicking men. For instance, if you bow to them, 
they will make elaborate bows. If you put your head 
on one side, they will often do so too. But with many 
parrots the desire to learn new sounds is not, we think, 
a mere trick of mimicry, but the desire to possess 
a song — an accomplishment with which to please, 
identical in kind with the motive which prompts the 
young of singing-birds to learn their parents’ notes, or, 
in the case of the canary, to learn and improve upon a 
