THE SISKIN. 
port wine in a quarter of a gill of water, and let it be with him 
all day. 
Bullfinches brought up from the nest are as subject to dis- 
ease as other cage birds. If your bird has a fit, cut the tip of 
the under claw so that it bleeds a little, bathe the legs in white 
wine, and put a little nitre in his water. The “ husk ” is 
another complaint to which some bullfinches are subject. It is 
as troublesome to them as asthma is to our own species, and 
almost as incurable. The only cure is to keep them as much 
as possible in one atmosphere, and comfort them with warm 
food. As soon as ever they show symptoms of being unwell 
(you will soon know it by then* bunchy appearance), diet them 
for a time on canary, hemp, and rape-seed. Be sure, however, 
to return to simple rape-seed as soon as they get better. 
CHAPTER IY. 
THE SISKIN. 
One would hardly suppose that our little feathered minstrels 
were so plentiful that we could afford to neglect, nay, almost 
to ignore the very existence of one of the blithest and best. 
How many folks residing in or near London know anything of 
the siskin, or “ aberdevine,” or “ black -pated thistle-finch,” or 
“ bastard goldfinch” (for by each and everyone of these various 
names is the bird known) ? I would wager that not ten in the 
hundred of our London boys ever saw a siskin. 
“ Then,” says the boy whose range of vision is bounded by 
’’s nose, “there can be little use in speaking about it. I 
ild much rather, if you please, that you go on with the 
own finches, and leave this and such like outcasts 
'ent, O short-sighted boy ! take this doctrine and 
ir own case. Suppose you grow up to be a man 
hematician, a philosopher, or a poet, — one of 
L ers who carol so sweetly, and whose music, 
ca-< d burnished gold, sells for vast sums ; 
suppose, I say, u should discover, or, better still, that 
the world should discover, that you were a poet ; would you 
think it just for somebody to exclaim, “ Oh, bother ! what do we 
want with more poets ? Haven’t we already got those human 
larks and nightingales Tennyson and Browning ? Haven’t we 
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