50 
BRAMBLES AND BAY LEAVES, 
pretty Polly Hopkins.” When Betty’s turn came, she 
would, in a nasal singing tone, ask you some impertinent 
questions, such as “ Can you spell Istactepetzacuxochitl 
Icohueyo ?” and before you could give her an answer, 
such is her want of politeness, she would hurry through 
a whole string of small talk; ask for tea, beer, cakes, 
nuts, grapes, and finish off with Quin’s “incoherent 
story,” which, with a slight blush, I confess to have 
spent the occasional leisure of a whole year in teaching 
her. While this went on, the other birds would get 
jealous; and to keep peace, w r e should have to scratch 
no end of proffered polls, and make a compromise with 
master Tommy, the elder of the green parrots, by the 
present of a chicken bone for him to pick and chuckle 
over. The exhibition always finishes by feeding the 
toucans, which are the “lions” of the collection; we 
hand them each a choice morsel—a task which you 
might think dangerous, seeing that their beaks are large 
enough for the seizure of a fat baby, and you would 
think it no trifling matter to appease appetites having 
such formidable representatives. Yet, immense as are 
the horny appendages with which the toucan takes his 
daily bread, his mode of eating is decidedly pretty and 
amusing. The food is taken on the point of the bill, 
it is then tossed high in the air, the immense jaws open 
like a pair of park-gates, and the descending morsel falls 
straight into the gullet with “ a cluck ” that makes one 
roar with laughter. The conjuror who catches knives 
and rings might take a lesson from these comical 
creatures. 
It is not every body who cares to be shut in with such 
