THE SAVAGE WORLD. 
297 
purposes, or keep up a quiet and gentle monologue about bis own accomplish¬ 
ments with a simplicity of attitude that was most absurd. 
“ Even in the imitation of louder noises he was equally expert, and could 
sound the danger whistle or blow off steam with astonishing accuracy. Until 
I came to understand the bird, I used to wonder why some invisible person 
was always turning an imperceptible capstan in my close vicinity, for the par¬ 
rot had also learned to imitate the grinding of the capstan bars and the metallic 
clink of the catch as it falls rapidly upon the cogs. 
“ As for the ordinary accomplishments of parrots, he possessed them in 
perfection, but in my mind his most perfect performance was the imitation of 
a dog having his foot run over by a cart-wheel. First there came the sudden, 
half-frightened bark, as the beast found itself in unexpected danger, and then 
the loud shriek of pain, followed by a series of howls that is popularly termed 
‘ pen and ink.’ Lastly, the howls grew fainter, as the dog was supposed to 
be limping away, and you really seemed to hear him turn the corner and retreat 
into the distance. The memory of the bird must have been most tenacious, and 
its powers of observation far beyond the common order ; for he could not have 
been witness to such canine accidents more 
than once.” 
The Gray Parrot is noted also for its 
singular attachments, in which respect, how¬ 
ever, there is a correspondence among all 
the genera. Several instances are well au¬ 
thenticated in which the parent has become 
foster-mother to fledglings of other birds, in 
which capacity she has given her charge 
the tenderest possible care, and has exhibited 
the greatest grief when the brood, being 
raised up, have deserted her. They have 
also been seen to converse with other birds, 
first using their acquired vocabulary, and 
manifesting great impatience at receiving no 
response, but afterwards communicating by 
what appears to be a universal bird language. 
That parrots live to a very great age is a well ascertained fact, the limit 
falling little short of one hundred years. M. Le Vaillant gives an account of 
one that was kept in captivity through a period of ninety-three years. At the 
time that eminent naturalist saw it, it was in a state of entire decrepitude, 
and in a kind of lethargic condition, its sight and memory being both gone, 
and was fed at intervals with biscuit soaked in Madeira wine. In the time of 
its youth and vigor it had been distinguished for its colloquial powers and 
distinct enunciation, and was of so docile and obedient a disposition as to 
fetch its master’s slippers when required, as well as to call the servants, etc. 
At the age of sixty its memory began to fail, and, instead of acquiring any 
new phrase, it began to lose those it had before attained, and to intermix, in 
a discordant manner, the words of its former language. It moulted regularly 
every year till the age of sixty-five, when this process grew irregular, and the 
tail became yellow, after which no further change of plumage took place; its 
death was easy, as though the physical forces had become gradually exhausted. 
