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FANCIERS’ JOURNAL AND POULTRY EXCHANGE. 

FLIGHTS OF ‘‘THE FANCY.” , 
BY ‘‘THE ODD MAN OUT.”’ 
(Continued from page 514.) 
ketable, and if able to swear fluently, command very high 
prices. We know of fat publicans in easy circumstances 
who do now and then make pilgrimages to seaport towns, 
and return with a troupe of screeching parrots, some re- 
markably yoluble and chatty, others of a more studious 
cast of mind, and given to habits of reflection, as was the 
bird of the maritime gentleman mentioned in history. Par- 
rots are safe investments; their family and christian name 
is invariably Polly, and nobody can tell how old they are, 
or what their sex is. There is a strange feature of the bird 
fancy that we cannot make out. We are sitting, let us say, 
ina ‘“shy”’’ sporting ‘‘drum’’ (wouldn’t Miss Prim and 
Mr. Broadcloth be shocked to see us), conversing affably, 
as is our wont, with the gentlemen present, and smoking 
the ‘‘calumet of peace’’ (which on this occasion takes 
the form of a yard of clay), when there enters to us an 
individual of grimy exterior, who has a roving look, and 
a knowing eye. His dress is a compound of the game- 
keeper’s ‘beater’? and the Birmingham ‘rough ”’ proper. 
He settles down, and with his keen eye intently watching 
us in particular, he produces from a little cage (tied up in a 
dirty blue bird’s-eye handkerchief) a depressed-looking bull- 
finch, or some ordinary little brown bird, and this bird will 
execute tricks, and conduct himself in a manner that any 
respectable finch would be shocked to behold. He will 
feign death, and allow himself to be dragged about by one 
leg; he will hang like an acrobat toa bit of pipe-stem by 
the back of his neck, or he will hold a lighted spill in his 
mouth. The old hands in the room pay little attention to 
these feats, but strangers, especially the genus ‘‘swell,’’ are 
delighted. They probably purchase the bird for a couple of 
shillings, being convinced there is no deception, for he will 
go through his performances as well for them as for his 
master. With much complacency they retire with the 
gifted finch, and prepare to considerably astonish the minds 
of many friends and mild relations. Next day the captive 
is as wild as though recently caught, and quite unmanage- 
able, very probably he refuses food, or beats himself to 
death against the bars of his prison. How the men tame 
these birds is a mystery we cannot fathom. Private sus 
picion suggests that they are either drugged or kept short 
of water, as is the ‘‘whummer”’ pigeon very often, but we 
mean to fathom the secret some day, and shall duly acquaint 
our readers with the result in a special article. The men 
who go out catching singing birds for the market are a very 
‘shady’ lot. Wemeet them in groups of two or three, 
tramping along country roads with their decoy birds and 
‘‘neggers’’ in cages (tied up, of course, in an old handker- 
chief), and‘a lanky terrier, or half-bred poaching-looking 
dog (who will pick up a hare or rabbit in no time) close at 
their heels. Farmers do not like the society of these gentle- 
men, especially on washing days, for the sight of rows of 
clean shirts fluttering in the breeze is too much for our 
friends. It is rumored also that they are apt to mistake 
barn door fowls for the birds they are in search of. The 
modus operandi of the bird-catcher on arriving at a likely 
spot is as follows: Two nets about six feet long are laid 
flat on the ground, and the decoy birds are tied by the leg 
(i.e., pegged) between the nets; at a distance stands the 
fowler holding strings which will enable him to close the 

nets over any unlucky songster that may alight on them ; he 
also provides twigs covered with bird-lime, on which decep- 
tive resting-places many birds stick to rise no more. This 
sport requires patience, and the novice would find it very 
hard to catch anything, but the experienced hand will secure 
a great many prizes. In his peculiar line, the “rough” is 
clever, whether it be snaring birds, catching rats, or roach 
fishing. The strangest phase of the bird fancy is to be seen 
in London, and nowhere else, being purely a Cockney pas- 
time. The bewildered reader of that high class sporting 
organ, Bell’s Life, may have marvelled much at reading 
the announcements of forthcoming bird singing matches. 
He learns in a certain column that Teddy Biles, of Ber- 
mondsey, will sing his mule against that renowned mule 
the property of Tom Piles, of Battersea; man, bird, and 
money, always to be heard of at the bar of ‘‘ The Tinker’s Re- 
turn,’ to which house articles may be sent. He is further 
gratified to read that Mr. Bullneck, mine host of the “ Three 
Jolly Griffins,” Slum Street, Smithfield, will give a hand- 
some copper tea-kettle, to be sung for by goldfinches, next 
Sunday night, the first bird to be on the nail at eight o’clock. 
The entries for the important stake being completed, Sun- 
day night comes round with its accustomed regularity, and 
the fancy repair in goodly numbers to the sawdusted club- 
room of the “ Griffins.”” The contending birds have been 
kept in dark places, and are brought in with their cages 
carefully wrapped up. They are trained to these matches, 
and when uncovered will sing as loudly and sweetly, amid 
the smoke of the pipes, the noise of the company, and the 
glare of the gas, as though they were again in some peace- 
ful country meadow, with the bright light of heaven shining 
over them, and the flower-spangled turf as a carpet for 
them to rest upon. A rough lot are present. A London 
sporting house is a blackguard place at any time; but the 
Cockney bird fancier is an awful creature. You are pretty 
sure to get bullied and annoyed at these places, but men- 
tion Birmingham, and the revered names of Bung and other 
sporting men, and lo! a great change takes place in the con- 
duct of the company. There will be much shouting, horrible 
blasphemy, perhaps a fight or two in the house before that 
copper tea-kettle is disposed of. The fanciers are dirty and 
noisy. Each bird will sing a given time, and the referee 
will judge of his merit by the continuance of his song and 
the changes of notes. The goldfinches will score points for 
‘‘chucks,’”’ ‘*chow chows,’’ and double ‘chum chums,’ 
&c. The first goldfinch is hung duly on the nail and un- 
covered. He starts forthwith in full melodious song, carol- 
ing as though his little heart would break, an appeal we 
somehow think to some great power to free him from the 
foul room, and the foul audience, and let him sing in the 
sweet open country, a little nearer heaven’s gate than he is 
now. The delighted owner of the finch, overjoyed at the 
“chum chums’’ and ‘chow chows” the bird is making, 
consigns, in the fulness of his heart, the bulk of his own 
anatomy to ultimate perdition. It is rumored that this 
competitor will eventually live to defeat the ‘ Grinnidge 
mule,’’ hitherto held to be invincible. It is weary work to 
listen to the turns of the goldfinches, and it is wonderful to 
see how they all burst into song when hung up. Finally 
the judge sums up, and after an awful row, the decision is 
announced, and the lucky winner departs with his bird and 
his tea-kettle, indignantly refusing the liberal offer of ‘ fif- 
teen bob” for the former as he goes down stairs. Moral: 
when up in town, never go to bird-singing matches. We 
