Chapter VIII: Preface (6)

It is wonderful how many kinds of tame pigeons have come from their wild ancestor, the rock-pigeon. Of no other animal except the dog are there so many and it is hard to believe that they all came from one source. A few of them may be named, for the whole list is far too large for our space.

Among the various kinds may first be named the Tumbler pigeon. This bird flies to a great height, then sinks and soars in circles and curves, turning somersaults in the air. All at once it drops down in nearly a straight line; then stops short, hovers on its spread wings, and flies upward to begin the play again. A flock of these tumblers will keep in the air for hours at a time, enjoying themselves and pleasing their friends below. Of these tumblers there are many varieties, different in color, shape and size.

A very odd kind of pigeon is the Pouter, in which the breast stands out until it is like a great food chest, for the swelling is due to the great size of the upper stomach. As a result the head is thrown back almost out of sight behind this swollen chest. This gives the bird a sulky, pouting air, from which comes its name of pouter.

Of the other kinds we may speak of the Frilled pigeons, with the breast feathers frizzed like a shirt frill; the Fan-tails, the tails of which spread out in the fashion of those of the peacock; the Russian Drum-pigeons, which do not coo, but make a sound like the roll of a drum; the Capuchin, with a white hood and tail and a dark tuft on its forehead; and the Lark, Magpie, Swallow, and Starling-necked pigeons, all with something to suggest these titles.

So far we have said nothing of the Carrier pigeon, for that claims a place for itself. It is a bird of noble bearing, with no show of fine feathers, since it looks more like a wild than a tame bird, but with a splendid power of flight, one which no other pigeon can match. Its great value is that when taken to a long distance it has a wonderful power of finding its way home. This makes it of much use as a messenger bird, a kind of natural telegraph which was used centuries before any other telegraph was thought of.

No one knows how the carrier pigeon finds its way home. Most likely its keen power of sight has much to do with this. When set free, it flies upward into the air in widening circles to a great height, as if trying to see something known to it in the far distance. In the end it darts off in a straight line, which ends only when it has reached its mate in the home dove-cot. Of course it needs to be trained to this by shorter flights, but a well-trained pigeon will find its home when a hundred miles or more away. The message is written on a piece of very thin, light paper, tied under the bird's wing or to its leg.

The history of the carrier pigeon goes far back in time. In the days of ancient Greece winners in the public games sent word of their victory to their friends by pigeon post. A real pigeon postal-system was founded in the Arabian empire by the Sultan Noureddin, who died in 1174, and this was kept up until 1258, when Bagdad, the capital, was taken and destroyed by the Mongols.

In later years, during the wars of Napoleon, large gains are said to have been made by the Rothschilds, the famous bankers, who received news of great events by pigeon post and used those news for stock buying and selling. The newspaper press has also made much use of messenger pigeons. The greatest case of this was in 1870, when the city of Paris was besieged by the German army and all the telegraph wires were down. News was sent out from Paris, in microscopical writing so fine that a single bird could carry thousands of messages at once. Military pigeons are still trained for use in case any war should arise. In the German city of Cologne there is a station with five or six hundred pigeons, trained to fly to the fortified places of the empire.

THE OSTRICH AND ITS SPLENDID PLUMES

After our talk about the pigeon, with its swift powers of flight, we now come to a bird which has no power of flight at all, yet which is of much value to us from the splendid feathers of its wings. It would take strong wings indeed to lift from the ground the ostrich, the largest of all birds, standing six to eight feet high. But what it lacks in wings it makes up in legs, for it is a wonderful runner, being able to outrun the fastest horse. As it runs it spreads its wings, which seem to act as sails.

The ostrich has often been tamed and thus it may be classed with birds of the home, though much too large for the poultry yard. It grows quite friendly to those who have it in charge, but does not like strangers and is apt to attack them in a violent manner. As these birds are plentiful in the great Sahara desert, they were often kept by the Romans and used in their public shows. They were also used as food, and a glutton among the Roman emperors is said to have had the brains of a large number of ostriches served up to him in a single dish.

The people of Africa are very fond of ostrich eggs and travellers in that land also speak well of them. Each egg weighs about three pounds, so that one of them is equal to about two dozen hen's eggs. The egg is cooked by being set on end in a fire and its contents stirred about with a stick thrust into a hole in the upper end. The shell is so thick and strong that it is used in Africa as a water vessel.

It is not for its brain or its eggs that the ostrich is kept in our days, but for its fine plumes. These bring such high prices that the birds are tamed and kept on what are called ostrich farms in order to get a good supply of those rare feathers. The first farms were started in South Africa in 1869, and they have since spread to other countries. The birds need warm regions, the only states fitted for them in this country being California and Florida.

The long, white, beautiful ostrich plumes so highly prized by ladies all over the world grow in the ends of the wings of the male birds. A good bird, in the prime of its life, will yield from twenty to forty of these, and also a few black feathers from the wings. The tail feathers are of much less beauty and value.

In the early days of the industry the feathers were worth $500 a pound and the plumes of one bird would sometimes bring $125. But they have now become so plentiful that the price has gone down to less than one-tenth of these figures.

To pluck the feathers, the bird is put in a box of such small size that it cannot kick. It does not enjoy the plucking, and a kick from its great leg is enough to break a man's bones. We can understand its feelings, for the feathers used to be cruelly pulled out by the roots. Now they are cut, leaving the roots of the quills, which can be pulled out easily in a month or two. As for the use and beauty of these superb plumes we need only to view the hat of a lady which is adorned by one or more of them. The whole bird kingdom yields nothing more beautiful.

VI

WINGED AND TUNEFUL HOME PETS

If you look back over the earlier pages of this book, you will find that it deals with animals in some way of use to man, creatures that guard his houses, help him in his sports, serve him as food, carry him on their backs, haul his carts and wagons, and in other ways help him to live and thrive.

But our home friends are not all of this useful kind. There are some that we keep just because we like to have them with us, and make friends of for their sweet songs, their beauty of form or color, and the love they give us for the love we give them. These are the song birds of the home, the pretty little winged warblers which we keep in cages to save them from the prowling cat and to hinder them from flying away, but which we do all we can to make happy and joyous, and which pay us back in their own charming way.

There are many of these cage-pets. The one that we see most of is the canary, but there are many others for which we find room in our homes and are as glad to keep as they seem glad to be kept. Among these birds of the cage and the aviary are the linnet and the bullfinch, admired for their beauty of color; the mocking bird, with its wonderful power of imitating the songs of all the feathered brood; the thrush, a singer of fine powers; the finch, with its cheerful whistle, especially the bullfinch, splendid in color and varied in song; the bunting, the lark, the wagtail, and various others admired for beauty or sweetness of song; and to these we must add the strange and amusing bird talkers, such as the parrot, which has wonderful powers of learning words and fitting them into the right place, a bird that fairly makes us jump at times by the neat way in which it says the right thing at the right time. Then there are the magpie, the jackdaw, and the starling, ready talkers and good company for the lonely.

THE CANARY AND ITS SONG

Of the home birds the gold-hued Canary comes first, as the chief favorite among them all. From its native home on the Canary Islands it has been taken to Europe and America and kept so long in cages that it has quite forgotten its old-time liberty, so that a canary-bird escaped from its cage is the most helpless creature in the feathered flock, and is likely to become the prey of the cat if not captured and brought back to its cage-home.

The wild canary is not noted for its beauty and not greatly for its song. It is found in large numbers in the Canary, Madeira, and Cape Verde Islands, and is of a greenish-yellow color, with gray tail and wings. It is the art of man which has made the home bird what it is and has given it its color and its fine vocal powers. When the Canary Islands were occupied by the Spaniard in 1478 these birds were taken in large numbers to Spain, from which they spread over Europe, becoming the pets of many a cottage and castle home. In many of the old pictures we see their little forms, now perched in a corner, now sitting on a lady's finger.

The canary belongs to the family of finches, its place being between the linnet and the goldfinch. In its native islands it dwells near man, building its nest--of moss, feathers, hair, etc.--in thick, bushy places. The hen-bird lays an egg every day until from four to six are in the nest, on which she begins to sit. In thirteen days the young birds appear and in thirteen more they are able to fly, but their parents feed them for some time longer, on grass seeds or other plant food.

We must say that this bird enjoys cage-life, for it seems very happy in its narrow home. It becomes quite tame and fearless, grows to love its mistress, and sings with a freedom that speaks of a joyful heart. In its wild state it is fond of bathing, and it is needful to give it a frequent bath in its cage, if it is to be kept well and tuneful.

The cage-canary is a home bird, unlike the bird of the free air. It has been made over by man and fitted for its new life. Early in its cage career the country people around Innsbruck, in the Tyrol, became active in raising these little vocalists, and from there they spread to Germany and the Netherlands. To-day they are raised in large numbers in the Hartz Mountain region of Germany, where great care is taken in teaching them to sing. They are also raised and taught in other countries.

The canary is very ready to take on new songs and its trainer is careful to keep it from falling into bad habits. If a bird happens to hear a bad note it is apt to take it up and it is hard to break it of the fault. So the good singers are kept where they cannot hear those of poor voice, and a number of the finest singers are kept as models to teach the young birds how to sing.

Bird lovers have their tastes. Some like a loud song, with high notes and long trills. Others prefer a soft, warbling, flute-like note, with clear flourishes of song, and no one likes these to be broken by a sharp "Chap-chap" or "tsi-tsi" or other vocal fault.

It takes nearly a year for a canary to gain its education. In that time it will learn several airs. Some of these may be forgotten, and then the model songster is brought near so that they may be learned again. It is said that some canaries have even been taught to speak a few words.

Sometimes a bird that has a shrill or too sharp note is kept in the shade until this is corrected. And the canary often sings better in the little cages of the dealers than in the large, fine cages of its final home. Thus singing birds as well as singing people have their own fancies.

Rape and hemp seeds are the principal food of these birds. A little flax-seed is also good for them, as it helps to fatten them. They are fond of flowering groundsel and chickweed and a very small supply of these is good for their health. They also have a sweet tooth and are very fond of sugar.

Shall we say something about the different breeds of canaries? There are numbers of them and each country has its own. We can tell the breeds apart by their shape and song. Thus the English canaries are very tall, with a tuft or top-knot on the head. The French breed is noted for its slender form. In Germany more heed is paid to song than to shape. Holland was long known for a fine, strong race which is still called the Dutch canary, though it is no longer to be found in that country. In the United States shape and color are the points looked after, birds of elegant form being preferred.

The Belgian canaries have been called the "nobles" of the canary race. They are large, with narrow, flattish head and very gentle eyes. The neck is flexible, the head is carried straight forward and the back and tail bend almost straight downward, this giving the bird an odd appearance. Its little form and the way it carries its head, with the mild look in its eyes, are notable points. The Scotch Fancy canary, now common in England and the United States, is like the Belgian but has a much flatter head.

THE MARVELLOUS MOCKING BIRD

We have said much about the canary because it is far the most common of cage-birds, but we have at home a bird of our own, not so often kept in cages, but in its way one of the most marvellous of birds. This is the Mocking-bird, a native American with so rich and tender a voice that in the West Indies, where it is very common, it is called the nightingale. This is due both to the melody of its song and its habit of singing at night.

It is not quiet in the day-time, but then shows its powers in a different way. It is this that gives it the name of mocking bird, for it has a wonderful power of taking up the songs of other birds, imitating them so exactly as to cheat the ears of all that listen. Now it takes up the song of one bird, now of another, and fills the air with its fine mockery. By night, when other birds are apt to be still, it keeps to its sweet native song, but by day takes delight in its strange faculty of imitation. Not only does it repeat musical tones, but also the harshest tones it hears, making of it all a strange medley.

This is seen in a striking way when the mocking bird is caged. Then it mocks the many sounds around it. It will bark like a dog, mew like a cat, crow like a cock, cackle like a hen, creak like a wheelbarrow, and take up a host of varied sounds. And while doing this it spreads its wings, expands its tail, and throws itself about the cage as if it was having the best time of its life. It can be easily taught to whistle a tune of some length, but never seems to imitate the voice of man.

It rarely, however, sings as well in the cage as in its free state. The wild bird seems to like to be near man and often builds its nest in a tree or bush close to a house. While the female bird is sitting the male is very wide-awake and shows the greatest courage in driving enemies away from the nest. In the brooding season they will often gather in flocks and fight off birds of prey of much larger size. A snake that comes too near is killed by a quick series of blows on the head, and the cat soon finds that it is best to keep away from the mocking bird's nest.

There is another bird of the same family that dwells much farther north, being common as far north as Massachusetts. It has powers of imitation like those of the mocking bird and a sweet song of its own, but when disturbed gives vent to a sharp, mew-like cry from which it has got the name of Cat-bird. Like the Mocking bird, it builds its nest near man and makes no attempt to hide it, but fights off enemies with a like boldness. No one thinks of caging this bird, for its cat-call is not at all pleasant and has given it a bad name, but its song is pleasing to our ears.

OTHER CAGED SONGSTERS

The smaller birds are often so bright and beautiful and have such musical voices, that many of them are made tenants of the cage. Here they do not seem sad or mournful, but are likely to make themselves much at home.

There is the Bullfinch, a nervous, uneasy fellow, always in a flutter, yet easy to keep in cage life and ready to raise a family in captivity. These birds are at once beautiful and tuneful. In color they are as handsome as many of the birds of the tropics, while they can be taught a variety of bird airs. They need to be coaxed, and their tutor must use the same coaxing words and gestures and even wear the same coat when he gives his bird its lessons. But a well-taught bird brings a high price and it pays the poor folks of parts of Europe to spend much time in teaching them.

It takes time and trouble to teach a bullfinch to whistle a tune, but it pays for the labor. A young bird must be taken from the nest before it has begun to twitter and kept where it can hear no sounds except those made by its teacher. In this way it fails to learn its native tones and may be taught to do wonderful things, whistling a whole tune as well as any boy could do it. I can prove this best by telling a little story.

There was a flute-player at a London theatre who had an ebony flute with silver keys. But he did not often use it, for one of its upper notes was not good. He lived with a tailor and the two were great friends.

One night, while he was at the theatre, some one stole his silver flute. He could not think who had done it, except it was an old woman who did the work of the house. But nothing could be found out and in time the loss was forgotten. A few months later the tailor moved to a town some miles away, but the two were still friends and at times paid each other visits.

Once, after a year had gone by, the flute-player went to see the tailor, and was pleased to find that his friend had a splendid bullfinch, which could whistle three tunes. But there was something curious about these tunes. Whenever the bird came to a certain high note it would skip this and go on to the next. The musician was quick to notice that this missing note was the very one that was wanting in his flute. He sharply questioned the tailor, who was forced to admit that he had stolen the flute and had used it in teaching the bird its tunes.

There are many other birds that can be taught to whistle tunes. The English blackbird is one of these. A writer tells us a pretty story of this bird. He says:--

"I once knew a bird that could whistle 'Polly Hopkins' with wonderful accuracy. His owner sold him, at the same time making the purchaser acquainted with the bird's favorite tune. As soon as the gentleman got home he at once hung up the blackbird, and, going to the piano, struck up 'Polly Hopkins.' But he introduced parts into the tune that the bird had never heard before; so, after listening awhile, the little critic began hissing, fluttering his wings and thus showing his distaste. Much surprised, the gentleman left off playing, and then the blackbird opened his throat and favored his new master with _his_ version of 'Polly Hopkins,' nor would he ever listen with any patience to any other version."

I must also tell the story of the wood-chopper's ghost. Once there was a lively wood-chopper who was always whistling and singing while at work. But in spite of his jolly temper something went wrong and one day he hung himself in his shop. Some days later other men at work in the wood-shed were dreadfully scared by hearing the dead man's favorite tune, "William at the Garden Gate," whistled in his old way. There was a rush from the shop, which they thought haunted, and as the tune was kept up day after day, no one would go near the place. Finally the mystery was made clear. A thrush was seen to fly from a near by grove to the roof of the wood-shed and pipe up the ghostly tune. It had learned it from the wood-chopper's lips and came back every day to the same spot to whistle the tune.

The Skylark, a very common bird of Britain and Europe, is so famous for the charm of its song that many of the poets have sung its praises in rare verse. It does not, like many birds, sing when sitting, but pours out its voice when on the wing and when far up in the sky. From this it gets its name. From the upper air its sweet notes come tumbling down in pearly music, "the notes nearly all alike and in the same key, but rapid, swarming, prodigal, showering down as thick and fast as drops of rain in a summer shower."

This is a favorite cage-bird, one that lives many years in its narrow home. It sings in the cage as sweetly as when in the air, pouring forth its song many times in an hour and for weeks and months together. It is also a loving little pet and grows very fond of those who care for it.

Of course all of you have read of the Nightingale, the Bulbul of the Persian poets, a bird whose very name seems to sing. This little songster has for ages been famous for its loud, rich and varied tones, its song being full of long, plaintive, quivering strains. Singing all night long, when most of the birds are still, it has been a favorite among bird lovers and poets in all lands, the Persian poets making the loves of the bulbul and the rose a theme of many of their verses. Its song has a mournful tone, but as it is sung to its mate in the nesting season, the sadness in its voice must keep company with gladness in its heart.

The nightingale is often kept as a cage-bird, and if taken before the nesting season soon grows to like its prison life, but if taken after it has joined its mate it will pine away and die. It is best to take it from the nest when young and bring it up by hand. In its wild state its song ends with the end of the nesting season, but in the cage it is kept up for a much longer time and is very pleasing.

For an American nightingale we have the mocking-bird, a sweet night singer which, as I have said, is given that name in the West Indies. Another is a variety of the Grosbeak, called the Cardinal Bird from its red color. This is called the Virginia Nightingale in England and is one of the finest American song-birds. Its loud, clear, sweet song is heard chiefly in the mornings and evenings and the beauty of its plumage adds to its attraction.

The thrushes are also fine cage-birds, the black thrush having a lively whistle and the art of taking up the songs of other birds. In this it is far from equal to the mocking bird, but with care can be taught to sing a number of bird airs.

The Song-thrush or Mavis of England is well-known through Europe as a singer of fine powers, one of the best of the songful train and a rival of the nightingale in its power of song. Another of the same tribe is the Missel-thrush, with a good voice but not the equal of that of the Mavis.

One of the sweetest of American bird singers is the Wood-thrush or Hermit-thrush, not as a cage-bird but as a haunter of secret places, from which its voice comes rich and full, sweet and placid, like the notes of a flute sounded in the morning air.

So far I have spoken only of the singing and whistling of birds, but there are other things they can be taught. Many have seen trick birds--the goldfinch, the canary, and other birds--that could do wonderful feats. They have been taught to fire little cannons, to pretend to be dead, to climb a ladder, to stand unmoved when fireworks were set off, and many other things of strange kind.

But if those who have seen these tricks knew how the birds were taught they would never go again to see them, for it is said to be done by cruelty. But there are bird tricks in which no cruelty is needed. Thus a bird may be taught to draw up water to his cage by means of a tiny chain and pail, pulling at the chain with his beak and holding every link drawn up with his feet. He may also be taught to ring for his food. A little bell is hung in a corner of his cage and he is kept a few hours without seed. Then, by a thread fastened to the bell, it is rung and at once a few seeds are put in the bird's seed cup. The little chap soon learns that he is fed when the bell rings and it will not be long before he will pull the thread and ring the bell himself.

THE PARROT AS A TALKER

Chief among the talking birds are the parrots. These quaint and curious winged chatterers have long been kept in the home of man, for we have tales of them more than two thousand years old. It was 1504 when the first parrot reached England, but now they are to be seen in all parts of the world, some kept for their brilliant colors, some for their wonderful power of speech.

Best known among them as a cage-bird is the Gray-parrot, the ablest talker of the family, the amusing Poll-parrot seen in so many homes. Though a cage is provided, they become such home-bodies as to be given all the liberty they want, being often free to go about the house, though they look upon the cage as their special dwelling place.

Poll-parrot has a great deal of human nature in his little body. He thinks, he remembers, he imitates, he enjoys a joke, loves his friends and hates his enemies, and when he learns words he often knows just what they mean and when and how to use them. When our parrot says "Polly wants a cracker!" it may not be a cracker that she expects but it is something to eat, and she is apt to keep up the call until she gets it.

There is no end to the tales about parrots and their odd speeches, often strangely fitted to the time and place. They can be taught to say a great many things, and often know just how to bring them in. Here is one told by Mr. Romanes, showing a parrot's wit in a tricky way no man could surpass.

"One day the cat and parrot had a quarrel. I think the cat had upset polly's food, or something of the kind; however, they seemed all right again. An hour or so after polly was standing on the edge of the table; she called out in a tone of extreme affection,

"'Puss, puss, come then--come then, pussy.'

"Pussy went and looked up innocently enough. Polly with her beak seized a basin of milk standing by and tipped the basin and all its contents over the cat; then chuckled diabolically, of course broke the basin, and half drowned the cat."

Here is another story of parrot wit. The bird was making a variety of squeals and cries. One of the men who heard began to imitate her. This roused the parrot to try new cries, and at last she made one so odd that he could not repeat it, try as he would.

Proud of her triumph, the parrot gave a loud "Ha! ha! ha!" swung on her perch with her head downward, sprang about the cage, tossed a piece of wood over her head, and kept repeating the cry, followed by peals of "Ha! ha! ha!" till everybody joined in her wild laugh.

The parrot has a good memory and will pick up a good many words and phrases, even the verses of a song taught to her. Many she gets by listening to words often said and at times will come out with a new bit of apt language to the surprise of every one who hears it. If a word she has once learned comes into her head, she often follows this word with all the other words and sayings learned at the same time.

Here is a parrot story going back as far as 1672, one which was much talked of at the time. It is of an old parrot of Brazil when Prince Maurice was governor there. The Prince was told of the strange talking powers of this bird and sent for it. When it was brought into the room, where were many men with the Prince, it began,

"What a company of white men are here."

"What is this man?" asked one, pointing to the Prince.

"Some general or other," said the parrot.

"Where did you come from?" asked the Prince.

"From Marinnan."

"To whom do you belong?"

"To a Portuguese."

"What do you do here?" asked the Prince.

"I look after the chickens."

"You look after the chickens," said the Prince, with a laugh.

"Yes, and I know well enough how to do it," and the parrot began to cluck like a hen calling chickens.

It is hard to believe that a parrot could keep up a conversation in this correct way, but the story comes from Sir William Temple, who is very good authority, and who was told it by the Prince himself.

We are told of a French parrot which could laugh like a man, and would break out into a hearty chuckle when some one said (of course in French), "Laugh, parrot, laugh."

The odd thing was that it would follow the laugh with the words,

"Oh, what a fool to make me laugh!" and repeat this two or three times.

A lady had a gray parrot four years old which was very quick in taking up new words and very correct in using them. When he did some bit of mischief his mistress would scold him, to which he would reply angrily,

"Not a naughty Poll!" "Not a bold, bad bird!" and would stamp his foot, crying "I am not--I am not."

If she praised him he would tell her she was a darling and that he loved her. He was jealous when children were present and were made much of, and would cry,

"Go away, bold boy!" "Go away, bold girl," never mistaking between boy and girl.

When a visitor took off coat or shawl the bird would act as if trying to take off his wings, and laugh heartily at his performance if any one else laughed. He would play with the cats till he was tired of them and then whistle for the dog to chase them away.

We might go on and on with parrot stories, for they are endless. Very likely many of you could tell me as good ones as I can tell you. One thing of note about these birds is their love of a joke. Here is a tale of one of these jokers that loved to make fun of Carlo, the dog. Carlo would be snoozing in a corner of the room when polly would cry out in a voice exactly like his master's,

"Hi, Carlo! Cats!"

Up would jump the dog, rush into the garden, look fiercely round, then, hearing a fresh cry of "Cats! Cats! Seize them, Carlo!" would bound over the wall into the next garden. The next moment the bird, with a wonderful change of tone, would call out in the master's sternest tones,

"Come back, Carlo! Come back, you naughty dog!"

Back would come Carlo in a slinking way, as if expecting to feel his master's cane.

Another bird was fond of playing jokes of a different kind on the house dog. It would whistle and call out in a soft tone,

"Gyp, poor old Gyp! Does Gyp want to go out?"

The dog, delighted at the prospect of a run with its master, would begin to frisk and dance about, looking around to see where he was. This got to be a common trick with the bird, for the dog never found out that it was being tricked by the parrot.

OTHER TALKING BIRDS

Many of my readers must know that there are other birds that can talk, some of them as well as the parrot. Those who may have read the novel of "Barnaby Rudge," by Charles Dickens, are likely to remember the Raven of that story, with its "Never say die."

A very famous bird of this kind is Poe's raven, told of in the poem of that name, whose one word was "Nevermore."

These are birds of fiction and poetry but there are talking ravens in the annals of fact. There was one, some years ago, at home in a tavern at Stoke Newington, England, who could not bear gray or white horses, though it did not mind any other color. No sooner would a horse of the hated color come up to the water-trough for a drink than Peg would perch on the edge of the trough and swear lustily at the poor animal. Or else it would start it off with a loud "Gee, whoa," in the exact tones of a carter.

One day Peg saw a sailor take some tobacco from a box at his elbow, put it in his mouth, and begin to chew. The bird watched him closely and seemed to fancy that this must be something good to eat, for the instant the man's back was turned she hopped up and took a mouthful of the weed. For the rest of that day Peg was a very sick bird, and even the next day was far from well.

She had learned a lesson which she did not forget. Some days later a white horse, drawing a hay cart, was driven up to the trough for a drink. Peg at once hopped up and began her abuse, but the horse had met the bird before and paid no attention to her impudence. At this she flew into the house where some men were smoking, caught up a paper of tobacco from the table, and flew back with it, dropping it into the horse's nose bag.

If a strange dog happened to stray up to the inn Peg was at once wide awake. Up she would skip, and when close to the dog's ear would shout in her loud, harsh voice, "Halloa, whose dog are you?" Before the cur could turn she would break out in a great show of rage and loud cries of "Hi! ho! go home!" which usually sent the intruder off up the street at a frantic rate.

The raven belongs to the family of the crows, in which are some other birds, as the Jackdaw and the Magpie, that can be taught to speak. They are not to be compared with the parrot, yet they must be classed with the talking birds. The magpie has the tendency of picking up words here and there of a sort not suited to polite society, and is not well fitted for a house pet. He is quite ready to try his sharp beak on his master and is like the crow in stealing every bright thing he sees.

The Magpie has a cousin, the Jackdaw, who is not quite his equal as a thief, but is not as honest as a parson. He also has the gift of speech and at times can use it with fine effect. The bird is easily tamed and taught to talk and there are some good stories told of him. One or two of these you may enjoy reading.

There is a small shell-fish called the cockle which is often pickled in England, and in a house where the folks were fond of pickled cockles was a jackdaw, who was quite as fond of them. The cook had pickled some of these and put them in a jar, covering it with parchment. But the next morning she found the cover partly ripped off and some of the cockles missing.

At a loss to know who had done this mischief, she tied on the cover again and went about her work. At midday, when she was busy over the stove, basting a roast joint, she heard a sound of tearing parchment and looked round to see the jackdaw with his head hidden in the jar, feasting away greedily.

The cook at that moment had a ladle full of hot fat in her hand, and in a rage threw it over the thief, crying out "You rogue! you go to the cockles, do you!"

All the feathers were scalded off of Jack's head and he went about the house, bald and ashamed. Some days later his master gave a party, among his guests being one who was quite bald. In the afternoon the bird was brought up stairs to amuse the party, and he did so very neatly.

Flying to the mantel, he saw the man with the bald head. At once he flew to his shoulder, and cocking his eye at the bare poll in a funny fashion, cried out, "You rogue! you go to the cockles, do you!"

Another jackdaw belonged to a retired innkeeper, who, while in business, had taught the bird to say, "Mind the reckoning," and also to call out "No trust." His cage hung in the public room, where, no doubt, he helped his master in making a fortune on which to retire.

Long after he had gone out of business some burglars broke into the house to rob him, getting in through the window of the room where the jackdaw was kept. As the thieves talked in low tones about the job before them and what part of the house they should visit first, the words, "Mind the reckoning," came in loud tones to their guilty ears.

"Good Lord!" cried one of the scared thieves, "I trust we----"

"No trust! no trust!" came in the same hoarse voice, "Mind the reckoning! Mind the reckoning!"

Away went the scared thieves, through the window and over the garden wall, leaving their tools behind them, while the daw roused the house with its screams of delight over their flight.

The fashion of stealing of the crow tribe makes a pet crow not very safe to keep about. Any bright or shining thing, like a pair of scissors, a silver spoon, or a gold stud, is sure to take his fancy and when once in his beak the chance is that it will never be seen again, for he is a cute chap at hiding his spoils.

The crow indeed is a sharp fellow in more ways than one. He is an expert at tricks. Here is one told of the Indian crow.

A dog--a fox-terrier of good training--was one day gnawing a chicken bone on the veranda when two crows saw him at his meal and lighted on the veranda railing, where they began to croak. The very sight of a crow is usually enough to make a dog forget his breakfast and fly at the bird; but this time Jack merely growled and kept on gnawing.

As this did not work, one of the birds dropped down to the veranda floor and croaked again. Again Jack growled, but he went on gnawing. The crow now strolled round the veranda for a minute till the dog was intent on his bone, then hopped up and gave his tail a sharp nip.

This was too much for the fox-terrier. With a howl of pain he turned upon the bird, when the other crow, which had been quietly waiting its chance, swooped down, snatched up the bone, and flew away, its comrade in mischief quickly joining it.

Jack's look of disgust, when he found how neatly he had been fooled by a pair of crows, was a sight worth seeing.

Have you ever seen a Starling and heard one talk? If not you have missed a treat, for this bird has fine powers of speech. He can whistle, croak and talk and is one of the choice delights of many a cottage home in Europe. He has lately been imported into this country.

The common starling is a very pretty creature, clad in brown, with purple and green hues, and a buff-colored tip to each feather which gives the bird a fine speckled appearance. In its wild state it has a soft and sweet song, and in a cage is a pert and friendly house pet, one that mocks the songs of others, learns to whistle tunes, and can talk as clearly as many of its keepers. I must tell the story of a pair of very cute and lively starlings, as it is told us by the gentleman in whose house these birds were born and brought up.

Dick and his wife lived in a large cage, with all the things needed to make than enjoy life. Once a day the cage door was opened and they took a bath on the kitchen floor, Dick first and his wife afterwards, for he was a little household tyrant, cuffing his mate soundly when she tried to be first in anything.

Dick's first lesson was in imitating the rumble of carts in the street. Of this he was very proud and soon learned to speak his own name, always with the prefix "Pretty." He was always "Pretty Dick." As for his wife, he gave her the strange name of "Hezekiah." How he learned this no one knew, but he always used it.

Thus if his wife tried to join him in a song, he would stop and call out angrily, "Hezekiah! Hezekiah!" Then he would start again, and if she forgot his scolding and joined in again he was apt to chase her around the cage and give her a sound thrashing. At their meals Dick showed the same spirit. His wife was not allowed to touch a morsel till his lordship was done. If she dared to hop down and snatch a meal while he was singing it was a sad time for her if he caught her at it.

But though Dick was a tyrant to his wife, to those who cared for him he was a loving little pet. He was very quick at learning new words, and soon knew a large number, which he never grew tired of using. He grew so tame that he was given full freedom of the house and garden, and would spend hours in the grounds, catching flies, singing, and talking to himself as if repeating his lessons. He and the cat and kittens were the warmest friends, but he would play with the dogs also and often went to sleep on their backs.

"Doctor" was his name for his teacher, and if in singing an air he forgot part of it he would cry "Doctor, doctor," and repeat the last note once or twice, as if to say, "What comes next?" In this way he learned to pipe the tunes of--_Duncan Grey_ and _The Sprig of Shillelah_, without a single wrong note. When a tune was played on the fiddle, he would listen with close attention, and when it was done would say "Bravo" in three distinct tones, thus: "Bravo! doctor; br-r-ravo! bravo!"

He got somehow into the fashion of starting a sentence with the verb "Is," spoken loudly.

"Is?" he would say.

"Is what, Dick?"

"Is the darling starling a pretty pet?"

"No doubt about that."

He had the habit of combining his words in various ways, and one day asked:

"Is the darling doctor a rascal?"

"Just as you think," was the reply.

"Tse! tse! tse! Whew! whew! whew!" sang Dick, finishing with _Duncan Grey_ and part of _The Sprig of Shillelah_.

He had been taught to say, "Love is the soul of a nate Irishman," but was often heard to vary it in such ways as "Love is the soul of a nate Irish starling," or "Is love the soul of a darling pretty Dick," and so on.

Here is a sample of a chat between Dick and his master.

"Doctor," the bird would begin, "_is_ it, _is_ it a nate Irish pet?"

"Silence and go to sleep. I want to write," said the doctor.

"Eh?" Dick would say; "_What_ is it? _What_ d'ye say?"

If no answer came the bird would break out:

"_Is_ it sugar,--snails--sugar, snails, and brandy?" Then, "Doctor, doctor!"

"Well, Dickie, what is it now?"

"Doctor--whew." That meant the doctor was to whistle.

"I shant."

"Tse! tse! tse!" Dick would chirp, and then say, "Doctor, will you go a clinking?"

To Dick a fly was always a clink, and clinking meant fly-hunting. Perched on his master's finger he would be carried around the room and held up to every resting fly. He never missed one.

As Dick grew older he became more of a tyrant to his wife. She could do nothing to please him, he attacked her every morning and the last thing at night and half-starved her besides.

Sometimes she used to peck him back, driven to it by his ill temper, and this led Dick's master to play him a trick. One day when Dick had bullied her worse than ever, he took Hezekiah out of the cage and fastened a small pin to her bill, the point sticking out a little.

When she was put back Dick accused her of "going on shore without leave," and pecked her so viciously that she gave him a sharp peck in return. That Dick jumped when he felt the pin may well be said, and his look was comical as he cried out, "Eh! _What_ d'ye say? Hezekiah! Hezekiah!"

Hezekiah, pleased with her success, now chased him round and round the cage, punishing him until the doctor opened the door and let the victim out.

But the bird could not spend her life with a pin tied to her bill, and in the end, to stop the family quarrels, the doctor gave her away to a friend and Dick was left alone.

For this strange story of a talking starling we are indebted to Robert Cochrane, who gives it in his book "Four Hundred Animal Stories." That any bird could talk with so much sense and reason seems hard to believe, though the writer is good authority. Here is his wind up of Dick's story:

"Poor Dickie! One day he was shelling peas to himself in the garden, when some boys startled him and he flew away. I suppose he lost himself and could not find his way back. At all events I only saw him once again. I was going down through an avenue of trees about a mile from the house, when a voice in a tree above hailed me: 'Doctor! doctor! What _is_ it?' That was Dick; but a crow flew past and scared him again, and away he flew--for ever."

VII

OUR COUSIN THE MONKEY

The organ-grinder and his monkey are two animals well known to us all, and we may have looked at them now and then and asked ourselves which of the two had the best brain. The one spends his time turning a crank and grinding out something that passes for music. His little brother dances about on his nimble legs, holds out his hat for pennies, and chatters away in a language of his own.

We do not understand what he has to say; but neither do we understand a Chinaman or a Frenchman. We say to ourselves that he has been taught his tricks; but so has his master been taught how to use his music-box. No doubt the master learns his art more quickly than the monkey, but then he understands what is told him while his poor little comrade does not, but has to be shown everything he is to do, so this gives the man a great advantage.

Now do not think that I am trying to say that the monkey has as good a brain as the man. All I want to say is that he has a brain that acts in the same way. But it gets to its upper level of thought before it reaches what is a low level in man. The monkey can think as we can, and often shows that he is thinking. So can many other animals, such as the dog and the parrot; but while the monkey looks more like a man than these animals, it also seems to think more like a man.

Have you ever been to the zoo and seen a cage full of monkeys, or seen a cage of them in a travelling menagerie? Lively, cunning, jolly little fellows they are, playing tricks on one another, leaping and climbing, never still for two minutes together, and the most curious of all the animals we know. What does this curiosity mean? Does it not mean that the monkey wants to know, just as we want to know when we show curiosity? And wanting to know is the first step towards getting to know.

THE MONKEY AS A PET

Among the many pets kept by man the monkey must be included. We take a fancy to it as if it were a far-off cousin of our own. With its power of walking on its hind legs and using its front legs as arms and its paws as hands, and also often in the shape of its face, it has something very human about it, and there is no animal in which young folks take more delight--and many older folks also.