THE BULLFINCH AND CANARY.

Go, hapless captive! still repeat

The sounds which Nature never taught,
Go, listening fair! and call them sweet,
Because you know them dearly bought.

Unenvy'd both! go hear and sing

Your study'd music o'er and o'er;
Whilst I attend th' inviting Spring,

In fields where birds unfetter'd soar.

Ir always affords me infinite pleasure not only to listen to the various notes of our numerous song birds, but to watch their habits and instincts. They appear to enjoy a degree of happiness peculiar to themselves, but in a state of confinement it is far otherwise. A caged blackbird pours forth its melancholy and complaining notes, and the sky-lark flutters as if wanting to stretch her airy wings towards heaven. It is no longer the warbling songster of the sky, but a moping, wretched prisoner. In fact the contrast between birds in a wild and confined state is very striking.

The only bird, perhaps, which appears not to suffer by confinement, is the bullfinch, owing, probably to its affectionate disposition, as it readily

recognizes those who are kind to it. There are few more intelligent or agreeable birds, and it boasts too of more beauty than perhaps any of our native birds of the passerine order. They, as is well known, learn to pipe at command, and also to articulate words. A friend of mine had four young bullfinches brought him for the purpose of teaching them to pipe. They all, however, proved to be females, and one only was retained till the following spring. This bird, though a hen, said "pretty bully," was very tame, and inhabited a room that looked into the garden. She was allowed in the spring to go out from the window, whence she returned to her old quarters at night. All this time she would frequently fly to meet her master in the garden, puff up her feathers, strut about, and turning first on one side, and then on the other, repeat the words she had been taught. At length the periods of her departure grew daily longer, absenting herself sometimes all night, and soon she was observed to be busily employed in picking up threads from the carpet when she came in doors to feed, at which time she was observed in company with a male of her own species. After this she was not seen for some weeks, when, one morning she was found in the green-house, which adjoined the house, accompanied by no less than five young ones. One of these was captured, and it would

almost seem that the mother, either resented this breach of the confidence she had reposed in her former friends, or fearful of losing another of her brood, never returned to her old quarters.

This anecdote of a bullfinch leads me to make a few remarks upon the canary bird, and the facility with which it also learns to pipe an air perfectly according to the instrument by which it is taught. Indeed it is difficult to distinguish the one from the other, except that the note of the bird is softer and less powerful, forming a great contrast to the often shrill, thin, wiry treble of their natural note. The fact of the great propensity of this charming little songster to learn whatever is taught it, surprises me that there are so few piping canaries in England, especially as there is something in the time and regularity of cadence in a tune generally much more agreeable than the imperfect song of most canaries that have not learned a good note. Exceptions, however to which, are some of the German birds brought over to this country which are carefully reared under nightingales and other fine singing birds, and thus learn their notes.

Should any young ladies who spend much time in caressing their favorites, read this paper, they may be assured that a portion of it might be better employed in teaching their canary an air that would after a few months almost daily delight

them throughout the year. This is done by means of a very small organ pitched very high, termed by the French a "serinette," many of which they send to London, and they are procurable there at a trifling price. The bird should begin his lesson when quite young, as soon as or before he can feed himself. It is better, but by no means essential, that it should be brought up by hand, taken at a fortnight old, and played to from the beginning. If more than one is to be taught, they should after a time be put into separate cages, not allowed to see each other, and kept of course out of the hearing the song of any other bird. These precautions, and merely playing the same air five or six times at least daily for five or six months, is all the trouble required, and they will be, generally speaking, perfect at the end of that period. For instance, a young bird hatched in May or June, ought to know the air well, and repeat it constantly by the following Christmas. A gentleman of my acquaintance has had piping canaries for many years. Two are from the same nest, and they are now past ten years old, and yet they both pipe an air perfectly throughout; and one of them, independently of the air, rivals now, as he did at the time, the celebrated talking canary which was shewn in London some years back, repeating with wonderful distinctness for so small a creature, several words and short sentences.

He

And let me here introduce an anecdote of a canary, which I read in one of the unpublished letters of Gray, the poet, which were recently sold. He says that the celebrated Lord Peterborough, amongst his other eccentricities, was passionately fond of singing birds. He had heard of one famous for singing and talking, belonging to an old lady who was a staunch Jacobite. went to hear it, and was surprized at its powers of song. He offered a considerable sum for it, but the old lady was fond and proud of her bird, and refused to part with it. Lord Peterborough, however, who was not easily turned from any purpose on which he had set his mind, determined to possess the bird, and accomplished it in the following manner.

Having accurately noticed the plumage of the canary, he procured one as nearly resembling it as possible, and calling upon the old lady, he watched his opportunity when her back was turned, took her favorite out of its cage and substituted the other for it. Some time afterwards, desirous of knowing how the surreptitious bird had fared, he called on the old lady, and told her that he supposed she was now sorry that she had not taken the large sum he had offered for her canary.

"No, no, my Lord," said the old lady, "I love it better than ever, for do you know that ever