We once had a piping bullfinch that was given to my mother as a birthday
present. Bully was very tame, and used to fly about the room every
morning, settling now and then upon somebody's head; but he loved his
mistress much more than any one else, and was never so happy as when
perched on her shoulder, piping his little song, or pecking seeds from
her lips. He once showed his love for her in a very pretty way. She had
spent several days away from home, which made poor Bully very dull and
sad, and returning late one evening, long after children and birds had
shut their eyes for the night, went into the room, and spoke to him.
Bully woke up, and was so delighted at the sight of his mistress that he
at once began piping his tune in joyful welcome to her. The poor little
bird had a sad end. It is, I believe, a well-known fact that bullfinches
often die of grief or jealousy, but we did not know it at the time; and
when we had the large cage of birds, our pretty bright Bully was put
into it. He was so much vexed at seeing them share his mistress's
attention that he sickened and died in a few days.
One summer we noticed that regularly every morning when the dining-room
window was open, a small wasp used to fly in, generally with something
in its mouth, and settle on the writing-table. On the side of the table
nearest the window there were only sham drawers; but they had key-holes,
and into one of them the wasp always crawled, coming out again in a few
minutes, and flying away. But it was sure to come back several times,
and occupy itself very busily in the hole. In a few days a little white
wall gradually rose up in front of the opening, and at last quite closed
it, as though it had been built up with a fine cement. About the same
time several other key-holes in different parts of the house were closed
in this manner, and that so effectually, that no key could be introduced
into them. We once opened one with a sharp-pointed instrument, and found
inside some fat green caterpillars. The wasp had laid its eggs inside
the little house, and imprisoned the caterpillars to serve as food for
its young ones as soon as they were hatched. We often wondered how the
caterpillars lived so long, when there was apparently no food provided
for them. But I have since read in some book of natural history that the
wasp, when carrying them by their necks to their prison, sends them into
a kind of stupor, which, fortunately for themselves, lasts until the end
of their lives.