AN admirer of birds recently said to us: "Much is said of the brilliant
specimens which you have presented in your magazine, but I confess that
they have not been the most attractive to me. Many birds of no special
beauty of plumage seem to me far more interesting than those which have
little more than bright colors and a pretty song to recommend them to the
observer." He did not particularize, but a little reflection will readily
account for the justness of his opinion. Many plain birds have
characteristics which indicate considerable intelligence, and may be
watched and studied with continued and increasing interest. To get
sufficiently near to them in their native haunts for this purpose is seldom
practicable, hence the limited knowledge of individual naturalists, who are
often mere generalizers, and the necessity of the accumulated knowledge of
many patient students. In an aviary of sufficient size, in which there is
little or no interference with the natural habits of the birds, a vast
number of interesting facts may be obtained, and the birds themselves
suffer no harm, but are rather protected from it. Such an aviary is that of
Mr. J. W. Sefton, of San Diego, California. In a recent letter Mrs. Sefton
pleasantly writes of it for the benefit of readers of BIRDS. She says:
"My aviary is out in the grounds of our home. It is built almost entirely
of wire, protected only on the north and west by an open shed, under which
the birds sleep, build their nests and gather during the rains which we
occasionally have throughout the winter months. The building is forty feet
long, twenty feet wide, and at the center of the arch is seventeen feet
high. Running water trickles over rocks, affording the birds the
opportunity of bathing as they desire. There are forty-seven varieties of
birds and about four hundred specimens. The varieties include a great many
whose pictures have appeared in BIRDS: Quail, Partridge, Doves, Skylarks,
Starlings, Bobolinks, Robins, Blackbirds, Buntings, Grosbeaks, Blue
Mountain Lory, Cockateel, Rosellas, Grass Parrakeet, Java Sparrows,
Canaries, Nonpariels, Nightingales, Cardinals of North and South America,
and a large number of rare foreign Finches, indeed nearly every country of
the world has a representative in the aviary.
"We have hollow trees in which the birds of the Parrot family set up
housekeeping. They lay their eggs on the bottom of the hole, make no
pretention of building a nest, and sit three weeks. The young birds are
nearly as large as the parents, and are fully feathered and colored when
they crawl out of the home nest. We have been very successful, raising two
broods of Cockateel and one of Rosellas last season. They lay from four to
six round white eggs. We have a number of Bob White and California Quail.
Last season one pair of Bob Whites decided to go to housekeeping in some
brush in a corner, and the hen laid twenty-three eggs, while another pair
made their nest in the opposite corner and the hen laid nine eggs. After
sitting two weeks the hen with the nine eggs abandoned her nest, when the
male took her place upon the eggs, only leaving them for food and water,
and finally brought out six babies, two days after the other hen hatched
twenty-three little ones. For six days the six followed the lone cock
around the aviary, when three of them left him and went over to the others.
A few days later another little fellow abandoned him and took up with a
California Quail hen. The next day the poor fellow was alone, every chick
having deserted him. The last little one remained with his adopted mother
over two weeks, but at last he too went with the crowd. These birds seemed
just as happy as though they were unconfined to the limits of an aviary.
"We have had this aviary over two years and have raised a large number of
birds. All are healthy and happy, although they are out in the open both
day and night all the year round. Many persons, observant of the happiness
and security of our family of birds, have brought us their pets for
safe-keeping, being unwilling, after seeing the freedom which our birds
enjoy, to keep them longer confined in small cages.
"Around the fountain are calla lillies, flags, and other growing plants,
small trees are scattered about, and the merry whistles and sweet songs
testify to the perfect contentment of this happy family."
Yes, these birds are happy in _such_ confinement. They are actually
deprived of nothing but the opportunity to migrate. They have abundance of
food, are protected from predatory animals, Hawks, conscienceless hunters,
small boys, and nature herself, who destroys more of them than all other
instrumentalities combined. Under the snow lie the bodies of hundreds of
frozen birds whenever the winter has seemed unkind. A walk in the park,
just after the thaw in early March, revealed to us the remorselessness of
winter. They have no defense against the icy blast of a severe season. And
yet, how many escape its ruthlessness. On the first day of March we saw a
white-breasted Sparrow standing on the crust of snow by the roadside. When
we came up close to it it flew a few yards and alighted. As we again
approached, thinking to catch it, and extending our hand for the purpose,
it flew farther away, on apparently feeble wing. It was in need of food.
The whole earth seemed covered with snow, and where food might be found was
the problem the poor Sparrow was no doubt considering.
Yes, the birds are happy when nature is bountiful. And they are none the
less happy when man provides for them with humane tenderness. For two years
we devoted a large room--which we never thought of calling an aviary--to
the exclusive use of a beautiful pair of Hartz mountain Canaries. In that
short time they increased to the number of more than three dozen. All were
healthy; many of them sang with ecstacy, especially when the sun shone
brightly; in the warmth of the sun they would lie with wings raised and
seem to fairly revel in it; they would bathe once every day, sometimes
twice, and, like the English Sparrows and the barnyard fowl, they would
wallow in dry sand provided for them; they would recognize a call note and
become attentive to its meaning, take a seed from the hand or the lips,
derive infinite pleasure from any vegetable food of which they had long
been deprived; if a Sparrow Hawk, which they seemed to see instantly,
appeared at a great height they hastily took refuge in the darkest corner
of the room, venturing to the windows only after all danger seemed past; at
the first glimmering of dawn they twittered, preened, and sang a prodigious
welcome to the morn, and as the evening shades began to appear they became
as silent as midnight and put their little heads away under their delicate
yellow wings.