ticking up on end, and exactly like those of an emu; on the very
smallest scale, even to the peculiarity of two feathers growing out of
the same little quill. I was much amused by the varieties of cockatoos,
parrots, and lories of every kind and colour, shrieking and jabbering in
the part of the market devoted to them; but I am told that I have seen
very few of the varieties of birds, as it is early in the spring, and
the young ones have not yet been brought in: they appear to sell as
fast as they can be procured. But before I end my letter I must tell you
about the cockatoo belonging to this hotel. It is a famous bird in its
way, having had its portrait taken several times, descriptions written
for newspapers of its talents, and its owner boasts of enormous sums
offered and refused for it. Knowing my fondness for pets, F---- took me
downstairs to see it very soon after our arrival. I thought it hideous:
it belongs to a kind not very well known in England, of a dirtyish white
colour, a very ugly-shaped head and bill, and large bluish rings round
the eyes; the beak is huge and curved. If it knew of this last objection
on my part, it would probably answer, like the wolf in Red Riding Hood's
story, "the better to talk with, my dear"--for it is a weird and knowing
bird. At first it flatly refused to show off any of its accomplishments,
but one of the hotel servants good-naturedly came forward, and Cocky
condescended to go through his performances. I cannot possibly-tell you
of all its antics: it pretended to have a violent toothache, and nursed
its beak in its claw, rocking itself backwards and forwards as if in the
greatest agony, and in answer to all the remedies which were proposed,
croaking out, "Oh, it ain't a bit of good," and finally sidling up, to
the edge of its perch, and saying in hoarse but confidential whisper,
"Give us a drop of whisky, _do_." Its voice was extraordinarily
distinct, and when it sang several snatches of songs the words were
capitally given, with the most absurdly comic intonation, all
the _roulades_ being executed in perfect tune. I liked its sewing
performance so much--to see it hold a little piece of stuff underneath
the claw which rested on the perch, and pretend to sew with the other,
getting into difficulties with its thread, and finally setting up a loud
song in praise of sewing-machines just as if it were an advertisement.

By the next time I write I shall have seen more of Melbourne; ther