hen he was about two months old I had to go to
Buxton for a month's visit and decided that I could not leave Richard
behind, as he needed constant feeding with little pieces of raw meat and
was just old enough to miss my training and care. He was therefore to
make his first start as a traveller, in a small cage, papered round the
sides, the top being left open for light and air. He was wonderfully
brave and good, very observant of everything, and if scared a word from
me would reassure him, until at last even an express train dashing past
did not make him start. It was very amusing to see the attention
bestowed upon him at the various stations where we had to get out. A
little crowd would gather round and stare at such a self-possessed small
bird. I was asked "if it was a very rare bird?" It seemed almost absurd
to have to reply, "No, only a common starling;" but people are so
accustomed to see a caged pet flutter in terror at its unusual
surroundings, that my kingly Richard rather puzzled his admirers.

When we began life in our apartments, one important consideration in the
day's proceedings was the starling's food. There was no home larder to
fall back upon, so a daily portion of tender rump-steak had to be
obtained, to the great amusement of the butcher with whom we dealt for
our own joints.

About this time the plain grey plumage began to be varied by two patches
of brilliant little purple feathers, tipped with greyish-white, which
appeared on each side of his breast. Some began to peep out of his back
and head. He moulted his tail, and had rich, dark feathers all over, in
time, till he arrived at being what he was often called, "a perfect
beauty"--glossy and brilliant, bronze gold and purple, with reflets of
rich green, and little specks of greyish-white all over his breast; this
richness of colour, combined with his beautiful sleek shape, made
Richard a very attractive bird.

When we returned from Buxton, I was so confident of the bird's tameness
I used to carry him in my hand out to the tulip tree, and there I often
sat and read, while Richard would pry into the moss and the bark of the
tree, searching for insects, and though he could fly well by this time,
he did not try to do so, but seemed content to keep near me.

One morning I heard his first articulate word, "Beauty," spoken so
clearly it quite startled me. I had been diligently teaching him, by
constant repetition, for many weeks, and by degrees he gai