ned the power
of speaking one word after another, till at last he was able to say,
"Little beauty," "'Ow de doo?" "Pretty, pretty," "Beauty, dear," "Puss,
puss," "Miaow," and imitated kissing exactly. All this was intermingled
with his native whistle and sundry inarticulate sounds, intended, I
suppose, to result in words and sentences some day. Whilst talking and
singing, his head was held very upright, and his wings flapped
incessantly against his sides, after the manner of the wild birds.

Nothing stirred my indignation more keenly than the question so often
asked, "Have you had your starling's tongue slit to make him talk so
well?" I beg emphatically to entreat all my readers to do their utmost
to put an end to this cruel and perfectly useless custom. My bird's
talking powers were remarkable, but they were the result of his
intelligence being drawn out and cultivated by constant, loving care,
attention to his little wants, and being talked to and played with, and
made into a little feathered friend of the family.

Now must be told an episode which cost me no little heartache. Richard
was out in my room one morning as usual, when the room door happening to
be open, away he flew into the next room, and out at an open window into
the garden. I saw him alight on a tree, but by the time I could reach
the garden he had gone. I saw a group of starlings in a beech tree near
by, and another set were chattering on the house roof, but there was no
telling if my Richard was one of them. I called till I was tired, and
continued to do so at intervals all day, but no wanderer appeared. His
cage had been put on the lawn, but to no purpose. I feared I should
never see my pet again, because I supposed he might be lured by the wild
birds till he got out of hearing of any familiar voice. I confess it was
hard to think of my bright young birdie starving under some hedge, for I
felt sure he was too much of a gentleman from his artificial bringing-up
to be able to earn his own living. All I could do was to resolve to be
up very early next day, and call again and again, on the chance of his
being within hearing. Before six o'clock next morning I was seeking the
truant. Plenty of wild birds were about, the bright sun glancing on
their sleek coats--all looking so like my pet it was impossible to
distinguish him. I little knew that he was then starving and miserable
under a bush in the upper part of the garden. I continued calling and
seeking