two when brought together again, rarely, if ever, recognise each other.
Birds sometimes exhibit benevolent feelings; they will feed the
deserted young ones even of distinct species, but this perhaps ought to
be considered as a mistaken instinct. They will feed, as shewn in an
earlier part of this work, adult birds of their own species which have
become blind. Mr. Buxton gives a curious account of a parrot which took
care of a frost-bitten and crippled bird of a distinct species,
cleansed her feathers, and defended her from the attacks of the other
parrots which roamed freely about his garden. It is a still more
curious fact that these birds apparently evince some sympathy for the
pleasures of their fellows. When a pair of cockatoos made a nest in an
acacia tree, it was ridiculous to see the extravagant interest taken
in the matter by the others of the same species. These parrots, also,
evinced unbounded curiosity, and clearly had the idea of property and
possession. (12. Acclimatization of Parrots, by C. Buxton, M.P.,
Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist. Nov. 1868, p. 381.) They have good
memories, for in the Zoological Gardens they have plainly recognised
their former masters after an interval of some months.
Birds possess acute powers of observation. Every mated bird, of course,
recognises its fellow. Audubon states that a certain number of
mocking-thrushes (Mimus polyglottus) remain all the year round in
Louisiana, whilst others migrate to the Eastern States; these latter,
on their return, are instantly recognised, and always attacked, by
their southern brethren. Birds under confinement distinguish different
persons, as is proved by the strong and permanent antipathy or
affection which they shew, without any apparent cause, towards certain
individuals. I have heard of numerous instances with jays, partridges,
canaries, and especially bullfinches. Mr. Hussey has described in how
extraordinary a manner a tamed partridge recognised everybody: and its
likes and dislikes were very strong. This bird seemed fond of gay
colours, and no new gown or cap could be put on without catching his
attention. (13. The Zoologist, 1847-48, p. 1602.) Mr. Hewitt has
described the habits of some ducks (recently descended from wild
birds), which, at the approach of a strange dog or cat, would rush
headlong into the water, and exhaust themselves in their attempts to
escape; but they knew Mr. Hewitt s own dogs and cats so well that they
would lie down and bask in the sun close to them. They always moved
away from a strange man, and so they would from the lady who attended
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