I shall conclude this brief demonstration of the keen sympathy which may exist in birds, by quoting the following very conclusive case in the words of its distinguished observer, Dr. Franklin:[154]—
I have known two parrots, said he, which had lived together four years, when the female became weak, and her legs swelled. These were symptoms of gout, a disease to which all birds of this family are very subject in England. It became impossible for her to descend from the perch, or to take her food as formerly, but the male was most assiduous in carrying it to her in his beak. He continued feeding her in this manner during four months, but the infirmities of his companion increased from day to day, so that at last she was unable to support herself on the perch. She remained cowering down in the bottom of the cage, making, from time to time, ineffectual efforts to regain the perch. The male was always near her, and with all his strength aided the feeble attempts of his dear better half. Seizing the poor invalid by the beak, or the upper part of the wing, he tried to raise her, and renewed his efforts several times.
His constancy, his gestures, and his continued solicitude, all showed in this affectionate bird the most ardent desire to relieve the sufferings and assist the weakness of his companion.
But the scene became still more interesting when the female was dying. Her unhappy spouse moved around her incessantly, his attention and tender cares redoubled. He even tried to open her beak to give some nourishment. He ran to her, then returned with a troubled and agitated look. At intervals he uttered the most plaintive cries; then, with his eyes fixed on her, kept a mournful silence. At length his companion breathed her last; from that moment he pined away, and died in the course of a few weeks.[154]
The jealousy of birds is proverbial; and that they also manifest the kindred passion of emulation, no one can doubt who has heard them singing against one another. Mr. Bold relates that a mule canary would always sing at his own image in a mirror, becoming more and more excited, till he ended by flying in rage against his supposed rival.
The late Lady Napier wrote me, among other 'anecdotes of a grey parrot left on a long visit to the family of General Sir William Napier, at the time residing in Germany,' the following graphic description of the exultation displayed by the bird when it baffled the imitative powers of its master. The bird was the same as that already mentioned under the head of 'Memory':—
Sometimes when only two or three were in the room, at quiet occupations instead of talking, she would utter at short intervals a series of strong squalls or cries in an interjectional style, each more strange and grotesque than the previous one. My father on these occasions sometimes amused himself by imitating these cries as she uttered them, which seemed to excite her ingenuity in the production of them to the uttermost. As a last resource she always had recourse to a very peculiar one, which completely baffled him; upon which, with a loud ha! ha! ha! she made a somersault round her perch, swinging with her head downwards, sprung from one part of the cage to another, and tossed a bit of wood she used as a toy over her head in the most exulting triumph, repeating at intervals the inimitable cry, followed by peals of ha! ha! ha! to the great amusement of all present.
Allied to emulation is resentment, of which the following, communicated to me by a correspondent, may be taken as an example. If space permitted I could give confirmatory cases:—
One day the cat and the parrot had a quarrel. I think the cat had upset Polly's food, or something of that kind; however, they seemed all right again. An hour or so after, Polly was standing on the edge of the table; she called out in a tone of extreme affection, 'Puss, puss, come then—come then, pussy.' Pussy went and looked up innocently enough. Polly with her beak seized a basin of milk standing by, and tipped the basin and all its contents over the cat; then chuckled diabolically, of course broke the basin, and half drowned the cat.
Several strange but mutually corroborative stories seem to show cherished vindictiveness on the part of storks. Thus, in Captain Brown's book there occurs an account of a tame stork which lived in the college yard at Tübingen,—