But with the canary the case is different. The pretty little bird never has known wider freedom than that of the cage, and a humane bird-keeper will endow it with increased freedom by enlarging the size of its dwelling. The free use of wings has never been known to the bird, nor even to its parents; and the perch is to the canary more familiar than the bough. Release an imprisoned lark, and after the first few moments of surprise it will speed away exulting in its freedom. Release a nightingale or a thrush, and it will dart swiftly to the well-known shelter of the woods. But release a canary, and you have committed an act of positive cruelty. The poor bird knows not where to go or how to procure its food. Throughout all its little life it has been accustomed to reside within the narrow limits of its cage, and to find its food and water prepared without any expenditure of labour. Consequently, it has no idea of searching for food, but sits bewildered on a branch of some tree, and would perish with hunger simply because it does not know how to procure food.
Ignorance is ever the parent of fear, and a canary-bird has been known to perish of hunger when removed to a large from a small cage, simply because it dared not fly down from the comparatively lofty perch on which it had settled when first introduced, and to which it clung with the tenacity of fear. Even the genuine British soldier can hardly be more helpless when deprived of ordinary military routine than is a canary-bird when set free and forced to fly alone into the world.
The very colour of the bird prevents it from obtaining food like others of the same tribe. All the small birds are absurdly jealous of novelty, and will mob and worry any feathered being to which they are not accustomed. You may assemble a crowd of them at any time by fixing a comb of scarlet cloth on the head of a sparrow, and glueing a few scarlet hackles into its tail. The little birds will always gather round an owl that has made its appearance in the daytime, and will scold the intruder until one would think that their throats would be hoarse. Their anger towards the owl is, however, mitigated by a wholesome dread of its beak and talons, and it may therefore be imagined that when they find a little yellow bird sitting all alone on a branch, and looking bewildered at the position in which it finds itself, they are not very likely to lose so excellent an opportunity of bullying a foreigner without danger to themselves. Successive generations of captivity have rendered the canary unfit for freedom, and therefore the young naturalist need not think himself cruel because he keeps the bird in a cage.
As to cages, the simple form which has already been described in vol. i. p. 21 of “Every Boy’s Magazine” will be found amply sufficient for all purposes. The wires, however, should be closer together than is required for squirrels, so that the cat may not be able to dart her lithe paw between them and hook out the inmates. The size of the cage is of little consequence, except that you can never make it too large. If a whole room can be given up to the birds, the better they will be pleased and the brighter they will look; and, if possible, it should be lighted from above.
Wherever the birds may be placed, ventilation is of the greatest consequence. We remember being once summoned to give our opinion upon the continued illness of some canaries of which every care was taken. They had fresh water daily, were plentifully supplied with sand, and were fed with the proper seeds, and cresses, groundsel, and other green meat, and yet they drooped and moped, and never seemed well. No fault could be found with the arrangements, and therefore we looked for the cause of illness in another direction. The air of the room seemed very close when I entered it, and on examination we found that there was no outlet whatever, the chimney having been blocked up and the windows carefully shut, in order to prevent the birds from escaping. We at once recommended that a pane of glass should be removed at the top of the window, and a piece of perforated zinc inserted instead; and when this was done the birds recovered themselves, and resumed their normal aspect.
The two secrets—if secrets they can be called—in bird-keeping are a good supply of fresh food and water and perfect cleanliness. The former necessaries can be easily insured in a very simple manner, and should be made after the pattern of the accompanying [figures]. Both are founded on the same principle—namely, that of self-feeding from a reservoir.
Fig. 1.