It is
the only flower which, I think, fairly beats cowslips. Here too I
heard, or thought I heard, the song of that most beautiful of all
bird songsters, the passero solitario, or solitary sparrow-if it is
a sparrow, which I should doubt.
Nobody knows what a bird can do in the way of song until he has
heard a passero solitario. I think they still have one at the
Hotel Mendrisio, but am not sure. I heard one there once, and can
only say that I shall ever remember it as the most beautiful
warbling that I ever heard come out of the throat of bird. All
other bird singing is loud, vulgar, and unsympathetic in
comparison. The bird itself is about as big as a starling, and is
of a dull blue colour. It is easily tamed, and becomes very much
attached to its master and mistress, but it is apt to die in
confinement before very long. It fights all others of its own
species; it is now a rare bird, and is doomed, I fear, ere long to
extinction, to the regret of all who have had the pleasure of its
acquaintance. The Italians are very fond of them, and Professor
Vela told me they will even act like a house dog and set up a cry
if any strangers come. The one I saw flew instantly at my finger
when I put it near its cage, but I was not sure whether it did so
in anger or play. I thought it liked being listened to, and as
long as it chose to sing I was delighted to stay, whereas as a
general rule I want singing birds to leave off.
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