London Labour and the London Poor, Vol. 3 by Henry Mayhew

Author:Henry Mayhew [Mayhew, Henry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781447465195
Barnesnoble:
Publisher: Angell Press
Published: 2012-10-31T00:00:00+00:00

Exhibitor of Birds and Mice.

A stout, acute-looking man, whom I found in a decently-furnished room with his wife, gave me an account of this kind of street-exhibition:—

“I perform,” said he, “with birds and mice, in the open air, if needful. I was brought up to juggling by my family and friends, but colds and heats brought on rheumatism, and I left juggling for another branch of the profession; but I juggle a little still. My birds are nearly all canaries—a score of them sometimes, sometimes less. I have names for them all. I have Mr. and Mrs. Caudle, dressed quite in character: they quarrel at times, and that’s self-taught with them. Mrs. Caudle is not noisy, and is quite amusing. They ride out in a chariot drawn by another bird, a goldfinch mule. I give him any name that comes into my head. The goldfinch harnesses himself to a little wire harness. Mr. and Mrs. Caudle and the mule is very much admired by people of taste. Then I have Marshal Ney in full uniform, and he fires a cannon, to keep up the character. I can’t say that he’s bolder than others. I have a little canary called the Trumpeter, who jumps on to a trumpet when I sound it, and remains there until I’ve done sounding. Another canary goes up a poll, as if climbing for a leg of mutton, or any prize at the top, as they do at fairs, and when he gets to the top he answers me. He climbs fair, toe and heel—no props to help him along. These are the principal birds, and they all play by the word of command, and with the greatest satisfaction and ease to themselves. I use two things to train them—kindness and patience, and neither of these two things must be stinted. The grand difficulty is to get them to perform in the open air without flying away, when they’ve no tie upon them, as one may say. I lost one by its taking flight at Ramsgate, and another at Margate. They don’t and can’t do anything to teach one another; not in the least; every bird is on its own account: seeing another bird do a trick is no good whatever. I teach them all myself, beginning with them from the nest. I breed most of them myself. To teach them to sing at the word of command is very difficult. I whistle to the bird to make it sing, and then when it sings I feed, and pet, and fondle it, until it gets to sing without my whistling—understanding my motions. Harshness wouldn’t educate any bird whatsoever. I pursue the same system all through. The bird used to jump to be fed on the trumpet, and got used to the sound. To train Marshal Ney to fire his cannon, I put the cannon first like a perch for the bird to fly to for his food; it’s fired by stuff attached to the touchhole that explodes when touched.

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