CHILDISH SYMPATHIES.
[To THE EDITOR OP THE " SPECTATOR."]
Sin,—Your interesting notice of Mr. Sully's "Studies of Children," in the Spectator of November 30th, instances the parrot as "the most accomplished example of mere imitative- ness" and "the least sympathetic of all animals." I do not demur to the first of these statements, but I take exception to the second. When I was about seven one of my chief cronies was a macaw, who was never so happy as when seated on my shoulder and released from the chain which usually confined him to his perch. When any childish trouble affected me in his presence—either real or occasionally simulated—(I re- member particularly a fall from a rocking-horse) he gave the household no rest till he had been unchained. He would then hurry across the floor, climb up on my mother's knee and thence to my shoulder. And there he would stay, rubbing his beak against my face, kissing me with his black, dry tongue, and crooning "poor," "poor," until I showed signs of return- ing equanimity. No doubt this was an imitation of my mother's attempts at consolation ; but I venture to think it had a good deal of genuine sympathy in it.—I am, Sir, &c.,
[We have had some experience of parrots, and regard this interesting story as wholly exceptional.—En. Spectator.]
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