THE CANARY BOOK. CHAPTER I. CAGES AND CAGE-MAKING. THE ingenuity and skill of man are so vast and varied, and the success which has been attained in the art of cagemaking is so prodigious and wonderful, that it would be a task of no inconsiderable difficulty to any person to attempt to give anything approximating to a full and lucid description of all the different patterns of cages that are to be met with in this country; nor do I propose to do so, but simply to give a description of those which I consider best adapted to the wants and requirements of the times; for cages can be met with of every conceivable form and size, from an overgrown mouse-trap to a moderately comfortable apartment—that is, so far as length and height are to be considered-and in form they may be procured from that of a common fig-box to a miniature representation of the Crystal Palace at Sydenham. I have seen cages of almost every imaginable pattern, representing cottages, abbeys, castles, cathedrals, and palaces, with fine fluted columns, porticoes with pediments, stained glass windows, &c., rich and varied in design, and in every known style of architecture, including Gothic, Doric, and Ionic, and displaying great taste and marvellous mechanical skill. Cages of this description are generally the production B of some ingenious and industrious fancier, and whilst I admire them as works of art and masterpieces of workmanship, I regret I cannot recommend them as fitting habitations for birds; for, with very few exceptions, all such cages lack that most essential requirement-utility. Every consideration of comfort and convenience is sacrificed to carry out the design in its entirety, and hence many of those cages are, despite their external grandeur, mere dungeons for canaries and other birds. Nevertheless, I am a great advocate for handsome cages; but what I admire most is artistic skill, combined with elegance of design, practical utility, and sound, substantial workmanship; for I consider a good bird worthy of a good cage, upon the same principle as I contend that a good picture is deserving of a good frame. It is the highest ambition of some fanciers to possess highclass birds, and, so long as they succeed in accomplishing this object, they care little as to what kind of tumble-down, broken, twisted, rickety, rusty, patched-up cages they keep them in. They appear to go upon the principle of the bucolic Scotchman, who, so long as he received good victuals, did not care in what fashion they were served; whereas an epicure-which in this instance I will compare with a genuine lover of birds-is generally as particular about the manner in which his viands are served as he is about the viands themselves. I have heard it said that half the enjoy ment of a good dinner is in the way it is placed on the table, and in order to enjoy a good bird I consider it ought to be seen in a suitable cage; in this I feel confident that all true lovers of those pretty little choristers will agree with me. I consider it a gross insult to good taste to place birds of undoubted excellence and merit in cages which are not worth as many pence as their occupants are worth pounds. Besides, a good, well-made cage will outlast a dozen flimsy common ones, to say nothing of the difference in appearance. CAGE-MAKING.-If you have a latent tendency to the mechanical in your composition, and are possessed of a little ingenuity as well, you only require patience, perseverance, and practice to enable you to become your own cage manufacturer. It is a tedious occupation, to be sure, and more particularly so to those, I should imagine, who are not fanciers themselves; but with a genuine love for birds, and your enthusiasm wound up to fever-heat, it is astonishing what feats of enterprise and skill you can accomplish. . If you resolve to make a trial of your talents in this direction, I would advise you, in order that you may have a fair chance of success, to rig up a temporary bench to work at. A strong old table or, better still, a good old kitchen dresser, which may usually be had for a trifle at a sale by auction, will answer the purpose admirably. Fit on to this what is called in joiner's vernacular "a bench lug "—that is, a piece of wood projecting from the left-hand corner of the bench, in front, say from 6in. to 12in. in length, and fastened to a piece of stout wood forming an arm from the under-part of the top of the bench; it must be set at an acute angle, and appear as in Fig. 1. This is to hold the |