One day when my hospital was so full of birds I did not know which way to turn, a little girl came in with a nice fat baby robin. I said: “I cannot take another patient, for my hospital is full to overflowing.” She begged so hard, and said: “I have taken it away from a cat three times. The father and mother bird have gone and left it, and I cannot make it eat.” I could not resist such pleading, and said: “I will feed it for a few days, then let it go.” But my few days lasted for a year and a half.

Just at that time I was having a very pleasant correspondence with Mrs. Stanton, so I said: “I am going to name the bird Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and call it Cady for short, so, if it turns out to be a boy, as she always wanted to be, the name will be all right.”

I had no trouble in making Cady eat, and of all the birds I ever had, he was the most interesting. He seemed to understand anything I said to him, and would talk to me by the hour. We had no difficulty in understanding each other’s language, but I expected every day to hear him say real words.

For many weeks he lived on crackers and milk, then Mocking Bird Food, with only two meal worms a week, for they are very rich. He loved them dearly, and it was very hard sometimes not to give in to him when he asked for more. He knew where they were kept, and often turned over the bottle and tried his best to get them out. He always played with a worm a long time before eating it. Then all at once he would give his head a good toss, and down the worm would go.

One day he treated a large rubber band in the same way he did his worm, and, before I realized there might be danger, it had disappeared. I was dreadfully frightened, and watched him carefully all day, but he seemed none the worse for a change in his diet.

I had him for a year and a half, and his food always consisted of the Mocking Bird Food, meal worm, and cracker and milk for his supper at five o’clock. He was so fond of the latter, I could not take it away from him entirely, and when five o’clock came, he always knew and made me understand it was time for his supper, and would not touch his other food, no matter how much he had in his dish. He grew to be very large and strong and the handsomest robin I have ever seen. He was very playful, and had many playthings and played with them like a dog. Corks were his special delight, and he had many sizes. A piece of embroidery he could put his bill through would amuse him many hours. He knew his name in a very short time, and, when a baby, if he heard my voice, or even saw me out in the yard, he would call just as birds do for their mother. He was full of mischief and very foxy. He never was caged, and lived on the floor and his perches.

I would often see him on the top perch, looking very intently over into one corner; then I knew he was like the little girl, “when I be’s still, I be’s thinking mischief.” In an instant he would turn and make a dive for one of the canaries. I had three canaries at that time, and one day I went into my room to find feathers all over the floor and many spots of blood, and Cady on the highest perch looking as innocent as a baby. After looking about, I found the dear little things in a most dilapidated condition. I was afraid Judy would die, for her wing was put out of joint, but she finally recovered.

Every morning when I took my bath, Cady would come into my dressing-room and have a visit, perched on the wash-stand or towel-rack, and tell me many stories. He was a great lover of water, but he would not take his bath alone, and I always had to play with him. He would wait for me until noon, or, in fact, all day. I gave him a large square willow-ware vegetable dish for his tub, which my friends thought much too good for him, but nothing was too good for Cady. He always insisted upon having fresh water for his bath, and never would take it in water that had stood in the pitcher overnight. Many times I tried to fool him, but he was too smart for me. When he was ready for his bath, he would go into my dressing-room and chirp, then come back to me, go back again, and keep it up until I got the water. Then the fun commenced. I began by taking water in my hand and throwing it at him. He would hop all over the room, come back to me for more, dance around first on one foot, then on the other, turn his back to me, then face me. After we had played enough in that way, he would hop into the water, and I would take a whole handful of water and throw over him, then he would begin work in good earnest, and such splashing you never saw.

He certainly was a sight when he had finished and hopped about the room with streams of water running off him. It took him a long time to make his toilet, for every feather had to be preened just so.

At that time I had a dear little boy sparrow named “Mack,” who was a beauty and very bright. When Cady took his bath, he always came down and took a shower bath. In the fall I began Cady’s music lessons, and every one laughed at the idea of my thinking I could teach him to sing with me. Every day after luncheon I spent an hour with him. I would put him on the back of a chair by the piano and play and sing a very catchy little waltz song, and I kept it up for weeks before he would sing at all, but I knew by his looks and actions he was taking it all in, so I was determined I would not give up. Finally one day he began to follow me with the sweet notes of a canary, and I hardly dared breathe, but went right on singing as if I did not hear him, and from that day on he improved with every lesson. Next I took the waltz song “First Love” from “Olivette,” and he showed great delight with the change, and entered right into the spirit of the song. We sung that for many weeks, always beginning our lessons with the first waltz song. Then for a change I thought I would try him with a waltz song, “May Blossoms,” which was entirely different in style and tone. He liked that best of all, and it was simply marvellous the way he sang it. He was always in such a hurry to sing it, he would often begin before the music. I began with the idea of giving him a prize when we had finished our lessons, but that did not suit him at all, and he gave me to understand that he must have one to begin on. He soon learned to take his position on the chair when I brought him into the parlour. I would begin to play, and sometimes, before he thought, he would sing a few notes, then he would remember his treat, and down he would hop into a chair, then over to another chair which stood in the back parlour, as he was afraid of a fur rug that lay between the doors, and would never put his claws in it. He would perch on the arm of the chair until I went to my tea-table and got a crumb of biscuit or cake and gave to him, then he would hop back the way he came, take his position, and begin to sing. After his lesson he always had a taste of honey and a drink of water out of a whiskey glass. He seemed very proud of his accomplishments, and was always more than willing to show off for visitors,—take a bath as well as sing for them.