."

"Why, I thought foreign birds were all parrots and humming-birds, and
things like that."

"Well, we have those birds different abroad, Nat," he replied, "and as I
tell you the principal difference is in the gorgeous plumes."

"But such birds as birds of paradise, uncle?" I said.

"Well, what should you suppose a bird of paradise to be?"

"I don't know," I said.

"Well, should you think it were a finch, Nat?"

"No, uncle," I said at once.

"Well, it isn't a pheasant, is it?"

"Oh no!"

"What then?"

I stood with a tanager in one hand, a lovely manakin in the other,
thinking.

"They couldn't be crows," I said, "because--"

"Because what?"

"I don't know, uncle."

"No, of course you do not, my boy, for crows they really are."

"What! birds of paradise with their lovely buff plumes, uncle?"

"Yes, birds of paradise with their lovely buff and amber plumes, my boy;
they are of the crow family, just as our jays, magpies, and starlings
are. You would be surprised, my boy, when you came to study and
investigate these matters, how few comparatively are the families and
classes to which birds belong, and how so many of the most gorgeous
little fellows are only showily-dressed specimens of the familiar
flutterers you have at home. Look at that one there, just on the top."

"What! that lovely orange and black bird, uncle?" I said, picking up
the one he pointed at, and smoothing its rich plumage.

"Yes, Nat," he said; "what is it?"

Uncle Joe took his pipe from his lips, and looked at it very solemnly.

"'Tisn't a parrot," he said, "because it has not got a hooky beak."

"No, it isn't a parrot, uncle," I exclaimed; "its beak is more like a
starling's."

"If it were a starling, what family would it belong to?"

I stopped to think, and then recollected what he had said a short time
before.

"A crow, uncle."

"Quite right, my boy; but that bird is not one of the crows. Try
again."

"I'm afraid to try, uncle," I said.

"Why, my boy?"

"Because I shall make some silly mistake."

"Then make a mistake, Nat, and we will try to correct it. We learn from
our blunders."

"It looks to me something of the same shape as a thrush or blackbird,
sir," I said.

"And that's what it is, my boy. That bird is an oriole--the orange
oriole; and there is another, the yellow oriole. Both thrushes, Nat,
and out in the East there are plenty more of most beautiful colours,
especially the ground-thrushes.