THE Linnet gets its name from the fact that of all seeds it loves the flax seed most, and the botanic name for flax is linum, and so it has come to be called Linnet. But like most other birds, it cannot afford to be dainty, and for the greater part of the year it makes a plentiful meal on the chickweed, the seed of the commonest of all weeds, which ripens its seed no fewer than eight times in the year; and on this it seems to thrive quite as well as on its favorite linseed. The Linnet has many names, Brown Linnet, Gray Linnet, Redpole, Red-headed Finch, &c.; and at one time it was thought there were two distinct kinds, but it was found they only changed their color with the seasons. It is a very common bird, and found all over the British Islands. It is a general favorite partly because of its sweet, simple note, and perhaps most of all because of its gentle temper and winning ways. It soon takes to confinement, and thus becomes a pleasant companion and a household pet.
In summer, the back, wings, and upper tail coverts of the male Linnet are of a rich chestnut brown, the chin and throat brownish gray, and the breast and head vermillion; but in winter it drops this beautiful vermillion, which is replaced by a brown tint.
The song is short, but brilliant and soft; it consists of many irregular notes, but tastefully put together, in a clear and sonorous tone. It is one of the few birds that sings nearly all the year round. The Linnet is also gifted with great powers of imitation, and will soon acquire the notes of other birds, and especially of the nightingale. And now, my young friends, I am going to give you a very amusing and useful story about a Linnet, told by a dear Christian old man who called himself "Old Humphrey," and who when I was a boy used to write beautiful simple tales which were read by thousands of people. He begins by meeting a supposed objection.
“But, perhaps it may be said, ‘you who talk so glibly of kindness to dumb creatures, and prate with your pen so freely about humanity, you to keep a bird pent up in a narrow cage!’ He was not, gentle reader, always mine. I took care of him for another, until he became truly my own bird. He would not take him away again, believing that he could not make him so comfortable and happy as I did. And then, again, so far from being pent up in a narrow cage, he has the door of his wiry habitation open almost the whole of the day when in the house, going in and out as he pleases, to say nothing of the free revel he now and then has on the buds and gravel walks of the garden. If old Chaffy could speak for himself, he would not complain of his master, I know.
“I love my bird, and when I give
His measure free
Of meat and drink, I try to think
That he loves me.”
“I know Chaffy must be ten or twelve years old, and for this very sufficient reason, that for so long a period he has been under my care. Twelve months ago, about the time when I sprained my ankle, one of his legs having caught in the wire of his cage, his thigh was put out of joint, so that we have been fellow-sufferers. You may be sure I do not value him the less on this account. As he is now pecking at the mold of the flower pot before me, I may as well draw his picture.
“When old Chaffy was young, his plumage was ruddy; but now he has lost much of its warmth of coloring. His back is light brown, mixed, blotched, mottled, or streaked (I scarcely know which) with darker brown. His breast and the quills of his feathers are lighter; his legs and claws of a flesh color, and when the sun shines on them they look transparent; one of his wings is a little rueful, for it does not sit close to his body, and his poor lame leg sticks out in a rather unsightly manner. He hardly has any tail. His blue beak is strong, pointed and sharp; and his eye is black as ebony, and almost as sharp as a diamond.
“Though old Chaffy seems to live the life of a pensioner on my bounty, I feel quite sure that if I were to keep a debtor and creditor account with him, the balance would be sadly against me. I give him rape, flax, and now and then a little hemp-seed; and occasionally, he has a little water cress, chickweed and groundsel, besides a little water to drink and to wash in. He lives in his cage rent free, pays no taxes, and I charge him nothing for attendance. This is a tolerably fair statement of what I do for poor old Chaffy. But does Chaffy do nothing for me? Oh, yes, indeed he does. Why, the hopping about in his cage is worth something; his very chirp is cheerfulness; and his song is melody.
“Old Chaffy gives me a useful lesson, and sets me an example of cheerfulness and thankfulness, worth my closest imitation; for without hands, clothes, or books, pen, ink, or paper, he can be happy. He has neither a purse nor a pocket to put it in, if he had one; nor has he, as I have, the gift of speech and the still greater gift of reason and understanding; and yet, give him the range of a few flower pots within doors, or hang him up in the sun without, and he will make the neighborhood ring again with his note.
“Sometimes I talk jocularly to Chaffy on this wise, fancifully putting such words into his mouth as I suppose he would use had he the gift of speech and was conversing with me.
“‘Chaffy’ I say to him, you are not an eagle, winging your flight upwards towards the sun; but a poor caged linnet, with a lame leg; so you must not give yourself airs.'
“Chaffy chirps his reply, which is to this effect. I know that I am not an eagle, but if that is a fault it is not mine, and if I am a poor caged linnet with a lame leg, I have more need of your pity than your reproach.'
“This reply is just what it ought to be. But Chaffy has not done with me yet, for he goes on thus with his chirping: If I am not a king among birds, neither are you a king among men. True, my leg is lame, but yours is little better, for a sad hobble you make of it, either when walking without a stick or with one. You can hardly, I think, blame me without reproaching yourself.'
“While I am noting down these remarks, old Chaffy is sitting at the open door of his cage, placed on the table before me, pulling away at a great bunch of grass, groundsel, and chickweed, so close to him that he seems to be almost in the middle of it. Linnets are seen in the lanes and the fields; but they like better to frequent the wild broken ground of the common, and get among the furze bushes, and if I thought that Chaffy could live there, and be happier than he is now, he should be among them to-morrow. But he could never get his own living now. A cat, a weasel, or a hawk, would be sure to lay hold of him.
“Should any reader churlishly say that what I have written is trifling, my reply is, that as nothing can be altogether trifling and unworthy which makes me feel more kindly to my poor injured and aged bird, and that may influence others to practice more humanity to them, it is my intention to amuse myself, and even to continue my playful conversations with my feathered pet.
I do not, however, really believe that any reader is opposed to me, either as regards my principle or my practice. Humanity is a precious jewel, which ought to be worn in every bosom; nor are the lower creatures too insignificant to be treated with kindness. God careth for oxen; His tender mercies are over all His works, and without His permission not a sparrow falleth to the ground.”
During the summer, the Linnet loves the waste lands of the commons, in the higher parts of the country where it breeds. Furzy commons seem to be the favorite resorts of these birds during that season, the bushy furze being admirably adapted to conceal the nest from the prying eye, and sometimes the quick set hedge or a gooseberry bush answers the purpose. The nest is composed of moss, woven with wool; and lined with wool and hair, very neatly put together. The Linnet lays four eggs, of a bluish white, with a few purplish specks and short lines, No bird is more bent on rearing its young than the Linnet, and should its nest get destroyed, it will build another as late as the month of August.