The following is our receipt for killing time at Ilam:--After
breakfast, take the last _Cornhill_ or _Macmillan_, put on a shady
hat, and sit or saunter by the river-side under the trees, gathering
any very tempting peach or apricot or plum or pear, until luncheon;
same thing until five o'clock tea; then cross the river by a rustic
bridge, ascend some turf steps to a large terrace-like meadow,
sheltered from the north-west winds by a thick belt of firs, blue
gums, and poplars, and play croquet on turf as level as a
billiard-table until dinner. At these games the cockatoo always
assists, making himself very busy, waddling after his mistress all
over the field, and climbing up her mallet whenever he has an
opportunity. "Dr. Lindley"--so called from his taste for pulling
flowers to pieces--apparently for botanical purposes--is the tamest
and most affectionate of birds, and I do not believe he ever bit any
one in his life; he will allow himself to be pulled about, turned
upside down, scratched under his wings, all with the greatest
indifference, or rather with the most positive enjoyment. One
evening I could not play croquet for laughing at his antics. He
took a sudden dislike to a little rough terrier, and hunted him
fairly off the ground at last, chasing him all about, barking at
him, and digging his beak into the poor dog's paw. But the
"Doctor's" best performance is when he imitates a hawk. He reserves
this fine piece of acting until his mistress is feeding her poultry;
then, when all the hens and chickens, turkeys, and pigeons are in
the quiet enjoyment of their breakfast or supper, the peculiar
shrill cry of a hawk is heard overhead, and the Doctor is seen
circling in the air, uttering a scream occasionally. The fowls
never find out that it is a hoax, but run to shelter, cackling in
the greatest alarm--hens clucking loudly for their chicks, turkeys