Canaries' Ways

When Joseph Walter Belmont visited Australia five years ago, his whole career was changed. Since he was 16, he had been a bird imitator, whistling for his living in vaudeville houses throughout the world. In Australia a casual dentist filed away part of a front tooth and Joseph Walter Belmont's whistling days were done. Bravely he concentrated on raising and training canaries.

Twenty-three Belmont birds were billed to sing in Manhattan's Rockefeller Center last week, and, according to advance notice, they would prove their skill with solos, quartets, sextets, choruses. The bullfinch, first on the program, was obviously stagestruck. Trainer Belmont waved his head until his Windsor tie trembled. The finch careened too, but his tongue stayed tied. If the canaries were disappointing in song, they at least knew when to start and stop. They trilled a few chords, gave a slight suggestion of harmony.

Trainer Belmont and his bushy-haired daughter sang songs about canaries. Then Trainer Belmont divulged a few professional secrets. A good way to reprimand a monkey is to bite it. But canaries must be guided by patience and love. A real singing bird must start his career at eight weeks, when a conscientious master will shut him in a dark room, teach him to imitate a master canary, a human whistle or some musical instrument. A canary that shows promise should practice three hours a day and by the end of a year should have its repertoire fully developed.

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