IN NESTING TIME

BY

OLIVE THORNE MILLER

[Illustration]

BOSTON AND NEW YORKHOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANYThe Riverside Press, Cambridge1893

Copyright, 1888, BY H. M. MILLER. 

_All rights reserved. _

_The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass. , U. S. A. _Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company. 

_"Very few people have the least idea what wild creatures are like. Their notion generally is to shoot them, and then pick them up forexamination; which is the same thing as if some being of superior race, seeing children at play, were to shoot a few at long range, and thenturn them over and describe them and consider himself learned in theirstructure, habits, and appearance. "_--JEAN INGELOW. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

The sketches of bird manners and customs in this little collection arethe record of careful observation, and scrupulously true in everyparticular. The facts may not all be new to Science, but since they aregenuine studies from life, and each bird whose acquaintance I make is astruly a discovery to me as if he were totally unknown to the world, Iventure to hope that lovers of birds may find in these pages real, live, individuals in feathers, honestly "brothers of ours. "

OLIVE THORNE MILLER. 

CONTENTS. 

 PAGE

I. BABY BIRDS 1

 Purple Crow Blackbird. _Quiscalus quiscula. _ Redwing Blackbird. _Ageloeus phoeniceus. _ Yellow-Throated Warbler. _Dendroica dominica. _ Baltimore Oriole. _Icterus galbula. _ White-Bellied Nuthatch. _Sitta carolinensis. _ American Robin. _Merula migratoria. _ Phoebe. _Sayornis phoebe. _

II. BIRD-STUDY IN A SOUTHERN STATE 19

 Great White Heron. _Ardea occidentalis. _ Bald Eagle. _Haliĉetus leucocephalus. _ Wilson's Tern. _Sterna hirundo. _ Ring Plover. _Ĉgialitis hiaticula. _

III. THE MOCKING-BIRD'S NEST 33

 Mocking-Bird. _Mimus polyglottos. _

IV. A TRICKSY SPIRIT 65

 Mocking-Bird. _Mimus polyglottos. _

V. THE "WISE BLUEBIRD" 95

 Bluebird. _Sialia sialis. _

VI. THE GOLDEN-WING 113

 Golden-Wing Woodpecker. _Colaptes auratus. _

VII. A STORMY WOOING 129

 Orchard Oriole. _Icterus spurius. _

VIII. FLUTTERBUDGET 145

 Brown Thrush, or Thrasher. _Harporhynchus rufus. _

IX. "O WONDROUS SINGERS" 159

 Wilson's Thrush. _Turdus fuscescens. _ Gray-Cheeked Thrush. _Turdus aliciĉ. _

X. A BIRD OF AFFAIRS 173

 Blue-Jay. _Cyanocitta cristata. _

XI. THE BLUE-JAY AGAIN 189

XII. VIRGINIA'S WOOING 205

 Virginia Cardinal. _Cardinalis cardinalis. _

XIII. FRIENDSHIP IN FEATHERS 221

 Scarlet Tanager. _Piranga erythromelas. _ English Goldfinch. _Fringilla carduelis. _

XIV. THE ROSY SHIELD 237

 Rose-Breasted Grosbeak. _Habia ludoviciana. _

XV. THE BIRD OF MYSTERY 251

 Birds of Paradise. _Paradisĉa. _

BABY BIRDS. 

 And oft an unintruding guest, I watched her secret toils from day to day; How true she warped the moss to form the nest, And modeled it within with wood and clay. And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew, There lay her shining eggs as bright as flowers, Ink-spotted over, shells of green and blue: And there I witnessed in the summer hours A brood of Nature's minstrels chirp and fly, Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky. 

 JOHN CLARE. 

I. 

BABY BIRDS. 

"Ears have they, but they hear not, " may be said of all the world. Tragedies and comedies go on continually before us which we neither seenor hear; cries of distress and prattle of infants, songs of love andscreams of war, alike fall upon deaf ears, while we calmly discuss thelast book or the news from Borriboo-lah-Gha, as completely oblivious asif all this stirring life did not exist. 

To be sure these things take place in the "upper stories, " as Thoreausays, but they are none the less audible, and one is tempted to believethat bird voices are on a scale to which the untrained ear is notattuned. Once learn to hear, and nature is full of life and interest. The home affairs of our little neighbors whose modest cottage swings ona branch of the elm beside the door are more attractive than those ofour fellow creatures in the house across the way partly because they areso open in their lives that our attentions do not seem intrusive, butmore because their ways are not so familiar. We can guess how men andwomen pass their time, but we cannot guess why the cat-bird always singsfrom the middle of one particular shrub, nor where he has hidden hisdusky spouse and nest full of babies; and after we know him we are eagerto discover. 

Upon reaching the charming home of a friend in Massachusetts last June, almost the first thing I saw was a pair of purple crow blackbirds introuble. First arose a medley of queer husky tones, clamorous babycries, and excited oriole voices, with violent agitation of the leavesof a tall elm, ending with the sudden exit of a blackbird, closelyfollowed by a pair of Baltimore orioles. The pursued flew leisurelyacross the lawn, plainly in no haste, and not at all with the air of thethief and nest robber he is popularly supposed to be. Clearly the elmbelonged by bird custom to the orioles, for their pretty swinginghammock could be seen partly hidden by leaves, about halfway up thetree, and what business other than that of marauder had the sombre-huedenemy upon it?

Now the blackbird has no secrets in his life; the whole world is welcometo know his affairs, and in fact he proclaims them loudly himself. Itwas easy to see that he had anxiety enough of his own just then, without thinking of disturbing his neighbors, for he was engaged in thetask of introducing his young family to the world, and every birdwatcher knows that is attended with almost as many difficulties as isthe same operation in what we call "society. "

If the youngster escape the dangers peculiar to the nest, the devouringjaws of squirrel or owl, the hands of the egg thief, being shaken out bythe wind, smothered by an intrusive cow-bunting, or orphaned by the gunof a "collector;" if, neither stolen, eaten, thrown out, nor starved, hearrives at the age that his wings begin to stir and force him out of theleafy green tent of his birth, a new set of dangers meet him at thedoor. He may entangle himself in a hair of the nest-lining, and hanghimself at the very threshold of life--a not uncommon occurrence; or hemay safely reach the nearest twig and from there fall and break hisneck--not a rare accident; he may be attacked by a bird who questionshis right to be on the tree; he may fly, and, not reaching his goal, come to the ground, an easy prey to any prowler. 

In this blackbird family one of the little ones had taken his firstambitious flight to the oriole's tree, where he must and should be fedand comforted, in spite of the hostile reception of its gayly dressedproprietor. The father took upon himself this duty, and many timesduring the day the above-mentioned scene was reënacted, loud blackbirdcalls, husky baby notes, the musical war-cry of the oriole, and a chase. 

A second infant had wisely confined his wandering to his own tree, oneof a group of tall pines that towered above the roofs of the village. This one could be easily watched as he stood on one branch for an hourat a time, sometimes in the nest attitude, head sunk in shoulders andbeak pointed toward the sky, again looking eagerly around on his newworld, turning his head from side to side, changing position to see theother way, and showing himself wide awake although the yellowishbaby-down was still on his head, and his tail was not an inch long. Nowand then the mother was heard calling in the distance, and as sheapproached he became all excitement, fluttering his wings, and answeringin the husky tones of the family. A moment later, after a quick glancearound, but without alighting and reconnoitring the whole neighborhood, as the robin does, she came down beside the eager youngling, administered to the wide open mouth what looked like two or three savagepecks, but doubtless were nothing worse than mouthfuls of food, andinstantly flew again, while the refreshed infant stretched his wingsand legs, changed his place a little, and settled into comfortable quietafter his lunch. 

The urchin in the enemy's tree was not the most unfortunate of thenestlings. One already lay dead on the ground under the nest where ithad fallen, and another came down during the day, though happily withoutinjury. This one was not very bright, or perhaps his baby wits weredazed by his sudden descent. He made no objection to staying in my handas long as I liked to look at him, and when I placed him on a lowbranch, as a hint that it was safer there, he declined to accept myadvice, but flew off and came to the ground again. He was a scraggylooking, rusty black little fellow, the most unattractive young bird Iever saw. Shortly after this he clambered up on a pile of brush about afoot high, without so much as a leaf to screen him, and there he stayedall day, motionless, being fed at long intervals; and there I left himat night, never expecting to see him again. But in the morning heappeared on a low shrub on the lawn, and about nine o'clock he tookcourage to launch himself on wing. He flew very low across the street, and dropped into the tall grass at the foot of a lilac bush. Why theparents considered that less safe than the open lawn I could not see, but they evidently did, for one of them perched upon the lilac, andfilled the air with anxious "chucks, " announcing to all whom it mightconcern--after the fashion of some birds--that here was a stray infantto be had for the picking up. Perhaps, however, the hue-and-cry kept offthe quiet-loving cat; at any rate nothing happened to him, I think, forin a day or two the three young birds became so expert on wing that thewhole family left us, and I hope found a place where they were morewelcome than in that colony of house and orchard birds. 

Not so quiet in their ways are the babies of another blackbirdfamily--the redwings; restless and uneasy, the clumsy little creaturesclimb all about the bushes and trees, and keep both parents busy, notonly in filling their gaping mouths, but in finding them when the foodis brought. They are always seeking a new place, and from the moment ofleaving the nest show in a marked way the unrest, the impatience of theredwing family. 

Quite as erratic is a much smaller bird, the yellow throated warbler, whose baby ways I have seen at the South. One of these bantlings nobigger than the end of a thumb will easily keep its parent franticallybusy rushing about after food, and hunting up the capricious wanderer onits return. 

The wood thrush, on the contrary, is patience itself. A youngster ofthis lovely family sits a half hour at a time motionless and silent on abranch, head drawn down upon his shoulders, apparently in the deepestmeditation. When he sees food coming he is gently agitated, rises uponhis weak legs, softly flutters his wings and opens his mouth, butnever--never cries. Should one put a hand down to take him, as seeminglycould be done easily, he will slip out from under it, drop to theground, and disappear, in perfect silence. 

The cry-baby of the bird world is the Baltimore oriole. As soon as thisfluffy young person appears outside of his nursery, sometimes evenbefore, he begins to utter a strange almost constant "chrr-r-r. " He isnot particularly active of movement, but he cannot keep silent. Onelittle oriole mother whom I watched in Massachusetts had no help inraising her brood, her mate spending his time on the upper branches ofthe tree. He could not be blamed, however; he was, so far as I couldsee, perfectly willing to aid in the support of the family, but Madamactually would not allow him even to visit the homestead. When the youngwere out he assumed his share of the labor. The first yellow-hairedbairn mounted the edge of the nest one morning, and after a littlestretching and pluming, tried to fly. But alas he was held! Two orthree times he renewed the attempt, his struggles always ending infailure, and I feared I should see a tragedy. Half an hour later themother returned, and whether she pushed him down, or merely advised himto go back and try again, I cannot say. The fact is that he diddisappear in the nest, where he remained for two or three hours, for itis probably safe to assume that the urchin who came up later was thesame. This time, without delay upon the brink, he climbed upon a twig, hopped about a little, and before long flew several feet, alighting on asmall branch of the same tree. Hardly had he established himself safelyand resumed his ordinary call, when down upon him from above came arobin, who, strange to say, had a nest in one of the upper branches ofthe same tall maple. This robin had always recognized the right of theoriole parents to their share of the tree, but the young one was astranger, and he fell upon him accordingly. He knocked him off hisperch; the unfortunate little fellow fell a few feet, then gatheredhimself, fluttered and caught at the outside of a clump of leaves on theend of a twig, where after frantic struggling he managed to secure ahold. Perhaps the robin saw his mistake, for he paid no more attentionto the new-comer, who did not stay long on the tree after this seconddisaster. 

The next morning came up out of the nest quite an unnatural oriolebaby--he did not cry. Silently, he stepped out upon a twig, and lookedabout in the new world around him. He carefully dressed his feathers, and often rose to his full height and stretched his legs, as if it werelegs and not wings he needed in his new life. The third scion of thehousehold had also a marked character of his own. Having planted himselfon the threshold, and found it a convenient place to intercept all foodon its way to the younger ones still unseen, he remained. Every time themother came with a mouthful, he fluttered and coaxed, and usually gotit. It was too good a situation to leave and he seemed to have settledfor life; but his wings overpowered his inertia or greed, about fouro'clock in the afternoon. 

So long had the third young oriole occupied his position, that thefourth made his appearance almost immediately, as though he had beenwaiting. There does appear to be some regulation of this sort among theorioles, for in all that I have noticed, no two ever came out together(excepting once, when both went back almost instantly, and one returnedalone). This late comer had not the whole long sunny day to loiteraway, and he flew in an hour. The fifth and last came up early the nextmorning evidently in haste to join the scattered family, for he badefarewell to the native tree in a short time. No more orioles appearedupon the maple from this day, but for two weeks I saw the little partyabout; the father, whom I had missed after the flight of the firstinfant, working like a drudge, with two or three hungry urchins whereverhe went, excepting when he sought food in the new-cut grass on theground. He gave us no more songs, but his sweet, low call sounded allday on the place. 

Another family of little folk came upon the maple after the orioles weregone, a nuthatch tribe. There were three or four of them exactly likethe mother excepting a shorter tail, and they followed her like a flockof sheep, over and under branches, around the trunk, up or down or anyway, never pausing more than an instant, not even when she plumped amorsel into a waiting mouth. She led her little procession by herquerulous-sounding "quank, " while they replied with a low "chir-up" inthe same tone. It was a very funny sight. They could fly nicely, butnever seemed to think of looking for food, and it was plain that thebusy little mother had no time to teach them. It was interesting to seeher deal with a moth which she found napping on a fence. She ran atonce to a crack or some convenient hole in the rough rail, thrust it inand hammered it down. When it was quiet she snipped off the wings, dragged it out, and beat it on the fence till it was fit for food, thefamily meanwhile gathered around her, clinging closely to the fence, andgently fluttering. These nuthatches were remarkably silent, but somethat I once saw living near the top of two or three tall pines werequite noisy, and I spent much time trying to see what they were forevercomplaining about. There always seemed to be some catastrophe impendingup in that sky parlor, but it never appeared to reach a climax. 

Charming to watch is the bluebird nestling; cheery and gentle like theparents, he seems to escape the period of helplessness that many birdssuffer from, perhaps because he is patient enough to stay in the nesttill his wings are ready to use. The mocking-bird baby has a fardifferent time. Victim of a devouring ambition that will not let himrest till either legs or wings will bear him, he scrambles out upon hisnative tree, stretches, plumes a little in a jerky, hurried way, andthen boldly launches out in the air--alas!--to come flop to the ground, where he is an easy prey to boys and cats, both of whom are particularlyfond of young mocking-birds. These parents are wiser than the crowblackbirds, for not a sound betrays the accident in the family, unless, indeed, the little one is disturbed, when they make noise enough. Theykeep out of sight, no doubt closely watching the straggler until he getsaway from people, for although he has proved that he cannot fly, theyoung mocker is by no means discouraged; he trusts to his legs, andusually at once starts off on a run "anywhere, anywhere, out (in) theworld. " When far enough away for them to feel safe in doing so, theparents come down and feed and comfort the wanderer, and it is a day ortwo before his wings are of much use to him. 

The most imperious young bird I know is the robin. He is perfectly surehe has a right to attention, and he intends to have it. If he isneglected too long and gets hungry, he calls loudly and impatiently, jerking himself up with a ludicrous air of stamping his feet. Even whenhe does condescend to go to the lawn with mamma, it is not to seek hisfood--far from it! It is to follow her around, and call every moment ortwo for something to eat. The idea that his individual exertions haveanything to do with the food supply seems never to occur to him. Heexpects the fat morsels to fall into his mouth as they always have, andwhy should they not? He will soon be taught, for even baby-birds have tobe educated. 

We have assumed in our easy-going way that birds "toil not" because they"do not spin, " because they have not surrounded themselves with athousand artificial wants, as we have. But the truth is that nobody canwork harder than a pair of robins, for example, with four or five hungrymouths to fill, and every mouthful to be hunted up as it is wanted. Noone would guess what an ever-yawning cavern a baby robin's mouth is, till he has tried to bring up a nestling himself. I once kept two smallboys busy several days at high wages, digging worms for one young bird, and then I believe he starved to death. 

The training of our winged neighbors is most interesting, but socautiously carried on that we rarely see it, though we may often hearthe robin, oriole, whip-poor-will, and many others receive instructionin singing. I have once or twice surprised young birds at their lessons, as for instance, a pewee family learning to hover over the daisies, abeautiful operation of their parents which I never tired of watching. Iwas behind a blind when they came, a little flock of five or six. Theywere very playful, and kept near together, flying low over the grass, alighting in a row on the edge of a pail, coming up on theclothes-line, banging awkwardly against the house, and in every wayshowing ignorance and youth. I studied one for a long time as hebalanced himself on the clothes-line and looked off at the antics of hisbrothers trying to learn the hovering. One of the parents flew out overthe tall flowers, poising himself gracefully, his body held perfectlyerect, legs half drawn up, turning his head this way and that, hangingthus in the air several seconds in one spot, then suddenly darting offto another like a humming-bird. The little ones in a row close togetheron a low branch of a shrub, looked on, and in a moment two or threesallied out and tried the same movement. They could fly well enough, butwhen they tried to pause on wing the failure was disastrous. Sometumbled out of sight into the daisies, others recovered themselves withviolent efforts and returned hastily to the perch, complaining loudly. Then the parents brought food, and this went on for some time, while allthe time the air was full of gentle twitters and calls, much baby-talk, and a little parental instruction no doubt. 

A delightful field of work awaits the young naturalist of to-day. Ourpredecessors have devoted their energies to classifying and arranging. They have dissected and weighed and measured every part of the littlebodies; they know to a fraction the length of wings and tails; they havepulled to pieces the nests, "clutched" the eggs, and blown and mountedand labeled and set up in cases the whole external of the littlecreatures. All that can be learned by violence, all the characteristicsevolved by fear and distress are duly set down in the books. You shallfind a catalogue of the robin's possessions in the shape of feathers andbones, pictures of his internal anatomy, illustrations of his work innest building, and specimens in all stages, but in the whole world ofthese books you shall not find the robin. The soul of the robin hasescaped them, it is not to be taken by force. 

I do not find fault; it needed to be done, but happily--let us hope--itis done, and a more enticing field is now open, namely: to make personalacquaintance with the birds, find out how they live, their manners andcustoms, and their individual characters. This is one of the mostcharming studies in the world, but much more is required than a gun anda little or much scientific knowledge. There is infinite patience, perseverance, untiring devotion, and more, --a quick eye and ear, and asympathetic heart. If you do not love the birds you cannot understandthem. 

This is the pleasant path opening now, and in some ways it isparticularly suited to woman with her great patience and quiet manners. Once interested in the lives in the "upper stories, " you will find themmost absorbing; novels will pall upon you, fancy work seem frivolous, society duties a bore, and talk--loud enough to interfere withlistening--an impertinence. 

BIRD-STUDY IN A SOUTHERN STATE. 

 He loved the ever deepening brown Of summer twilights on the enchanted hills; Where he might listen to the starts and thrills Of birds that sang and rustled in the trees, Or watch the footsteps of the wandering breeze, And the bird's shadows as they fluttered by, Or slowly wheeled across the unclouded sky. 

 RICHARD WATSON GILDER. 

II. 

BIRD-STUDY IN A SOUTHERN STATE. 

The most interesting experience in several years of bird-study was atrip to a Southern State for the purpose of making acquaintance with themocking-bird. 

Adventures began before the lights of New York sank below the horizon;adventures more strange than agreeable, for the journey was by steamer. Hardly had we passed out of the bay when there began a gentle roll whichspeedily sent passengers to bed. When we passed Long Branch the motionwas a steady rock from side to side, that made one feel like a baby in acradle, and before bedtime it was a violent swing that flung one aboutlike a toy, and tossed the furniture around like doll-house belongings. 

Holding on to the side of the berth with both hands, I passed the nightlistening to the labored strokes of the engine and the crashing of theloosened freight in the hold, and entertained by the eccentric conductof the loose articles in my state-room, a trunk, chair, life-preserver, plate, saucer, and teaspoon, which with one accord, and in spite of allI could do by most ingenious wedging, joined in a peculiar dance betweenthe outer wall and the inner partition of my room. At one moment theyrested quietly in their several ways, against the wall; the steamerlurched, and all started madly across the floor, the heavy things first, and the lighter bringing up the rear, each banging violently against thepartition, with thump, rattle, or jingle according to its nature, thenin a moment dashing back so furiously that I feared to see the thinplanks yield and my trunk go out to sea by itself. Not that I cared formy trunk--my life was the subject that interested me at the time. Outside, too, the doors and blinds rattled, the tiller-chain chatteredand wailed and sobbed like a woman in distress, and above all othersounds rose the dismal fog horn, for a pall of mist had settled over us. 

Day differed from night only in being light, for the sole prospect fromthe guards was one moment the fog above, where the sky should be, thenext the depths of the sea yawning as if to receive the ship into itsbosom. In this manner, during two days and three nights, we rolled on toour destination, and for days after my feet touched blessed Mother EarthI reeled and staggered like a drunken man. 

After the storm, the calm. There followed upon this rough voyage weeksof quiet, delightful bird-study, whose long sunny-days were passed inthe fragrant depths of pine groves, under arching forest of sweet-gumtrees, or on the shore of the salt marsh; but wherever, or however, always following and spying out the ways of the feathered world. 

The bird of the South--the mocking-bird, was the first object of study. By day he was watched and noted, during the long twilight he waslistened to, and at midnight sleep was often banished by his wonderfuland enchanting voice. Gray and inconspicuous in coloring, we all knowhim in the cage; but how different in freedom! how wild and bewitchinghis song! how wise and knowing his ways! how well worth weeks of studyis this one bird!

Here were dozens of other birds also. What keen delight to one freshfrom the town, to look over the marsh where

 "Leagues and leagues of marsh grass, waist high, broad in the blade, Green and all of a height, and unflecked with a light or a shade, Stretch leisurely off in a pleasant plain To the terminal blue of the main;"

to watch the great snowy heron sweeping over with broad white wing, tripping gracefully about on the edges of the channels, and towardnight betaking itself to a line of trees in the distance, that looked asif full of snowy blossoms that moved and changed about and at lastsettled for the night; to see the bald eagle catch a big fish and callhis mate to help him eat it; to watch the lesser tern hover with yellowbill pointed downward and sharp eye fixed on the water, and at lengthstiffen his wings and dive head first into it, bringing out his prey, and filling the air with cries in a complaining, squealing tone thatalways reminds one of a young pig; to gaze fascinated at the bewitchingflight of the ring-plover, sweeping low over the water in a small flock, now almost invisible as the sombre-colored backs turn toward you, nowsuddenly flashing bright as silver when the breasts come into sight, moving in perfect unison as if impelled by one will. More, many morebirds of the marsh attract and draw one, but inland is the mocking-bird, and after a walk along the shore, always my feet turned to the grovesand the fields where the matchless bird lives his life. 

To see, as well as hear a wild mocking-bird sing, is worth a journey, even over the rolling deep. I passed hours in a pleasant grove beyondthe gardens and fields, watching and listening to one bird whose concerthall it was. The grove was the audience room where one might be in theshade and not too conspicuous in watching him. His chosen place was inthe sunshine, for this bird is a sun-worshiper. I always found himsinging when I reached the spot. Perhaps on the top spike of a youngpine-tree, balanced on one, or sometimes on two adjoining toptwigs--which of course stand straight up--stood the singer, madlyshouting his most peculiar medley. He looked at me as I passed near hisperch, but did not pause in his song. After I had taken my seat heflew--singing as he went--alighted nearer, on the upper sprig of acedar, turned his eyes upon me, and treated me to another performance, while I looked and listened enchanted. 

Nor was I the only listener. Ever and anon while absorbed in theentertainment, or waiting, breathless, for a new note, I was startled bya rustle, and a low "Good evenin' Missis, " and glanced up to see a negrostealing along in a stealthy way. It might be a woman with a big bundleor basket on her head, possibly a slouching young man or "boy" with anair of interest in my eccentric proceedings, or a group of youngsterswith nothing particular to do, but one and all perfectly silent inmovement. No wonder they know all about the birds, and lay violent handson eggs, nests, or nestlings as they choose, creeping around as they dowithout a sound. It is only surprising that a bird is left in the State, so persistently do they rob the nests. Naturally the mocking-bird, forwhich they can always find purchasers, is the most desirable, and whiteas well as black persecute that bird unceasingly. 

"You can't keep them from the negroes, " said a young white man. "I'veoften been watching a nest to get the young ones myself, but some nigwas sure to take it before me. "

Speaking of negroes, I never saw so many idle men and grown boys. Not aspot could be found so secluded that one or more did not soon make hisappearance. Selecting the quiet yard of a summer cottage, adeserted-looking place not yet opened for the season, in which to studythe ways of the birds in peace, I was often disturbed by a negro passingacross the lawn, taking no heed of fences, for there's no sort of afence in that country that they will not pass over as if it were notthere. Of course this always put to flight the dramatis personĉ of mystudy. One day an interesting (or interested) person of color appearedon the scene equipped for white-washing, and proceeded to adorn treetrunks, fences, buildings, etc. , etc. , relieving his labors byquestioning me about northern manners and customs. On another occasionwhen I was looking anxiously to see a certain family of nestlings makeexit from the nest, a building that I supposed to be a shut-upstore-room was thrown open, a wash-tub appeared before the door, and Ifound that a family of eight, including four children, had moved in, notthirty feet from my chosen seat, and of course to the utter destructionof any seclusion. 

I could not select a single spot in the neighborhood, favorable to quietstudy, without having it made desolate or turned into a thoroughfare. The loveliest place I found at all was a footpath passing for aboutfifty feet through a fringe of low cedar, sweet gum trees, and shrubsloaded with pink lily-of-the-valley shaped blossoms. Across the path rana brooklet, a mere thread of water, so shallow that small birds stood inthe middle to bathe, though it deepened into a pool below, where frogscroaked and plunged. It was cool; it was quiet, far from the everywherepresent negro hut; there was no sound but the trickle of the streamletas it fell into the pool, and the softened roar of the ocean beyond thewide salt marsh. 

To this nook I went every day, always trying to surprise the birds attheir usual occupations, but never quite succeeding; for steal inquietly as I might I always heard low remarks, a slight flutter ofwings, and usually saw a dark form or two departing near the groundbehind some shrub. Slowly and quietly, however, I took my seat on a bankclose under a thick bush, --while the silence around me was as profoundas if no wing had ever fluttered there, --and became as motionless ascircumstances would allow, for beside the birds there were other tenantsnot half so shy. 

After a few moments, when the ripple I caused had died away, sounds oflife began again; unknown water creatures made queer noises in the poolbelow, low bird tones, unfamiliar scraps of song fell on the ear, ordinary ways were resumed. 

In this pleasant place I made acquaintance with the painted-finch, ornonpareil, who was least frightened of the small birds, and stoodpatiently on a cedar twig till I became quiet, then came down in plainsight, waded up to the tops of his firm little legs in the water, anddeliberately took his bath before my very face. Here also I had a callfrom Bob White, who cautiously lifted a striped cap and a very brighteye above the grass tops to look at me. He did not introduce himself;indeed, after a moment's steady gaze his head dropped and I saw him nomore, but I heard him rustle in the grass on the way to thestrawberries, of which he demands--and gets--his share. 

Ruin fell upon this charming retreat in this wise. One day on myapproach I saw commotion in the shrubs and two negroes at work choppinggreat branches out on each side of the path, letting in the sun to mybank, and turning it into a hideous wreck. I protested. 

"Why is this? What are you doing?"

"Oh, we're just cuttin' some pea-poles!" they replied calmly. They hadbeen too lazy or too indifferent to step ten feet on one side into thethicker copse, and leave the pretty path in its beauty, and the mischiefwas done, and after all it was not my business. I passed on. 

Bird-study has other annoyances in that part of the world beside thehuman beings of whom I have spoken. Next, perhaps, are the sufferingswhich wring the heart all the while. John Burroughs has written thetragedies of the nests; he could add a chapter more tragical than all, should he visit the haunts of the mocking-bird. Nothing can be moredreadful than the systematic and persistent war made upon this bird, ofwhich nevertheless every Southerner is proud. 

Lastly, the hindrances which Dame Nature herself throws around hermysteries. There are the prickly pears, sowed broadcast over the land sothickly that one can hardly avoid stepping on them, with thorns sharp asneedles, and as long. One of an inch in length that I had the curiosityto examine had forty-five thorns, equal to two papers of number sixsharps, that stuck out in every direction, and would pass through anordinary shoe with perfect ease. This interesting vegetable has no localattachments whatever, and readily clings to any part of one's garment. 

Then there are the mosquitoes with which the same careful mother peoplesthe groves, even in April, industrious little creatures not in the leastenervated by the climate. But her grand dependence, judiciously settledindeed, is on the sand flies. Wherever there is not a howlinggale--there are the flies in millions, most indefatigable and maddeningof pests. And finally, to take home with you, to remind you pleasantlyof her hospitalities when you have reached your own room, is the tick!

Ties from the outer world began at last to draw. The birdlings in thenest were not ready to come out, and growing impatient I drew upon theknowledge--or rather the ignorance--of the residents and heard somesurprising statements, which further observation, however, did notconfirm. That the mocking-bird baby lives for three weeks in the nest;that part of that time the parents carry the nestlings about on theirbacks; that when old enough the young are pushed out of their nest, andalways fall to the ground. 

And the authors of these fables were grown-up, and had passed theirlives among the mocking-birds. I curbed my impatience, stayed anotherweek, and saw all the nestlings out, and the nest deserted. 

Another charge also fell to the ground on careful observation. Thefarmers complain--as farmers are apt to complain of their best friends, the birds--that the mocking-bird eats strawberries. I set myself towatch a fine patch full of ripe and tempting berries, several times whenno one was near. Many birds came about, mocking-birds, crows, kingbirds, orchard orioles, and others. The mocking-birds ran down between the rowsof vines catching grasshoppers, the crows did the same service, walkingwith dignity. The kingbirds chased flies, the orioles searched the fruittrees for insects. One and all were working in the interest of thestrawberry grower. And while I watched, an hour or more at a time, noteven for dessert after filling their stomachs with insects, did one takea berry, which I am sure they might be considered to have earned. 

I know one lady--would there were more like her--who owns a garden onLong Island, and when her gardener comes in and says something _must_be done to prevent the birds destroying fruit, calmly says: "Certainly, set out another row of plants. Let us have enough for the birds by allmeans, and for ourselves too. "

THE MOCKING-BIRD'S NEST. 

 Whate'er birds did or dreamed, this bird could say. Then down he shot, bounced airily along The sward, twitched in a grasshopper, made song Midflight, perched, prinked, and to his art again. Sweet Science, this large riddle read me plain: How may the death of that dull insect be The life of yon trim Shakespeare, on the tree?

 SIDNEY LANIER. 

III. 

THE MOCKING-BIRD'S NEST. 

 "Superb and sole upon a plumèd spray That o'er the general leafage boldly grew, "

as literally as though Lanier had sketched that particular bird, stoodthe first free mocking-bird I ever heard. His perch was the topmost twigof the tallest tree in the group. It was a cedar, perhaps fifteen feethigh, around which a jasmine vine had clambered, and that morning openeda cluster of fragrant blossoms at his feet, as though an offering to themost noted singer on our side of the globe. As I drew near he turned hisclear, bright eye upon me, and sang a welcome to North Carolina; andseveral hours later, when the moon rose high over the waters of theSound, he completed his perfect performance with a serenade, the like ofwhich I fear I may never hear again. I chose to consider his attentionspersonal, because, of all the household, I am sure I was the only onewho listened, and I had passed over many miles of rolling and tossingocean to make his acquaintance. 

Nothing would have been easier, or more delightful, than to pitch one'stent in a certain pine grove not far away, and pass days and weeks inforgetting the world of cares, and reading favorite books, lulled at allhours of day and night by the softened roar of the ocean and thewonderful bird

 "Singing the song of everything, Consummate sweet, and calm. "

But it was not merely as singer that I wished to know him; nor to watchhis dainty and graceful ways as he went about the daily duties offood-hunting, singing, and driving off marauders, which occupied hishours from dawn to late evening, and left him spirit enough for many amidnight rhapsody. It was in his domestic relations that I desired tosee him, --the wooing of the bride and building the nest, the training ofmocking-bird babies and starting them in the world; and no loitering anddreaming in the pine grove, however tempting, would tell me this. I mustfollow him to his more secluded retreats, see where he had set up hishomestead. 

Thoreau--or is it Emerson?--says one always finds what he looks for, andof course I found my nests. One pair of birds I noticed through thecourtship, the selection of the site, the building and occupying of thenest; another couple, already sitting when discovered, I watchedthrough the incubation and nursing of the little ones, and at lastassisted in giving them a fair chance for their lives and a start in theworld. It may be thought that my assistance was not particularlyvaluable; the birds shared this opinion; none the less, but for mypresence not one of those birdlings would be free and happy to-day, as Ihope and believe they are. To the study of these two households I gavenearly every hour of daylight, in all weathers, for a month, and of thelife that went on in and around them I can speak from personalknowledge; beyond that, and at other times in his life, I do not professto know the mocking-bird. 

The bird whose nest-making I witnessed was the one whose performance Ichose to consider a welcome, and his home was in the pine grove, a groupof about twenty trees, left from the original forest possibly, at anyrate nearly a hundred feet high, with all branches near the top, asthough they had grown in close woods. They were quite scattering now, and lower trees and shrubs flourished in their shade, making a charmingspot, and a home worthy even of this superb songster. The bird himselfwas remarkably friendly. Seeming to appreciate my attitude of admiringlistener, he often perched on the peak of a low roof (separated only bya carriage drive from the upper "gallery" where I sat), and sang forhours at a time, with occasional lunches; or, as Lanier, his most ardentlover, has it, --

 "Then down he shot, bounced airily along The sward, twitched in a grasshopper, made song Midflight, perched, prinked, and to his art again. "

Whatever he did, his eyes were upon me; he came to the corner nearest meto sing, and was so intelligent in look and bearing that I believe heliked a quiet listener. 

His wooing, however, the bird did not intend me to see, though two orthree times I surprised him at it. The first part that I chanced uponwas curious and amusing. A female, probably the "beloved object, " stooddemurely on one of the dead top branches of a large tree down in thegarden, while her admirer performed fantastic evolutions in the airabout her. No flycatcher ever made half the eccentric movements thisaerial acrobat indulged in. He flew straight up very high, executingvarious extraordinary turns and gyrations, so rapidly they could not befollowed and described, and came back singing; in a moment he departedin another direction, and repeated the grotesque performance. He wasplainly exerting himself to be agreeable and entertaining, inmocking-bird style, and I noticed that every time he returned from anexcursion he perched a little nearer his audience of one, until, aftersome time, he stood upon the same twig, a few inches from her. They werefacing and apparently trying to stare each other out of countenance; andas I waited, breathless, to see what would happen next, the damselcoquettishly flitted to another branch. Then the whole scene wasrepeated; the most singular and graceful evolutions, the songs, and thegradual approach. Sometimes, after alighting on a top twig, he droppeddown through the branches, singing, in a way to suggest the "droppingsong" so graphically described by Maurice Thompson, but never reallyfalling, and never touching the ground. Each performance ended in hisreaching the twig which she occupied and her flight to another, until atlast, by some apparently mutual agreement, both flew, and I saw no more. 

A remarkable "dance" which I also saw, with the same bird as principalactor, seems to me another phase of the wooing, though I must say itresembled a war-dance as well; but love is so like war among the lowerorders, even of men, that it is hard to distinguish between them. Ishall not try to decide, only to relate, and, I beg to say, without thesmallest exaggeration. The dances I saw were strictly _pas-de-deux_, and they always began by a flash of wings and two birds alighting on thegrass, about a foot apart. Both instantly drew themselves up perfectlyerect, tail elevated at an angle of forty-five degrees, and wings heldstraight down at the sides. Then followed a most droll dance. Number onestood like a statue, while number two pranced around, with short, mincing steps and dainty little hops which did not advance him an inch;first he passed down the right, then turned and went down the left, allin the queer, unnatural manner of short hops and steps, and holdinghimself rigidly erect, while number one always faced the dancer, whichever way he turned. After a few moments of this movement, numberone decided to participate, and when his partner moved to the right hedid the same; to the left he still accompanied him, always facing, andmaintaining the exact distance from him. Then number two described acircle around number one, who turned to face him with short hops wherehe stood. Next followed a _chassé_ of both birds to the right; then aseparation, one dancing to the right and the other to the left, alwaysfacing, and always slowly and with dignity. This stately minuet theykept up for some time, and appeared so much like a pair ofold-fashioned human dancers that when, on one occasion, number twovaried the performance by a spring over the head of his partner, I wasstartled, as if an old gentleman had suddenly hopped over the head ofthe grand dame his _vis-à-vis_. When this strange new figure wasintroduced, number one proved equal to the emergency, hopping backward, and turning so dexterously that when his partner alighted they werefacing, and about a foot apart, as before. The object of all this wasvery uncertain to a looker-on. It might be the approaches of love, andquite as probably the wary beginnings of war, and the next feature ofthe programme was not explanatory; they rose together in the air tenfeet or more, face to face, fluttering and snatching at each other, apparently trying to clinch; succeeding in doing so, they fell to theground, separated just before they touched it, and flew away. O wings!most maddening to a bird-student. 

It was not very long after these performances, which seem to me tobelong to the courtship period, when I noticed that my bird had won hisbride, and they were busy house-hunting. The place they apparentlypreferred, and at last fixed upon, was at an unusual height formocking-birds, near the top of one of the tall pines, and I was no lesssurprised than pleased to see them lay the foundation of their home inthat spot. I congratulated myself that at least one brood in NorthCarolina would have a chance to come to maturity and be free; and sopersistent is the warfare waged against this bird--unfortunatelymarketable at any stage from the egg--that I almost doubt if anotherwill. The day after they began building a northwest storm set in, andfor three days we had high winds and cold weather. In spite of this, thebrave birds persevered, and finished their nest during those three days, although much of the time they made infrequent trips. It was really mosttouching to watch them at their unnatural task, and remember thatnothing but the cruelty of man forced them to it (one nest had beendestroyed). Their difficulty was to get up against the wind, and, havinglittle experience in flying upward, they made the natural mistake ofstarting from the foot of their chosen tree. Sometimes, at first, theyflew with the body almost perpendicular; and afterwards, when they heldthe body in proper position, they wished to go so directly up that theyturned the head back over the shoulder to see where they were going. Thewind, too, beat them far out of their course, and they were obliged toalight and rest, occasionally being forced to cling to the trunk of atree to recover breath and strength to go on. They never attempted tomake the whole ascent at once, but always stopped four or five times, perching on the ends of fallen branches, of which there were eight orten below the living part of the pine. Even when no wind disturbed them, they made these pauses on the way, and it was always a hard task toreach the top. They learned, after a few days, however, to begin theirascent at a distance, and not approach the tree till at least half ashigh as they wished to go, which simplified the matter very much. It wasbeautiful to see them, upon reaching the lowest of the living branches, bound gayly up, as though over a winding stair, to the particular spotthey had fixed upon. 

During the building I missed the daily music of the singer. Occasionallyhe alighted on the roof, looked over at me, and bubbled out a few notes, as much as to say, "You must excuse me now; I am very busy;" but all thetime I hoped that while sitting was going on I should have him back. Ireckoned ignorantly; I did not know my bird. No sooner was he thepossessor of a house and family than he suddenly became very wary. Nomore solos on the roof; no more confidential remarks; no morefamiliarities of any sort. Now he must beware of human beings, and evenwhen on the grass he held himself very erect, wings straight down, every instant on guard. His happiness demanded expression in song, certainly, but instead of confining himself to the roof he circled thelawn, which was between two and three hundred feet wide. If he began ina group of cedars on the right, he sang awhile there, then flew to thefence next the road without a pause in the music, and in a few minutespassed to the group of pines at the left, perched on a dead branch, andfinished his song there. It was most tantalizing, though I could butadmit it a proof of intelligence. 

Another change appeared in the bird with the advent of family cares: hewas more belligerent; he drove the bluebird off the lawn, he worried thetufted titmouse when it chanced to alight on his tree, and in the mostoffensive way claimed ownership of pine-trees, lawn, and all the fencebordering the same. Neighboring mocking-birds disputed his claim, andmany a furious chase took place among the trees. (So universal is theirhabit of insisting upon exclusive right to certain grounds that twomocking-birds are never found nesting very near each other, in that partof the country. This I was assured, and found it true of those Iobserved. ) These little episodes in his life kept the pine-tree birdfrom dullness, while his mate was engaged in the top of the tall pine, where, by the way, he went now and then to see how she was getting on. Sometimes his spouse received him amiably, but occasionally, I regret tosay, I heard a "huff" from the nest that said plainly, "Don't you touchthose eggs!" And what was amusing, he acknowledged her right to dictatein the matter, and meekly took his departure. Whenever she came down fora lunch, he saw her instantly, and was ready for a frolic. He dropped tothe grass near her, and they usually indulged in a lively romp, chasingeach other over and through the trees, across the yard, around thegarden, and back to the lawn, where she went on with her eating, and heresumed his singing. 

While I was watching the pine-tree household, the other nest, in the topof a low, flat-topped cedar, perhaps twenty-five feet high, andprofusely fringed with Spanish moss, became of even more interest. Icould not see into the nest, for there was no building high enough tooverlook it, but I could see the bird when he stood upon the edge. Sitting, in a warm climate, is not particularly close work. Although theweather was cool, yet when the sun was out the sitter left her nest fromsix to eight minutes at a time, and as often as once in twenty minutes. Of course in rain she had not so much liberty, and on some days leftonly when her mate was ready to take her place, which he frequently did. 

On the ninth day of my watching (I had not seen the beginning of thesitting), the 3d of May, I found work was over and the youngsters wereout. There was much excitement in the cedar-tree, but in a quiet way; infact, the birds became so silent and so wary in approaching the nestthat it required the closest watching to see them go or come, and onlyoccasionally could I detect any food in the beak. I discovered very soonthat mocking-bird babies are brought up on hygienic principles, and havetheir meals with great regularity. For some time both parents wereexceedingly busy, going and coming almost constantly; then there came arest of a half hour or more, during which no food was brought. Each birdhad its own way of coming to the tree. Madam came over the roof of thecottage where I sat, and was exposed to view for only a few feet, overwhich she passed so quickly and silently that I had to be constantly onthe alert to see her at all. The singer had another way, and by risingbehind a hickory-tree beyond the cedar managed to keep a screen ofbranches between him and myself nearly every foot of the way. I couldsee them both almost every time, but I could not always tell whetherthey carried food. Now the bluebird, honest soul, always stops in plainsight to rest, with his mouth full of dainties for his young brood, anda robin will stand staring at one for two minutes with three or fourwriggling worms in his beak. It is quite a different affair in themocking-bird family, as is certainly natural, after the persecution ithas endured. No special fear of me was the cause, --it is a markedpeculiarity of the bird; and I think, with a little study, one couldlearn to know exactly the moment the eggs hatch by the sudden silenceand wariness of both birds. Poor little creatures! a sympathetic friendhates to add to the anxiety they suffer, and he cannot help a feeling ofreproach when the brave little head of the family alights on the fence, and looks him straight in the eye, as if to demand why he is subjectedto all this annoyance. I had to console myself by thinking that I wasundoubtedly a providence to him; for I am certain that nothing but mywatching him so conspicuously that every negro within a mile saw me, saved his family to him, so low and easy of access was the nest. 

The day those nestlings were one week old they uttered their first cry. It was not at all a "peep, " but a cry, continued a few seconds; atfirst only when food was offered to them, but as they increased in ageand strength more frequently. It was much like a high-pitched"[=e]-[=e]-[=e], " and on the first day there was but one voice, whichgrew rapidly stronger as the hours went by. The next day another and aweaker cry joined the first, now grown assured and strong. But the musicof the father was hushed the moment the youngsters began; from that timeuntil they had left the nest, he sang not a note in my hearing. Perhapshe was too busy, though he never seemed to work so hard as the robin ororiole; but I think it was cautiousness, for the trouble of thoseparents was painful to witness. They introduced a new sound among theirmusical notes, a harsh squawk; neither dog nor negro could cross theyard without being saluted with it. As for me, though I was meeknessitself, taking the most obscure position I could find, and remaining asabsolutely motionless as possible, they eyed me with suspicion; from thefirst they "huffed" at me, and at this point began to squawk the momentI entered the gate. On one occasion I discovered that by changing myseat I could actually see the nest, which I much desired; so I removedwhile the birds were absent. Madam was the first to return, with abeakful of food; she saw me instantly, and was too much excited todispose of her load. She came to my side of her tree, squawked loudly, flapping her wings and jerking herself about. I remained motionless anddid not look at her, pretending to be absorbed in my book; but sherefused to be mollified. It evidently did not please her to have me seeso plainly; she desired to retain the friendly screen of leaves whichhad secured her a small measure of privacy. I could not blame her; Ifelt myself intrusive; and at last I respected her wishes and returnedto my old place, when she immediately calmed down and administered thefood she had held till then. Poor mother! those were trying times. Hersolicitude overpowered her discretion, and her manner proclaimed toevery one within hearing that the nestlings were out. Then, too, on theeighth day the little ones added their voices, and soon called loudlyenough to attract the dullest of nest-robbers. I was so fearful lestthat nest should be disturbed that I scarcely dared to sleep o' nights;the birds themselves were hardly more anxious than I was. 

The eleventh day of the birdlings' life was exceedingly warm, without abreath of air stirring, suffocating to humanity, but preëminentlyinspiring to mocking-birds, and every singer within a mile of me, I amsure, was singing madly, excepting the newly made parent. Upon reachingmy usual seat I knew at once, by the louder cry, that a young bird wasout of the nest, and after some searching through the tree I foundhim, --a yellowish-drab little fellow, with very decided wing-markings, atail perhaps an inch in length, and soft slate-colored spots, so long asalmost to be streaks, on the breast. He was scrambling about thebranches, always trying to get a higher place, calling and perking hisinsignificant tail in true mocking-bird fashion. I think the parentsdisapproved this early ambition, for they did not feed him for a longtime, though they passed him to go to the nest. So far from beinglightened, their cares were greatly increased by the precociousness ofthe youngster, and from this moment their trouble and worry weregrievous to see. So much self-reliance has the mocking-bird, even in thenest, that he cannot be kept there until his legs are strong enough tobear his weight, or his wings ready to fly. The full-grown spirit of therace blossoms out in the young one at eleven days, and for several morehe is exposed to so many dangers that I wonder there is one left in theState. 

The parents, one after the other, came down on to a bush near my seat toremonstrate with me; and I must admit that so great was my sympathy, andso uncomfortable did I feel at adding in the least to their anxiety, that I should never have seen that young family fledged, only that Iknew perfectly well what they did not, that I was a protection to them. I tried to reassure the mother by addressing her in her own language (asit were), and she turned quickly, looked, listened, and returned to hertree, quieted. This sound is a low whistling through the teeth, whichreadily soothes cage birds. It interests and calms them, though I haveno notion what it means to them, for I am speaking an unknown tongue. 

The baby on the tree was not quiet, climbing about the branches everymoment that he was not engaged in dressing his feathers, the first andmost important business of the newly emancipated nestling. After an houror more of watching there was a sudden stir in the family, and theyoungster made his appearance on the ground. He was not under the sideof the tree on which he had been resting, so, although I did not see thepassage, I knew he had not fallen, as he is popularly said to do, butflown as well as he was able. I started slowly down the yard to examinethe little stranger, but was absolutely startled by a cry from themother, that sounded exactly like "Go 'way!" as I have often heard anegro girl say it. Later it was very familiar, a yearning, anxiousheart-aching sound to hear. 

The youth was very lively, starting off at once on his travels, neverfor an instant doubting his own powers. I saw his first movement, whichwas a hop, and, what surprised and delighted me, accompanied by apeculiar lifting of the wings, of which I shall have more to say. Hequickly hopped through the thin grass till he reached a fence, passeddown beside it till a break in the pickets left an open place on thebottom board, sprang without hesitation upon that, and after a moment'ssurvey of the country beyond dropped down on the farther side. Now thatwas a lane much frequented by negroes, and, being alarmed for hissafety, I sent a boy after him, and in a moment had him in my hand. Hewas a beautiful little creature, having a head covered with downy darkfeathers, and soft black eyes, which regarded me with interest, but notat all with fear. All this time, of course, the parents were scoldingand crying, and I held him only long enough to look carefully at him, when I replaced him on the grass. Off he started at once, directlywest, --like the "march of empire, "--went through the same fence again, but further down, and, as I could tell by the conduct of the parents, ina few moments was safely through a second fence into a comparativelyretired old garden beyond, where I hoped he would be unmolested. Thusdeparted number one, with energy and curiosity, to investigate abrand-new world, fearless in his ignorance and self-confidence, althoughhis entrance into the world had not been the triumphant fly we mightlook for, but an ignominious "flop, " and was irresistibly andludicrously suggestive of the manner of exit from the home nest ofsundry individuals of our own race, which we consider of much greaterimportance. 

The young traveler set out at exactly ten o'clock. As soon as he was outof sight, though not out of hearing, --for the youngster as well as theparents kept the whole world of boys and cats well informed of hiswhereabouts for three days, --I returned and gave my attention to numbertwo, who was now out upon the native tree. This one was much more quietthan his predecessor. He did not cry, but occasionally uttered amocking-bird squawk, though spending most of his time dressing hisplumage, in preparation for the grand _entrée_. At twelve o'clock hemade the plunge and came to the ground in a heap. This was plainly abird of different disposition from number one; his first journeyevidently tired him. He found the world hard and disappointing, so hesimply stayed where he dropped in the middle of the path, and refused tomove, though I touched him as a gentle reminder of the duty he owed tohis parents and his family. He sat crouched upon the gravel and lookedat me with calm black eye, showing no fear and certainly no intention ofmoving, even indulging in a nap while I waited. 

Now appeared upon the scene several persons, both white and black, eachof whom wanted a young mocking-bird for a cage; but I stood over himlike a god-parent and refused to let any one touch him. I began to fearthat I should have him on my hands at last, for even the parents seemedto appreciate his characteristics and to know that he could not behurried, and both were still busy following the vagaries of number one. The mother now and then returned to look after him and was greatlydisturbed by his unnatural conduct--and so was I. He appeared stupid, asif he had come out too soon, and did not even know how to hop. It wastwenty minutes by the watch before he moved. His mother's calls at lastaroused him; he raised himself upon his shaky little legs, cried out, and started off exactly as number one had done, --westward, hopping, andlifting his wings at every step. Then I saw by the enormous amount ofwhite on his wings that he was a singer. He went as far as the fence, and there he paused again. In vain did the mother come and scold; invain did I try to push him along. He simply knew his own will, and meantto have it; the world might be strange, but he was not in the leastinterested. He rested in that spot fifteen or twenty minutes more, whileI stood guard as before, and preserved him from cages of both negroesand whites. At last he did manage to squeeze through the fence, and, much relieved, I left him to the old birds, one of whom was down in thelot beyond the garden, no doubt following up his ambitious first-born. 

Whoever, meanwhile, was left in the nest had a poor chance of food, andone was already crying. It was not until six o'clock that the birdsseemed to remember the nestling; then it was well fed, and left again. Nothing would be easier than to follow the wandering youngsters, see howthey got on and how soon they were able to fly, but this so disturbedthe parents I had not the heart to do it; and besides I feared theywould starve the infants, for one was never fed while I was near. Doubtless their experience of the human race forbade their confiding inthe kindly intentions of any one. It was well that only two of the youngappeared in one day, for keeping track of them was so serious a matterthat two parents could scarcely manage it. 

Number three differed from both of his elders; he was a cry-baby. Hewas not bright and lively like number one, and he did not squawk likenumber two, but he cried constantly, and at six P. M. I left him callingand crying at the top of his voice. Very early the next morning Ihastened to the scene of yesterday's excitement. Number three was out onthe tree. I could hear number two still crying and squawking in thegarden, and from the position and labors of the male I concluded thatnumber one was in the next lot. It was a dismal, damp morning, everygrass-blade loaded with water, and a heavy fog driving in from the sea. I hoped number three would know enough to stay at home, but his fate wasupon him, and no rain was ever wet enough to overcome destiny. At abouteight o'clock he stretched his little wings and flew to the ground, --avery good flight for his family, nearly thirty feet, twice as far aseither of his predecessors had gone; silently, too, --no fuss about it. He began at once the baby mocker's hop with lifted wings, headed for thewest fence, jumped upon the lower board, squeezed through and was offdown the garden before the usual crowd of spectators had collected tostrive for his head. I was delighted. The parents, who were not nearwhen he flew, came back soon and found him at once. I left him to themand returned to my place. 

But silence seemed to have fallen upon the cedar, late so full of life. In vain I listened for another cry; in vain I watched for another visitfrom the parents. All were busy in the garden and lot, and if any babywere in that nest it must surely starve. Occasionally a bird came back, hunted a little over the old ground in the yard, perched a moment on thefence, and saluted me with a low squawk, but their interest in the placewas plainly over. 

After two hours I concluded the nest was empty; and a curiousperformance of the head of the late family convinced me it was so. Hecame quite near to me, perched on a bush in the yard, fixed his eyes onme, and then, with great deliberation, first huffed, then squawked, thensang a little, then flew. I do not know what the bird meant to say, butthis is what it expressed to me: "You've worried us all through thistrying time, but you didn't get one of our babies! Hurrah!"

In the afternoon I had the nest brought down to me. For foundation ithad a mass of small twigs from six to eight inches long, crooked andforked and straight, which were so slightly held together that theycould only be handled by lifting with both hands, and placing at once ina cloth, where they were carefully tied in. Within this mass of twigswas the nest proper, thick and roughly constructed, three and a halfinches in inside diameter, made of string, rags, newspaper, cottonwadding, bark, Spanish moss, and feathers, lined with fine root fibre, Ithink. The feathers were not inside for lining, but outside on the upperedge. It was, like the foundation, so frail that, though carefullymanaged, it could only be kept in shape by a string around it, evenafter the mass of twigs had been removed. I have a last year's nest, made of exactly the same materials, but in a much more substantialmanner; so perhaps the cedar-tree birds were not so skillful builders assome of their family. 

The mocking-bird's movements, excepting in flight, are the perfection ofgrace; not even the cat-bird can rival him in airy lightness, in easyelegance of motion. In alighting on a fence, he does not merely comedown upon it; his manner is fairly poetical. He flies a little too high, drops like a feather, touches the perch lightly with his feet, balancesand tosses upward his tail, often quickly running over the tips of halfa dozen pickets before he rests. Passing across the yard, he turns notto avoid a taller tree or shrub, nor does he go through it; he simplybounds over, almost touching it, as if for pure sport. In the matter ofbounds the mocker is without a peer. The upward spring while singing isan ecstatic action that must be seen to be appreciated; he rises intothe air as though too happy to remain on earth, and opening his wings, floats down, singing all the while. It is indescribable, but enchantingto see. In courtship, too, as related, he makes effective use of thisexquisite movement. In simple food-hunting on the ground, --a mostprosaic occupation, truly, --on approaching a hummock of grass he boundsover it instead of going around. In alighting on a tree he does notpounce upon the twig he has selected, but upon a lower one, and passesquickly up through the branches, as lithe as a serpent. So fond is he ofthis exercise that one which I watched amused himself half an hour at atime in a pile of brush; starting from the ground, slipping easilythrough up to the top, standing there a moment, then flying back andrepeating the performance. Should the goal of his journey be a fencepicket, he alights on the beam which supports it, and hops gracefully tothe top. 

Like the robin, the mocking-bird seeks his food from the earth, sometimes digging it, but oftener picking it up. His manner on theground is much like the robin's; he lowers the head, runs a few stepsrapidly, then erects himself very straight for a moment. But he adds tothis familiar performance a peculiar and beautiful movement, the objectof which I have been unable to discover. At the end of a run he liftshis wings, opening them wide, displaying their whole breadth, whichmakes him look like a gigantic butterfly, then instantly lowers his headand runs again, generally picking up something as he stops. Acorrespondent in South Carolina, familiar with the ways of the bird, suggests that his object is to startle the grasshoppers, or, as heexpresses it, to "flush his game. " I watched very closely and could notfix upon any theory more plausible, though it seemed to be weakened bythe fact that the nestlings, as mentioned above, did the same thingbefore they thought of looking for food. The custom is not invariable;sometimes it is done, and sometimes not. 

The mocking-bird cannot be said to possess a gentle disposition, especially during the time of nesting. He does not seem malicious, butrather mischievous, and his actions resemble the naughty though notwicked pranks of an active child. At that time he does, it must beadmitted, lay claim to a rather large territory, considering his size, and enforces his rights with many a hot chase and noisy dispute, asremarked above. Any mocking-bird who dares to flirt a feather over theborder of the ground he chooses to consider his own has to battle withhim. A quarrel is a curious operation, usually a chase, and the war-cryis so peculiar and apparently so incongruous that it is fairlylaughable. It is a rough breathing, like the "huff" of an angry cat, anda serious dispute between the birds reminds one of nothing but adisagreement in the feline family. If the stranger does not take thehint, and retire at the first huff, he is chased, over and under treesand through branches, so violently that leaves rustle and twigs arethrust aside, as long as the patience or wind holds out. On one occasionthe defender of his homestead kept up a lively singing all through thefurious flight, which lasted six or eight minutes, --a remarkable thing. 

To others than his own kind the mocker seems usually indifferent, withthe single exception of the crow. So long as this bird kept over thesalt marsh, or flew quite high, or even held his mouth shut, he was notnoticed; but let him fly low over the lawn, and above all let him "caw, "and the hot-headed owner of the place was upon him. He did not seem tohave any special plan of attack, like the kingbird or the oriole; hisaim appeared to be merely to worry the enemy, and in this he wasuntiring, flying madly and without pause around a perching crow until hetook flight, and then attempting to rise above him. In this he was notalways successful, not being particularly expert on the wing, though Ihave two or three times seen the smaller bird actually rest on the backof the foe for three or four seconds at a time. 

The song of the free mocking-bird! With it ringing in my ear at thismoment, after having feasted upon it and gloried in it day and night formany weeks, how can I criticise it! How can I do otherwise than fallinto rhapsody, as does almost every one who knows it and delights in it, as I do! It is something for which one might pine and long, as theSwitzer for the Ranz-des-Vaches, and the more one hears it the more heloves it. I think there will never come a May in my life when I shallnot long to fold my tent and take up my abode in the home of themocking-bird, and yet I cannot say what many do. For variety, glibness, and execution the song is marvelous. It is a brilliant, bewilderingexhibition, and one listens in a sort of ecstasy almost equal to thebird's own, for this, it seems to me, is the secret of the power of hismusic; he so enjoys it himself, he throws his whole soul into it, and heis so magnetic that he charms a listener into belief that nothing can belike it. His manner also lends enchantment; he is seldom still. If hebegins in a cedar-tree, he soon flies to the fence, singing as he goes, thence takes his way to a roof, and so on, changing his place every fewminutes, but never losing a note. His favorite perch is the top spire ofa pointed tree, low cedar or young pine, where he can bound into the airas already described, spread his wings, and float down, never omitting aquaver. It seems like pure ecstasy; and however critical one may be, hecannot help feeling deep sympathy with the joyous soul that thusexpresses itself. With all the wonderful power and variety, thebewitching charm, there is not the "feeling, " the heavenly melody, ofthe wood-thrush. As an imitator, I think he is much overrated. I cannotagree with Lanier that

 "Whate'er birds did or dreamed, this bird could say;"

and that the birds are jealous of his song, as Wilson says, seemsabsurd. On the contrary, I do not think they recognize the counterfeit. The tufted titmouse called as loudly and constantly all day as though nomocking-bird shouted his peculiar and easily imitated call from thehouse-top; the cardinal grosbeak sang every day in the grove, though themocker copied him more closely than any other bird. He repeats thenotes, rattles out the call, but he cannot put the cardinal's soul intothem. The song of every bird seems to me the expression of himself; itis a perfect whole of its kind, given with proper inflections andpauses, and never hurried; whereas, when the mocker delivers it, it issimply one more note added to his repertory, uttered in his rapidstaccato, in his loud, clear voice, interpolated between incongruoussounds, without expression, and lacking in every way the beauty andattraction of the original. 

The song consists entirely of short staccato phrases, each phraserepeated several times, perhaps twice, possibly five or six times. If hehas a list of twenty or thirty, --and I think he has more, --he can makealmost unlimited changes and variety, and can sing for two hours orlonger, holding his listener spellbound and almost without consciousnessthat he has repeated anything. 

So winning and so lasting is the charm with which this bird enthrallshis lovers that scarcely had I left his enchanted neighborhood beforeeverything else was forgotten, and there remain of that idyllic monthonly beautiful pictures and delightful memories. 

 "O thou heavenly bird!"

A TRICKSY SPIRIT. 

 Bright drops of tune, from oceans infinite Of melody, sipped off the thin-edged wave And trickling down the bank, discourses brave Of serious matter that no man may guess, Good-fellow greetings, cries of light distress; All these but now within the house are heard: O Death, wast thou too deaf to hear the bird?

 SIDNEY LANIER. 

IV. 

A TRICKSY SPIRIT. 

For bird-lovers who know the mocking-bird only as a captive in ourhouses he has few attractions: a mere loud-voiced echo of theinharmonious sounds man gathers about his home, --car-bells, streetcries, and other unpleasing noises, --and choosing for his performancesthe hours one wants to sleep. Unfortunate is the neighborhood in whichone is kept. Such was my feeling about the bird before I knew him infreedom, where he has a song of his own. But in my search for nativebirds I often saw the mocker, was surprised to notice his intelligenceof look and manner, and at last took one into my bird-room, resolvingthat the moment he began to "mock" he should be given to some one wholiked having the street in his house. My bird was very obliging in thematter; six months I watched him daily, and he was kind enough not toutter a sound, except an occasional harsh "chack. " Probably he had toomuch liberty and too many interests about him; whatever the reason, Ithanked him for it, and heartily enjoyed the study of his manners. 

The bird was perhaps the most intelligent one I ever watched, thecat-bird being his only rival in that regard. Fear was unknown to him, and from the moment of his arrival he was interested in everything thattook place around him; looking at each bird in succession; making closestudy of every member of the family; noticing the sounds of the street, including the sparrow broils on the porch-roof; in fact, extremelywide-awake and observing. To the goldfinch's song he gave attention, standing motionless except for a slight nervous jerk of one wing, looking and listening as intently as though studying the notes forfuture use. The freedom of the birds in the room surprised him, as heshowed plainly by the eager glances with which he followed everymovement and marked each act. Upon joining the party of the free, hetook note of pictures in a newspaper, distinguishing objects in the cut, which he tried to pick up, as a small wheel and a bar. In colors he hada choice, and his selection was red; from a vase of roses of many hueshe never failed to draw out the red one to pull it to pieces on thefloor. 

Liberty the mocking-bird emphatically enjoyed, and at once recognized astring attached to his door as a device to deprive him of it; aftervainly trying to pick it apart, he betook himself to another cage, andrefused to go back to his own. In any strange cage he stood quietlywhile I walked up to him, and made no attempt to leave his quarters, knowing perfectly well that I did not care to shut the door upon him;but when at home I could not lift my hands, or make the slightestmovement, without causing him to dart out of the cage instantly. Havingcontention with his room-mates about the bits of apple put out for allto enjoy, he often carried away a piece to eat at his leisure. Fromhabit he flew first to the top of a cage, that being his favoriteperching place; but he evidently appreciated that, if he dropped themorsel, he should lose it through the wires; and after looking one sideand the other, plainly satisfying himself of this fact, he went to thetable with it. I never before saw a bird who did not have to learn thetreacherous nature of cage roofs by experience. He appeared to workthings out in his mind, --to reason, in truth. One cold morning inspring, when the furnace fire was out, a large, brilliant lamp was putby his cage to take off the chill, for he felt changes keenly. He seemedto understand it at once, and though, no doubt, it was his firstexperience of warmth from a light, he drew as near it as possible, andremained there perfectly quiet until the sun warmed the room and it wasremoved. Fear, as I said, he knew not, coming freely upon the desk, oreven upon my lap, after apple or bread, or anything he fancied. 

It was plain to see that this bird's first week with us was one of quietstudy and observation. Not a movement of bird or man escaped his notice. He wished to understand, to take measure of his neighbors, to be masterof the situation. This was manifested not only by his thoughtful mannerand his wise and knowing looks, but by his subsequent conduct. Duringthis period, also, he submitted to impositions from all the birds, eventhe smallest, without resentment. The wood-thrush easily drove him awayfrom the apple; the little goldfinch chased him from his perch. Heappeared to be meekness itself; but he was biding his time, he wasmaking up his mind. 

The first time the mocking-bird's door was opened he was not in theleast surprised; no doubt, seeing others at liberty, he had expected it. At any rate, whatever his emotions, he instantly ran out on the perchplaced in his doorway and surveyed his new world from this position. Hewas in no panic, not even in haste. When fully ready, he began his tourof inspection. First, to see if he really could reach the trees without, through those large, clear openings, he tried the windows, each of thethree, but gently, not bouncing against them so violently as to fall tothe floor, as more impetuous or less intelligent birds invariably do. Having proved each to be impassable, he was satisfied, and never triedagain. Next, the ceiling interested him, and he flew all around theroom, touching it gently everywhere, to assure himself of its nature. Convinced thus in a short time that his bounds were only widened, notremoved, he went on to investigate closely what he had looked at from adistance; every bird-cage, inside as well as outside, if the ownerhappened to be away, every piece of furniture, pictures, books, and thepin-cushion, --where he was detained some time trying to carry off thelarge black heads of shawl-pins. The looking-glass absorbed him mostcompletely on the first day; he flew against it, he hovered before it, slowly passing from bottom to top, alighted on top and looked overbehind. I think he never solved that mystery to his own satisfaction, ashe did that of the window-glass, which must have been quite asinexplicable, and it was never without a certain charm for him. He hadno trouble in finding his way home: standing on a cage next to his, hesaw his own door-perch, recognized it instantly (though he had been uponit only once), and, being hungry, dropped to it and ran into the cage. 

The new-comer soon made thorough acquaintance with all his surroundings, and had leisure to turn his attention to a little matter yet unsettled;namely, his position in the small colony about him. The first few days, as already noted, he submitted to impositions; allowed himself to bedriven away from the slices of apple on the matting, and turned from thebathing-dish on the floor. This was, however, the calm before the storm;though after all that is hardly a correct comparison, since there wasnever the least "storm" about his manner; he was composure itself. Having calmly and patiently considered the state of affairs, he suddenlyasserted himself and took the position he felt was his right, --at thehead. It soon became evident that he was prepared to defend thesituation by force of arms. He conducted his conquests systematically, and subdued one after the other, beginning with the least. 

The English goldfinch had been very saucy, scolding and flying over himas he went around the room, in the small bird's way; but one day it cameto a sudden end. The goldfinch in his cage scolded the stranger foralighting too near his door. The mocking-bird turned, looked sharply athim, ruffled up his feathers, and jumped heavily to the top of the cage, turning one eye down upon his small foe with an air that said, "Who isthis midget that insults me?" The finch was surprised, but did not fullyappreciate the significance of this change of manner until he was letout, when he found at once that his amiable neighbor had suddenly becomean active enemy, who chased him around the room till he panted forbreath, and would not allow him a moment's rest or peace anywhere. Thiswas strange experience for the little fellow, for heretofore none of thelarge birds had ever disturbed him. He scolded furiously, but he went;no one could stand against that determined approach. If the goldfinchwished to bathe, his persecutor took his place on the nearest perch, nota foot away, thus driving him to the floor with the intention of usingthe big birds' bath. He circled around the edge, but it did not suit, and he returned to his own, looked at his enemy, spattered a little, went back to the big dish, returned again, and thus vibrated between thetwo for several minutes, while the mocking-bird stood motionless, notoffering any molestation, but plainly wishing to worry him. The finalact occurred when both chanced accidentally to be in the same cage, notthe home of either. The mocking-bird, without provocation, dropped fromthe upper perch upon the finch, who uttered a sharp cry and darted away. Two or three little feathers flew, though no hurt could be seen; but thesmaller bird panted violently for a half hour, as though frightened, andfor four or five hours sat quietly on a perch, neither eating nor makinga sound, --a very unusual proceeding for the lively chattering littlefellow. This proved to be a declaration of open war, and was sovigorously followed up that before many days the larger bird's door wasnot opened until his victim had had his outing and returned to his home. Teasing never lost its attraction for him, however. He delighted toalight on the cage and worry his little foe, or to stand near his doorand stare at him. On one such occasion a curious scene occurred. Theystood three inches apart, with the wires between them, when the finchsuddenly began reaching upward as far as possible; taller and taller hestretched up, till he fairly stood on tiptoe. The mocking-bird, not tobe outdone, imitated the movement on his side of the bars, of coursetowering far above his copy. It seemed to afford both of them greatsatisfaction; perhaps it expressed contempt more fully than was possiblein any other way. 

The largest bird in the room, a Mexican thrush, was considerablystronger and fiercer than our native wood-thrush, and it seemed absurdfor the mocking-bird to measure swords with him. So it would have beenbut for the fact that the Mexican, having lost part of his wingfeathers, was clumsy, unable to fly readily, and no match for hisactive, agile antagonist; he always conquered when hostilities reachedthe point of a personal encounter, but he was soon soured, and declinedto meet the enemy. Two or three times they flew up together, likequarrelsome cocks, but the decisive and final dispute was over thebathing-dish. It happened that morning that the Mexican came out beforethe goldfinch was shut up, and hence the the mocking-bird's door was notyet opened. He flew at once to the top of his neighbor's cage to dresshis feathers and shake himself out. It looked like a deliberate insult, and the captive in his cage evidently so regarded it; he crouched on theupper perch and opened his mouth at the enemy, who calmly went on withhis operations. The moment the finch was safe at home I opened the door, and the mocking-bird came out in haste. Pretending not to see theMexican, he descended to the bathing-dish, doubtless to cool his heatedblood. The first splash, however, interested the enemy on his roof, andhe flew to the floor; but the bather paid no apparent attention to him, and went on with his business. The Mexican approached slowly, a step ata time, with a low, warning "chack, " which meant, "Make way there, I'mcoming. " The mocking-bird, manifestly hearing him, did not take thehint, nor look at his assailant, but serenely continued his splashing. The Mexican advanced to within six inches before he was convinced thatforce would be necessary. When he decided upon an attack, he manifestedit by a grotesque little hop a few inches into the air, but this notalarming the enemy he drew near to the dish. Now at last the bathercondescended to notice him. He stood up in the water and faced hisadversary, bowing rather slowly and with dignity, feathers ruffled, andbeak opening in the curious way usual with him, --stretching it wide, then closing it, and constantly repeating the operation. 

After looking a moment at this peculiar display, the Mexican hopped uponthe edge of the dish, and in the same instant, as though moved by thesame machinery, the mocking-bird sprang backward out upon the floor. Theusurper paid him no further attention, but proceeded to bathe, while hisdiscomfited rival took a stand on the edge of the disputed dish, whichwas ten inches in diameter, and fanned his wings violently. I cannototherwise name this extraordinary movement, the wings raised high abovehis head, and moved quickly back and forth with a fanning motion. TheMexican turned suddenly to him and he flew. Two or three times herepeated the performance, but was each time forced to fly before thelarge, strong beak wielded by his opponent, who finished his bath, andretired to a perch to dress his feathers. Now the mocking-bird resumedhis splashing; but when thoroughly wet, the thought seemed to strike himthat he was not in good fighting trim, and must dry himself as quicklyas possible to be ready for war, which he at once did by flirting andshaking himself, bounding from one end to the other of a perch, asthough he had suddenly gone mad. He was soon in order, and more thanready to resume hostilities. The enemy still occupied his favoriteposition upon his roof. Two cages stood side by side on a shelf, andacross the tops of them, with great noise and tramping of feet, theMexican delighted to run, thus amusing himself an hour at a time. Seeinghim off his guard, the wary fellow watched his chance, and when his foewas at one end of the course he suddenly alighted on the other. TheMexican ran madly at him, clattering his bill furiously, when hegracefully rose from his place, flew over, and perched on the other end. The run was repeated, and the mischievous bird continued the annoyanceuntil his victim was exhausted, panting, and in great excitement. Fromthat day the Mexican gave up the contest with his too lively antagonist, and refused to come out of his cage at all; so that in fact the strangerreduced the colony to submission. 

With the wood-thrush, the encounters differed from both the preceding. This bird had opened hostilities when the mocker first appeared, presuming on being the older resident, and the only bird who cared muchto be on the floor. The disputed object, as already mentioned, was theapple, which they received on the matting, two pieces being placed atsome distance apart. Seeing the thrush engaged with one, themocking-bird quietly dropped to the other, when instantly the thrushdeserted his own, ran hastily across the room, and claimed that piece. As he approached, the mocking-bird lifted himself into the air by abeautiful and graceful movement; he did not seem to fly, but to simplyrise on wing. The thrush being occupied with that piece, the new-comerdescended upon the abandoned slice; but the inhospitable bird wantedthat also. Even when three or more pieces were at their disposal, thethrush tried to monopolize them all, though the plan of collecting themin one place never seemed to occur to him. After a little of thiscontention, the mocker generally succeeded in carrying off a bit to somequiet place, where he could eat at his leisure. Wishing them to livepeaceably, I placed a slice of the fruit on a high gas-fixture, wherethe stranger was fond of alighting and no other bird ever went. Heunderstood at once, flew over to it, and ate his fill. The Mexicanobserved this, and tramped over his cages (it was before he had retiredfrom the world) in a rage, seeing "good times going on, " and feeling, evidently, unable to fly so high. Somewhat later the thrush noticed theexcitement, flew heavily up, with difficulty alighted beside the apple, snatched it off, and carried it to the floor. 

Settlement of difficulties between these two birds was no chancehappening; it was, to all appearance, a regularly planned campaign, and, like a savage, the aggressor put on his war paint and danced his wardance. It was extremely interesting to watch, although painful torealize that a bird could be animated by emotions so--must I call themhuman? He selected, for the declaration of his intentions, a moment whenthe thrush was in his own house and the door open. The approach to thiscage was by a light ladder, the top round of which, about a foot inlength, rested perhaps four inches from the cage, and level with thedoor. Upon this round the mocking-bird executed what has been called hiswar dance, shaking himself, shuffling (or moving along without raisingthe feet), and agitating his feathers in such a way that they rustledlike stiff new silk. After a few minutes of this performance he flewaway, returning presently to repeat it. This he did again and again, andhis motive was plain. "You've domineered long enough, " his manner said:"now come out here, and we'll settle this matter at once. " The bird inthe cage, though plainly surprised at this sudden exhibition of spirit, received it like a thrush--in silent dignity. He paid no attention tothe demonstration further than to keep his eye upon the enemy, unless heappeared to think of entering the door, when he turned his open bill inthat direction. A long time having passed in these manoeuvres, thethrush, apparently tired of waiting for the belligerent to vacate hisfront doorstep, retired to the upper perch, and the mocking-birdimmediately entered below, took his stand by the food-dish, and defiedthe owner, who came with open beak to dispute him, but after a fewmoments' silent protest returned to the high perch, leaving the intruderto eat and drink as he chose. 

Another point to settle was the possession of the apple. The next timethe thrush, not warned by previous operations, hurried up to claim aslice of the fruit which his foe had marked for his own, he was met byresistance. To avoid the rush, the mocking-bird lifted himself a fewinches, but came down on the same spot. The thrush, astonished, butthrush-like to the last, stood motionless where he had stopped, his bodydrawn to a point, bill slightly open and turned toward the boldintruder. That bird ignored his attitude and placidly went on eating, and three similar experiences ended that annoyance. 

One thing still remained unsettled: the mocking-bird decided to changehis residence. No reason was apparent, but he preferred a special placein the room, a certain end of a particular shelf; and no matter whatcage was there, he insisted on taking possession. The day he determinedon this removal, he went in while the resident--the thrush--was out, and, having eaten, proceeded to the upper perches, and began jumpingback and forth on them, as if at home. In due time the owner returned, visited the food-dishes, and started for the upper regions, but was metby a threatening attitude from the bird already there. He seemed tothink the matter not worth quarreling over, since he readily settledhimself on the middle perch, where he made a most elaborate anddeliberate toilet, dressing every feather with care, and spending a halfhour over the operation. All this time the invader stood on the topperch, backed against the wires, his long tail on one side like thetrain of a lady's dress, invincible determination in his manner. Thecalm indifference of the house-owner evidently did not please him, andthe long drawn-out toilet was irritating; he grew thirsty, and droppedto the floor to drink, when the thrush remonstrated by a low, rapid"chook, chook, chook, " and the mocking-bird made an impatient dive athim. This silenced but apparently did not hurt the bird, who stayed aslong as he chose, and then quietly came out. From that moment theusurper claimed the cage, and the amiable owner easily contented himselfwith the one the other had deserted. 

When the mocking-bird had thoroughly established himself in every rightand privilege he chose to consider his own, I hoped there would bepeace, but I had not sounded the depths in his character; he began totease. Not content with complete victory, life seemed dull without someobject to worry. I really think it was his amusement; he certainly wentat it as if it were. I noticed him one morning, standing on the ladderbefore his door, apparently working himself up to something. He firstlooked at me, --I had a book, and pretended not to see him, --then at thethrush, who was on the floor as usual; he jerked his body this way andthat, puffed out his feathers, especially on the throat and breast, heldhis tail on one side and turned upward at an angle of forty-fivedegrees, which gave him a wicked expression. He looked full of life tothe tips of his toes, and greatly excited. The other birds observed him;the Mexican in his cage rustled his wings, jerked his body, and at lastgave his usual cry. Even the little goldfinch was impressed and lookedon with interest. 

All this agitation did not escape the notice of the bird on the floor, who stood silent, plainly understanding, and waiting for the next move. Finally the mocking-bird started, gracefully and without haste. He firstflew easily and lightly to the desk, in a moment to the back of a chair, then deliberately to an arm, next to the seat, and lastly to a round; ateach step pausing, shaking himself, and threatening. When he reached thefloor, he ran a few steps toward the thrush, stopped short, erectedhimself very straight, and puffed out as big as possible; then anotherlittle run, and the operation was repeated. He proceeded till within afoot of the thrush, when he alternated the upright position with alowered head, and bill pointed toward the foe, changing from one to theother very suddenly. When he came so near, the thrush crouched flat onthe floor, with beak turned squarely against the approaching bird, andthus awaited the onslaught. 

In that attitude the mocking-bird did not apparently like to attack him. He threatened a long time, then retreated gradually, making feints, turning, running a few inches, and bringing up suddenly with a half turnback. In this manner he moved away for some distance, then flew to theround of the chair, the seat, the arm, the back, and so on till hereached the ladder again. Then for the first time the thrush changed hisposition and rose to his feet, when, without the least warning, themocker flung himself madly after him, and the thrush, unprepared, ran, with a sharp cry. Obviously the mocking-bird, finding the first methodof attack, which was probably his usual one, a failure, decided to tryanother, as the event proved, successfully. The excitement of thisperformance evidently gave him pleasure, no doubt helped to pass awaythe long hours, for be often indulged in it, always making his approachin the same deliberate way, tripping daintily a step or two at a time, examining everything in a careless way, tasting a piece of apple-skin, lifting a bit of thread, toying and dallying to all appearance, as hemoved, still always advancing, and never turning aside from his purposetill he reached the distance of a foot from the thrush, crouchingmotionless with crown feathers erect. At that point he often stood amoment, looking grimly at his victim, then gave a quick, exaggeratedjump which carried him forward not more than an inch, but sent thethrush, in a panic, running half across the room, where he brought up ina heap, --his claws sprawled as they slipped on the matting, everyfeather standing up, --and made no attempt to draw his feet together. Aslow, formal attack he could meet, but a sudden rush was irresistible. Then the assailant turned, slowly, gracefully, the personification oftranquillity, his air saying, "Who's done anything?" yet taking a directline for the enemy, approaching in the same way, by easy stages, butrelentlessly drawing nearer and nearer, till he ended by a quick plunge, which sent the thrush off with a cry. In a moment he began again, teasing, following, tormenting; so wily, so wicked, so determined!

The motions of this bird were most bewitching; his flight the perfectionof grace. He never flew straight across the room as if on business, butalways in a dancing, loitering, easy way; hovering to examine a picture, slowly pausing on wing to look at anything, turning, wheeling, up ordown or any way, buoyant and light as the air itself. It was his delightto exercise on wing about the room, diving between the rounds of theladder, darting under a stretched string or into a cage full dash. Hisfeet found rest on any point, however small, --the cork in a bottle, thetip of a gas-burner, or the corner post of a chair; nothing was toosmall or too delicately balanced for his light touch, and he never upsetanything. He enjoyed running up and down a ladder six feet long with sixor eight rounds, passing over it so rapidly that he could not be seen totouch it at any point, yet not using his wings he must have stepped uponevery round. He always used his legs with a freedom rarely seen in abird, not moving them together as usual in his kind, but handling themwith astonishing independence of each other. 

The body of this bird was capable of wonderful expression, not only inthe free use of each member, but every feather seemed under hisvoluntary control. The spasmodic movement of the wings in excitement, common to many birds, was accomplished in an original manner by holdingthe wing slightly away from the body, and spreading or opening it alittle at each jerk, without changing its position toward his side. Histail seemed as loosely connected with his body as if it were hung onwires; it moved even with his breathing, and the emphatic flirt of themember was an insult which every bird in the room understood. Intenseinterest in any sound was indicated by raising the feathers over theears alone, which gave him the droll appearance of wearing velvet "earmuffs. " In expressing other emotions he could erect the feathers of hischin, his shoulders or his back, either part alone, or all together, ashe chose. A true bird of the south, he did not enjoy our climate, and ifthe room became too cool he made his opinion known by drawing his headdown into his shoulders, with every feather on his body fluffed out, even to the base of the beak, till he looked as if wrapped in delicategray furs to his nose, and almost burying his eyes. 

The mocking-bird's emotions were so intense and so originally displayedthat he was a constant source of interest. A hand-glass lying face upgave opportunity for an amusing exhibition one day. Leaning over it, hepuffed out every feather, opened his mouth, and tried the glass with hisbeak at every point. Meeting no satisfaction, he turned to leave it, butfirst peeped slyly over the edge to see if the stranger were stillthere, no doubt unable to get over his surprise at seeing a bird in thatposition and ready to meet his bill at every point. The same glassstanding up brought out a different demonstration. He stood in front ofit and swelled himself out, while the feathers of the shoulders andbreast were erected. Then he opened his mouth wide and attacked thereflection, but was astonished to meet the glass. He touched the bill ofhis double with his own, and moved all the way to the bottom of theglass, not taking it away, but apparently trying to seize the one whichopposed his. He lowered his head as though to take hold of the enemy'sfoot, then pulled himself up as straight as a soldier, wings and tailconstantly jerking with excitement. After indulging for some time inthese proceedings, he dodged around behind the glass, plainly expectingto pounce upon his opponent, and surprised not to do so. Several timeshe drew himself up, swelled out his breast, and blustered before theglass. Once he flew up with the reflection in the manner of aquarrelsome cock, and upon reaching the top of the glass, naturally wentover and landed behind, without an enemy in sight. Upon this he stared amoment, as if dazed, then shook himself out, and flew away in evidentdisgust. 

The deliberate, leisurely dressing of plumage, with which many birdspass away the dull hours, is an occupation in which the mocking-birdnever had time to indulge. He was a bird of affairs; he had too much onhis mind for loitering. A few sudden, thorough shakes, a rapid snatchingof the wing and tail feathers through the beak, or, after a bath, aviolent beating the air with both wings while holding tightly to theperch with his feet, sufficed for his toilet. Notwithstanding hisapparent carelessness, his plumage was soft and exquisite in texture, and when wet the downy breast feathers matted together and hung inlocks, like hair. Through a common magnifying glass each tiny barbulewas seen to be ringed with gray and silvery white, so finely that therings could hardly be seen. 

The most beautiful and peculiar attitude this bird assumed was whenconducting an attack upon a small object. Seeing one day a steelpen-point black with ink, he stood before it at a respectful distance, and raised both wings over his back till they almost touched each other, holding the tail on one side. In two or three seconds he lowered thewings a moment, then raised them again, while his tail leaned the otherside. After half a dozen such feints he delivered a gentle peck, andinstantly hopped back out of the way. Seeing that it did not move, hetook it in his bill and flew to the floor, where he soon satisfiedhimself that it was not a new variety of beetle. This was always hismethod with any new object of small size. 

Not only did this doughty warrior vanquish the ordinary birds about him, but when a gray African parrot made his appearance in the room (on ashort visit) he boldly attacked him, in spite of his size and strength. The parrot had a temporary perch before the window, and on the cagenearest to him the mocking-bird took his place, and after posturing andthreatening, stooped to a crouching position, and then darted past him, trying to hit him as he went. The first time this occurred the parrotwhirled on his perch and cried "Whoo!" and after that greeted everycharge with a very good imitation of a policeman's rattle, probably asthe loudest and most terrifying noise he could make. So determined wasthe belligerent fellow to subdue or annihilate the larger bird, and soreckless were his attacks, that I had to keep him a prisoner during thefew days the parrot was in the room, for hospitality must not beviolated. It is interesting to note that so great was his variety ofresource that he had a distinctly different method of warfare in each ofthe six cases mentioned. 

A dignified composure was so natural to my bird that he was neverstartled out of it, not even when suddenly enveloped in a shawl, aproceeding that greatly alarms birds of less self-possession. It wasnecessary on one occasion to catch him to return him to his cage, wherehe might be protected from the cold of the night. All the usual wayswere tried without success, so lightly did he slip away, so gracefullyand calmly did he flutter around the room, not in the least disturbed orconfused by the darkness, and quite willing to play hide-and-seek allnight. No other way availing, the last resource was tried--throwing ashawl over him as he stood crouched on the top of the cage, ready forinstant flight. Not a flutter nor a cry arose, and it seemed that hemust have escaped; but on looking through the cage from below, he wasseen flattened against the wires, but perfectly quiet, submissive to theinevitable, like any other philosopher. He was gathered up in the foldsand carefully uncovered before his own door, when he simply hopped to aperch and coolly returned the gaze of his captors, not a feather out ofplace, not in the smallest degree disconcerted. 

Amusements were not lacking in this interesting life aside from thepleasures of worrying and teasing, which plainly were entertainments forhim. He indulged in other performances which distinctly were play. Especially was this true of the habit he imitated from theMexican, --tramping across two cages heavily, with as much noise aspossible, and then with an extravagant jump landing on another cage, where he was received with a scolding, which apparently pleased him asmuch as any part of it. A specially quick flying-run rattled a paperfastened against the wall, which delighted him greatly; and when thecages were covered with paper, to put an end to the proceeding whichannoyed the residents, he regarded it as a particular attention, andenjoyed it more than ever, doubtless because it enabled him to make alouder noise. Often he diverted himself by a mad frolic in his cage;from place to place he went half flying, and scarcely touching anything;back and forth, with great flutter of wings and great noise; up anddown, under and over and around his perches, in the same wild way, sothat it seemed as if he must beat his brains out. Then suddenly, whenmost riotous, he alighted like a feather, the image of serenity andrepose. Sometimes he was seized with this sort of fury of play when outof his cage, and then he flung himself about the room in the samefrantic manner, scarcely touching a perch, diving under a table, betweenthe rounds of a chair, over a gas-fixture, behind and through anyopenings he could find. Should some bird in the room disapprove of thisbehavior, and scold, as the finch was quite apt to do, the mocking-birdinstantly alighted beside him, humped his back till he looked deformed, sidled two or three steps towards him, stopped, and stared at hiscritic; then two or three steps more, stopping again, and in every wayacting more like a mischievous monster than a bird, till the astonishedfinch was reduced to silence, and as meek as poor Mrs. Quilp before theantics of her malicious little spouse. 

In all these actions, even in his contests with his room-mates, no angerever appeared on the part of the mocking-bird; everything seemed done toamuse himself and pass away the weary hours, rather than from desire tohurt his neighbors. In fact, he never did positively touch a bird, to myknowledge, though he always acted as though he intended to annihilatethem. He could hardly be called malicious; rather (shall we say?)mischievous, and like Ariel "a tricksy spirit. "

THE "WISE BLUEBIRD. "

 Never was sweeter music-- Sunshine turned into song. To set us dreaming of summer, When the days and the dreams are long. 

 Winged lute that we call a bluebird, You blend in a silver strain The sound of the laughing waters, The patter of spring's sweet rain, The voice of the wind, the sunshine, And fragrance of blossoming things. Ah! you are a poem of April, That God endowed with wings. 

 EBEN. E. REXFORD. 

V. 

THE "WISE BLUEBIRD. "

 "A wise bluebird Puts in his little heavenly word. "

The characteristic air and expression of the bluebird, and hisenchanting little warble, could not be better described in a page ofwriting than the poet has here done in a couplet. 

Who has not seen him in his favorite resting-place, the lowest branch ofan apple-tree, standing up very straight, crown feathers erected, honestlittle countenance squarely facing one, motionless and silent, lookingthe embodiment of wisdom!

A pair of bluebirds lived in my house for nearly a year, and the calm, imposing manner of the male I have never seen disturbed. In the presenceof birds much larger than himself he never lost his equanimity, paid notthe slightest attention to any one, went about his daily duties andpleasures exactly as though there were not another bird, except hismate, in the room. Quite otherwise was his little spouse: quick, nervous, easily frightened, yet assuming the responsibility ofeverything, even her lord's comfort and safety. Her very attitude wasdifferent; she held her body horizontal, never perpendicular, as he did;and she was more lively in movement. She was a brave little soul, too. Even when greatly annoyed by a larger bird, she never failed to standupon the defensive, open her mouth, and sometimes remonstrate in low, gentle talk. Nor did she--after she felt at home--allow a stranger toenter her door. She boldly faced the largest bird in the room, andalways forced him to retire, while her mate stood calm and cool and"wise, " on the upper perch. More than this, she seemed to feel it partof her duty to defend and protect his lordship, as though he were toofragile to come into contact with the rough side of life. Nothing couldbe droller than to see her stand guard while he bathed in the commondish on the table, and fly furiously at the grosbeak, or any bird comingtoo near her precious idol, who meanwhile placidly proceeded with hisbath in the most matter-of-fact manner, as though expecting to beprotected. I have seen similar conduct in a wild pair: the femaledefending her nestlings against some fancied danger, scolding, flyingaround the intruder, and taking the whole care upon herself; while herspouse occupied the topmost twig of the tree on which his family was introuble, uttering at short intervals his musical cry of distress, onerich, loud note. 

I did, however, on one occasion see a male bluebird excited in thedefense of his young. It was in North Carolina, where a nestling chancedto alight on the favorite resting-place of a mocking-bird, and thelatter a moment afterward came to his usual perch not a foot from thewild-eyed youngster. Then arose a great outcry from both bluebirds, andone after the other swooped down at that mocking-bird, coming so near Ithought they must hit him. Again and again they returned to the chargewith loud cries, while the mocking-bird stood quiet, crouched as thoughto dash into the little one, and jerking wings and tail in a wickedmanner. It lasted but a moment, for the nestling itself was scared andflew to another branch, upon which the attack came to an end, and themother went to the baby, but the father stood on a perch near the enemy, and scolded for some time. 

Perhaps this individual bluebird had learned to assist in the familydefense, for they had other troubles. The nest was in an unsafe spot, the hollow dead limb of a tall pine-tree, about seventy feet above theground. The opening was in the lower side of the sloping branch, makingit very easy for a nestling to fall out, and that is what I thinkhappened the day before the little scene above described. 

Hearing cries of distress from the pine grove, I hastened down to see ifI could be of any assistance. Both bluebirds were on a low tree, about afoot apart, uttering constantly the mournful notes I had heard. Evidently a tragedy of some sort had occurred, and I thought at once ofa falling little one. I looked carefully around the tree while theparents came down near me, much disturbed. I found nothing, but a galewas blowing and a little bird might easily have been driven far away. Itwas a serious matter plainly, for the cries went on without intermissionthe rest of the day. 

During that time I saw a curious and interesting attempt at consolationon the part of the male. He flew away, and returned in a few momentswith something in his beak. Alighting near his mate, he began a low, tender twitter, at the same time offering the morsel to her. She moved afew inches away; he followed, still coaxing. She flew to another branch, refusing to look at it. He followed, still asking her to accept it. Atlast she flew away, and he seemed astounded, stood as if he did notknow what to do next, hesitated several minutes, when a bright thoughtseemed to strike him, and he carried it to the nest. 

The pair in my room were a most affectionate and gentle couple; nodisputes, not even the smallest difference, arose between them. If onewished to bathe while the other was using the bath-tub, he stood on theedge till his turn came. In the same way one usually waited for theother to finish a lunch before going down himself, though on rareoccasions they descended together for a social meal. If she werealarmed, and went to the floor, as at first sometimes happened, he atonce appeared in the door, looking anxiously after her, and callingtenderly. If she did not return, he flew down himself, ran about till hefound her, and, after talking in a low tone for some time, started forhome, when she followed him, showing that she was reassured. They alwayssat on the same perch, and on cool days as near each other as possible, first one and then the other "hitching" a little nearer. After bathingthey sunned themselves together, even when in the cage, where thesunshine came only into one corner, and they crowded so closely thatthere was not room to spread out. Even that discomfort never elicited aharsh word, though he enjoyed spreading himself very completely, bendinghis legs, resting his breast on the floor, and opening his wings totheir full extent. 

This bird's anxiety when his mate was out of his sight did not, however, compare with her unrest in his absence, for her affection seemed to beof the motherly or protecting sort. Before they became familiar with theroom, and learned that, though unseen, the partner was not lost, themoment he disappeared from view she began running around the cageexcitedly, looking everywhere, and calling loudly. At first he answered, but, deciding to try his wings, he swept around the room, came--as somebirds do--against the window, and fell to the floor, when instantly bothwere perfectly silent. She looked out apprehensively, and as soon as herecovered breath he flew to the top of their own cage. Then hersolicitude turned to annoyance; she went to the top perch, and gentlynipped his toes (which she never did to strangers) as a slight reproof. He became accustomed to going out and in sooner than his mate, for shewas shy and inclined to stay at home, and she suffered much anxiety;before long she too grew accustomed to freedom, and expressed no furtherfears when he was out. 

Making arrangements for the night was an interesting event in bluebirdlife. They always selected the highest perch in the darkest end of thecage, and placed themselves so close together that they looked like awide ball, or two balls that had been almost pressed into one when in avery soft state. In the morning the feathers on the side next the matewere crushed flat, requiring much shaking and dressing to give themtheir ordinary appearance. What was curious, the female took theoutside, no doubt with the motherly motive of taking care of him. To seethem settle themselves was pleasing. Being more quiet and less nervousthan his spouse, the singer generally retired first, some time beforeshe was ready, and composed himself in a moment in his corner, for theywere never restless at evening; she followed when she chose. Occasionally, however, she went first, taking her place about as far asusual from the wires, and leaving space for him. But if he went to hisplace, there was not room to turn around, facing the middle of the cage, as was their custom; and he seemed to appreciate the difficulty, for hehopped up on the outside, or the wrong side of her. Instantly she jumpedto a lower perch, when he sidled up to his regular place, and she atonce returned and took her usual position beside him. One nightsomething startled them, and both flew wildly around the cage. Iproduced a light to show them the perches, so they might quietthemselves again. The male readily did so, but she remained on the lowerperch. I went close to the wires and began to speak soothingly, to calmher, and induce her to resume her place, when, to my surprise, she beganto reply to me, every time I spoke, standing less than a foot from me. She stared me full in the face, not at all disturbed, and answered everyword I said with her musical call, in a low tone, as if to tell me thestory of the fright. We kept up the queer little chat for severalminutes, and she did not return to his side that night. 

One advantage of studying two birds of a kind at the same time is toobserve the talk between them, which has great interest for me. Thispair were exceedingly talkative at first, uttering not only the usualmusical three-syllable warble or call, which Lanier aptly calls the"heavenly word, " but often soft twittering prattle, of varyinginflection and irregular length, which was certainly the mostinteresting bird-talk I ever heard. When they could not see me theyindulged in it more freely, with changing tones at different times, andafter they became accustomed to the room and its inhabitants it wasneither so frequent nor so earnest. Often at night, when one--perhaps ina dream--fell off the perch, I heard much low, tender talk, almost in awhisper, before all was quiet again; and when another bird flew wildlyaround the room, there was always a remark or two in an interested tone. The male did most of the talking, carrying on, often for a long time, aconstant flow of what sounded marvelously like comments and criticisms, while his mate replied occasionally with the usual call. Certain notesplainly had a specific meaning, even to the others in the room. One inparticular was peculiar and low, but upon its utterance every birdbecame instantly silent and looked at the cage, while the bluebirdsthemselves were so absorbed, gazing apparently into blank space, that Icould easily put my hands on them before they observed me. For severalminutes this low note would be repeated, and all the birds stare atnothing, till I began to feel almost uncomfortable, as I have done atsimilar staring at nothing on the part of animals. One can hardly resistthe feeling that these creatures can see something invisible to oureyes. On one occasion, when the male uttered this note, the female wasjust about to eat; she stood as if petrified, with head halfway down tothe food, for two or three minutes. 

What I have called talk was a very low twitter in a conversational tone, on one note, not at all in a singing tone, like the usual warble orcall. I have also heard it from wild bluebirds, when I could get nearenough. From the first, as said above, the male did most of the talking, and the habit grew upon him, till he became a regular babbler, standingon the top perch, and keeping it up persistently all day long. I thinkit arose from the fact that the greater number of birds in the room werethrushes, who sang very softly, without opening the mouth. With thisgentle ripple of song the bluebird's voice harmonized perfectly, and healmost entirely discontinued his lovely song, while indulging himself intalk by the hour. Strange to say, I soon noticed that his mate did notapprove of it, and would not stand on the perch beside him while hecontinued it. At first she turned sharply towards him, and he showedthat he understood her wishes by ceasing for a while; but as the habitgrew, and he was not so easily silenced, she more and more deserted hisside, and after two or three weeks I heard occasionally a gentleremonstrance from her. I do not believe a really harsh tone can comefrom a bluebird throat. One day they were taking their usual midday napon the same perch, when a thrush across the window began his low song. That started the bluebird, and he added his chatter, which awakened hismate. She endured it for about five seconds, and then she suddenlystretched the wing nearest him so far that he was obliged to move away, when she instantly hopped down herself. 

The two bluebirds differed in intelligence. The female was quicker totake an idea, but the male sooner conquered his fear. The first time Ioffered meal-worms to them she was so lively as to secure more than hershare; but he learned in a day or two that worms were to be had outside, especially on my desk, when he at once flew over to me and demandedthem, in the funniest little defiant way, looking at me mostsignificantly, and wiping his bill ostentatiously, then jerking himselfwith great show of impatience. Words could not be plainer. Neither ofthem had difficulty in telling me their food-dish was empty; they stoodon the edge and looked at me, then scraped the bill several times, making much noise about it, then looked at me again. I knew in a moment, the first time, what they wanted. When the male found out that anotherbird alighted on a stick I held out to him, and was carried off upon it, he seemed to be seized with curiosity, and the next time I offered it hejumped upon it beside the other, and allowed himself to be lifted to thedesk. At one time, in flying around, he caught his feet in the coarsenet curtains I hung before the windows to keep strange birds from tryingto fly out. I went at once to him and took him off. He scolded, fluttered, and pecked, and, when I had released him, flew directlyagainst another curtain and caught again. I went over to him, and thistime he understood that I was helping him; he neither struggled norpecked, and flew quietly when I set him free. 

The bluebird never showed any curiosity about the room or the worldoutside the windows, but sat on his door perch for hours, with a sharpeye to the worm supply. The appearance of the cup that held them was asignal for him to come down and beg for them, but his little mate neverdared trust herself on the desk, though when I threw a worm on the floorshe invariably secured it. So fond was she of this delicacy that sheonce played a saucy trick upon a scarlet tanager. Having received aworm, he went into the first open door he saw, --which happened to be thebluebird's, --to find a place to manipulate the morsel, which he neverswallowed whole. Madam stood on the perch just above the entrance, andas he came in she leaned over and snatched it out of his mouth, swallowed it, wiped her bill, and turned to him, ready for another. Hisstare of blank amazement was amusing to see, but he quickly made up hismind that it was not a safe place to eat, and when I gave him another hewent to the roof of the same cage. She instantly mounted the top perch, put up her bill and seized the worm; but he held on, dragged it away, and then retired to his own cage with it. She positively could notresist this temptation, and even from her own cherished spouse she wouldsometimes snatch the desired tidbit. 

The bluebirds' method of bathing differed from any I have noticed. Theyput the head under water, and held it there, while spattering vigorouslywith wings and tail. On leaving the bath the female fanned herself dry, holding tightly to the perch and beating her wings with violence, whiledancing back and forth the whole length of the perch, in a bewitchingmanner. Her mate fanned himself also, adding a very pretty lateral shakeof the wings, and raising the feathers on the crown and throat till helooked twice as big as usual. But he was very fond of sunning himselfdry, in the attitude already spoken of. That position, by the way, was anot unusual one with him; he often hopped the length of three feetbefore a blind which stood against the wall, his legs bent, head nearlytouching the floor, and tail thrust almost straight up. A droll figurehe made. After hopping to the end of the blind, he would dash aroundbehind it, as if he expected or hoped to find something. 

After moulting, the birds feathered out beautifully, and their spiritsrose in proportion. They delighted in flight, making long, sweepingcircles around the room, again and again, without stopping. A few weekslater, as spring approached, they grew somewhat belligerent towards theother inhabitants of the place; driving every bird away from their cage, even following them to their chosen resting-places, insisting on theirright to every perch in the room. Then, too, began signs of courtshipbetween the lovely pair. The first thing I noticed was at worm-feedingtime. One day I had given each of them their portion. The femaleswallowed hers instantly, and I turned to another cage, when I heard alow, coaxing cry many times repeated. I looked around. The male stood onthe upper perch, still holding his worm, which he usually dispatched asquickly as his mate did hers; and she was on a lower perch, looking upat him, mouth open, wings fluttering, asking for it. While I looked, hehopped down beside her, she opened her mouth wide, and he fed her as ifshe were a nestling. He was more amiable than a wild bluebird I oncesaw, who had brought up a long earthworm, and was beating it on top ofa post preparatory to swallowing it, when his little spouse--who wassitting at the time--came to the fence rail below him, and asked in thesame way for a bit. So far from sharing it with her, this greedy birdsimply took a fresh hold of his prize, flew to a tree, and gobbled itdown with difficulty himself. Not so my generous captive. The next dayhe complied with her request again, and after that it was he who did thetender coaxing, begging her to accept the slight offering of his love. Soon, too, she grew coquettish in manner, often turned a cold shoulderto him, opened her mouth at him, and scolded in the sweetest and softestvoice; and one night, after they had settled on their perch, I heardgentle talk, and saw a little peck or two on her part. He did thetalking, and she delivered the playful peck or push as reply. Now, too, in his desire to manifest his affection, he could not always wait forworms, but picked dainty bits from the food-dish, and tendered them inthe same pretty way. She always accepted, though often she went at onceto the food-dish and ate for herself; for with all this sentiment andlove-making her appetite did not fail. Once she was outside and heinside the cage, when he began to call and offer her something out ofhis mouth. She did not wish to go in, so she flew to a perch that ranthrough the cage, and stood close to the wires, while he went to thesame perch inside, and fed her through the wires. 

About this time, too, the bluebird talk nearly ceased, and instead of itthe lovely song of three notes was heard all day, and a little changethey made in it--throwing in a "grace note" between the second andthird--greatly added to its charm. Now, too, spring had really come, andI waited only for warm days to let them go and set up their homestead infreedom. The first mild day in May the window was opened for them. Thefemale flew first to a tree in front of the house, where she was greetedin the rudest manner by the bird-tramps which infest our streets, --thehouse-sparrows. They began to assemble around her, no doubt prepared forattack, when she gave a loud cry of distress, and out flew her valiantknight to her aid. After a moment's pause by her side, they both flew, and we saw the gentle pair no more. 

This true chronicle began with a quotation from Lanier; it shall endwith one from Harriet Prescott Spofford:--

 "A bit of heaven itself, he flew, When earth seemed heaven with bees and bloom, South wind, and sunshine, and perfume; And morning were not morn without him. Winging, springing, always flinging, Flinging music all about him. "

THE GOLDEN-WING. 

 The high-hole flashing his golden wings. 

 WALT WHITMAN. 

VI. 

THE GOLDEN-WING. 

One of the special objects of my search during a certain June among thehills of northern New York was a nest of the golden-winged woodpecker;not that it is rare or hard to find, but because I had never seen oneand had read attractive stories of the bird's domestic relations, thelarge number of young in the nest, and his devotion and pride. Moreover, I had become greatly interested in the whole family, through myattachment to an individual member of it in my own house. 

I soon discovered that the orchard at the back of the house was visitedevery day by a pair of the birds I was seeking. One was seen running upand down a trunk of a large poplar-tree, and the next morning twoalighted on a dead branch at the top of an apple-tree, perching likeother birds on twigs, which seemed too light to bear their weight. Butthey were apparently satisfied with them; for they stayed some time, pluming themselves and evidently looking with interest and astonishmentat human intruders into what had no doubt been a favorite haunt of theirown. I watched them for several minutes, till a sudden noise startledthe shy creatures and they were off in an instant. 

After that I saw them often at the bottom of the orchard. They alwaysflew over the place with rather a heavy business-like flight, alightedon a low branch of the farthest apple-tree, and in a moment dropped tothe ground where the long grass hid them. There they remained fiveminutes or more before returning to the tree. Unfortunately it was alittle farther than I could readily see with my glass, and the mostcautious approach alarmed them. I heard them call nearly every day inloud, strong voice, "Pe-auk! pe-auk!"

Being thus baffled in my plan of following them home, I resolved upon aregular search in the small piece of woods where they alwaysdisappeared, and every morning I spent two or three hours in that lovelyspot looking for any birds, but especially for the Golden-wing. In allmy search, however, I found but one nest, which may have been his, whereapparently a tragedy had occurred; for from the edge of the opening thebark was torn off down the trunk, and in two or three places holes werepicked as though to reach the nest which had been within. 

Whatever the drama enacted in that mysterious home, I was too late tosee, and I have not been able as yet to make close acquaintance with thefree Golden-wing. 

The bird that had so interested me in his whole family I found in a birdstore in New York in the month of November. He was a mostdisconsolate-looking object, and so painfully wild I could scarcely bearto look at him--poor, shy, frightened soul, set up in a cage to bestared at. I rescued him at once with the intention of giving him a moreretired home, and freedom the moment spring opened. The change did notat first reassure him, and he was so frantic that his cage was coveredto shut out the sights till he was accustomed to the sounds of ahousehold. Gradually, an inch or two at a time, the cover that hid theworld from him was reduced, till at the end of three weeks he couldendure the removal of the last corner without going absolutely mad. 

On the first day an opening a few inches wide was left in his screen, sothat he might look out if he chose, and I took my seat as far aspossible from him, with my back to him, and a hand-glass so arrangedthat I could see him. As soon as the room was quiet he went to theopening and cautiously thrust his long bill and his head as far as theeye beyond the edge so that he could see me. I kept perfectly still, while he watched me several minutes with evident interest, and I wasglad to see that it was simply fright and not idiocy that caused hispanics. 

Many emotions of the bird were most comically expressed by hammering. Inembarrassment or alarm, when not so great as to drive him wild, heresorted to that diversion, and the more disturbed, the louder andfaster his blows. If in utter despair, as when I set his house in orderfor the day, he dropped to the floor on the farthest side, put his headin the corner, and pounded the tray with great violence. Every wire inthe cage in turn he tested with taps of his beak, thus amusing himselfhours at a time, sitting, as was his custom, crouched upon the perch oron the floor. In this way, too, he tried the quality of the plasteredwall behind his cage, and was evidently pleased to find it yielding, forhe bored many holes and tore off much paper, before he was discoveredand provided with a background of wood to exercise upon. 

The unhappy bird had a serious time learning to eat mocking-bird foodwith his long, curved beak; he never became very expert at it, but wasas awkward as a child learning to feed itself. He first thrust it like adagger its whole length into his dish, took out a mouthful, then turnedhis head sidewise, shook it and snapped his bill one side and the other, making a noise as if choking. When this performance was over, he scrapedhis beak against the wires and picked off the fragments daintily withthe tip. When he had eaten he left a straight, smooth hole in the food, like a stab, two inches deep and perhaps half an inch in diameter. Indrinking he made the same movements, filling his mouth, throwing backhis head, and swallowing with great efforts. 

All of the Golden-wing's attitudes were peculiar; as, for instance, henever liked to face one, but always turned his back upon spectators andlooked at them over his shoulder. In sleeping he changed his positionoften, and was as restless as a nervous old man. Sometimes he slept onthe perch, puffed out into a ball like other birds, head buried in hisfeathers, tail broad-spread and curled under the perch, as though itneeded something to rest against. If he began his night's rest (orunrest) in this position, in a few hours he would drop heavily to thefloor, scramble about a little, and then climb to one of the supportsthat kept the wires in place, ten inches from the bottom of the cage. There he settled himself comfortably, head buried again, tail pressedagainst the wires, and looking more like a spot on the wall than a bird. 

He often took naps in the daytime on the floor with his head in thecorner, like a bad boy in punishment, his head drawn down into hisshoulders and his bill thrust up into the air at an angle of forty-fivedegrees. If this tired him, he simply turned his bill down at about thesame angle, and tried it that way awhile. 

He was an exceedingly early bird, always settled to sleep long beforeany other in the room, and he slept very soundly, being not easilywakened and breathing in long, steady respirations like a person insleep. Indeed he startled me very much the first time I noticed him. Thebreathing was regular and strong, equal in duration to my own as Ilistened, and I was sure some one was in the room. I hastened to lightthe gas to look for the burglar, and it was not until I had madethorough search that I discovered who was the guilty one. He dreamedalso, if one may judge by the sounds that came from his cage at night, complaining, whining, almost barking like the "yaps" of a young puppy, and many sorts of indescribable noises. 

The Golden-wing was extremely fond of hanging against the side of hiscage on the support spoken of above. Not only did he sleep in thatposition, but dress his plumage, turning his head back over his body andsides, and even arranging the feathers of his breast, each one byitself, with scrupulous care. Like many others this bird objected tohaving his cage used as a perch by his neighbors. He expressed hissentiments by quick jerks, first of the shoulders and then of the wholebody, and if the intruder did not take the hint, he opened his enormousbill and took hold of a stray toe, which usually drove away the mostimpertinent. 

The door of the cage was opened to my captive as soon as he became quietand happy within it. After his first surprise and dismay at findinghimself in the big world again, he enjoyed it very much. Being unable tofly through the loss of some wing feathers, his cage was placed on thefloor, and he ran in and out at pleasure. He was more than usuallyintelligent about it, too; for although the door was small, and he hadto lower his head to pass through, he was never at a loss for aninstant. 

One thing that shows a bird's characteristics and that I have never seenany two do in exactly the same way, is to explore a room when firstreleased from a cage. This bird, like his predecessors, had his ownpeculiar notion, which was to go behind everything. He squeezed himselfbetween a trunk, or a heavy piece of furniture, and the wall, where itdid not seem possible that one of his size could pass, and showed sogreat an inclination to go through a hole in the open-work fire-boardthat I hastily covered it up. After a while he tested the matting andcarefully investigated, by light taps of his bill, each separate nail. His step was heavy, and he did not hop, but ran around with a drolllittle patter of the feet, like a child's footsteps. 

Having exhausted the novelty of the floor, he turned his eyes upward, perhaps noticing that the other birds were higher in the room, wherethey had taken refuge when he made his sudden and somewhat alarmingappearance among them. He did not try to fly, but he was not withoutresources; he could jump, and no one could outdo him in climbing, or inholding on. After a moment's apparent consideration of the means at hiscommand, he ran to the corner and mounted a trunk by springing uphalfway, holding on a moment in some mysterious manner, and then by asecond jump landing on top. From that point it was easy to reach thebird's table, and there was a ladder placed for the benefit of anotherthat could not fly. This ladder he at once pounced upon, and used as ifhe had practiced on one all his life. 

I shut the cage-door at the upper end to keep him out of his neighbor'shouse, while the owner, an American wood-thrush, stood upon the roof, looking ruefully at this appropriation of his private property. Uponreaching the closed door the traveler jumped across to another cagenearly a foot away. This was a small affair occupied by an Englishgoldfinch, who was then at home and not pleased by the call, as he atonce made known. Golden-wing, however, perhaps with the idea ofreturning past insults from the saucy little finch, jerked himself allaround the cage, inserting his long bill as though trying to reachsomething inside. 

Having wearied of annoying the enemy, he sprang back to the ladder, descended by the table and trunk to the floor as he had gone up, withouta moment's hesitation as to the way, which proved him to possess unusualintelligence. He did not take the trouble to climb down, but put his twofeet together and jumped heavily like a child, a very odd movement for abird. It was his constant habit in the cage to jump from the perch tothe floor, and from one that was two inches above the tray he oftenstepped down backwards, which I never before saw a bird do. 

When after three hours of exploration he returned to his home, the doorwas closed and the cage hung up. He was satisfied with his first outing, and refreshed himself with a nap at once. But the first thing the nextmorning he came down to his door and pecked the wires, looking over atme most intelligently, plainly asking to have it opened. He nevermistook the position of the door, and if knocking had not the desiredeffect, he took hold of a wire and shook and rattled it till he wasattended to. 

It was interesting to see how familiar he suddenly became, when noeffort had been made to induce him to be so. I never had so much troubleto win the confidence of a bird, but when won, the surrender wascomplete. He came up to me freely and allowed me to catch him in my handwithout resistance, which is very uncommon. (Perhaps I ought to say thatI do not try to tame my birds. ) He displayed a child-like, confidingdisposition, both in his unreasoning terror at first, and hisunquestioning faith at last. 

These investigations were conducted without a sound, for the bird wasentirely silent while awake. But there came a day when he made a curiousexhibition of his ability. It was the ninth of February, and thegoldfinch was calling, as he often did. The woodpecker sat on his perchwith wings held tightly against his sides, "humped" up as though he werehigh-shouldered. The plumage of his breast was puffed out so broadlythat it came over the wings, and in a front view completely hid them, while the feathers of his shoulders were erected till he resembled alady with a fur shoulder cape. Withal, his head was drawn down to hisbody, and his beak pointed upward at an angle of forty-five degrees. Inthis peculiar and absurd position he began a strange little song, ludicrously weak and low for a bird of his size. The tones weredelivered in a sharp staccato style, like "picking" the strings of aviolin very softly, several notes uttered with queer sidewise jerks ofthe head, and eyes apparently fixed on the goldfinch. After a phrase ortwo he scraped his bill violently and then began again. 

This performance he varied by bowing his head many times, swaying hiswhole body from side to side, flirting his tail and shaking his wings. It was an extraordinary display, but whether his manner of makinghimself agreeable, or of expressing contempt, I could only guess. Thegoldfinch looked on with interest, though I think he understood it nobetter than I did; he seemed surprised, but rather pleased, for herepeated his calls, and the Golden-wing kept up the strange exhibitionfor some time. 

I became greatly attached to my beautiful bird, which appeared, in thepresence of his wise and wary room-mates, cat-birds and thrushes, like abig, clumsy, but affectionate baby. It was solely on his account andprincipally, I must confess, to try and surprise a wild bird at theabove described entertainment so as to determine its character, that Iwished to make acquaintance with its free relations, study their wayswhen at liberty in their own haunts, and have a glimpse if possible ofthe Golden-wing babies. 

A year later I had the opportunity I so much desired of makingacquaintance with the young of this family. I was sitting one morning onthe edge of a deep ravine filled with trees, deeply engaged in the studyof another bird, when suddenly a stranger came with an awkward flopagainst the trunk of a tree not ten feet from me. I saw in an instantthat it was the infant I had looked for so long. He was exactly like theparents, with a somewhat shorter tail. I should hardly have suspectedhis youthfulness but for his clumsy movements, and the fact that he didnot at once take flight, which a Golden-wing more experienced in theways of human-kind would have done instantly. He seemed somewhatexhausted by his flight, and clung to the trunk, with soft dark eyesfixed upon me, ready to move if I did. 

I did not; I sat motionless for half an hour and watched him. Whensomewhat rested he dodged around the other side of the trunk, and peepedat me through a fork in the branches. Then he scrambled upon a smallbranch, where he perched crosswise. But he had trouble to keep hisbalance in that position, so he climbed about till he found a limb fullytwo inches in diameter, on which he could rest in the favorite flickerattitude--lengthwise. Then with his head outward to the world at large, and his tail turned indifferently toward me, --whom he doubtless regardedas a permanent and lifeless feature of the landscape, --he settledhimself, crouched flat against the bark, for a comfortable nap. 

All this time I had been conscious of low Golden-wing talk about me; thefamiliar "wick-up! wick-up!" almost in a whisper, a softened "pe-auk!"from the ravine, and the more distant "laugh, " so called. The infant onthe tree heard too. He moved his head, listened and looked, but whetheror not they were words of caution and advice from the wiser ones of hisrace, he refused to be frightened and did not move till I rose to leavehim, when, greatly startled, he took flight across the ravine. 

A STORMY WOOING. 

 Not an inch of his body is free from delight, Can he keep himself still if he would? Oh, not he! The music stirs in him like wind through a tree. 

 WORDSWORTH. 

VII. 

A STORMY WOOING. 

If, as Ruskin says, "the bird is little more than a drift of the air, brought into form by plumes, " the particular bit shaped into the form wecall the orchard oriole must be a breath from a Western tornado, for amore hot-headed, blustering individual would be hard to find; and whenthis embodied hurricane, this "drift" of an all-destroying tempest, goesa-wooing, strange indeed are the ways he takes to win his mate, andstranger still the fact that he does win her in spite of his violence. 

In a certain neighborhood, where I spent some time in the nestingseason, studying a bird of vastly different character, orchard orioleswere numerous, and in their usual fashion made their presence known bypersistent singing around the house. For it must be admitted, whatevertheir defects of temper or manners, that they are most cheerful in song, the female no less than the male. First of the early morning bird choruscomes their song, loud, rich, and oft-repeated, though marred in thecase of the male by the constant interpolation of harsh, scolding notes. Anywhere, everywhere, all day, in pouring rain, in high wind thatsilences nearly every bird voice, the orioles sing. One could notoverlook them if he wished, so noisy, so restless, and so musical. Nordo they care to be unseen; they make no attempt at concealment. Nooriole ever steals into a neighborhood in the quiet way of the cat-bird, silently taking an observation of its inhabitants before making himselfobvious; on the contrary, all his deeds are before the public, even hisfamily quarrels. He comes to a tree with a bustle, talking, scolding, making himself and his affairs the most conspicuous things in theneighborhood. 

Many times he is most annoying. When following some shy bird to itsnest, or moving down toward the grove where are the brooklet and thebirds' bathing-place, no matter how quietly one may approach, footstepsdeadened by thick sand and no rustling garments to betray, the orchardoriole is sure to know it. He is not the only bird to see a stranger, ofcourse; the brown thrush is as quick as he, but he silently drops to theground, if not already there, and disappears without a sound; thecardinal grosbeak slips down from his perch on the farther side andtakes wing near the ground; the cat-bird, in the center of a thickshrub, noiseless as a shadow, flutters across the path and is gone;others do the same. The orchard oriole alone shouts the news to all whomit may concern in his loudest "chack! chack!" putting every one on hisguard at once, and making the copse in a moment as empty as though nowing ever stirred its leaves. 

On first noticing the ways of the birds about me on the occasionmentioned, I saw that there was some sort of a disturbance among them;scarcely ten minutes passed without a commotion, followed by a chasethrough the branches of a tree, one bird pursuing another so hotly thattwigs bent and leaves parted as they passed, the one in advance oftenuttering a complaining cry, and the pursuer, a loud, harsh scold. Something exciting was evidently going on; some tragedy or possiblycomedy, in this extremely sensational family. I was at once interestedto see what it might be and how it would end; and in fact, before I knewit, I was as much absorbed in oriole matters as though no otherfeathered life was to be seen. 

There were in the party two males, one in his second year, and thereforeimmature in coloring, being olive-yellow on the breast, brown on wingsand tail, with a black mask over eyes and chin; the other was older, anda model of oriole beauty, being bright chestnut on the lower parts, with velvety black hood coming down on the breast. With them was onefemale, and though far from being friends, the three were neverseparated. The trouble seemed to be that both males were suitors, andnotwithstanding the pretty little maid appeared to have a mind of herown and to prefer the younger of her wooers, the older plainly refused"to take no for an answer, " and was determined to have his own way, bringing to bear on his courtship all the persistence of his race. Inthat particular quality of never giving up what he has set his heart on, the oriole cannot be excelled, if indeed he can be equaled in the birdworld; for a time, and a long time, too, he is a bird of one idea, andby fair means or foul he will almost certainly accomplish his desire, whatever it may be. 

Life never grew dull in the party mentioned; they were always talking, singing, or going for each other in the mad way already described. Sometimes the chase was between the males, but oftener the female flewfor her life apparently, while the rough wooer followed closely withgreat noise and confusion. The affair ended occasionally with a cry ofdistress as though somebody was pecked, but several times she stood atbay and defied him with mouth open, feathers bristled up, wingsfluttering, and every way quite ready to defend herself. Like otherblusterers, on the first show of fight he calmed down, and the matterended for the time. Peace lasted from ten to twenty minutes, duringwhich they hopped about the tree, or hung head-downward on the Spanishmoss, talking in low tones, though the male never omitted delivering ascolding note with every two or three pleasant ones. Her voice wascharming, in a tender call, a gentle chatter, or a sweet song, unspoiledby the harsh tones of her partner. She was also a very pretty bird, bright yellow below, olive-yellow on the back, no black about the face, and legs and feet blue as the sky, and she was as graceful as she wasbeautiful. 

Repose of manner was unknown to the orchard orioles. One was scarcelyever seen sitting or standing still. The song was given while moving, either flying or hopping about on the tree. If one did pause while itwas uttered, the body jerked, and the head turned this way and that, asthough he really was too restless to be perfectly quiet for a moment. 

The most tempestuous times were when the younger suitor put himselfforward and persuaded the fair yellow damsel to show him some slightpreference. The venerable lover was not slow to resent this, and tofall like a hurricane upon the pretender, who disappeared like a deadleaf before the blast, and so quickly that he could not be followed--atleast by anything less rapid than wings. Once, however, I saw a curiousaffair between the two suitors which was plainly a war-dance. Itfollowed closely upon one of the usual flurries, conducted with perhapslouder cries and more vehemence than common, and began by both birdsalighting on the grass about a foot apart, and so absorbed in each otheras to be utterly oblivious of a spectator within ten feet of them on thebalcony. No tiger out of the jungle could hold more rage and fury thananimated those feathered atoms, bristled up even to the heads, whichlooked as if covered with velvet caps. They paused an instant, thencrouched, jerked their tails, "teetered" and posed in several attitudes, ending each new movement with a solemn bow, perhaps equivalent to ahandshake among larger fighters. What one did the other exactly copied, and both seemed to be trying to get one side of the opponent, so as tosecure some advantage. To prevent this, each kept his face to the foe, and moved as he moved. Thus they passed down one side, then back, downthe other and return, neither able to get the slightest superiority ofposition. It was extremely grotesque, and was continued severalminutes, while I eagerly watched to see what would happen next. What didhappen was entirely unexpected, a unique anti-climax, quite worthy ofthe undignified character of the bird. On a sudden, as by one consent, both flew opposite ways; both alighted in low trees about thirty feetapart, and each one sang a loud joyous song, as of victory!

In this turbulent way life went on for two or three weeks; I could nottell how long, for it was in full progress when I came. There was alwaysa vulgar broil, often a furious encounter, stopping just short of comingto blows, and it seemed really doubtful if the orioles would succeed insettling their matrimonial affairs before summer. The third member ofthe belligerent party, the demure little object of all this agitation, was meekness and gentleness itself, never aggressive, but always flyingbefore the furious onslaught of her would-be spouse. Why then did shenot select her mate and thus end the trouble, which, according to thebooks, it must do?

Turning away from the more conspicuous males with their endlesscontests, and watching her closely, I saw that she was trying her bestto do so. She plainly preferred the younger and less quarrelsome suitor, and often followed him off, bringing down upon herself in consequencethe wrath of the elder, and instant pursuit, which ended in thedisappearance of her chosen hero, and a forced endurance of the tyrant'spresence, till it appeared that she would have to "marry him to get ridof him, " as our plain-spoken grandmothers characterized a similarsituation in human affairs. 

When these birds could spare time from their own absorbing matters, theywere very inquisitive in the affairs of their neighbors. After themocking-bird babies were out, the orioles often visited them, while theparents were absent, for no reason that I could discover but to see whatthey were like, and how they got on, for nothing about them wasdisturbed. If, however, an oriole was found by one of the oldmocking-birds perched on the edge of the nest, he was driven away with apiece of mocking-bird mind on the subject of meddlers. Likewise theyfrequently paid visits to a nuthatch colony at the top of a tallpine-tree. Whether more aggressive among these smaller birds, or not, could not be seen. But the facts were that upon an oriole's disappearingthrough those heavy pine branches, away above our heads, there instantlyarose a great outcry in the querulous nuthatch voice, and the intruderreturned to the lower world with some precipitation, while gentle, complaining sounds came from the invaded territory for some time. So, too, in different degree the birds showed interest in me, peering downbetween the leaves of the tree in which they spent most of their time, and making remarks or expressing opinions, climbing--which theyliterally did--to the end of a twig, stretching up tall to look over thetop and stare at me, or when flying slowly past, hovering a moment justin front of me with perfect fearlessness and earnest attention to mypursuits. 

At length the crisis in the oriole matters came, as come it must, andnot long after the war-dance that has been described. The season wasadvanced and nesting time already begun. In fact, it was ended inseveral families; mocking-birds were about ready to fly, young chippingsparrows peeped from every tuft of grass, baby bluebirds were tryingtheir wings at their doors, the yellow-throated warbler was stuffing heryoungsters on the next tree, and the late kingbirds had nearly finishedtheir nests. Whether a pitched battle at last settled the dispute, whether the modest little dame united with her chosen mate against thecommon enemy, or whether perchance--though this is not likely--the elderbird tired of his useless warfare, will never be known, for the wholematter was settled before we mortals were out of bed, in the magicmorning hours when so many interesting things go on in bird and beastlife. When I came out, I saw at once that a decision had been reached. The younger bird had won his bride, and with much talk and love-makingthe happy pair were busying themselves about a building spot. This firstday of their honeymoon was not, however, very peaceful; old troubles arenot so soon forgotten, and the discarded suitor found it hard to believethat the repulse was final and he really should not have his own way. Hefrequently made his appearance in the old scenes, making himselfagreeable in the usual way; but the newly wedded were now a pair, andwhen both flung themselves upon him he recognized at last theinevitable, no longer resented it, and left them in peace. 

With much talk and discussion the tree that had been the scene of thestormy wooing was selected for the homestead, and the young wife at onceset to work upon the foundation, while her spouse in his new rôle oflord and master stood on a higher twig and gave his opinions; muchadvice, no doubt, and plenty of instruction. I doubt his mastery, however, for I noticed that, though meek, madam had a mind of her ownand an orchard oriole's persistence in carrying out her plans. Hetalked, it is true, blustered and strutted around, but she workedquietly, steadily, and in a business-like way, utterly oblivious of him. 

During this day, too, even this first day, not five hours after he hadtried to coax the bride away, the elderly suitor came back from someunknown quarter, with a brand-new wife of his own; precipitation worthyof the vulgar house-sparrow of our city streets, which these birds alsoresemble in their constant broils. That naturally put a complete end tofurther dispute over sweethearts; but they could not change theirnature, and I observed that each young husband had a vast amount offault to find, much scolding and grumbling. Happily it did not seem todisconcert the little wives; they sang as sweetly, and worked assteadily as though they were used to it, and expected nothing better, which was well for them. 

The elder oriole and his mate soon settled in another place, and I sawthem no more, but I was sorry to see upon what tree the young pairdecided to build, for a kingbird had an unfinished nest in one of thelower branches, and two families so aggressive would make a livelyneighborhood no doubt. Hostilities began indeed on the first day. Watching the oriole at her building, I caught the prettyinnocent-looking creature stealing material from the kingbird's nest, while her virtuous spouse perched himself on the upper branch of thetree, exactly as if on the watch for returning owners. In a low tone hetalked to her as she entered the uncompleted nest, worked busily amoment, then appeared on the edge with a soft white feather, gathered itinto a convenient shape, and flew with it in her beak to the upperbranch. Twice afterward I saw that performance repeated, and each timeit was a white feather taken. On one occasion the kingbird was at home. There was a sharp cry of distress, a bustle, and in a moment MadamOriole flew off with a feather, while the outraged owner stood on aneighboring branch and uttered two or three plaintive cries. Consideringthe size and the belligerent nature of the kingbird, I was astonished, but exactly thus it happened. 

I greatly wished to stay and see the result, for I had confidence enoughin the bravery of the kingbirds to be sure that the end was not yet. Also, I longed to watch the restless pair whose ups and downs I hadfound so interesting. I should like to see the orchard oriole in therôle of a father; a terribly fussy one he would be without doubt. Aboveall, I most desired to see the infant orioles, to know if they begintheir quarrels in their narrow cradle, and if their first note is ascold. But the troubles of this courtship had, like the wars of Augustusand Arabella in a three-volume novel, consumed so much time that therewas none left for post-nuptial chronicles, and I was obliged to leavethem with a neighborhood quarrel on hand which promised full employmentfor the head of the family while his little mate was sitting. 

FLUTTERBUDGET. 

 O hark to the brown thrush! hear how he sings! Now he pours the dear pain of his gladness! What a gush! and from out what golden springs! What a rage of how sweet madness!

 D. A. WASSON. 

VIII. 

FLUTTERBUDGET. 

"Flutterbudget" is the one expressive word that exactly characterizes acertain brown thrush, or thrasher, the subject of a year's study. Thisbird is perhaps the only restless creature that bears the name ofthrush, and he is totally unlike the rest of his family, having neitherdignity, composure, nor repose of manner. My brown thrush, however, wasexceedingly interesting in his own way, if only as a study of perpetualmotion, of the varieties of shape and attitude possible to him, and thefantastic tricks upon wing of which he was capable. One never tired ofwatching him, for he was erratic in every movement, always inventingsome new sort of evolution, or a fresh way of doing the old things, andscarcely a moment at rest. A favorite exercise was flying across theroom, planting his feet flatly against the side wall, turning instantlyand flying back. This he often did a dozen times in succession. Hisfeet were always "used to save his head" (contrary to our grandmothers'teachings). When he made the usual attempt to fly through the window onhis first outing in the room, he went feet first against it, and thussaved himself a bumped head. His movements were abrupt in the extreme, and always so unexpected that he frequently threw the whole featheredfamily into a panic, apparently without the least intention of doing so. Standing beside the cage of another bird, he would wheel quickly andface the other way, absolutely nothing more, but doing this in a mannerso startling that the occupant of the cage scolded roundly. He speciallydelighted in clambering all over the cage of a goldfinch, acting as ifhe should tear it in pieces, and greatly annoying the small bird. Heoften flew up the side of the window casing, as though climbing it likea ladder, his feet touching it now and then; and he did the same on thecurtains of coarse net. Again he flew across the room before the threewindows, turning to each one in turn, planted his feet squarely on thelinen shade, as on the wall above mentioned, and without a pause passedto the end of the room, and touched it with his feet in the same strangeway. Often when standing for the moment perfectly still before a window, he suddenly flew up, put both feet in this unbirdlike way against thewindow-shade, turned and went to his cage. In like manner he came incontact with a cage, the books on the shelves, the back of a chair, orany piece of furniture, taking from that point a new direction. Whenstartled he instantly bounded into the air as though the ground were hotunder his feet, and often turned a corner or two before he came down. Inthe middle of his most lovely song he was quite likely, without theleast warning, to make a mad dash somewhere, turn a sharp corner, divein another direction, and alight on the spot he had left a momentbefore, and all in so spasmodic a way that every bird waspanic-stricken. 

The thrasher was exceedingly wary, and nothing was droller than hismanner of approaching anything, whether a worm I had thrown on thematting for him, or the bathing-dish. In the case of the worm, themoment he saw his prey--which I selected for its liveliness--he came toa nearer perch, and stood there a few minutes, posturing, shaking hisplumage in great excitement, looking at me and then at the temptingobject. Very soon he dropped to the floor and started towards the wormin the funniest way; running a few steps, stopping short and turninghalf round, ready for instant flight, flirting his feathers with agreat rustle, turning an anxious eye on me, then on the wrigglingattraction, running a step or two, and repeating the performance. Inthis way he advanced very gradually till near enough to half encirclehis prey; or to run and hop sideways as though to describe a circle, turning away at each pause as before, all the time jerking andfluttering in intense agitation, and always keeping an eye on me. Notthat he was in the least afraid of me; it was simply his sensational wayof doing everything. When he finally came within reach of the worm, hesnatched it, and ran as though the enemy were upon him. 

His performances before entering the bath were even more amusing. Thebathing-dish, a broad, deep plate, stood upon a towel on a table. Thebird alighted on the table, and began first to peck the towel, pullingthe fringe, working at any loose thread he discovered, and industriouslyenlarging any small hole he chanced to find. In doing thus he oftenturned over the edge, when he sprang back as though he had seen a ghost. Recovering from the shock, he circled around the dish with little hops, occasionally giving a gentle peck at the edge of the dish, or a snip atthe water with his beak. Thus he waltzed around the bath perhaps fortytimes, now and then going so far as to jump up on the edge, make a dashat the water, and back off as if it were hot, or to give a hop into themiddle of the water and out again so quickly that one could hardlybelieve he touched it. When, after all this ceremony, he did go in tostay, he made most thorough work, splashing in a frantic way, as thoughhe had but a moment to stay, and in one minute getting more soaked thanmany birds ever do. After this short dip he dashed out, flew to a perch, and in the maddest way jerked and shook himself dry; pulling hisfeathers through his beak with a snap, and making a peculiar sound whichI can liken only to the rubbing of machinery that needs oil. 

The brown thrush was never so violent and eccentric in movement as justafter his bath. Allowing himself often but a moment's hasty shake ofplumage, he darted furiously across the room, startling every bird, andalighting no one could guess where. Then, after more jerks and rapidshakings, he flung himself as unexpectedly in another direction, whileat every fresh turn birds scattered wildly, everywhere, anywhere, out ofhis way, bringing up in the most unaccustomed places; as, for instance, a dignified bird, who never went to the floor, coming to rest under thebed, or a ground-lover flattened against the side of a cage. All thisdisturbance seemed to please the thrasher, for he had a spice ofmischief in his composition. A never failing diversion was teasing agoldfinch. He began his pranks by entering the cage and hammering on thetray, or digging into the seed in a savage way that sent it flying outin a shower, which result so entertained him that I was forced to closethe door when the owner was out. This the thrush resented, and he nexttook to jumping against the side of the cage, clinging a moment, thenbouncing off with so much force that the cage rocked violently. Then heplaced himself on the perch by the door, and pounded, and pulled, andjerked, and shook the door, till, if the owner were home, he was nearlywild. Having exhausted that amusement, he jumped on the top and in someway jarred the cage roughly. To protect it I made a cover of paper, but, contrary to my intentions, this afforded the rogue a new pleasure, forhe soon found that by tramping over it he could make a great noise, andhe quickly learned the trick of tearing the paper into pieces, anduncovering the little fellow, who, by the way, was not in the leastafraid, but simply enraged and insulted, and when outside stood andfaced his tormentor, blustering and scolding him well. 

Tearing paper was always amusing to the brown thrush. I have seen himtake his stand near the wall, peck at the paper till he found a weakspot where it would yield and break, then take the torn edge in his billand deliberately tear it a little. It was "snatching a fearful joy, "however, for the noise always startled him. First came a little tear, then a leap one side, another small rent, another panic; and so he wenton till he had torn off a large piece which dropped to the floor, whileI sat too much interested in the performance to think of saving thepaper. (The room and its contents are always secondary to the birds'comfort and pleasure, in my thoughts. ) A newspaper on the floorfurnished him amusement for hours, picking it to pieces, tearingpictures, from which he always first pecked the faces, dragging thewhole about the floor to hear it rattle and to scare himself with. Apile of magazines on a table made a regular playground for him, his planbeing to push and pull at the back of one till he got it loose from therest, and then work at it till it fell to the floor. He never failed toreduce the pile to a disreputable-looking muss. 

The bird was as fond of hammering as any woodpecker, on the bottom ofhis cage, on perches, on the floor, even on his food; and his leaps orbounds without the apparent help of his wings were extraordinary. Notinfrequently I have seen him spring into the air just high enough tosee me over my desk, --three feet at least, --probably to satisfy himselfas to my whereabouts, and drop instantly back to his work or play. 

This amusing bird was also intelligent. He understood perfectly wellwhat I wanted when I spoke to him; that is, he had a guilty consciencewhen in mischief that translated my tone to him. Also he recognizedinstantly a bird out of place, as, for instance, one on the floor whichusually frequented the perches and higher parts of the room; and havingtaken upon himself the office of regulator, he always went after thebird thus out of his accustomed beat. When I talked to the thrasher, heanswered me not only with a rough-breathing sound, a sort of prolonged"ha-a-a, " but with his wings as well. Of course this is not uncommon inbirds, but none that I have seen use these members so significantly ashe did. His way was to lift the wing nearest me, sometimes veryslightly, sometimes to a perpendicular position, but only one wing, andonly after I made a remark. This exhibition was curious and interesting, and I often prolonged my talk to see the variety he could give to thissimple motion. His wings were always expressive, in alighting in a newplace, or where he suspected there might be danger or a surprise; themoment his feet touched he lifted one or both wings quite high, droppingthem at once. 

A more lithe body than that of the brown thrush I have never seen infeathers; he could assume as many attitudes as he had emotions. He oftenstood on a perch and postured for a long time, as if greatly excited andmeditating some mad deed, and I must confess he usually carried out theintention. Not only was he able to put his body into all possibleshapes, but he had extraordinary command of his feathers. He could erectthem on any one part alone, on the top of the head, the shoulders, theback, or the chin. He often raised the feathers just above the tail, letting that member hang straight down, giving him the appearance ofbeing chopped square off. 

The song of this bird is well known and quite celebrated; indeed, in theSouthern States he is called the French mocking-bird, as only second tothe mocking-bird proper. My bird never sang above a whisper, one maysay; that is, he never opened his mouth to let out the sound, though hewas extremely fond of singing, indulging in it by the hour. He hardlypaused for eating, or flying, or hopping around on the floor, butdropped sweet notes in between the mouthfuls, and kept up the warblethrough all movements. 

As dusk came on the brown thrush began a wonderful series of postures, more peculiar and varied than one would suppose possible to so large andapparently clumsy a bird. Sometimes he stretched up very tall, theninstantly crouched as if about to spring; one moment he turned his headdownward as though to dive off, then wheeled and faced the other way;now he drew his body out long to a point, head and tail exactly on alevel, then head and tail thrust up, making his back the shape of a bow;at one time he threw his head back as though about to turn a backsomersault, then scraped his bill, shook himself out, and made the harshbreathing I have spoken off; in another moment he spread his tail like afan, and instantly closed it again; then turned his head on one sidevery far, while his tail hung out the other side, and in this oddposition jerked himself along by short jumps the whole length of hisperch. Between the postures and on every occasion he scraped his billviolently. Next began movements: first he ran down his three perches, across the floor, and hopped to the upper one from the outside, touchinghis feet to the wires as he went, so rapidly that my eyes could notfollow him; then he alighted on the perch with a graceful flop of onewing, sometimes also bowing his head several times, and uttering thebreathing sound each time. Again he jumped from the upper perch to onedirectly under it, and returned the same way by a very peculiar motion:standing on the lower perch, he turned his head over his shoulder, andsprang back and up at the same time, landing in exactly the sameposition on the perch above, with perfect ease and grace. 

Nothing pleased the thrasher more than watching other birds; he observedthem closely, especially liking to stand on top of a cage and see thelife below, --an agitated life it was apt to be when he was there. Thushe sometimes stood on the goldfinch's cage and noticed every motion withgreat interest, yet with an indescribably ironical air, as if he said, "My dear sir, is _that_ the way you eat?" He showed particular interestin seed-eating birds, apparently not understanding how they could enjoysuch food. Though full of bluster and pretense, he was as gentle as anybird in the room, never presumed on his size as the biggest, and, thoughliking to tease and worry, never really touching one. The smallest onlyneeded to stand and face him to see that it was all bluster and fun. 

All this until spring began to stir his blood and tempt himoccasionally, after long posturing and many feints, to deliver a gentledig at a neighbor's ribs. Now, too, he began to show interest inout-of-doors, standing on the window sash and looking out, which is afamiliar sign that a bird's time to depart has come. In his case I didnot consider it necessary to carry him to the park to liberate him, forI was sure he could take care of the sparrows and protect himself--andso it proved. When he found himself suddenly on a tall tree in thestreet, and before he recovered from his surprise, those disreputablebirds gathered around him to see what he was like. They soon found out;he quickly recovered himself, made a wild dash that scattered them likeleaves before the wind, and then planted himself on a branch to awaitanother attempt. But sparrows, though saucy, are knowing, and not onecame near him again. They had quite satisfied their curiosity, and aftera few moments' waiting the brown thrush went on his way rejoicing. 

"O WONDROUS SINGERS. "

 In the swamp in secluded recesses A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song. 

 * * * * *

 Sing on! sing on, you gray-brown bird! Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour Your chant from the bushes;

 O liquid and free and tender! O wild and loose to my soul! O wondrous singer!

 WALT WHITMAN. 

IX. 

"O WONDROUS SINGERS. "

I feel considerable reluctance in approaching the subject of my smallthrushes. None but a poet should speak of them--so beautiful, soenchanting in song. Yet I cannot bear to let their lovely lives pass insilence; therefore if they must needs remain unsung, they shall at leastbe chronicled. 

There were two: one the gray-cheeked thrush, the other the veery orWilson's, and they passed a year in my house, filling it with amarvelous rippling music like the sweet babble of a brook over stones;like the gentle sighing of the wind in pine-trees; like other ofnature's enchanting sounds, which I really must borrow a poet's words tocharacterize:

 "O liquid and free and tender! O wild and loose to my soul! O wondrous singer. "

The gray-cheeked, most charming in every look and motion, uttered hisnotes in a free sweep or crescendo, which began low, gathered force ashe went on, and then gradually died out; all in one long slur, without adefined or staccato note, making a wonderful resemblance to wind sounds, as Emerson expresses it:

 "His music was the Southwind's sigh. "

The song of the veery was quite different, low, rapid, interspersed witha louder, wild-sounding cry, or, as aptly described by a listener, likethe gurgling sounds made by blowing through a tube into soft water, withoccasional little explosions. The soft, whispered warble of a brownthrush added a certain under-tone which combined and harmonized boththese, forming with them a rhapsody of a rippling, bubbling characterimpossible to describe, but constantly reminding one of running streams, and gentle water-falls, and coming nearer to "put my woods in song" thanany other bird-notes whatever. Neither of the performers opened hismouth, so that the trio was very low, a true whisper-song. 

It was somewhat curious that with one exception all the birds in theroom through these months sang whisper-songs also, without opening thebill. There were six of them, and every one delighted in singing; thethree thrushes, a bluebird, a female orchard oriole, and a Mexicanclarin. To the thrushes, music seemed necessary to life; hour afterhour they stood on their respective perches across the room, puffed outinto balls, "pouring out their souls, " and entrancing us not only withtheir suggestive melody, but with graceful and poetical movements, and abeauty of look and bearing that moved one deeply. During the aria bothbirds stood motionless, one with wings drooping, and accenting everynote, the other with tail slightly jerking for the same purpose. 

In character no less than in song the birds differed; bright, active andhigh-spirited, the gray-cheeked delighted in the freedom of the room, feared nothing, came upon the desk freely, and calmly met one's eyeswith his own, brave free soul that he was, while his _vis-à-vis_ wastimid and shy, could not be induced to leave the shelter of his homethough the door stood open all day. He never resented the intrusion of aneighbor, nor disputed the possession of his own dish. 

Almost as interesting as his song was a bewitching dance with which thegray-cheeked charmed every one fortunate enough to see him. His chosenhour was the approach of evening, when, with body very erect and headthrown up in ecstasy, he lifted his wings high above his back, fluttering them rapidly with a sound like soft patter of summer rain, while he moved back and forth on his perch with the daintiest of littlesteps and hops: now up, now down, now across the cage, with gentle noiseof feet and wings. No music accompanied it, and none was needed--it wasmusic itself. Not only did he dance away the long hours of twilight, till so dark he could not be seen, but he greeted the dawn in the sameway; long before any other bird stirred, before the hideous morning callof the first sparrow in the street, the soft flutter of his wings, thelight patter of his feet was heard. In the night also, if gas waslighted, however dimly, dancing began and was continued in the darkness, long after the light was out and every other feather at rest. A suddenlight stopped the motion, but revealed the dancer agitated, stirred, with soft dark eyes fixed upon the observer. This dance was not anattempt or indication of a desire to escape, as I am sure for severalreasons. I can tell the instant that longing for freedom sets in. It wasa fresh sign of the strange, mysterious emotion with which all thrushesgreet the rising and setting of the sun. 

The singular use of the feet by this bird was very peculiar, and notconfined to his dancing hours. While standing on the edge of thebathing-dish, longing, yet dreading to enter the water, on alightingupon an unaccustomed perch, or venturing on to the desk, many times aday he took the little steps, lifting first one, then the other footvery slightly, and bringing it down with a sound without changing hisposition. It seemed to be an evidence of excitement, as another birdmight exhibit by a quivering of the wings. The veery was also a dancer, but in a different way. He fanned his wings violently and moved back andforth across the top of a cage, but always in daylight, and then only onthe rare occasions when, by placing his food outside, he was coaxed fromhis cage. 

Bathing was--next to singing--the dear delight of the gray-cheeked'slife, yet no bird ever had more misgivings about taking the fatalplunge. His first movement on leaving the cage was to go to the bath, around which he hovered, now this side, now that, one moment on theperch above, the next on the edge of the dish, plainly longing to be in, yet the mere approach of the smallest bird in the room drove him away. Not that he was afraid, he was not in the least a coward; he meteverybody and everything with the dignity and bravery of a true thrush. Neither was it that he was disabled when wet, which makes some birdshesitate; he was never at all disordered by his bath, and however longhe soaked, or thoroughly he spattered, his plumage remained in place andhe was perfectly able to fly at once. It appeared simply that he couldnot make up his mind to go in. Then too, it soon became apparent that henoticed his reflection in the water. He often stood on the edge afterbathing, as well as before, looking intently upon the image. Before theglass he did the same, looking earnestly and in a low tone "uttering histhoughts to the ideal bird which he fancied he saw before him. " Indeed, I think this ideal thrush was a great comfort to him. 

Once having decided to go into the bath he enjoyed it exceedingly, though in an unusual way, fluttering and splashing vigorously for amoment, then standing motionless up to his body in the water, notshaking or pluming himself, not alarmed, but quietly enjoying thesoaking. After several fits of splashing alternated with soaking, hewent to a perch and shook and plumed himself nearly dry, and just whenone would think he had entirely finished, he returned to the dish, andbegan again--hesitating on the brink, coquetting with the "ideal thrush"in the water, and in fact doing the whole thing over again. 

My bird had a genuine thrush's love of quiet and dislike of a crowd, preferred unfrequented places to alight on, and was quite ingenious infinding them. The ornamental top of a gas-fixture a few inches below theceiling, which was cup-shaped and nearly hid him, was a favorite place. So was also the loose edge of a hanging cardboard map which, having beenlong rolled, hung out from the wall like a half-open scroll. This heliked best, for no other bird ever approached it, and here he passedmuch time swinging, as if he enjoyed the motion which he plainly madeefforts to keep up. His plan was to fly across the room and alightsuddenly upon it, when, of course it swayed up and down with his weight. The moment it came to a rest, he flew around the room in a wide circleand came down again heavily, holding on with all his might, and keepinghis balance with wings and tail. He enjoyed it so well that he oftenswung for a long time. 

Later he found another snug retreat where no bird ever intruded. Hediscovered it in this way: one day, on being suddenly startled by anerratic dash around the room of the brown thrush, which scattered thesmaller birds like leaves before the wind, he brought up under the bedon the floor. The larger bird had evidently marked the place of hisretreat, for he followed him, and in his mad way rushed under when thegray-cheeked disappeared. The bedstead was a light iron one, high fromthe floor, so that all this was plainly seen. No one being in sight, thebrown thrush came out and turned to his regular business of stirring upthe household while the little thrush was not to be seen, and perfectsilence seemed to indicate that he was not there at all. After somesearch, aided by an indiscreet movement on his part, he was foundperched on the framework, between the mattress and the wall. This narrowretreat, apparently discovered by accident, soon became a favoriteretiring place when he did not care for society. 

This interesting bird, with all his dignity, had a playful disposition. Nothing pleased him better than rattling and tearing to bits a newspaperor the paper strips over a row of books, although he had to stand on thelatter while he worked at it; and notwithstanding it not only rustled, but disturbed his footing as well, he was never discouraged. A moreviolent jerk than usual sometimes startled him so that he bounded six oreight inches into the air in his surprise, but he instantly returned tothe play and never rested till he had picked holes, torn pieces out, andreduced it to a complete wreck. 

All through the long winter this charming thrush, with his twoneighbors, delighted the house with his peculiar and matchless music, and endeared himself by his gentle and lovely disposition. No harshsound was ever heard from him, there was no intrusion upon the rights ofothers, and no vulgar quarrels disturbed his serene soul. But as springbegan to stir his blood he changed a little; he grew somewhatbelligerent, refused to let any one alight in his chosen places, andeven drove others away from his side of the room. Now, too, he added tohis already melting song an indescribable trill, something so spiritual, so charged with the wildness of the woods, that no words--even of apoet--can do it justice. Now, too, he began to turn longing glances outof the window, and evidently his heart was no longer with us. So, on thefirst perfect day in May he was taken to a secluded nook in a park andhis door set open. His first flight was to a low tree, twenty feet fromthe silent spectator, who waited, anxious to see if his year's captivityhad unfitted him for freedom. 

Perching on the lowest branch, the thrush instantly crouched in anattitude of surprise and readiness for anything, which was common withhim, his bill pointed up at an angle of forty-five degrees, head sunk inthe shoulders, and tail standing out stiffly, thus forming a perfectlystraight line from the point of his beak to the tip of his tail. Therehe stood, perfectly motionless, apparently not moving so much as aneyelid for twenty minutes, trying to realize what had happened to himand in the patient, deliberate manner of a thrush to adjust himself tohis new conditions. In the nook were silence and delicious odors of thewoods; from a thick shrub on one side came the sweet erratic song of acat-bird, and at a little distance the rich organ-tones of thewood-thrush. All these entered the soul of the emancipated bird; helistened, he looked, and at last he spoke, a low, soft, "wee-o. " Thatbroke the spell, he drew himself up, hopped about the tree, flew to ashrub, all the time posturing and jerking wings and tail in extremeexcitement and no doubt happiness to the tips of his toes. At last hedropped to the ground and fell to digging and reveling in the soft looseearth with enthusiasm. The loving friend looking on was relieved; thiswas what she had waited for, to be assured that he knew where to lookfor supplies, and though she left his familiar dish full of food wherehe could see it in case of accident, she came away feeling that he hadnot been incapacitated for a free life by his months with her. 

One more glimpse of him made it clear also that he could fly as well ashis wild neighbors, and removed the last anxiety about him. Awood-thrush, after noticing the stranger for some minutes, finallybraved the human presence and made a rush for the little fellow abouthalf his size. Whether war or welcome moved him was not evident, foraway they flew across the nook, not more than a foot apart, now sweepinglow over the grass, then mounting higher to pass over the shrubs thatdefined it. A hundred feet or more the chase continued, and then thesmaller bird dropped into a low bush, and the larger one passed on. 

Then lonely, with empty cage and a happy heart-ache, his friend turnedaway and left the beautiful bird to his fate, assured that he was wellable to supply his needs and to protect himself--in a word, to befree. 

A BIRD OF AFFAIRS. 

 But now the sun is rising calm and bright; The jay makes answer as the magpie chatters, And all the air is filled with pleasant sound of waters, All things that love the sun are out of doors. 

 WORDSWORTH. 

X. 

A BIRD OF AFFAIRS. 

One of the most interesting birds I have studied was a blue-jay; I maysay is, for he stands at this moment not six feet from me, his wholemind intent upon the business of driving small corks through a holewhich they snugly fit. He takes the cork, as he does everything, lengthwise, and turns it about till he gets the smaller end outside;then pushes it into the hole and pounds it, delivering straight andrapid strokes with his iron beak, till it is not only driven up to thehead, but, since he has found out that he can do so, till it drops outon the other side, when, after an interested glance to see where it hasfallen, he instantly goes to the floor for another, and repeats theperformance. Hammering, indeed, is one of his chief pleasures, and nowoodpecker, whose special mission it is supposed to be, can excel him;in excitement, in anger, when suffering from _ennui_ or fromembarrassment, he always resorts to that exercise to relieve hisfeelings. I have thought sometimes he did it to hear the noise and toamuse himself, in which case it might be called drumming. 

Not only does my bird occupy himself with corks, but with perches andthe woodwork of his cage, with so great success that the former have tobe frequently renewed, and the latter looks as though rats had nibbledit. The deliberate way in which he goes to work to destroy his cage isamusing, lifting the end of a perch and quietly throwing it to thefloor, or pounding and splitting off a big splinter of the soft pine andcarefully hiding it. To give him liberty, as I have, is simply toenlarge the field of his labors, and furnish him congenial employmentfrom morning to night, the happiest and busiest member of the household. He tries everything: the covers of cardboard boxes, always choosing thespot that is weakest at the corner, and pounding till it is ruined; thecane seats of chairs, which he selects with equal judgment, and neverleaves till he has effected a breach; a delicate work-basket, at whichhe labors with enthusiasm, driving his pickaxe bill into it and cuttinga big hole. It is most curious to see him set himself to pick a hole, for instance, in a close-woven rattan chair, or a firm piece of mattingstretched upon the floor. Selecting, by some esoteric wisdom, the mostvulnerable spot, he pushes and pounds and pokes till he gets the tip ofhis beak under a strand, and then pulls and jerks and twists till hedraws it out of its place. After this the task is easy, and he spendshours over it, ending with a hole in the matting three or four inches indiameter; for he is never discouraged, and his persistence of purpose ismarvelous. Books are a special object of his attentions; not only doeshe peck the backs as they stand on the shelves, till he can insert hisbeak and tear off a bit, but if he finds one lying down he thrusts thesame useful instrument into the edge, slightly open so as to enclose twoor three leaves, and then, with a dexterous twist of the head, jerks outa neat little three-cornered piece. Thus he goes on, and after a shortabsence from the room I have found a great litter of white bits, and mybig dictionary curiously scalloped on the edges. He is able to pound upas well as down, crouching, turning his head back, and deliveringtremendous blows on the very spot he wishes, and so accurately that heeasily cuts a thread, holding its strands under one toe. 

But hammering, though a great pleasure, is not his dearest delight. Thething for which, apparently, he came into the world is to put smallobjects out of sight, --bury them, in fact. No doubt the business forwhich Nature fitted him, and which in freedom he would follow withenthusiasm, is the planting of trees; to his industry we probably owemany an oak and nut tree springing up in odd places. In captivity, poorsoul, he does the best he can to fulfill his destiny. When he has moreof any special dainty than he can eat at the moment, as meat, or breadand milk, he hides it at the back of his tray, or in the hole alreadyspoken of in connection with the corks; and when outside, nothing can bedroller than the air of concern with which he goes around the floor, picking up any small thing he finds, left purposely for him, a burntmatch, a small key, stray pins, or a marble, and seeks the very best andmost secluded spot in the room in which to hide it. A pin he takeslengthwise in his mouth, which he closes as though he had swallowed it, as at first I feared he had. He has no doubt about the best place forthat; he long ago decided that between the leaves of a book is safest. So he proceeds at once to find a convenient volume, and thrusts the pinfar in out of sight. A match gives him the most trouble. He tries thecracks under the grooves in the moulding of the doors, the base board, between the matting and the wall, or under a rocker; in each place heputs it carefully, and pounds it in, then hops off, giving me one ofthe

 "sidelong glances wise Wherewith the jay hints tragedies, "

attempting to look unconcerned, as if he had not been doing anything. But if he sees that he is observed, or the match is too plainly insight, he removes it and begins again, running and hopping around on thefloor with the most solemn, business-like air, as though he had theaffairs of nations on his shoulders, the match thrust nearly its wholelength into his mouth. The place usually decided upon is an openingbetween the breadths of matting. It is amusing when he chances to gethold of a box of matches, accidentally left open, for he feels thenecessity and importance of disposing of each one, and is busy andindustrious in proportion to the task before him. It is not so pleasing, however, when, in his hammering, he sets one off, as he often does; forthey are "parlor matches, " and light with a small explosion, whichfrightens him half out of his wits, and me as well, lest he set thehouse afire. The business of safely and securely secreting one matchwill frequently occupy him half an hour. He finds the oddesthiding-places, as in a caster between the wheel and its frame; up insidethe seat of a stuffed chair, to reach which he flies up on to thewebbing and goes in among the springs; in the side of my slipper whileon my foot; in the loop of a bow; in the plaits of a ruffle; under apillow. Often when I get up, a shower of the jay's treasures falls fromvarious hiding-places about my dress, --nails, matches, shoe-buttons, andothers; and I am never sure that I shall not find soft, milk-soakedbread in my slipper. But the latest discovered and most annoying of hisreceptacles is in my hair. He delights in standing on the high back ofmy rocking-chair, or on my shoulder, and he soon discovered severaldesirable hiding-places conveniently near, such as my ear, and under theloosely dressed hair. I did not object to his using these, but when heattempted to tuck away some choice thing between my lips I rebelled. Inever expect to find a keyhole that he can reach, free from breadcrumbs, and the openings of my waste-basket are usually decorated withobjects half driven in. 

The jay shows unbounded interest in everything. Every sound and everyfresh sight arouses him instantly; his crest comes up, his feathersfluff out, and he is on tiptoe to see what will come next. He isremarkably discriminating among people, and takes violent likes anddislikes on the instant. Some persons, without any reason that I candiscover, he salutes on their first appearance with an indescribablecry, like "obble! obble! obble!" At others he squawks madly. On oneoccasion he took an intense dislike to a lady, of whom birds generallyare very fond, and he made a peculiar display of rage, squawking andscreaming at her, raising his crest, stamping, snapping his beak, givingvicious digs at the side of the cage, as though he would eat her if hecould reach her. And although he often saw her, and she tried her bestto win him, he always showed the same spirit, going so far, when out ofhis cage, as to show fight, fly up at her, peck her savagely, and chaseher to the door when she left. Again, a lady came in with her baby, andhe at once singled out the infant as his enemy, fixing a very wickedglance on it, but in perfect silence. He jumped back and forth as if madto get out, and sat with open mouth, panting as if exhausted, with eyesimmovably turned to the baby. He would not pay the slightest attentionto any one else, nor answer me when I spoke, which was very unusual, till they left the room, when the moment the door closed behind them hebegan rapidly, as if to make up for lost time. Some visitors whom hefancies, he receives in silence, but with slightly quivering wings; onlythe very few he loves best are greeted with a low, sweet, and verypeculiar chatter, which he keeps up as long as he is talked to. 

Investigating everything in the room is one of my bird's greatestpleasures, and most attractive of all he finds the drawer of my desk, onthe edge of which he stands, delighted and bewildered by the varietybefore him. Great would be the havoc if I were not there; and thecurious thing about it is that he will pull things over carelessly, withone eye on me, to see if I object. If, on touching some particularthing, he sees that I do not approve, --and he recognizes my sentiment asquickly as a bright child would, --that thing, and that only, he willhave. At once he snatches it and flies away across the room, and I maychase him in vain. He regards it as a frolic got up for his amusement, and no child ever equaled him in dodging; he cannot be driven, and ifcornered he uses his wings. I simply put my wits against his, follow himabout till he has to drop his load to breathe, when a sudden start sendshim off, and I secure it. If I cover up anything, he knows at once it issome forbidden treasure, and devotes all his energy and cunning, whichare great, to uncovering and possessing himself of it. He opens any boxby delivering sharp blows under the edge of the cover, and hides mypostage stamps in books and magazines. He hops around the floor in aheavy way, as often sideways as straight, and holds his toes as closetogether as though he had worn tight boots all his life. If startled, hebounds up into the air in the oddest way, a foot or two, or even more, generally turning half round, and coming down with his head the otherway. If much alarmed he will bounce up in this way half a dozen times inquick succession, and should he happen to be on a table at the time, heusually ends by landing on the floor. His alighting after any flight ismost singular: he comes to the floor in a crouching position, legssprawled, body horizontal and nearly touching the matting, looking likea bird gone mad; then instantly springs up six or eight inches, halfturns, and stands upright, crest erect, and looking excited, almostfrightened. If much disturbed he comes down with wings half open, tailheld up, and every feather awry, as if he were out in a gale, utteringat the same time a loud squawk. He is a most expert catcher, not onlyseizing without fail a canary seed thrown to him, but even flutteringbits of falling paper, the hardest of all things to catch. 

The blue-jay is a bird of opinions about most things, and able toexpress himself quite clearly; as, for example, when he found himselfunder a chair without rounds, on which he likes to perch, he stood andlooked around on every side, and made a low, complaining cry, plainly aprotest against so unnatural a chair; and again, when he scolded at therain that came in sudden gusts against the window, or charged furiouslyat the crack under a door when he heard sweeping outside. In general heis very quiet when one is in the room, but the moment the door closesbehind the last person his voice is heard, --whistling exactly like aboy, calling, squawking, and occasionally uttering a sweet, though notloud song, which is varied by a sound like rubbing a cork against glass. The most quiet approach silences him. When under strong emotion he maysquawk or scream before spectators, but he never whistles or sings whenhe knows any one is in the room. When out of his sight and so longsilent that he has forgotten me, I have now and then heard the song. 

The funniest thing this knowing fellow does is to stamp his feet, and itis a genuine expression of impatience or displeasure. When I takesomething away from him or he thinks I mean to do so, or refuse himsomething he wants, he stands still and jerks his feet in such a waythat they stamp with a loud sound, as if they were of iron. It is verydroll. In serious anger, he adds to this, bowing and curtsying bybending the legs, snapping the bill, pecking, and jumping up with thebody without lifting the feet. 

It may be that the jay in freedom disturbs other birds, as has beenaffirmed, but among a number smaller than himself my bird has never onceshown the least hostility. He is interested in their doings, but theonly unpleasant thing he has done is to shriek and scream to stop theirsinging. In spite of his natural boldness, always facing the enemy, always ready to fight, and never running from danger nor allowinghimself to be driven anywhere, when he is not quite well he is a timidbird. In moulting, this spring, my jay lost his entire tail, and wasextremely awkward in getting about, almost helpless, in fact; and atthat time he was afraid to hop to the floor, and refused to come out ofthe cage. (I should have said, by the way, that he feared hurtinghimself; he was quite as spirited as ever, as ready to show fight. ) Toget him out of the door I offered him the greatest inducements, with thecage on the floor, so that he could not fall far. He would stand on thelowest perch, three inches from the floor, look at the meat or whatevertreasure I placed in the open doorway, and cry a faint, low, jay-babycry, yet not dare descend, though plainly aching with desire to get theobject so nearly within his reach. Even since he is entirely recoveredand the possessor of a beautiful long tail, he dreads the one littlestep and has to be coaxed out and in his cage every day, as we coax astartled child. 

Nothing ever interested the jay more than a piano, though he is fond ofany music. The first time he heard one he quickly hopped across to theplayer, pulled at the hem of her dress, flew up to her lap, then herarm, and mounted to her shoulder, where he stood some time, looking andlistening, turning his head this way and that, raising his crest, jerking his body, and in every way showing intense excitement. Finallyhe took his last step, to the top of her head, where he was more pleasedto be than the player was to have him. She put him down; and the nexttime he tried a different way, mounted to the keys, and thence to thecover, crouching and peering under the lid to see where the sounds camefrom. Satisfied about this, he returned to her head, which he evidentlyconsidered the best post of observation. Every time she played shereceived the devoted attentions of the bird, and he could not be keptaway. 

My blue-jay is now a beautiful creature, in perfect plumage, with breastand back plumes so long that often in repose, just after he has dressedthem, the violet blue of the back meets the light drab of his breast, onthe side, covering his wings completely, and making a lovely picture. All through the spring excitement, when the other birds, one afteranother, grew uneasy, belligerent, or unhappy, and one after anotherwere returned to freedom, he never showed a moment's uneasiness, aninstant's desire to be free, but scrupulously attended to his ownregular business, which is to pound and pull and peck to pieces myfurniture, and especially to destroy my books. 

As these last words are written, just at dusk, the dear, troublesomerogue comes down to the corner of his cage nearest to me, and as if heunderstood that I had said something about him begins to talk andremonstrate in a low, loving tone. I do feel reproached, and I mustunsay it. His business, his manifest destiny, is to hammer and peck theshells of nuts, and to hide them away where they will grow; and if cruelman confines him in a house, he must exercise his untiring energy, hisdemon of work, in what he finds there, --and who can blame him, or findfault? Not I, certainly. 

In behalf of this bird against whom the pen of nearly every writer islifted, let me quote from one of our early and most careful observers, William Bartram: "The jay is one of the most useful agents in theeconomy of nature for disseminating forest trees and other ruciferousand hard-seeded vegetables on which they feed. These birds alone arecapable in a few years' time to replant all the cleared lands. " Thoreau, who was perhaps the closest of our modern students of nature, cites thispassage and emphatically affirms its justice. 

THE BLUE-JAY AGAIN. 

As for birds, I do not believe there is one of them but does more goodthan harm; and of how many featherless bipeds can this be said?

LOWELL. 

XI. 

THE BLUE-JAY AGAIN. 

The blue-jay came out of the egg with his mind made up. He always knewexactly what he wanted, and never doubted that he knew how to get it. Iwrote of this bird some time ago, but he was then a comparatively newacquaintance. He lived with us many months after that, and became muchmore familiar; for besides being slow to feel thoroughly at home, he wasvery young, and he grew in wisdom with age. So I have more to say ofhim. 

Human society was necessary to the jay; he cared for the other birds ofthe room only as objects on which to play tricks for his own amusement. He was peculiar, too, in never liking more than one friend at a time, and was very decided in his opinions of people, having a distinctlydifferent reception for each one of the household, as well as forstrangers. His mistress was always his prime favorite; and althoughduring my absence from home he adopted some one temporarily in myplace, he was never so affectionate to that one as to me, and theinstant I returned resumed his old relations to each of us. 

To his best beloved this bird never squawked or whistled; on thecontrary, he talked in low, sweet tones, hardly more than a murmur, slightly lifting and quivering his wings, sidling as near as he couldget, and if I put my face down to him touching my cheek or lips gentlywith his beak, in little taps, like kisses. Any one else in thatposition would receive a violent peck. Sometimes, when I was busy, andtherefore silent a long time, and the jay was in his cage, where I wasobliged to put him in order to work at all, he stood perfectly quiet andmotionless an hour at a time, moving only when he was hungry, andapparently watching me every instant, --a performance very uncommon in abird, who usually has some interests of his own, however fond he may beof a person. The moment I spoke to him his whole manner changed. He cameat once as near as he could, about four feet from me, and began to talk, holding his tail on one side, and both wings spread to their fullestextent and parallel with his back. In this attitude he hopped up anddown his three perches, always as near my side as possible, andevidently in great excitement. If during this exhibition any one camein, his wings instantly dropped, though he did not stop talking to me. This action of the wings showed extreme affection, and must not beprofaned by common eyes. When I came close and replied to him, hisagitation was almost painful to see, --such loving tones, such gentlekisses, such struggles to express himself. Not only did he insist onsharing his dainties with me, offering me mocking-bird food or bread andmilk in the most loving way, but he wished to share mine; ice-cream hedelighted in, cake he was as fond of as any child, and candy he alwaysbegged for, though instead of eating it he hid it somewhere about theroom, --under my pillow, or between the leaves of a book, all sticky asit was from his mouth. 

Second in the blue-jay's affection was a lady to whom at first he took agreat dislike. She tried her best to win him, talking to him, treatinghim to various tidbits, and offering him the hospitality of herroom, --separated from the bird-room by a passage, --and above all dancingwith him. These attentions in time secured her a warm place in hisregards, though his treatment of her was very different from thatreserved for me. He was always gentle with me, while in her society heexhibited all his noisy accomplishments, --squawked, whistled andscreamed, stamped his feet, and jounced (the only word to describe acertain raising and violent dropping of the body without lifting thefeet). He ran after her when she left the room; he pecked her hand, andflew up at her face. Gradually, as he grew to like her better, the moreviolent demonstrations ceased; but he was always boisterous with her, generally expected a half-fight, half-frolic, and I must say neverfailed to enjoy it greatly. 

The dance spoken of was droll. His chosen place for this indulgence wasthe back of a tall chair. His friend stood before this, whistled, bowed, and moved her head up and down as if dancing; and he on his perch didthe same, jumping up and down in a similar way, answering her whistlefor whistle, moving his feet, sliding from one side to the other, curtsying, lowering the body and flattening the head feathers, thenrising, stamping his feet, and drooping his wings. This he kept up aslong as she played second to him. 

When this playfellow went away, the jay missed his dances and frolics. He flew into her empty room, perched on the back of the rocking-chair, where he had been wont to stand and pull her hair, and began a peculiarcry. Again and again he repeated it, louder and louder each time, tillit ended in a squawk, impatient and angry, as much as to say, "Whydon't you answer?" After a while he began to whistle the notes she usedto imitate; finding that this brought no response, he returned to thecry; and when at last he had exhausted all his resources, he came backto my desk and consoled himself by talking to me. 

A young lady in the family he greeted by flying at her, alighting on herchair-back, clawing her neck, and squawking; and before a youth whooften teased him he trailed his wings on the floor, tail spread anddragging also, uttering a curious "obble! obble!" something like the cryof a turkey. The head of the household he met with stamping of the feet, and no sound; while at a maid who came in to sweep he always flewfuriously, aiming for her head, and invariably frightening her half outof her wits. 

The jay was extremely wary about anything like a trap, and being alwayson the lookout for one, he sometimes, like bigger persons, fooledhimself badly. Finding him fond of standing on a set of turningbookshelves, I thought to please him by arranging over it a convenientresting-place. He watched me with great interest, but, when I hadfinished, declined to use the perch, though ordinarily nothing couldkeep him from trying every new thing. I put a bait upon it in the shapeof bits of gum-drops, a favorite delicacy; but he plainly saw that Iwanted him to go to it, and in the face of the fact that I hadheretofore tried to keep him off the papers and magazines lying there, he decided that it was suspicious. He flew so as almost to touch thestick, and hovered before it to snatch off the candy placed there; butalight on it he would not, and did not, though I kept it in place aweek. 

In many ways this bird was wise; he knew exactly where to deliver hisblows to effect what he desired. A cage-door being fastened with finewire, he never wasted a stroke upon the door, but gave telling blowsdirectly upon the wire. A rubber band was looped about a rod for him toplay with, in the expectation that he would pull on it and make sport;but he disappointed us all by hammering at the loop, until he loosenedit and easily pulled it off. Again it was tied on with strong linenthread; he turned his whole attention to the knot of the latter, till ityielded and was disposed of also. 

Dear as was this bird, he was a more than usually troublesome pet. Mydesk became his favorite playground, and havoc indeed he made with thethings upon it; snatching and running off with paper, pen, or any smallobject, destroying boxes and injuring books. Finally, in self-defense, I adopted the plan of laying over it every morning a woolen cloth, whichmust be lifted every time anything was taken from the desk. Thisarrangement did not please my small friend in blue, and he took pains toexpress his displeasure in the most emphatic way. He came down upon thecover, tramped all over it, and sought small holes in it through whichto thrust his bill. One day he was busily engaged in hammering a bookthrough an opening, and to cure him of the trick I slipped my handunder, caught his beak between two fingers, and held it a moment. Thisamazed but did not alarm the bird; on the contrary, he plainly decidedto persevere till he found out the secret. He pecked the mounds made bymy fingers; he stooped and looked into the hole, and then probed again. This time I held him longer, so that he had to struggle and beat hiswings to get away, and then he walked off indignantly. Still he was notsatisfied about that mystery, and in a moment he was back again, tryingin new ways to penetrate it. I was tired before he was. He was baffledonly temporarily; he soon learned to draw up the fabric, hold the slackunder one foot while he pulled it still further, and thus soon reachanything he desired. 

The blue-jay always pried into packages by pecking a hole in thewrapper and examining the contents through that; and boxes he opened bydelivering upward blows under the edge of the cover. The waste-basket henearly emptied from the outside by dragging papers through the openingsin the weaving. Seeing two or three unmounted photographs put into abook, he went speedily for that volume, thrust his beak into the slightopening made by the pictures, and pulled them out, flying at once acrossthe room with one in his mouth. It was secured and put back, and thebook held down by a heavy weight; but he found the place at once, andrepeated the naughtiness. The book had to be completely covered upbefore the photographs were safe. 

After the blue-jay had put on a new suit of feathers he flew with greatease, and selected for a retreat the top of a door into the passagewaymentioned, which usually stood open. It was not long before hiscuriosity was roused to know what was outside the door that so oftenswallowed up his friends, --that into the hall. He resolved to find out, and to that end, when stationed on the elevated perch of his choice, held himself in readiness, upon the exit of any one, to fly out. He didnot wish to get away; he merely took a turn in the hall, and came back;and once, when accidentally left in that unfamiliar place, he stayed inthe bath-room, with window wide open, for half an hour before he wasfound. He became so expert in flying out of the door that it was adifficult matter to pass through without his company; we had to trainourselves in sleight-of-hand to outwit him. There were two ways ofgetting the better of him; mere suddenness was of no use, --he was muchquicker than we were. One way was to go to the room on the other side ofthe passage, where he was sure to follow, and before he fairly settledthere, to dodge back and shut the door, --a proceeding so unexpected thathe never learned to allow for it. The other way was to go to thehall-door as if intending to open it; instantly the bird swooped down, ready to slip out also, but finding the way closed, swept around theroom and alighted somewhere. This was the second to open the door andstep out, for he always paused a moment before flying again. 

The only notice the jay ever took of the birds, as said above, was totease them, or put them in a flutter; as society he plainly despisedthem. They soon learned to regard him as a sort of infernal machine, liable at any moment to explode; and they were fully justified, for hewas fond of surprising them by unexpectedly flying around the room, tailspread, feathers rustling, squawking madly in a loud voice. He usuallymanaged in his career to sweep close over the head of every bird, ofcourse frightening them off their perches, and thus to put the wholeroom into a panic. They took refuge anywhere, --under the bed, behind thechairs, against the wires, and on the floor, --while the mischief-makercircled around, filling the air with shrieks, then suddenly dropped tothe round of a chair and calmly dressed his feathers, as if he hadmerely been exercising his wings. 

Poor little fellow! he was hardly more than a baby, and not very brave. A big grasshopper which once got into the room afforded him greatexcitement and the spectators much amusement. He saw it before his cagewas opened, and as soon as he came out he went after it. The insecthopped up three feet, and so startled the bird that he jumped almost ashigh. When it alighted he picked it up, but seeming not to know what todo with it, soon dropped it. Again it hopped, and again the jay repeatedhis bound; and this performance went on for some minutes, one of thedrollest of sights, --his cautious approach, the spring of the insect, and his instant copy of the same, as if in emulation. After being pickedup several times the grasshopper was disabled; then when the bird camenear, it lifted its wings, plainly to scare its persecutor; it did awehim. Meanwhile an orchard oriole had been eagerly looking on, and on oneoccasion that the grasshopper was dropped he pounced upon it and carriedit off to a chair, where he proceeded to eat it, though it was so big asto be almost unmanageable. The jay did not like being deprived of hisplaything. He ran after the thief, and stood on the floor, uttering alow cry while watching the operation. In the oriole's moving the clumsyinsect fell to the floor, when the jay snatched it; and it was evidentthat he had got a new idea about its use, for he carried it under achair and demolished it completely, --not even a wing remained. 

More disturbing to the jay, strange as it may seem, was a tree. It wasreally touching to see a bird afraid of this, but the poor youngster hadbeen taken from the nest to a house. A Christmas tree was brought intothe bird-room to please the residents there, when, to our amazement, thejay went into a wild fright, flew madly around near the ceiling, squawking, and making the other birds think something terrible hadhappened. He flew till he was breathless, and was evidently very muchdistressed. For three or four days he was equally alarmed the moment hecaught sight of it in the morning and whenever I moved it an inch, though the other birds liked it and were on it half the time. When hedid get used to it he did not go upon it, but to the standard below, where he could pick the needle-like leaves and carry them off to hideabout the room. 

The blue-jay took his bath in an original way as he did everything else. First, he stood beside the wide, shallow dish, looked at it, then at meand all around the room, one wing drooping and the other laid jauntilyover the back, while he talked in a low tone, as if he said, "If anybodyis going to object, now is the time. " No one ventured to dispute hisright, and suddenly he plumped into the middle, neither alighting on theedge nor testing the water. Then there was a lively frolic, with tailspread, crest raised, wings beating, and the water flying several feetaround. He was a very beautiful bird when in perfect-plumage. There weresix distinct shades of blue, besides rich velvety black, snowy white, delicate dove color, and blue-gray. He is too well known to needdescription, but a jay is not often so closely seen when alive and inperfection of plumage. This bird had a charming way of folding his wingsthat hid all the plain blue-gray. When held thus and laid together overthe back, there were displayed first the beautiful tail, with broadwhite edges to the feathers; above it the wings looking like a squarecut mantle, of the same colors; above this a deep pointed shoulder cape, of rich violet blue, the feathers fluffed up loosely; and at the top ofall, his exquisite crest. 

VIRGINIA'S WOOING. 

 For who the pleasure of the spring shall tell, When on the leafless stalk the brown buds swell, When the grass brightens and the days grow long, And little birds break out in rippling song. 

 CELIA THAXTER. 

XII. 

VIRGINIA'S WOOING. 

You must know in the beginning that Virginia wore feathers. But she hadas many trials with her suitors as though she dressed in silks, and shedisplayed so much of what we call "human nature" that her story is asinteresting as that of half the Ethels and Marguerites of the romances. 

She came of a good old family, the Cardinals, and, belonging to theVirginia branch, was called properly Virginia Cardinal, or, inscientific, fashion, _Cardinalis Virginianus_. She was a beauty, too. Itis well known that the cardinal himself has a full suit of the mostbrilliant red, but it is not so familiar a fact that the dames of thetribe are more modest and wear the family colors simply as linings andin subdued tints: rich rose-colored wing-facings, light coral-hued beak, delicate pink crest, all toned down by the soft olive brown of thebreast and back, over which is everywhere a lovely suggestion of red. 

The home of Virginia, when she came to the bird-room, was a large cageby the window; that of the cardinal being next to it, equallycommodious, but a little farther from the light. This personage, herfirst admirer, made the mistake that larger suitors sometimes fall into, with equally disastrous results, --he "took things for granted. " Betweenthe cages was a door, but, to try the temper of the birds, it was atfirst closed. The cardinal was evidently pleased with his lovelyneighbor; he went as near to her as he could get, and uttered some lowremarks, to which she listened, but did not reply. Later, when ameal-worm was given to him, he did not eat it, but held it in his beak, hopped over to her side, tried to get through the wires, and plainlythought of offering it to her. His disposition appearing so friendly, ahuman hand interposed and opened the door. Instantly he went into hercage, and apparently thinking better of the intended offering he ate ithimself, and proceeded to investigate her food-dishes and try the seed, then hopped back and forth between the two cages, and at last selectedthe perch he preferred and took possession. He paid no attention to herin the way of recognizing her ownership, which he would naturally do toanother bird; he assumed that whatever belonged to the cardinal familybelonged to him; perhaps he even thought she went with the house, --itcertainly looked as though he did. 

But the little dame had a mind of her own. On his first intrusion shevacated her home and passed into his. When he appeared in his cage shequietly hopped back; on his return she changed cages with equalalacrity; when he settled himself on her perch, she was quite contentedon his. There was no dispute, no warfare; she simply said, in manner, "All right, my friend, select your abode, and I'll take the other. I'msatisfied with either, but I intend to have it to myself. " After awhileit seemed to strike his lordship that she avoided him, and he resolvedto settle that matter; here making his second mistake, in trying toforce instead of to win. He entered the cage where she sat quietly, andflew at her. She dodged him and took refuge in the other apartment; hefollowed; and thus they rushed back and forth several times, till shestopped for breath on a lower perch, while he was on an upper one in thesame cage. Then he leaned far over and fixed his eyes on her, crestraised to its greatest height, wings held slightly out, and addressedher in a very low but distinct song, which resembled the syllables"cur-dle-e! cur-dle-e! cr-r-r"; the latter sounding almost like a cat'spurr. After singing this several times, and being slighted by herleaving the cage, he laid his crest flat down, muttered something so lowthat it could not be noted, and looked very much put out. Soon, however, he shook his feathers violently, flung himself at her, and she dodged, as before. When both happened to be for a moment in their own cages, thedoor was suddenly closed between, and each had his own, as at first. Madam was delighted, but the cardinal resented it; he tried to removethe obnoxious barrier, pecked at it, shook it, and could not bereconciled. He grew hungry and was obliged to eat, but between every twoseeds he returned to struggle with the bars that kept him from her. Meanwhile Virginia had apparently forgotten all about him, eating andmaking her toilet for the night, as cheerful as usual. 

The next morning, the outside doors of the two cages were opened, andboth birds at once came out into the room. The cardinal, not yet overhis tiff of the evening before, took wing for the trees outside thewindows, and brought up, of course, against the glass. He was greatlydisappointed. He alighted on top of the lower sash, tested, examined, and tried to solve the mystery. Virginia, too, tried to go through thepane, but learned in one lesson that it was useless. She did not caremuch about it any way, for she was perfectly contented inside. She wentaround the room, hovering slowly under the ceiling, which is always ofinterest to birds, and then set herself to work in a most systematicmanner to find out all about the new world she was in. She examined theoutside perches and tried each one; she explored the bathing table, flirted out a little water from the dishes, and at last thought it timeto make acquaintance with her neighbors. 

She began with the robin, and flew to his roof. The robin was notpleased, snapped at her, opened his mouth, uttered a queer lowrobin-cry, "seep, " and pecked at her feet, while she stood quietlylooking down at the show from above, as much interested as though itwere arranged to amuse her. At length she began to make the more formalvisit. She dropped to the door-perch and approached the entrance. Theinhospitable owner met her there, not to welcome and invite her in, butto warn her out! He lowered his head, opened his beak, and bowed to her, looking very wicked indeed. It was plain that he was "not receiving"that morning. But Virginia had come to call, and call she would. Nothingdaunted by his coolness, she hopped in. The robin was amazed; thendeclared war in his peculiar way, --first a hop of six inches, withwings spread, then a savage clatter of the bill. His guest met thisdemonstration quite calmly. She lowered her head, to defend herself ifnecessary, but made no other movement. Her calmness filled the robinwith horror; he fled the cage. Then she went all over it, and satisfiedherself that it was much like her own, only the food-dish was filledwith some uneatable black stuff, instead of the vegetarian food shepreferred. She soon departed. 

Meanwhile the cardinal was wasting his time over the window problem, touching the glass with his beak, flying up a few inches before it, gently tapping the pane as he went. It was two or three days before hemade up his mind he could not get through. After that he was asindifferent to the outside as any bird in the room, and turned hisattention once more to Virginia. Whenever they were in their cages, withthe door open between, he assumed the lord-and-mastership of the two; hedrove her away from her own food-cups, usurped her perch and her cage, and made himself disagreeable generally. Finally, one day when she wassitting quietly on the upper perch of his deserted cage, he came intothe same cage, and, resting on the low perch close to the door, his tailhanging outside, began a low call, a curious sort of "e-up, " with ajerk on the second syllable. Though a common enough sound for acardinal, this plainly meant more than was apparent to human spectators. Virginia at once grew uneasy, hopped across the upper perches, and whenher nervousness became too great dashed down past him, though he waspartly in the doorway, and into her own cage, where she resumed herrestless jumps. He was not pleased with her reception of his attentions;he sat a long time in that attitude, perfectly still, perhaps meditatingwhat step he should take next, glancing at her meanwhile over hisshoulder, but not stirring a feather. Time passed, and he came to adecision of some sort, which was shown by a change of position. Heturned around, and took his seat on the corresponding perch in her cage, just before the door. This impressed Virginia; she stopped her hoppingand looked over at him with an air of wondering what he would do next. What he did was to hop one step nearer, to the middle perch. Upon thisshe abandoned her place, came to the floor, and began to eat in the mostindifferent manner; then passed into his cage, then back to the floor ofher own, still eating, while he sat silent and motionless on the middleperch, evidently much disturbed by her conduct. After an hour of thisperformance he retired to her upper perch, and stayed there. 

The same day, the jealousy of the unsuccessful wooer was aroused by afine, fresh-looking cardinal whom he saw in the looking-glass. In flyingpast it he caught a glimpse of his reflection, and at once turned, alighted before it, and began calling vehemently; holding out, andquivering his wings, and flying up against the figure again and again inthe most savage way. The next day he began to mope and refused to comeout of the cage; whether because of illness, or disappointed affections, who shall say?

The time of her tormentor's retirement was one of great happiness toVirginia. She paid her usual visit to the robin, and he, as at first, vacated the cage, this having become the regular morning programme. Now, too, she went on to extend her acquaintance by entering the cage ofanother neighbor, a scarlet tanager, a shy, unobtrusive fellow, whoasked nothing but to be let alone. This bird also did not reciprocateher neighborly sentiments; he met her with open beak, but finding thatdid not awe her, nor prevent her calmly walking in, he hastily left thecage himself. During the time that her persecutor was sulking, and notlikely to bother, she had leisure for the bath, which she enjoyedfreely, coming out with her long breast-feathers hanging in locks andlooking like a bundle of rags. Her last experimental call was now madeupon another household, the Baltimore orioles, and there she met withsomething new--perfect indifference. Even when both of the birds were athome they did not resent her coming in. She went to the upper perch withthem; the cage was big, there was plenty of room, and they were willing. Their manners, in fact, were so agreeable that if their cups had beensupplied with seed, I think she would have taken up her abode with them;as it was, she frequently spent half an hour at a time there. On thiseventful day Virginia began to sing, for in her family the musicalperformances are not confined to the males. 

After several days of retirement, the cardinal plucked up spirit toresume his annoyance of Virginia, and for a few nights a queer sort ofgame was played by the two, explain it who can. If the barrier betweenthe cages was removed after the outside doors were shut for the night, he at once went to her cage and to the middle perch. Virginia, on theupper perch, waited till he reached that spot, then dropped to thefloor, slipped through the door into his cage, and went to the upperperches there, where she hopped back and forth, while he did the same inher cage. Suddenly, after a few moments, down he came again through thedoor to his own middle perch, when instantly, as before, she retreatedinto her cage. Thus they went on an hour at a time; he apparentlyfollowing her from one cage to another, and she declining to occupy thesame apartment with him. Occasionally it was not so calm; he lost histemper, or grew tired of trying to please; once or twice, withoutwarning, he lowered his head, looked ugly, and fairly burst into hercage and flung himself at her. She dived under or bounded over a perch, any way to escape him, and took refuge in the other cage. 

This could not go on long; the cardinal lost interest in everything, took to moping, and at last died, --disappointed affection, shall we say, or what? Virginia was relieved; she sang more and in a louder tone, hopping around her cage with a seed in her mouth, flying through theroom, or splashing in the bath; in fact she was bubbling over with songall the time, as if she were so happy she could not keep still. She paidher daily visits to the cages, forcing the robin to take an outing, which he did not care to do while moulting and not very sure of hispowers. 

Many birds show emotions by raising the feathers on different parts ofthe body, but this bird was remarkable in the expression of her crestalone. When she peeped into a strange cage, and was somewhat uncertainof her reception, the crest laid flat down, her very head seemed toshrink; she stepped in at the door, excited, for it might be peace andit might be war; the feathers rose and fell alternately; if suddenlystartled, the crest sprang to its highest point; and when singing, orpassing peacefully about the room, it dropped carelessly back on herhead. 

Virginia was allowed a week's solitary enjoyment of the two cages, andthen one day a new tenant appeared in the cardinal's quarters. She wasout in the room when he arrived, but she instantly came over andalighted on his roof, to have a look at him. Most expressive was hermanner. She stood in silence and gazed upon him a long time; all herliveliness and gayety were gone, and she appeared to be struck dumb bythis new complication of her affairs. It was plain that she was notpleased. Perhaps her dislike was evident to the new bird, for suddenlyhe flew up and snapped at her, which so surprised her that she hopped afoot into the air. When the time came to open the door into her cage, the stranger was delighted to go in, but Virginia dodged him, exactly asshe had done his predecessor. He did not lose his temper and condescendto the vulgarity of flying at her, as the first admirer had done. Helooked interested to see that she avoided him, but after all he did nottake it much to heart. This cardinal, like the other, was not yetacclimated--if one may call it so--to life in a house, and after a weekhe also took his departure. 

Now Virginia, free again, became at once very gay. She sang all thetime; she kept the robin stirring; she bathed; she waxed fat. But hertime was approaching. Spring came on, and with the first warm weatherthe birds began to disappear from the room. First the tanager expresseda desire to mingle with society once more, and went his way; then theorioles were sent to carry on their rough wooing in the big worldoutside; the robin followed; and at last Virginia was left with severalbig empty cages and only two birds, a reserved and solitude-lovingMexican clarin, and a saucy goldfinch, so long a captive that he had nodesire for freedom. Now for the first time Virginia was lonely; thestrange quiet of the once lively room worked upon her temper. Shesnapped at her little neighbor; she haunted the window-sill and gazedout; while nothing hindered her passage excepting the weather, ourclimate being rather cool for her. 

At last July, with its great heat, arrived, and the restless bird wascarried by a kind friend, who offered to do this good deed, to a placein Central Park, New York, where a small colony of her kind haveestablished themselves and build and nest every year. Here she was setfree, and here she met her third suitor. The place and the season werepropitious, and Virginia was ready to look with favor on a smart youngcardinal in the brightest of coats, who came in response to her callsthe moment she found herself on a tree, really out in the world. Alittle coaxing, a few tender words, and she flew away with him, and wesaw her no more. 

FRIENDSHIP IN FEATHERS. 

 Why should I cumber myself with regrets that the receiver is not capacious? It never troubles the sun that some of his rays fall wide and vain into ungrateful space, and only a small part on the reflecting planet. EMERSON. 

XIII. 

FRIENDSHIP IN FEATHERS. 

Emerson somewhere speaks of a friendship "on one side, without duecorrespondence on the other, " and I often thought of it while watchingthe curious relation between two birds in my house last winter; for themore one studies our feathered neighbors, the better he comes to realizethat the difference between their intelligence and that of man himselfis "only of less and more. "

This friendship, then, was all on one side. It was not a case of "loveat sight"; on the contrary, it was first war, and the birds had beenroom-mates for months before any unusual interest was shown; neither wasit simple admiration of beauty, for the recipient of the tenderness wasat his worst at the moment; nor, again, could it be the necessity ofloving somebody, for the devotee had lived in the house ten years, andhad seen forty birds of almost as many kinds come and go, withoutexhibiting any partiality. The parties to this curious affair were, first, the beloved, a male scarlet tanager, whose summer coat wasdisfigured with patches of the winter dress he was trying to put on; andsecondly, the lover, a male English goldfinch, scarcely half his size. 

The tanager, as perhaps every one knows, is one of our most brilliantbirds, bright scarlet with black wings and tail. He is as shy as he isgay, living usually in the woods, and not taking at all kindly to theenforced companionship of mankind. I had long been anxious to make theacquaintance of this retiring bird, partly because I desire to knowpersonally all American birds, and partly because I wanted to watch hischange of plumage; for the scarlet uniform is only the marriage dress, and put off at the end of the season. Hence whenever I saw a tanager ina New York bird store I brought it home, though dealers always warned methat it would not live in confinement. My first attempts weredisastrous, certainly. The birds refused to become reconciled, even withall the privileges I gave them, and one after another died, I believefor no other reason than their longing for freedom. Let me say here thatfeeling thus, they would have received their liberty, much as I wishedto study them, only their plumage was not in condition to fly, and theywould go out to certain death. My hope was to make them contentedthrough the winter, while they put on a new suit of feathers, and openthe doors for them in summer. 

The subject of this tale, and the last of the series, I procured of adealer who has learned to keep tanagers in good condition, and I neverhad trouble with this bird's health or spirits. It was not until Maythat he wished to leave me. When he joined the circle in the room he hadjust thoroughly learned that a cage was a place he could not get out of, and he had ceased to try. The first morning when his neighbors came outof their cages he was as much astonished as if he had never seen birdsout of a bird store. He stretched up and looked at them with thegreatest interest. When one or two began to splash in the large shallowbathing dishes on the table, he was much excited, and plainly desired tojoin them. I opened his door and placed in it a long perch leading tofreedom. For some time he did not come out, and when he did, the suddenliberty drove out of his head all thoughts of a bath. When he flew, heaimed straight for the trees outside the window, and of course cameviolently against the glass. 

This experience all house birds have to go through, and it is sometimesseveral days before they learned the nature of glass. The tanagerlearned his lesson more quickly. He fell to the floor at first, from theshock, but in a few moments recovered himself and returned, this timealighting on the top of the lower sash and proceeding to examine thestrange substance through which he could see, but could not go. Hegently tapped the glass with his beak the whole length of the window, passing back and forth several times till satisfied. Turning at lastfrom that, he cast his eye around for another exit, and settled on thewhite ceiling as the most likely place. Then he flew all about the roomclose to the ceiling, touched it now and then with his beak, and findingit also impassable, he came down to the window again. He had not theleast curiosity about the room, and was not at all afraid of me. Theworld outside the windows and his cage when he was hungry, were all thathe cared for at present--except the bath. 

The goldfinch was bathing the second time he came out, and he wentdirectly to the table and perched on the side of the dish. Now the onething the little fellow most delighted in was his morning bath, and heat once resented the intrusion of the stranger. He flew at him with openbeak and lifted wings, scolding vigorously, in fact gave him so hostilea reception that he quickly retired to the top of the cage, where hestood a long time. Afterward also, the goldfinch showed so strong adetermination that the intruder should not enjoy his beloved bath, thatat last I had to keep him in his cage while the new-comer had a chanceat the water. 

This did not go on long, however, for very soon the tanager deliberatelygave up the world of the bird-room, and insisted on remaining in hiscage. In vain was his door set open with the others, in vain did thebirds splash and splatter the water, he would not come out, though hedid not mope or lose his appetite. In truth, it seemed merely as if hescorned the advantages offered; if he could not go out free into thetrees, he would as lief stay in his cage--and he did. This is a notuncommon habit of cage birds. They often need to be driven or coaxedout. Having once learned that the cage is home with all its comforts andconveniences, they prefer to be there. 

The tanager was always a very shy bird; he did not like to be looked at. If he could manage it, he would never eat while any one saw him. Often, when I put a bit of apple or a meal-worm in his cage, he stood andlooked at it and at me, but did not move till I turned away, or walkedout of his sight, when he instantly pounced upon it as if starved. Tomake him altogether happy I put a screen around one corner of his cage, behind which were his dishes, and after that it was very droll to seehim crouch behind that and eat, every moment or two stretching up toglance over the top and see if I had moved. If I stirred as though aboutto leave my chair, he at once whisked to the upper perch as if he hadbeen caught in a crime. 

The first I noticed of the goldfinch's friendliness to him was after hehad lived with us five or six months. 

This small bird, in a room of larger ones, was somewhat driven about. Ido not mean hurt, but if any one wanted a certain perch he did nothesitate to take it, even if it were already occupied by so little afellow. He soon learned that near the tanager he was not often molested, and he began first to frequent the perch that ran out of the cage--thedoorstep in fact. Finding that he was not disturbed, he soon moved hisquarters just inside the door. Most birds quickly resent the intrusionof another into their cage, but the tanager never did. So long as he wasleft alone on his favorite upper perches, he did not care who went inbelow. This being the case, after a while the goldfinch ventured uponthe middle perch. Still he was not noticed; but presuming on thefriendly attitude of his host, he one day hopped upon the perch besidehim. This was a step too far; the house-owner turned an open beak towardhim, and in unmistakable tones told him to leave--which he at once did, of course. 

This boundary made by the tanager was never changed, but in the rest ofthe cage the goldfinch made himself at home, and at once assumed theposition of protector. Seeing that the owner did not, --and sure it wassomebody's duty, --he began to guard the door, warning away any one whowished to enter, with harsh scolding, fluttering of wings, and swellingup of his little body, amusing to see. The boldest bird in the room wasawed by these demonstrations coming from the inside as though the cagewere his own. The tanager looked on all this with some interest, butexpressed no more gratitude at being protected than he had resentment atbeing driven from the bath. 

Soon I noticed a certain chattering talk from the small bird that he hadnever indulged in excepting to another of his kind--his companion whenhe first came to me. It was very low but almost continuous, and wasplainly addressed to the tanager. As his friendliness progressed, hefound the lower perch too far from his charmer, and not being allowed tosit beside him he took to clinging upon the outside of the cage as nearto the tanager's usual seat as he could get. The only perching place hehad there was a band of tin that held the wires steady, but in spite ofwhat must have been the discomfort of the position, there he hung by thehour, talking, calling, and looking at his idol within. He left the spotonly to eat and bathe, and I think if the cage had been supplied withseed he would never have gone at all. When the bird inside hopped to theperch at the other end of the cage, which was the extent of hiswanderings, the finch at once followed on the outside, always placinghimself as near as possible. It was really touching, to all but theobject of it, who took it in the most indifferent way. When the tanagerwent down to eat, his escort accompanied him as far as the door perch, where he stood and looked on earnestly, ready to return to his old placethe moment the luncheon was finished. 

On the rare occasions that the self-elected hermit went out, thegoldfinch displayed great concern, evidently preferring to have hisfavorite at home where he could defend him. He flew uneasily across fromthe cage to his side, then back, as if to show him the way. He alsodesired to watch the empty house, to preserve it from intrusion, but wasconstantly divided between his duties of special porter, and bodyguard. But he did his best, even then; he followed the wanderer. If the tanagerwent to a perch the goldfinch at once alighted on the same, about a footaway, and sidled up as near as he was allowed. He was free to comewithin about three inches, but nearer he was driven off, so the littlefellow placed himself at this distance and there stayed patiently aslong as his friend remained. If the latter had been more responsive, Ibelieve the goldfinch would have nestled up against him. 

The tanager sometimes strayed into a strange cage, and then the anxiousguard followed to the steps and even within, talking earnestly, and nodoubt pointing out the danger, yet if the owner unexpectedly appeared hemet him at the threshold and fiercely defended the door against theproprietor himself. Occasionally the erratic recluse went to thefloor--a place never visited by his little attendant, whose trouble wasalmost painful to see. He at once placed himself on the lowest perch, stretched out and looked over, following every movement with his eyes, in silence, as though the danger was too great to allow conversation, and when his charge returned to a perch, he uttered a loud and joyouscall as though some peril had been escaped. 

The stanch little friend had many chances to show his loyalty. The otherbirds in the room were not slow to take advantage of one who neverdefended himself. In particular a Brazilian cardinal, a bold saucyfellow with a scarlet pointed crest and a loud voice, evidentlyconsidered the tanager cage common ground, open to everybody, until thegoldfinch undertook its defense. It was amusing to see the small birdstand just inside, and rage, puff himself out, wave his wings, andfairly drive away the foe. So impertinent was the Brazilian that thefinch declared general war upon him, and actually chased his bigantagonist around the room and away from his favorite perches, hoveringover his head, and flying around it in small circles, trying to peck it, till he flew away defeated, probably because he was too much amazed tothink of resisting. 

This was not, however, the worst enemy he had to deal with. Next door tothe tanager lived a robin, a big, rollicking, fun-loving fellow whoconsidered such a retiring personage fair game. His pleasure was to seethat the tanager went out every day, and he made it his business toenforce the regulation he had set up. His tactics were to jump upon theroof of the cage, coming down violently just over the head of thetanager, who, of course, hopped quickly to the other perch. Then therobin began a mad war-dance across the cage, wings held up, tail spread, bill clattering, and altogether looking as full of mischief as any badboy one ever saw, while the tanager went wild below, flying in a panicback and forth, but not for some time thinking of leaving the cage. Theinstant this performance began, the little champion was upon him; healighted at one end of the short tramping ground on the cage, and methis big foe with open beak and every sign of war. The robin simplylowered his head and went for him, and the little bird had to fly. Hepluckily returned at once to the other end and faced him again. 

Observing that the goldfinch alone was not able to keep the robin away, I provided the cage with a roof of paper, which is usually a perfectprotection, since birds dislike the rustle. It did not dismay thisnaughty fellow, however; on the contrary, it gave an added zest becauseof that very quality. He pranced across it in glee, making a greatnoise, and when the violence of his movements pushed it aside, he peereddown on the tanager, who stood panting. The sight pleased him, and heresumed his pranks; he lifted the handle of the cage and let it dropwith a clatter; he jerked off bits of paper and dropped them into thecage, and in every way showed a very mischievous spirit. Meanwhile, allthrough the confusion the goldfinch scolded furiously, flying around toget a peck at him, and in every way challenging him to fight. Occasionally, when he became too troublesome, the robin turned andsnapped his beak at him, but did not choose to leave the bigger game. 

When at last he tired of his fun, or was driven away, the goldfinch flewto the side of the cage where the frightened tanager had taken refuge, though there was not even a strip of tin to hold on, uttered his loudcheerful call several times, plainly congratulating and reassuring him, and telling him all was safe; and here he clung with difficulty to theupright wires, all the time slipping down, till the tanager went to theupper regions again. Every time the robin so much as flew past, thetireless little fellow rushed out at him, scolding. When finally therobin went into his own cage, and the tanager returned to his usualplace, the goldfinch at once assumed his uncomfortable perch and sang aloud sweet song, wriggling his body from side to side, and expressingtriumph and delight in a remarkable way. 

The approach of spring made a change in the tanager. He had not socompletely given up the world as it appeared. He began to chirp, tocall, and at last to sing. He was still so shy he went down behind hisscreen to sing, but sing he must and did. Now, too, he began to resentthe attentions of his admirer, occasionally giving the poor little toesa nip, as they clung to the tin band near his seat. He also went outnow, and turned an open beak upon his friend. From simply enduring him, he suddenly began offensive operations against him. Poor little lover!an ungrateful peck did not drive him away, but simply made him move alittle farther off, and stopped his gentle twittering talk a while. Butthe tanager grew more and more belligerent. He came out every day, tooksoaking baths, and returned to his examination of the windows, for thetrees were green outside, and plainly he longed to be on them. He stoodand looked out, and called, and held his wings up level with his back, fluttering them gently. 

All this time the devotion of the little one never changed, though itwas so badly received. When the tanager turned savagely and gave hisfaithful friend a severe peck, instead of resenting it the hurt birdflew to another perch, where he stood a long time, uttering occasionallya low, plaintive call, as if of reproach, all his cheerfulness gone, amelancholy sight indeed. I waited only for warm days to set free thetanager, and at last they came. Early in June the bird was put into atraveling cage, carried into the country, where a lovely bit of woodsand a pretty lake insured a good living, and the absence of sparrowsmade it safe for a bird that had been caged. Then the door was opened, and he instantly flew out of sight. 

The bird left at home seemed a little lost for a few days, moped about, often visited the empty cage, but in a short time entirely abandoned it, and evidently looked no more for his friend. But he is changed too: notquite so gay as before; not so much singing; and not a word of the softchattering talk we heard so constantly while his beloved friend washere. 

THE ROSY SHIELD. 

 Soft falls his chant as on the nest Beneath the sunny zone, For love that stirred it in his breast Has not aweary grown, And 'neath the city's shade can keep The well of music clear and deep. 

 And love that keeps the music, fills With pastorial memories. All echoing from out the hills, All droppings from the skies, All flowings from the wave and wind Remembered in the chant I find. 

 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 

XIV. 

THE ROSY SHIELD. 

One of the most winning inhabitants of my bird-room last winter bore onhis snow-white breast a pointed shield of beautiful rose-color, and thesame rich hue lined his wings. With these exceptions his dress was ofsober black and white, though so attractively disposed that he was anextremely pretty bird--the rose-breasted grosbeak. 

Nor was beauty his only attraction; he was a peculiar character, inevery way different from his neighbors. He was dignified, yet hisdignity was not like that of a thrush; he was calm and cool, yet notafter the manner of an orchard oriole. He possessed a lovely gentlenessof disposition, and a repose of manner unparalleled among my birds. Vulgar restlessness was unknown to him; flying about for mere exercise, or hopping from perch to perch to pass away time, he scorned. Thefrivolous way common to smaller birds of going for each seed as theywant it, was beneath him. When he wished to eat he did so like acivilized being, that is, took his stand by the seed-cup, and stayedthere, attending strictly to the business in hand till he had finished, leaving a neat pile of canary-seed shells in one spot, instead of thegeneral litter common to cages. The meal over, he was ready to go out ofthe cage, place himself comfortably in one of his favorite corners, andremain for a long time, amused with the life in the room and the doingsin the street, on both of which he seemed to look with the eye of aphilosopher. In the same deliberate and characteristic way he disposedof a meal-worm, or a bit of beef, which he enjoyed. He never bolted itoutright like a thrush, nor beat it to death like a tanager, nor held itunder one toe and took it in mouthfuls like an oriole: he quietly workedit back and forth between his mandibles till reduced to a pulp, and thenswallowed it. 

The rosy shield-bearer was preëminently a creature of habit. Very earlyin his life with us he selected certain resting places for his privateuse, and all the months of his stay he never changed them. The onepreferred above all others was the middle bar of the window-sash, in thecorner, and I noticed that his choice was always a corner. In this sunnyspot he spent most of the time, closely pressed against thewindow-casing, generally looking out at the trees and the sparrow-lifeupon them, and regarding every passer-by in the street, not in anunhappy way, but apparently considering the whole a panorama for hisentertainment. When events in the room interested him, his post ofobservation was a bracket that held a small cage, where he often sat anhour at a time in perfect silence, looking at everybody, concerned abouteverything, his rosy shield and white breast effectively set off by thedark paper behind him. 

Although thus immobile and silent, the grosbeak was far from beingstupid. He had decided opinions and tastes as well defined as anybody's. For example, when he came to me his cage stood on a shelf next to thatoccupied by two orchard orioles, and he was never pleased with theposition. He was hardly restless even there, while suffering what heplainly considered a grievance, but he was uneasy. I saw that somethingwas wrong, and guessed at once that it was because his upper perch wasthree inches lower than that in the next cage, and to have a neighborhigher than himself is always an offense to a bird. As soon as I raisedhis cage he was satisfied on that score, and no more disturbed me in theearly morning by shuffling about on his perch and trying to fly upward. 

But still things were not quite to his mind, and he showed it byconstantly going into the cage of the orioles and settling himselfevidently with the desire of taking up his residence there. He was sogentle and unobtrusive everywhere, that no one resented his presence inthe cage, and he could have lived in peace with almost any bird. But Iwanted him contented at home, and moreover, I was curious to find outwhat was amiss, so I tried the experiment of removing his cage from itsposition next to the lively orioles, and hanging it alone between twowindows, where, although not so light, it had the advantage of solitude. The change completed the happiness of the grosbeak. From that day he nomore intruded upon others, but went and came freely and joyously to hisown cage, and from being hard to catch at night he became one of themost easy, proceeding the moment he entered his home toward dark to theupper perch to wait for me to close the door before going to hisseed-dish. In fact, he grew so contented that he cared little to comeout, and often sat in his favorite corner of the cage by the hour, withthe door wide open and the other birds flying around. Now, too, he beganto sing in a sweet voice a very low and tender minor strain. 

Among his other peculiarities this bird scarcely ever seemed to feelthe need of utterance of any soft. On the rare occasions of anyexcitement he delivered a sharp, metallic "click"; a sudden alarm, likethe attack of another bird, called out a war-cry loud and shrill, andvery odd; and in the contest over the important question of precedenceat the bath he sometimes uttered a droll squeal or whining sound. Besides these, he made singular noises in bathing and dressing hisfeathers, which are not uncommon among birds, but are difficult todescribe. They always remind me of the rubbing of machinery in need ofoil. 

This beautiful bird was not easily frightened; the only time I ever sawhim seriously disturbed was at the sight of a stuffed screech-owl, whichI brought into the room without thinking of its probable effect. Iplaced it on a shelf in a closet, and I soon noticed that the moment thecloset door was opened the grosbeak became greatly agitated; he dartedacross the room to a certain retreat where he always hurried on thefirst alarm of any sort, and remained in retirement till the fancieddanger was over, while the others flew madly about. In this place hestood posturing in much excitement, and uttering at short intervals hissharp "click. " For some time I did not understand his conduct, nor thinkof connecting it with the owl on the shelf; but when it did occur to meI tried the experiment of bringing it out into the room, when Iimmediately saw, what I should have remembered at once, that it was anobject of terror to all the birds. 

The song of the rose-breasted grosbeak is celebrated, and I hoped mybird would become acquainted with us, and let out his voice; but I wasdisappointed in both respects, for he never became familiar in theleast, and though not at all afraid he was very shy; and furthermore, upon my bringing into the room two small musical thrushes, thegrosbeak--feeling, as I said, no need of utterance--readily relapsedinto silence, and all the winter never sang a note. His conduct beforethe looking-glass indicated that he was not naturally so silent, andthat he could be social with one who understood his language. Beingunable to get another grosbeak, I tried to give him companionship byplacing a small glass against one end of his cage. On seeing hisreflection the bird was greatly agitated, began his low, whining cry, postured, bowed, turned, moved back and forth, and at last left the cageand looked for the stranger behind the glass. Not finding him hereturned, had another interview with the misleading image, and ended asbefore in seeking him outside. At length he seemed to be convinced thatthere was something not quite natural about it, for, feeling hungry, hewent, with many a backward glance at the glass, to the floor, took ahemp-seed and carried it out into the room to eat, a thing he never didat any other time. 

I spoke of my bird's posturing; that was one of his pleasures, andalmost his only exercise while he lived in the house. He was notgraceful, his body was not flexible, and his tail was far from being theexpressive member it is with many birds, it always stood straight out;he could raise it with a little jerk, and he had a beautiful way ofopening it like a fan, but I never saw it droop or stir in any otherway. In these movements his head and tail maintained the same relativeposition to the body, as though they were cut out of one piece of wood;but he bowed and leaned far over on one side, with his short legs widespread; he passed down a perch, alternately crouching and rising, eithersideways or straight; he jerked his whole body one side and then theother, in a manner ludicrously suggestive of a wriggle; he sidled alonghis perch, holding his wings slightly out and quivering, then slowlyraised them both straight up, and instantly dropped them, or held themhalf open, fluttering and rustling his feathers. 

He had also a curious way of moving over a long perch: he proceeded bysidewise hops, and at each hop he turned half round, that is, the firststep he faced the window, the next the room, the third the window again, and so on to the end, coming down at every jump as though he weighed apound or two. He was much addicted to sitting with breast-featherspuffed out covering his toes, or sometimes with wings held a little wayfrom his body, showing the delicate rose-colored lining, as thoughconscious how pretty he looked; and among other eccentric habits heoften thrust out his tongue, first one side and then the other, apparently to clean his bill. 

Bathing and getting dry was conducted by this peculiar bird in a mannercharacteristic of himself. Slow to make the plunge, he was equallydeliberate in coming out of the bath. When fairly in, he first thrusthis head under, then sat up in the drollest way, head quite out of waterand tail lying flat on the bottom, while he spattered vigorously withwings and tail. When he stepped out, the bath was over; he neverreturned for a second dip, but passed at once to a favorite corner ofthe window-bar, and stood there a most disconsolate-looking object, shivering with cold, with plumage completely disheveled, but making notthe least effort to dry his feathers for several minutes. If the sunshone, he indulged himself in a sunning, erecting the feathers of hischin till he looked as if he wore a black muffler, opening his tail likea fan, spreading and crossing his wings over the back. This attitudemade a complete change in his looks, showing white where black shouldbe, and _vice versa_. This was the result of his peculiar coloring. Nextthe skin all feathers were the common slate-color, but outside of thateach feather was black and white. On the back the black was at the tip, and the white between that and the slate-color; on the breast this orderwas reversed, and the white at the tip. Thus when wet the white andblack were confused, and he resembled an object in patch-work. Therose-colored shield was formed by the slightest possible tips of thatcolor on the white ends, and it was wonderful that they should arrangethemselves in an unbroken figure, with a sharply defined outline, foreach feather must have lain in its exact place to secure the result. 

The different ways in which birds greet advancing night has long been asubject of interest to me, some restless and nervous, others calm, and afew wild and apparently frightened. In no one thing is there moreindividuality of action, and in my room that winter were exhibited everyevening quite a variety of methods. A brown thrush or thrasher on theapproach of darkness became exceedingly restless, flying about hiscage, going over and under and around his perches, posturing inextraordinary ways, uttering at every moment a strange, harsh-breathingsound. Two smaller thrushes met the evening hour by fluttering, and aqueer sort of dance elsewhere described. Two orchard orioles saluted thetwilight by gymnastics on the roof of the cage. The bluebirds madecareful and deliberate arrangements for a comfortable night, while thegrosbeak differed from all in simply fluffing himself out, and settlinghimself, on the first hint of dark, in the chosen corner, whence hescarcely moved, and as soon as objects grew indistinct he laid his headquietly in its feather pillow and stirred no more. The brightestgaslight an hour later did not disturb him; if a noise wakened him, hesimply looked up to see what was the matter, but did not move, and soonturned back to his rest, when slight jerks of his wings, and faintcomplaining sounds, told that he not only slept, but dreamed. 

The bearer of the rosy shield was a persistent individual; having oncetaken a notion into his head, nothing would make him forget it or changehis mind. Fully settled in his preference for a certain perch on thewindow, the coldest day in winter, with the wind blowing a gale throughthe crack between the sashes, would not make him desert it. Driving himaway from the spot had not the slightest effect on him, he returned themoment he was left in peace. Thinking that another cage was moreconvenient for his use, nothing short of absolute shutting the doorwould keep him out of it. Nor did he forget about it either; if the doorwas accidentally left open, after being closed for weeks, he entered asquickly as though he had been in every day. 

This bird never showed any playfulness of disposition; indeed, he hadtoo much dignity to do so. He never flew around the room as though heliked to use his wings, although they were perfect, and there wasnothing to prevent if he chose. Nor did he display curiosity about hissurroundings. The only things he appeared to notice were the doings ofthe birds and people in the room, and the moving panorama without, whichlatter he always viewed with equanimity, although the sound of ahand-organ aroused him to a sort of mild fury. 

As spring advanced, the beautiful grosbeak grew tuneful and often addedhis exquisite song to the rippling music of the small thrushes, and--with a little stretch of the imagination as to its duration--

 "Trilled from out his carmine breast, His happy breast, the livelong day. "

THE BIRD OF MYSTERY. 

 For me there is a mystery unrevealed; Sweet Nature, speak to me!

 LUCY LARCOM. 

XV. 

THE BIRD OF MYSTERY. 

It is well that Nature has so carefully guarded the lives of her mostbeautiful birds, for it is a sad fact that, in the words of an eminentwriter, "the winged order--the loftiest, the tenderest, the mostsympathetic with man--is that which man nowadays pursues most cruelly. "Had they been as accessible as sparrows, even although they equaled themin numbers, not one would by this time be alive on earth. 

The family whose extraordinary dress and mystery of origin justify itsname--Birds of Paradise--is securely hidden in distant islands notfriendly to bird-hunting races. Inaccessible mountains and pathlessforests repel the traveler; impassable ravines bar his advance; sicknessand death lie in wait for the white man, while the native lurks withpoisoned dart behind every bush. 

The first of the race that came to us were heralded by myth and investedwith marvels: they had no feet; they slept upon the wing; they fed upondew, and hatched their eggs upon their backs. Such were the tales thataccompanied the skins, magnificent beyond anything known to the world inthe glory of plumage, and they were named Birds of Paradise. But scienceis supposed in these days to conquer all mysteries, and science armeditself with powder and shot, game bags, provision trains, and servants, and set out for the far-away inhospitable islands, the home of this, themost attractive of all. Science has solved many problems: the "Heart ofAfrica" has become a highway; the Polar sea and the source of the Nileare no longer unknown; but with her most persistent efforts during threehundred years she has not yet been able to give us the life history ofthis one feathered family. Many of her devotees have penetrated to itshome and brought back fresh varieties; money, health, and life have beenfreely spent; but, save for a few strange and curious facts, we knowlittle more of the manner of life of the Birds of Paradise than we didwhen we depended on the native legends. How some of them look we know;we have their skins wired into shape in our museums and gorgeouslypictured in our books; but every traveler finds new kinds, and how manysorts there may be which have so far eluded the few and short visits ofnaturalists, no one is able to tell. Even of those we have, how scantyis our knowledge! What they eat we are told; how they bathe and dresstheir plumage; their loud calls and unmusical voices; the shyness ofthose whose conspicuous beauty sets a price upon their heads, and their"dancing parties, " so graphically described by Wallace; but of theirnesting we are in profound ignorance. Where the gravely dressed partnersof the brilliant creatures set up the hearthstone none can tell, unlessit be the mop-headed Papuan, and he will not. 

The colors lavished on the plumage would alone make the Birds ofParadise the wonder of the world; exquisite tints not surpassed by thehumming-birds themselves, and of almost infinite variety, from therichest velvety purple to the gorgeous metallic greens, blues, andyellows, changing with every motion, and glittering in the sun likegems. But the marvelous freaks in the arrangement of the plumage aremore specially interesting. So extraordinary a variety of forms, sounique and fantastic in disposal, are without parallel in the animalworld. Some species are adorned with long, drooping tufts of plumeslight as air, as the Red Bird of Paradise, and others bearstrange-shaped, movable shields; part of the family wear ruffs, andothers display fans on shoulders or breast; a few sport extravagantlength of tail, and one or two show bright-hued wattles; one species isbare-headed, and--other vagaries being exhausted--two have curls. Thegreater number have an unusual development of two or more feathers intolong, wire-like objects, with a patch of web at the ends. In one speciesthese wires are formed into two perfect circles beyond the end of thetail; in another they cross each other in a graceful double curve, andin a third stand straight and stiff from the end of the feathers. TheSexpennis, or Golden Bird of Paradise, has on the head six of theseshafts, which it erects at pleasure, producing a singular appearance;and the Standard Wing has two on each wing, equally effective. Perhapsthe most peculiar fact about the family is the power each bird possessesto change its form by means of these eccentric ornaments. All areerectile and movable in several ways, and a bird that is at one momentlike our common crow in shape, may in the next show a dazzling array ofwaving plumes or vibrating fans, and be utterly unrecognizable for thesame creature. It is evident to all bird students that feathers are assurely an "index of the mind" as are tails in cat and dog, and themanners and expression of this family would be a study of absorbinginterest. 

Not to mention the birds already familiar in books, there are a fewinteresting peculiarities of some of the late discoveries, and thepossible varieties are by no means exhausted, so that each new travelerwho penetrates into their chosen home will doubtless have opportunity tosee his own name Latinized into dignity and bestowed upon some brilliantand hitherto unknown bird, having a new disposition of plumage, or acolor more beautiful--if conceivable--than any before. One of the mostattractive of the recent additions to the list was made by SignorD'Albertis, and named for him _Drepanoris Albertisi_. In a letter to aSydney newspaper he tells the story of the discovery, which occurredwhile he was living in a Papuan mansion built upon the trunks of trees, and reached by means of a long ladder. From this unique residence hemade excursions into the mountains, and, among other things, had thegood fortune to see two curious episodes in the life of the Six-shaftedBird of Paradise. He found this bird--which is not new to science--to bea noisy and solitary fellow, roaming the thick woods alone, dining uponfigs and other fruits, and indulging in the strange habit of "dusting"itself like a city sparrow. Happily he saw the whole operation. Selecting a suitable spot, the beautiful bird first cleared away thegrass and leaves, and while the eager observer was wondering what allthis preparation portended, suddenly flung itself to the ground, androlled its rich plumage in the dust, fluttered the wings, elevated anddepressed the six plumes on its head, and otherwise appeared to enjoyitself extremely. At another time the traveler witnessed a seconduncommon scene in the deep interior of the forest. A bird of the samespecies alighted upon the ground, and after peering in every direction, either to make sure of being unobserved, or to discover an enemy or afriend, began a most singular performance, waving the six long plumes ofthe head, raising and lowering a small tuft of silvery white feathersover its beak, elevating a glittering crest on its neck, and spreadingand drawing back the long feathers on its sides, every movement entirelychanging its apparent shape. In a short time it began to jump from sideto side and to assume an attitude of war, and all the time it neverceased uttering an uncommon note, as though calling for admiration orfor a fight. 

Not long after this curious exhibition followed the observer's greatprize, the _Drepanoris Albertisi_, which is so rare that even to many ofthe natives it was a surprise. At the first glance this bird does notappear to deserve a place in the remarkable family. It is about the sizeof our common crow, brown on the back and lavender-gray below, with acurved bill more than three inches long. But closer study revealsseveral peculiarities: a bare space of bright blue around the eye, brilliant green on the throat, and a pair of feathery tufts standing upon the forehead like horns, with the crowning attraction of two pairs offans, one behind the other on each side of the breast, capable of beingfolded smoothly against the body, or spread wide in two gorgeoussemicircles altering the entire outlines of the creature. The first ofthe two admirable ornaments, when in repose, appears of the sameviolet-gray hue as the breast; but when raised the bases of the feathersare seen to be of a brilliant red, giving the effect of longitudinalstripes. The second pair is much longer, with deep margins of splendidpurple instead of the stripes. When the possessor of all this splendorspreads its four fans, it also erects the long tail and opens it widelyinto a fifth fan, which produces an astonishing effect. 

Another of D'Albertis's contributions to the mysterious family is amongits most magnificent members, the _Paradisea Raggiana_. A fine specimenof this genus, mounted in the position described by Wallace as the"dancing" attitude of _P. Apoda_, the floating plumes elevated in a"golden glory" above the head, is the gem of the collection in theAmerican Museum of New York. It resembles the Great Bird of Paradise, having long, airy plumes springing from under each wing. In generalcolor golden brown, with yellow head and green throat. To this bird, asto others, beauty is a dangerous possession; and, as if feeling aware ofthe fact, it lives in the tops of tall trees, in the deepest forest, among the most inaccessible ravines. But wary though it be, onecharacteristic lures it to destruction--curiosity. A European hunter inhis unfamiliar dress is an irresistible attraction; nearer and nearer itcomes, hopping from branch to branch, pausing at every step to observeand study the intruder, with neck stretched and wings flapping, everymoment uttering a peculiar cry, no doubt equivalent to "Come and look!"for it brings others upon the scene, till the pretty sight is rudelyended by a shot and a death-wound. The cry of distress brings thefriends nearer, only to fall victims in their turn to the same murderousgun. Our traveler once surprised a female of this species, and a drollproceeding followed. After flying several times around his head to seewhat sort of a creature he might be, she alighted on a vine, and turningheels over head, remained hanging head down, sharply scrutinizing hisappearance from this point of view till he--shot her. 

A bare-headed bird would not seem to present any attraction to the loverof beauty, though it might be of scientific interest; but Nature, nothaving exhausted her resources upon the Birds of Paradise alreadymentioned, has even accomplished the feat of making a bald-headedbeauty. The bare skin on the whole crown is of a brilliant blue colormost oddly crossed by narrow rows of minute feathers, which irresistiblyremind one of the sutures of the human skull. That color shall not belacking, it bears, besides the blue of the head, black, straw color, bright red, and green; and is further adorned with two very long centraltail feathers, which reach far beyond the rest of the tail, and return, making a complete circle; a rare and lovely ornament. A good specimen isamong the later arrivals at the American Museum. 

The _Manucodia_ are the curly Birds of Paradise, and our knowledge ofone of the latest and most novel of them is owing not to theindefatigable naturalists who have braved the dangers and discomfort oftheir wild island home, neither to the English Wallace, the Dutch VonRosenburg, the Italian Beccari, nor to D'Albertis, nor Bruiju, nor DeMyer, whose names will be forever associated with the splendid family, but to a British officer of scientific tastes. 

_M. Comrii_ is the largest, and has more curls than any other yetdiscovered, for they not only decorate the top of the head, but extenddown the neck, and form ridges over the eyes. Even the tail partakes ofthe general curve, which makes it boat-shaped, and--most fantastic ofall--the two middle feathers are nearly an inch shorter than their nextneighbors, and turned over at the ends so as to display the differentcolor of their inner surface, and form what ladies call "_revers_. "

"Such eccentricities are really not to be accounted for, as we cannotconceive they can be for any useful purpose" (!), gravely says sciencein the person of an English authority. This severely disapproved ofplumage is blue with green lights on back and head, and black edged onevery feather, with purple on the breast. 

Another species of the curly family, the Blue-green Paradise Bird (_M. Chalybea_), has been known to us for a hundred years, but its habitsare as much a mystery as its curls. It is exquisite in color, of therichest purple, glossy as satin, with neck of deep green, and allcrinkled and curled over head and neck. 

The Long-tailed Bird of Paradise is the proud possessor of twenty-twonames, from which it were hard to make a selection. It is one of thelargest, being twenty-two inches in length, most of which, however, istail, and is splendid in soft velvet-like black with hints of green andblue and purple. On each side it carries a fan of curved feathers, andthe plumes of the flanks are of the lightest and most delicate texture. Words cannot describe the grace and elegance of this bird, and theperfect specimen in the museum above mentioned is worthy of a pilgrimageto see. 

A "changeable" Bird of Paradise is the one remaining eccentricityconceivable to complete the variety in coloring, and this is found inthe _Epimachus Ellioti_, a bird so rare that at the time Gould publishedhis first work the specimen in his collection was unique, andnaturalists in their excursions in the Papuan Islands have vainly triedto discover its home and learn its habits. The whole incomparableplumage is of rich changeable hues; in ordinary light, when perfectlymotionless, the bird appears of a soft black, but on moving about thecolor varies from violet to maroon, from this to deep amethyst, and thento green, purple, and blue. A most extraordinary effect is produced whenit faces the spectator with fan-plumes expanded, reaching so far aboveits head that they look like a pair of arms thrown up. 

The most interesting though not the most beautiful of the family is theGardener bird, discovered a few years ago by the Italian naturalistBeccari. Here is a Bird of Paradise eccentric not in dress but inhabits. His plumage is modest brown in several shades, so inconspicuousthat the partner of his joys can wear the same tints, which she does. The bird is the size of a turtle-dove. Let the doctor himself tell thestory of the discovery while walking through the beautiful forest, sothick that scarcely a ray of sunshine penetrated the branches. He says:

"I suddenly stood before the most remarkable specimen of the industry ofan animal. It was a hut or bower close to a small meadow enameled withflowers. The whole was on a diminutive scale, and I immediatelyrecognized the famous nests described by the hunters of Bruiju. Afterwell observing the whole I gave strict orders to my hunters not todestroy the little building. That, however, was an unnecessary caution, since the Papuans take great care never to disturb these nests orbowers, even if they are in their way. The birds had evidently enjoyedthe greatest quiet until we happened, unfortunately for them, to comenear them. I had now full employment in the preparation of mytreasure.... I took colors and brushes, and went to the spot, and madethe sketch which I now publish. When I was there neither host norhostess was at home.... I could not ascertain whether this bower wasoccupied by one pair or more, whether the male alone is the builder, orwhether the wife assists. I believe, however, that the nest lastsseveral seasons. "

The pleasing description of the house and lawn, with its manydecorations, has been widely copied. "Being mostly near the entrance, "says the grave scientist in conclusion, surprised into sentiment, "itwould appear that the husband offers there the daily gift to the wife, removing the objects to the back of the hut as they fade or wither. " Itis clever not only in building a house and lawn, but in imitating thesongs and cries of other birds, and doing it so well, according to ourauthor, that it brought "his hunters to despair. "

So few Birds of Paradise have entered the scientific world alive, and solittle is known of their manners, that the meagre accounts we havepossess unusual interest. So long ago as early in the century Mr. Bennett, in his visit to Macao, wrote a statement of the ways of a GreatBird of Paradise (_P. Apoda_) which had been at that time in confinementnine years. His description of the toilet of the most exquisite of birdsis delightful. 

"It washes itself regularly twice daily, and after having performed itsablutions, throws its delicate feathers up nearly over the head.... Thebeautiful subalar plumage is then thrown out and cleaned from any spotthat may sully its purity by being passed gently through the bill, theshort chocolate-colored wings are extended to the utmost, and he keepsthem in a steady flapping motion, at the same time raising up thedelicate long feathers over the back, which are spread in a chaste andelegant manner, floating like films in the ambient air. In this positionthe bird would remain for a short time, seemingly proud of its heavenlybeauty. I never yet beheld a soil on its feathers. After expanding thewings it would bring them together so as to conceal the head, thenbending gracefully it would inspect the state of its plumageunderneath.... It then picks and cleans its plumage in every part withinreach, and throwing out the elegant and delicate tuft of feathersunderneath, they are cleaned in succession, if required, by throwingthem abroad, elevating and passing them in succession through the bill. Then turning its back to the spectators, the actions above mentioned arerepeated, ... And throwing its feathers up with much grace, appears asproud as a lady dressed in her full ball dress"(!). After furtheraccount of its taking grasshoppers from visitors, he concludes: "Shouldany of the insects fall to the floor of his cage he will not descend tothem, appearing to be fearful that in so doing he should soil hisdelicate plumage. "

Almost equally charming is Mr. Bennett's observation of one that Wallacecarried alive to London, which lived two years there and becameexceedingly tame. It is this species whose dancing parties Wallace thusdescribes:--

"On one of these trees a dozen or twenty full-plumaged male birdsassemble, raise their wings vertically over the back, stretch out theirnecks, and raise and expand their exquisite long plumes till they formtwo magnificent golden fans, which are kept in continual vibration. Between whiles they fly across from branch to branch in greatexcitement, so that the whole tree is filled with waving plumes in everyvariety of attitude and motion. In the position above mentioned thewhole bird is overshadowed by his plumage, the crouching body, yellowhead, and emerald green throat form but the foundation and setting tothe golden glory which waves above. Seen in this attitude the Bird ofParadise really deserves its name, and must be ranked as one of the mostbeautiful and most wonderful of living things. "

In truth, it is so transcendently beautiful that hunters have beenastonished into forgetfulness of their guns, and no triumph was evergreater, for to recognize an attractive creature and lift the gun totake its life seems to be a single operation of many who carry themurderous weapon. 

The Twelve-wired, one of the better known varieties of the Birds ofParadise, is usually figured, and probably always mounted, with itsexquisite plumes closely folded against its sides, but the Frenchnaturalist and traveler Le Vaillant, in his large work published earlyin the century, gives a representation of it under the name of _LeNebuleux_, with feathers expanded to the uttermost, a truly magnificentdisplay. All his figures, though sometimes incorrect, owing to thescanty knowledge of the time, have a great deal of life. Each bird ispresented both in repose, with plumage all folded smoothly back, and inexcitement, with every fan and ruff and erectile ornament fully spread. 

This peerless family takes kindly to captivity, as has been amply provedby their enduring the voyage and living two years in the unfavorableclimate of England, as well as by spending at least nine years in anaviary in China, and there is no reason why we in America should nothave opportunity to admire them and study their habits from life. Wouldthat some of our young explorers could be induced to turn from theice-fields of the Poles, and the death-swamps of the Tropics, to seekthese inimitable birds in the mountains and woods of the PapuanIslands--not to shoot for our museum shelves, but to study their mannersand customs, and above all to introduce them into American aviaries, that a new and absorbing chapter might be added to our NaturalHistories, and the Bird of Paradise cease to be the Bird of Mystery. 

INDEX. 

 African Parrot and Mocking-Bird, 90. 

 Baltimore Oriole. Pursue a blackbird, 4. Baby ways, 9. Attacked by robin, 10. An unnatural baby, 11. One at a time, 11. The father as drudge, 12. Visited by the Cardinal, 215. 

 Bird of Paradise, 253. Where found, 253. Mythical stories of, 253. Dancing parties, 255. Colors, 255. Arrangement of plumage, 255. Red Bird of, 255. Golden, 256. Standard-wing, 256. Change of form, 256. Feathers an index of the mind, 256. Interesting new discoveries, 257. Signor d'Albertis, 257. Six-shafted, 257. Dusting itself, 258. Curious scene, 258. A rare bird, 259. Description of, 259. Another new one, 259. Specimen in N. Y. Museum, 260. Description of _P. Raggiana_, 260. Danger of beauty, 260. A bare-headed bird, 261. _Manucodia_, 261. _M. Comrii_, 262. _M. Chalybea_, 262. Long-tailed, 263. Changeable, 263. _Epimachus Ellioti_, 263. The Gardener bird, 264. Description of nest, 264. A clever builder, 265. Manners of _P. Apoda_, 266. Toilet, 266. Dancing parties, 267. Twelve-wired, 268. Le Vaillant's work, 268. 

 Birds. Home affairs of, 3. Dangers in nest, 5. Hard work of, 15. Training the young, 15. Study of, 16. Cruel pursuit of, 239. At twilight, 247. 

 Bluebird, 97. Attitude and manners, 97. Attitude and manners, female, 98. Defending her spouse, 98. Standing guard, 98. Defending the young, 99. After the mocking-bird, 99. Unsafe nest, 99. Tragedy in the family, 100. Consoling his mate, 100. An affectionate pair, 101. Motherly affection, 102. Arrangements for sleep, 102. Queer little talk with me, 103. Talk together, 104-106. Staring at nothing, 104. His mate disapproves, 106. Difference in intelligence, 107. Demanding meal-worms, 107. Expressing themselves, 107. Learning by experience, 108. Fond of worms, 108. Trick on a scarlet tanager, 108. Bathing, 109. Bewitching dance, 109. Sunning himself, 109. Feathering out, 110. Growing belligerent, 110. Courtship, 110. He presents a worm, 110. Refusing to share, 111. Feeding through wires, 112. Change in the song, 112. Set free, 112. Attacked by sparrows, 112. Baby ways, 13. Bringing food to young, 47. 

 Blue Jay, 175. Driving corks, 175. Hammering, 175. Destructiveness, 176. Holes in the matting, 176. Ornamenting books, 177. Pounding upward, 177. Hiding things, 177. His regular business, 178. Clearing up the room, 178. Setting off matches, 179. Odd hiding-places, 179. In my hair, 180. Intelligent interest, 180. Likes and dislikes, 180-191. Showing fight, 181. War upon the baby, 181. Expression of affection, 181. Curiosity, 182. Jumping, 183. Queer way of alighting, 183. Bird of opinions, 183. Scolding the rain, 184. Strange noises, 184. Song, 184. Stamping his feet, 184. In anger, 184. Peaceful among the birds, 185. Timid, 185. Afraid of falling, 185. A jay-baby cry, 185. Fond of music, 186. Attended to business, 187. Talking to me, 187. His demon of work, 187. In his vindication, 187. Knew what he wanted, 191. Human society, 191. Tokens of affection, 192. Love, 193. Ice-cream and cake, 193. Hiding his candy, 193. Next in favor, 193. Difference in treatment, 193. Curious dance, 194. Missed his frolics, 194. Calling his playmate, 194. Treatment of a young lady, 195. Treatment of a youth, 195. Treatment of the head of the household, 195. Treatment of a maid, 195. Afraid of a trap, 195. A wise bird, 196. Cutting a wire, 196. Loosening a rubber band, 196. A troublesome pet, 196. On my desk, 196. A cure for hammering, 196. Learning to get under the cover, 197. Prying into packages, 197. The waste basket, 198. After the photographs, 198. On the door, 198. Flying out, 198. The open window, 199. Learning to outwit him, 199. The other birds no society, 199. Surprising his neighbors, 199. The room in a panic, 200. Excitement over a grasshopper, 200. The oriole takes a hand, 200. Afraid of a tree, 200. Hiding the needles, 202. Bathing, 202. Beauty of plumage, 202. 

 Brazilian Cardinal, 232. 

 Cardinal Grosbeak, or Virginia C. , 207. Colors, 207. Her first admirer, 208. His first call, 208. A mind of her own, 209. His mistake, 209. Reproaching her, 209. Violent wooing, 210. The obnoxious door, 210. The window, 210. Exploring the room, 211. Calling on the robin, 211-214. War declared upon her, 211. The window problem, 212. Lord-and-master, 212. Curious performance, 212. Hostilities, 213. Jealousy, 214. The looking-glass, 214. Calling on the tanager, 214. The bath, 214. Calling on the orioles, 215. Beginning to sing, 215. A queer game, 215. War again, 216. Death of the persecutor, 216. Virginia relieved, 216. Expression of crest, 216. A week's peace, 217. Arrival of a stranger, 217. Virginia not pleased, 217. The second suitor goes, 218. Left alone, 218. Set free, 219. The successful wooer, 219. Difficulty, studies under, 25, 26, 27, 29, 30. 

 Golden-winged Woodpecker, or Flicker, 115. In search of a nest, 115. Heavy flight, 116. Out of a bird store, 117. Excessively wild, 117. Getting acquainted, 117. Peeping out, 118. Expressing emotion, 118. In despair, 118. Holes in the wall, 118. Learning to eat, 118. Peculiar attitudes, 119. Sleeping, 119. Restlessness, 119. Taking naps, 120. A heavy sleeper, 120. Dreaming, 120. Hanging himself, 121. Expression of sentiments, 121. The door opened, 121. Running about the floor, 121. Intelligence, 121. Exploring the room, 121. Investigating the nails, 122. Visiting his neighbors, 122. Up the ladder, 122. Teasing the goldfinch, 123. Down the ladder, 123. Stepping down backward, 123. Going home, 124. Asking to be let out, 124. Suddenly familiar, 124. Child-like disposition, 124. A silent bird, 124. A strange song, 125. An extraordinary display, 125. The baby of the family, 126. Position of rest, 127. Flicker talk, 127. 

 Goldfinch, 72, 152, 157. 

 Mocking-Bird. Baby ways, 13. Study of, 23. Way of singing, 25-44. Fables about, 30-31. Nest, 35. Domestic relations, 36. Home in a pine grove, 37. Wooing, 38. Dance, 39. Love or war? 41. House hunting, 41. Building in a storm, 42. On the winding stairs, 43. Belligerent, 44. A call on his spouse, 45. Frolic on the grass, 45. Nest in the cedar, 45. The youngsters out, 46. Feeding the babies, 46. The baby cry, 47. Parental anxiety, 48, 50, 55. Madam remonstrates, 48. Telling the news, 49. Out of the nest, 50. Looks and manners of the infant, 50, 51, 53. A lively youngster, 52. An ignominious flop, 53. Baby number two, 53. Refuses to move on, 53. Thieves--black and white, 54. Behavior of a young singer, 54. Had his own way, 55. Number three neglected, 55. The cry-baby, 56. Peculiar hops, 56. A curious performance, 57. The nest, 57. Movements, 58, 59. Lifting the wings, 60. Disposition, 60. Quarrel, 61. Attack on a crow, 61. Song, 62, 63. As imitator, 63. 

 Mocking-Bird in the house. Mocking, 67. Intelligence, 67. Taking notes, 68. Choice of colors, 68. Enjoyment of liberty, 69. Reason, 69. Warmed by a lamp, 69. Quiet observation, 70. Submitting to imposition, 70. Out of the cage, 70. Studying surroundings, 71. The pin-cushion, 71. Looking-glass, 71. Settling his position, 72. The English goldfinch, 72. Driven away from the bath, 73. The feathers flew, 74. Scene between goldfinch and, 74. Insulted by a thrush, 75. Dispute over the bath, 75. Worrying the Mexican, 77. With the wood thrush, 78. Quarrel over the apple, 78. A war dance, 79. Settling the thrush, 80. End of the apple contest, 81. Decides to remove, 81. Teasing the thrush, 83. Graceful attack, 83. A change of tactics, 84. A determined enemy, 85. Gracefulness, 85. Bewitching ways, 86. Expression of feathers, 86. The looking-glass, 87. Manner of dressing, 89. Lifting the wings, 89. Steel pen, 89. Attack on the parrot, 90. Never startled, 91. Caught under a shawl, 91. Mad frolics, 92. Fury of play, 92. Reducing the finch to silence, 93. Mischief, not malice, 93. 

 Mexican thrush, 77, 83. 

 Nonpareil, 28. 

 Nuthatch baby ways, 12. Visited by orioles, 138. 

 Orchard Orioles, 131. Characteristics, 131, 132. Persistent singers, 131. Making themselves conspicuous, 132. Annoying ways, 132. Shouting the news, 133. Trouble in the family, 133. Plumage, 133, 134. Two suitors to one maid, 134. He will have his way, 134. She flew for her life, 134. Voice of female, 135. Beauty of female, 135. Restless manners, 135. A war dance, 136. An anti-climax, 137. A meek damsel, 137. Inquisitive, 138. Visiting the mocking-bird's nest, 138. Visiting nuthatches, 138. Interested in me, 139. The crisis, 139. Nesting time begun, 139. Matters settled, 140. The honeymoon, 140. Submitting to the inevitable, 140. Nest building, 140. Precipitate wooing, 141. Grumbling husbands, 141. A feathered thief, 142. The end was not yet, 142. With a grasshopper, 201. 

 Pewee, baby ways, 15. Learning to hover, 16. 

 Plover, 24. 

 Purple Crow Blackbird. In trouble, 4. Launching the infants, 5. Blackbird babies, 7. 

 Rose-breasted Grosbeak, 239. Dress; characters, 239. Manner of eating, 240. About the room, 240. A creature of habit, 240. Intelligence, 241. Had his own opinion, 241. Change of place, 242. Contented and happy, 242. A silent bird, 243. Queer noises, 243. Disturbed by an owl, 243. Song, 244-249. The looking-glass, 244. Posturing, 245. Curious movements, 246. Bathing, 246. Color, 247. Night, 248. Never playful, 249. 

 Robin baby ways, 14, 47. 

 Robin called in by Cardinal, 211-214. 

 Scarlet Tanager and English Goldfinch, 224. Dress and manners, 224. Parties to the friendship, 224. Dislike to confinement, 224. Coming out, 225. The window glass, 226. The finch flies at him, 226. Giving up the world, 227. Dislike to be looked at, 227. First sign of friendship, 228. The smallest bird, 228. Progress of the friendship, 228. The tanager's boundary, 229. Becoming protector, 229. Beginning to talk, 229. Perching outside, 230. Around the room, 231. In a strange cage, 231. On the floor, 231. Driving the Brazilian, 232. The robin interferes, 232. The finch goes for him, 233. A new roof, 233. The mischievous robin, 234. Approach of spring, 234. Offensive operations, 235. Anxious to go, 235. Belligerent, 235. Set free, 236. The deserted lover, 236. Called on by cardinal, 214. 

 Snowy Heron, 23. 

 Tern, 24. 

 Thrasher, or Brown Thrush, 147. Restlessness, 147. Use of feet, 148. Erratic movements, 149. Way of approach, 149. Sensational manners, 150. Bathing, 150. Waltzing around the bath, 150. Excitement of the bath, 151. Mischievousness, 152. Teasing the finch, 152. Tearing paper, 152. With a newspaper, 153. The magazines, 153. Hammering, 153. Jumping, 153. Intelligence, 154. Talking back, 154. Expression of wings, 154. Littleness of body, 155. The song, 155. In the twilight, 156, 247. Strange movements, 156. Watching others, 157. In the spring, 157. 

 Thrushes. Gray-cheeked, 161. Song of, 162. Wilson's, 162. Wonderful song, 162. Whisper songs, 162. Difference in character, 163. Bewitching dance, 163. Use of feet, 164. Excitement, 165. A different dance, 165. Bathing, 165, 166. The bird in the glass, 166. Alighting places, 167. Enjoying a swing, 167. A snug retreat, 167. Tearing papers, 168. Lonely disposition, 169. Belligerent, 169. Set free, 169. Surprise of freedom, 170. A call from a neighbor, 170. Farewell to the Gray-cheeked, 171. 

 Thrush baby ways, 8, 78, 80, 85. 

 Yellow-throated baby ways, 8. 

OUT-DOOR BOOKS

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A-Hunting of the Deer; How I Killed a Bear; Lost in the Woods; CampingOut; A Wilderness Romance; What Some People call Pleasure. By CHARLESDUDLEY WARNER. 16mo, paper covers, 15 cents, _net_. 

The American Horsewoman. By ELIZABETH KARR. Illustrated. New Edition. 16mo, $1. 25. 

A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers. By HENRY D. THOREAU. 12mo, gilt top, $1. 50. 

Birds and Bees. By JOHN BURROUGHS. With an Introduction by MARY E. BURT, of Chicago. 16mo, paper covers, 15 cents, _net_. 

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Birds in the Bush. By BRADFORD TORREY. 16mo, $1. 25. 

Birds through an Opera-Glass. By FLORENCE A. MERRIAM. In RiversideLibrary for Young People. 16mo, 75 cents. 

Bird-Ways. By OLIVE THORNE MILLER. 16mo, $1. 25. 

Cape Cod. By HENRY D. THOREAU. 12mo, gilt top, $1. 50. 

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Favorite Flies. By MARY ORVIS MARBURY. With colored plates. Square 8vo. (_In Press_). 

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