O Jay!
Blue Jay!
What are you trying to say?
I remember, in the spring
You pretended you could sing;
But your voice is now still queerer,
And as yet you’ve come no nearer
To a song.
In fact, to sum the matter,
I never heard a flatter
Failure than your doleful clatter.
Don’t you think it’s wrong?
It was sweet to hear your note,
I’ll not deny,
When April set pale clouds afloat
O’er the blue tides of sky.
And ’mid the wind’s triumphant drums
You in your white and azure coat,
A herald proud, came forth to cry,
“The royal summer comes!”
* * * * * *
Sometimes your piping is delicious,
And then again it’s simply vicious;
Though on the whole the varying jangle
Weaves round me an entrancing tangle
Of memories grave or joyous:
Things to weep or laugh at;
Love that lived at a hint, or
Days so sweet they’d cloy us.
Nights I have spent with friends:—
Glistening groves of winter,
And the sound of vanished feet
That walked by the ripening wheat:
* * * * * *
Such mixed-up things your voice recalls,
With its peculiar quirks and falls.
Well, I’ll admit
There’s merit in a voice that’s truthful;
Yours is not honey sweet nor youthful,
But querulously fit.
And if we cannot sing, we’ll say
Something to the purpose, Jay!
—George Parsons Lathrop.
“The Blue Jay makes as good a forest watchman as the Crow. Steal along
ever so quietly, and if he chances to spy you, good-by to seclusion; his
cry of alarm rouses every bird within ear-shot. But it is in their
family life the Jays show to the best advantage, for they will stay by
the nest and fight to the death, if necessary, while big cousin Crow,
though he makes a precious racket, takes good care to keep himself well
out of harm’s way.
“One trait belongs to this bird that I have never seen recorded of any
other, though, of course, it may be common to all, and that is the care
of the aged.
“To care for the young, even among people, is an instinct as strong as
self-protection. To care for the aged implies a good heart and a certain
amount of unselfishness. This story is written down by Major Bendire, in
his book on the _Life Histories of American Birds_. He lived much with
the birds, and saw so truly that the Wise Men believe what he records.
_Mr. Firth to Major Bendire_,—
I made some observations last summer on the habits of the Blue
Jay, which certainly show a degree of sympathy and kindness
worthy of imitation of animals of a higher order. Last August
(1887), on an old farm in Jefferson County, Wisconsin, my
attention was attracted by the notes of a Blue Jay, not the
ordinary cry, but a series of regular calls, followed by answers
from a neighbouring tree. There was something so peculiarly like
a communication of thought about the sound that I went to the
place, and saw an old Blue Jay perched on a fence some distance
from the tree where there were others.
On my nearing the bird, the calls from the others became more
frequent and loud, changing from a low, pleasant communicative
tone to shrill alarm. Thinking that he was injured in some way,
I went up to him and found that at least he was partially blind.
The eyes were blurred and dim, the beautiful blue feathers were
faded; in fact, the general appearance of the bird was so
different as to be seen at a glance; the claws were worn, the
bill dulled, and the wings and tail ragged. Every feature
suggested old age and feebleness. Yet he was watched and cared
for as tenderly as ever a growing bird in the nest.
No sooner had I caught him than there were at least a dozen Jays
close at hand whose sympathy and interest were manifest as
clearly as could be with words.
After a thorough examination I let him go, when he flew in the
direction of the sound of the others, but did not succeed in
alighting among the smaller branches of the tree, and finally
settled on a large limb near the ground. I saw him, after that,
every day for a week, and never did his companions desert him,
some one of them being always near and warning him of danger,
when he would fly toward the sound of their voices.
They guided him regularly to a spring near by, where I saw him
bathe daily, always, however, with some of his companions close
by.
They not only watched and guided him, but they fed him. I had
noticed, some days before, Jays carrying food and thought it
strange at that season, as there were no young to feed, but
found afterwards, to my surprise and pleasure, that the poor,
blind bird was being fed by those he could no longer see.
“So you see the Jay, with all his bad tricks and nest-robbing, has his
good points, and we will not shoot him, but hint very strongly, if
necessary, that he had better nest away from the temptation that garden
and orchards offer in the shape of eggs and fresh meat.”
As Gray Lady ended, a great commotion arose in the neighbourhood of the
orchard. Jays screamed and Crows cawed, as if, Goldilocks said, they
knew that they were being talked about, and didn’t like it.
Gray Lady opened one of the windows and looked out. Below stood Jacob,
waving his hat to attract attention, saying through his hands, “There
are some Screech Owls on a branch of the old willow back of the orchard,
and the other birds have found it out. The Crows are mixing in and
there’s a great how-de-do. I thought maybe you would all like to see
them, only I couldn’t go up for fear they might shift away.”
Of course they wished to see, and it was quite remarkable how fifteen
usually noisy children managed to tiptoe through the orchard and avoid
sticks and dry leaves.