moment, after having feasted upon it and gloried in it day and night for
many weeks, how can I criticise it! How can I do otherwise than fall
into 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 the
Switzer for the Ranz-des-Vaches, and the more one hears it the more he
loves it. I think there will never come a May in my life when I shall
not long to fold my tent and take up my abode in the home of the
mocking-bird, and yet I cannot say what many do. For variety, glibness,
and execution the song is marvelous. It is a brilliant, bewildering
exhibition, and one listens in a sort of ecstasy almost equal to the
bird's own, for this, it seems to me, is the secret of the power of his
music; he so enjoys it himself, he throws his whole soul into it, and he
is so magnetic that he charms a listener into belief that nothing can be
like it. His manner also lends enchantment; he is seldom still. If he
begins 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 few
minutes, but never losing a note. His favorite perch is the top spire of
a pointed tree, low cedar or young pine, where he can bound into the air
as already described, spread his wings, and float down, never omitting a
quaver. It seems like pure ecstasy; and however critical one may be, he
cannot help feeling deep sympathy with the joyous soul that thus
expresses itself. With all the wonderful power and variety, the
bewitching charm, there is not the "feeling," the heavenly melody, of
the wood-thrush. As an imitator, I think he is much overrated. I cannot
agree 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, seems
absurd. On the contrary, I do not think they recognize the counterfeit.
The tufted titmouse called as loudly and constantly all day as though no
mocking-bird shouted his peculiar and easily imitated call from the
house-top; the cardinal grosbeak sang every day in the grove, though the
mocker copied him more closely than any other bird. He repeats the
notes, rattles out the call, but he cannot put the cardinal's soul into
them. The song of every bird seems to me the expression of himself; it
is a perfect whole of its kind, given with proper inflections and
pauses, and never hurried; whereas, when the mocker delivers it, it is
simply one more note added to his repertory, uttered in his rapid
staccato, in his loud, clear voice, interpolated between incongruous
sounds, without expression, and lacking in every way the beauty and
attraction of the original.
The song consists entirely of short staccato phrases, each phrase
repeated several times, perhaps twice, possibly five or six times. If he
has a list of twenty or thirty,--and I think he has more,--he can make
almost unlimited changes and variety, and can sing for two hours or
longer, holding his listener spellbound and almost without consciousness
that he has repeated anything.
So winning and so lasting is the charm with which this bird enthralls
his lovers that scarcely had I left his enchanted neighborhood before
everything else was forgotten, and there remain of that idyllic month
only 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 our
houses he has few attractions: a mere loud-voiced echo of the
inharmonious sounds man gathers about his home,--car-bells, street
cries, and other unpleasing noises,--and choosing for his performances
the hours one wants to sleep. Unfortunate is the neighborhood in which
one is kept. Such was my feeling about the bird before I knew him in
freedom, where he has a song of his own. But in my search for native
birds I often saw the mocker, was surprised to notice his intelligence
of look and manner, and at last took one into my bird-room, resolving
that the moment he began to "mock" he should be given to some one who
liked having the street in his house. My bird was very obliging in the
matter; six months I watched him daily, and he was kind enough not to
utter a sound, except an occasional harsh "chack." Probably he had too
much liberty and too many interests about him; whatever the reason, I
thanked him for it, and heartily enjoyed the study of his manners.
The bird was perhaps the most intelligent one I ever watched, the
cat-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 that
took place around him; looking at each bird in succession; making close
study of every member of the family; noticing the sounds of the street,
including the sparrow broils on the porch-roof; in fact, extremely
wide-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 for
future use. The freedom of the birds in the room surprised him, as he
showed plainly by the eager glances with which he followed every
movement and marked each act. Upon joining the party of the free, he
took 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 had
a choice, and his selection was red; from a vase of roses of many hues
he never failed to draw out the red one to pull it to pieces on the
floor.
Liberty the mocking-bird emphatically enjoyed, and at once recognized a
string attached to his door as a device to deprive him of it; after
vainly trying to pick it apart, he betook himself to another cage, and
refused to go back to his own. In any strange cage he stood quietly
while 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 slightest
movement, without causing him to dart out of the cage instantly. Having
contention with his room-mates about the bits of apple put out for all
to enjoy, he often carried away a piece to eat at his leisure. From
habit he flew first to the top of a cage, that being his favorite
perching place; but he evidently appreciated that, if he dropped the
morsel, he should lose it through the wires; and after looking one side
and the other, plainly satisfying himself of this fact, he went to the
table with it. I never before saw a bird who did not have to learn the
treacherous nature of cage roofs by experience. He appeared to work
things out in his mind,--to reason, in truth. One cold morning in
spring, when the furnace fire was out, a large, brilliant lamp was put
by his cage to take off the chill, for he felt changes keenly. He seemed
to understand it at once, and though, no doubt, it was his first
experience of warmth from a light, he drew as near it as possible, and
remained there perfectly quiet until the sun warmed the room and it was
removed. Fear, as I said, he knew not, coming freely upon the desk, or
even 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 quiet
study and observation. Not a movement of bird or man escaped his notice.
He wished to understand, to take measure of his neighbors, to be master
of the situation. This was manifested not only by his thoughtful manner
and his wise and knowing looks, but by his subsequent conduct. During
this period, also, he submitted to impositions from all the birds, even
the smallest, without resentment. The wood-thrush easily drove him away
from the apple; the little goldfinch chased him from his perch. He
appeared to be meekness itself; but he was biding his time, he was
making up his mind.
The first time the mocking-bird's door was opened he was not in the
least surprised; no doubt, seeing others at liberty, he had expected it.
At any rate, whatever his emotions, he instantly ran out on the perch
placed in his doorway and surveyed his new world from this position. He
was in no panic, not even in haste. When fully ready, he began his tour
of inspection. First, to see if he really could reach the trees without,
through those large, clear openings, he tried the windows, each of the
three, but gently, not bouncing against them so violently as to fall to
the floor, as more impetuous or less intelligent birds invariably do.
Having proved each to be impassable, he was satisfied, and never tried
again. Next, the ceiling interested him, and he flew all around the
room, touching it gently everywhere, to assure himself of its nature.
Convinced thus in a short time that his bounds were only widened, not
removed, he went on to investigate closely what he had looked at from a
distance; every bird-cage, inside as well as outside, if the owner
happened to be away, every piece of furniture, pictures, books, and the
pin-cushion,--where he was detained some time trying to carry off the
large black heads of shawl-pins. The looking-glass absorbed him most
completely on the first day; he flew against it, he hovered before it,
slowly passing from bottom to top, alighted on top and looked over
behind. I think he never solved that mystery to his own satisfaction, as
he did that of the window-glass, which must have been quite as
inexplicable, and it was never without a certain charm for him. He had
no trouble in finding his way home: standing on a cage next to his, he
saw his own door-perch, recognized it instantly (though he had been upon
it 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 be
driven away from the slices of apple on the matting, and turned from the
bathing-dish on the floor. This was, however, the calm before the storm;
though after all that is hardly a correct comparison, since there was
never the least "storm" about his manner; he was composure itself.
Having calmly and patiently considered the state of affairs, he suddenly
asserted himself and took the position he felt was his right,--at the
head. It soon became evident that he was prepared to defend the
situation 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 him
as he went around the room, in the small bird's way; but one day it came
to a sudden end. The goldfinch in his cage scolded the stranger for
alighting too near his door. The mocking-bird turned, looked sharply at
him, 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 is
this midget that insults me?" The finch was surprised, but did not fully
appreciate the significance of this change of manner until he was let
out, when he found at once that his amiable neighbor had suddenly become
an active enemy, who chased him around the room till he panted for
breath, and would not allow him a moment's rest or peace anywhere. This
was strange experience for the little fellow, for heretofore none of the
large birds had ever disturbed him. He scolded furiously, but he went;
no one could stand against that determined approach. If the goldfinch
wished to bathe, his persecutor took his place on the nearest perch, not
a foot away, thus driving him to the floor with the intention of using
the 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 the
two for several minutes, while the mocking-bird stood motionless, not
offering any molestation, but plainly wishing to worry him. The final
act occurred when both chanced accidentally to be in the same cage, not
the home of either. The mocking-bird, without provocation, dropped from
the 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 the
smaller bird panted violently for a half hour, as though frightened, and
for four or five hours sat quietly on a perch, neither eating nor making
a sound,--a very unusual proceeding for the lively chattering little
fellow. This proved to be a declaration of open war, and was so
vigorously followed up that before many days the larger bird's door was
not opened until his victim had had his outing and returned to his home.
Teasing never lost its attraction for him, however. He delighted to
alight on the cage and worry his little foe, or to stand near his door
and stare at him. On one such occasion a curious scene occurred. They
stood three inches apart, with the wires between them, when the finch
suddenly began reaching upward as far as possible; taller and taller he
stretched up, till he fairly stood on tiptoe. The mocking-bird, not to
be outdone, imitated the movement on his side of the bars, of course
towering far above his copy. It seemed to afford both of them great
satisfaction; perhaps it expressed contempt more fully than was possible
in any other way.
The largest bird in the room, a Mexican thrush, was considerably
stronger and fiercer than our native wood-thrush, and it seemed absurd
for the mocking-bird to measure swords with him. So it would have been
but for the fact that the Mexican, having lost part of his wing
feathers, was clumsy, unable to fly readily, and no match for his
active, agile antagonist; he always conquered when hostilities reached
the point of a personal encounter, but he was soon soured, and declined
to meet the enemy. Two or three times they flew up together, like
quarrelsome cocks, but the decisive and final dispute was over the
bathing-dish. It happened that morning that the Mexican came out before
the goldfinch was shut up, and hence the the mocking-bird's door was not
yet opened. He flew at once to the top of his neighbor's cage to dress
his feathers and shake himself out. It looked like a deliberate insult,
and the captive in his cage evidently so regarded it; he crouched on the
upper perch and opened his mouth at the enemy, who calmly went on with
his 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 the
Mexican, he descended to the bathing-dish, doubtless to cool his heated
blood. The first splash, however, interested the enemy on his roof, and
he 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 at
a time, with a low, warning "chack," which meant, "Make way there, I'm
coming." The mocking-bird, manifestly hearing him, did not take the
hint, nor look at his assailant, but serenely continued his splashing.
The Mexican advanced to within six inches before he was convinced that
force would be necessary. When he decided upon an attack, he manifested
it by a grotesque little hop a few inches into the air, but this not
alarming the enemy he drew near to the dish. Now at last the bather
condescended to notice him. He stood up in the water and faced his
adversary, bowing rather slowly and with dignity, feathers ruffled, and
beak 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 upon
the edge of the dish, and in the same instant, as though moved by the
same machinery, the mocking-bird sprang backward out upon the floor. The
usurper paid him no further attention, but proceeded to bathe, while his
discomfited rival took a stand on the edge of the disputed dish, which
was ten inches in diameter, and fanned his wings violently. I cannot
otherwise name this extraordinary movement, the wings raised high above
his head, and moved quickly back and forth with a fanning motion. The
Mexican turned suddenly to him and he flew. Two or three times he
repeated the performance, but was each time forced to fly before the
large, strong beak wielded by his opponent, who finished his bath, and
retired to a perch to dress his feathers. Now the mocking-bird resumed
his splashing; but when thoroughly wet, the thought seemed to strike him
that he was not in good fighting trim, and must dry himself as quickly
as possible to be ready for war, which he at once did by flirting and
shaking himself, bounding from one end to the other of a perch, as
though he had suddenly gone mad. He was soon in order, and more than
ready to resume hostilities. The enemy still occupied his favorite
position upon his roof. Two cages stood side by side on a shelf, and
across the tops of them, with great noise and tramping of feet, the
Mexican delighted to run, thus amusing himself an hour at a time. Seeing
him off his guard, the wary fellow watched his chance, and when his foe
was at one end of the course he suddenly alighted on the other. The
Mexican ran madly at him, clattering his bill furiously, when he
gracefully rose from his place, flew over, and perched on the other end.
The run was repeated, and the mischievous bird continued the annoyance
until his victim was exhausted, panting, and in great excitement. From
that 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 stranger
reduced 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 much
to be on the floor. The disputed object, as already mentioned, was the
apple, which they received on the matting, two pieces being placed at
some distance apart. Seeing the thrush engaged with one, the
mocking-bird quietly dropped to the other, when instantly the thrush
deserted his own, ran hastily across the room, and claimed that piece.
As he approached, the mocking-bird lifted himself into the air by a
beautiful and graceful movement; he did not seem to fly, but to simply
rise on wing. The thrush being occupied with that piece, the new-comer
descended upon the abandoned slice; but the inhospitable bird wanted
that also. Even when three or more pieces were at their disposal, the
thrush tried to monopolize them all, though the plan of collecting them
in one place never seemed to occur to him. After a little of this
contention, the mocker generally succeeded in carrying off a bit to some
quiet place, where he could eat at his leisure. Wishing them to live
peaceably, I placed a slice of the fruit on a high gas-fixture, where
the stranger was fond of alighting and no other bird ever went. He
understood at once, flew over to it, and ate his fill. The Mexican
observed this, and tramped over his cages (it was before he had retired
from the world) in a rage, seeing "good times going on," and feeling,
evidently, unable to fly so high. Somewhat later the thrush noticed the
excitement, 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 chance
happening; it was, to all appearance, a regularly planned campaign, and,
like a savage, the aggressor put on his war paint and danced his war
dance. It was extremely interesting to watch, although painful to
realize that a bird could be animated by emotions so--must I call them
human? He selected, for the declaration of his intentions, a moment when
the thrush was in his own house and the door open. The approach to this
cage was by a light ladder, the top round of which, about a foot in
length, rested perhaps four inches from the cage, and level with the
door. Upon this round the mocking-bird executed what has been called his
war dance, shaking himself, shuffling (or moving along without raising
the feet), and agitating his feathers in such a way that they rustled
like stiff new silk. After a few minutes of this performance he flew
away, returning presently to repeat it. This he did again and again, and
his 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 in
the cage, though plainly surprised at this sudden exhibition of spirit,
received it like a thrush--in silent dignity. He paid no attention to
the demonstration further than to keep his eye upon the enemy, unless he
appeared to think of entering the door, when he turned his open bill in
that direction. A long time having passed in these manoeuvres, the
thrush, apparently tired of waiting for the belligerent to vacate his
front doorstep, retired to the upper perch, and the mocking-bird
immediately entered below, took his stand by the food-dish, and defied
the owner, who came with open beak to dispute him, but after a few
moments' silent protest returned to the high perch, leaving the intruder
to eat and drink as he chose.
Another point to settle was the possession of the apple. The next time
the thrush, not warned by previous operations, hurried up to claim a
slice of the fruit which his foe had marked for his own, he was met by
resistance. To avoid the rush, the mocking-bird lifted himself a few
inches, but came down on the same spot. The thrush, astonished, but
thrush-like to the last, stood motionless where he had stopped, his body
drawn to a point, bill slightly open and turned toward the bold
intruder. 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 change
his residence. No reason was apparent, but he preferred a special place
in the room, a certain end of a particular shelf; and no matter what
cage was there, he insisted on taking possession. The day he determined
on this removal, he went in while the resident--the thrush--was out,
and, having eaten, proceeded to the upper perches, and began jumping
back 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 met
by a threatening attitude from the bird already there. He seemed to
think the matter not worth quarreling over, since he readily settled
himself on the middle perch, where he made a most elaborate and
deliberate toilet, dressing every feather with care, and spending a half
hour over the operation. All this time the invader stood on the top
perch, backed against the wires, his long tail on one side like the
train of a lady's dress, invincible determination in his manner. The
calm indifference of the house-owner evidently did not please him, and
the long drawn-out toilet was irritating; he grew thirsty, and dropped
to the floor to drink, when the thrush remonstrated by a low, rapid
"chook, chook, chook," and the mocking-bird made an impatient dive at
him. This silenced but apparently did not hurt the bird, who stayed as
long as he chose, and then quietly came out. From that moment the
usurper claimed the cage, and the amiable owner easily contented himself
with the one the other had deserted.
When the mocking-bird had thoroughly established himself in every right
and privilege he chose to consider his own, I hoped there would be
peace, but I had not sounded the depths in his character; he began to
tease. Not content with complete victory, life seemed dull without some
object to worry. I really think it was his amusement; he certainly went
at it as if it were. I noticed him one morning, standing on the ladder
before his door, apparently working himself up to something. He first
looked at me,--I had a book, and pretended not to see him,--then at the
thrush, who was on the floor as usual; he jerked his body this way and
that, puffed out his feathers, especially on the throat and breast, held
his tail on one side and turned upward at an angle of forty-five
degrees, which gave him a wicked expression. He looked full of life to
the 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 last
gave his usual cry. Even the little goldfinch was impressed and looked
on with interest.