dealer who has learned to keep tanagers in good condition, and I never
had trouble with this bird's health or spirits. It was not until May
that he wished to leave me. When he joined the circle in the room he had
just 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 out
of their cages he was as much astonished as if he had never seen birds
out of a bird store. He stretched up and looked at them with the
greatest interest. When one or two began to splash in the large shallow
bathing dishes on the table, he was much excited, and plainly desired to
join them. I opened his door and placed in it a long perch leading to
freedom. For some time he did not come out, and when he did, the sudden
liberty drove out of his head all thoughts of a bath. When he flew, he
aimed straight for the trees outside the window, and of course came
violently against the glass.
This experience all house birds have to go through, and it is sometimes
several days before they learned the nature of glass. The tanager
learned his lesson more quickly. He fell to the floor at first, from the
shock, but in a few moments recovered himself and returned, this time
alighting on the top of the lower sash and proceeding to examine the
strange substance through which he could see, but could not go. He
gently tapped the glass with his beak the whole length of the window,
passing back and forth several times till satisfied. Turning at last
from that, he cast his eye around for another exit, and settled on the
white ceiling as the most likely place. Then he flew all about the room
close to the ceiling, touched it now and then with his beak, and finding
it also impassable, he came down to the window again. He had not the
least curiosity about the room, and was not at all afraid of me. The
world outside the windows and his cage when he was hungry, were all that
he cared for at present--except the bath.
The goldfinch was bathing the second time he came out, and he went
directly to the table and perched on the side of the dish. Now the one
thing the little fellow most delighted in was his morning bath, and he
at once resented the intrusion of the stranger. He flew at him with open
beak and lifted wings, scolding vigorously, in fact gave him so hostile
a reception that he quickly retired to the top of the cage, where he
stood a long time. Afterward also, the goldfinch showed so strong a
determination that the intruder should not enjoy his beloved bath, that
at last I had to keep him in his cage while the new-comer had a chance
at the water.
This did not go on long, however, for very soon the tanager deliberately
gave up the world of the bird-room, and insisted on remaining in his
cage. In vain was his door set open with the others, in vain did the
birds splash and splatter the water, he would not come out, though he
did not mope or lose his appetite. In truth, it seemed merely as if he
scorned the advantages offered; if he could not go out free into the
trees, he would as lief stay in his cage--and he did. This is a not
uncommon habit of cage birds. They often need to be driven or coaxed
out. Having once learned that the cage is home with all its comforts and
conveniences, 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 and
looked at it and at me, but did not move till I turned away, or walked
out of his sight, when he instantly pounced upon it as if starved. To
make 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 see
him crouch behind that and eat, every moment or two stretching up to
glance over the top and see if I had moved. If I stirred as though about
to leave my chair, he at once whisked to the upper perch as if he had
been caught in a crime.
The first I noticed of the goldfinch's friendliness to him was after he
had lived with us five or six months.
This small bird, in a room of larger ones, was somewhat driven about. I
do not mean hurt, but if any one wanted a certain perch he did not
hesitate to take it, even if it were already occupied by so little a
fellow. 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--the
doorstep in fact. Finding that he was not disturbed, he soon moved his
quarters just inside the door. Most birds quickly resent the intrusion
of another into their cage, but the tanager never did. So long as he was
left alone on his favorite upper perches, he did not care who went in
below. This being the case, after a while the goldfinch ventured upon
the middle perch. Still he was not noticed; but presuming on the
friendly attitude of his host, he one day hopped upon the perch beside
him. This was a step too far; the house-owner turned an open beak toward
him, 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 of
the cage the goldfinch made himself at home, and at once assumed the
position of protector. Seeing that the owner did not,--and sure it was
somebody's duty,--he began to guard the door, warning away any one who
wished to enter, with harsh scolding, fluttering of wings, and swelling
up of his little body, amusing to see. The boldest bird in the room was
awed by these demonstrations coming from the inside as though the cage
were his own. The tanager looked on all this with some interest, but
expressed no more gratitude at being protected than he had resentment at
being driven from the bath.
Soon I noticed a certain chattering talk from the small bird that he had
never indulged in excepting to another of his kind--his companion when
he first came to me. It was very low but almost continuous, and was
plainly addressed to the tanager. As his friendliness progressed, he
found the lower perch too far from his charmer, and not being allowed to
sit beside him he took to clinging upon the outside of the cage as near
to the tanager's usual seat as he could get. The only perching place he
had there was a band of tin that held the wires steady, but in spite of
what must have been the discomfort of the position, there he hung by the
hour, talking, calling, and looking at his idol within. He left the spot
only to eat and bathe, and I think if the cage had been supplied with
seed he would never have gone at all. When the bird inside hopped to the
perch at the other end of the cage, which was the extent of his
wanderings, the finch at once followed on the outside, always placing
himself as near as possible. It was really touching, to all but the
object of it, who took it in the most indifferent way. When the tanager
went 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 place
the moment the luncheon was finished.
On the rare occasions that the self-elected hermit went out, the
goldfinch displayed great concern, evidently preferring to have his
favorite at home where he could defend him. He flew uneasily across from
the cage to his side, then back, as if to show him the way. He also
desired to watch the empty house, to preserve it from intrusion, but was
constantly divided between his duties of special porter, and bodyguard.
But he did his best, even then; he followed the wanderer. If the tanager
went to a perch the goldfinch at once alighted on the same, about a foot
away, and sidled up as near as he was allowed. He was free to come
within about three inches, but nearer he was driven off, so the little
fellow placed himself at this distance and there stayed patiently as
long as his friend remained. If the latter had been more responsive, I
believe the goldfinch would have nestled up against him.
The tanager sometimes strayed into a strange cage, and then the anxious
guard followed to the steps and even within, talking earnestly, and no
doubt pointing out the danger, yet if the owner unexpectedly appeared he
met him at the threshold and fiercely defended the door against the
proprietor himself. Occasionally the erratic recluse went to the
floor--a place never visited by his little attendant, whose trouble was
almost 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 joyous
call as though some peril had been escaped.
The stanch little friend had many chances to show his loyalty. The other
birds in the room were not slow to take advantage of one who never
defended himself. In particular a Brazilian cardinal, a bold saucy
fellow with a scarlet pointed crest and a loud voice, evidently
considered the tanager cage common ground, open to everybody, until the
goldfinch undertook its defense. It was amusing to see the small bird
stand just inside, and rage, puff himself out, wave his wings, and
fairly drive away the foe. So impertinent was the Brazilian that the
finch declared general war upon him, and actually chased his big
antagonist around the room and away from his favorite perches, hovering
over 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 to
think of resisting.
This was not, however, the worst enemy he had to deal with. Next door to
the tanager lived a robin, a big, rollicking, fun-loving fellow who
considered such a retiring personage fair game. His pleasure was to see
that the tanager went out every day, and he made it his business to
enforce the regulation he had set up. His tactics were to jump upon the
roof of the cage, coming down violently just over the head of the
tanager, who, of course, hopped quickly to the other perch. Then the
robin began a mad war-dance across the cage, wings held up, tail spread,
bill clattering, and altogether looking as full of mischief as any bad
boy one ever saw, while the tanager went wild below, flying in a panic
back and forth, but not for some time thinking of leaving the cage. The
instant this performance began, the little champion was upon him; he
alighted at one end of the short tramping ground on the cage, and met
his big foe with open beak and every sign of war. The robin simply
lowered his head and went for him, and the little bird had to fly. He
pluckily 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 perfect
protection, since birds dislike the rustle. It did not dismay this
naughty fellow, however; on the contrary, it gave an added zest because
of that very quality. He pranced across it in glee, making a great
noise, and when the violence of his movements pushed it aside, he peered
down on the tanager, who stood panting. The sight pleased him, and he
resumed his pranks; he lifted the handle of the cage and let it drop
with a clatter; he jerked off bits of paper and dropped them into the
cage, and in every way showed a very mischievous spirit. Meanwhile, all
through the confusion the goldfinch scolded furiously, flying around to
get a peck at him, and in every way challenging him to fight.
Occasionally, when he became too troublesome, the robin turned and
snapped 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 flew
to 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 loud
cheerful call several times, plainly congratulating and reassuring him,
and telling him all was safe; and here he clung with difficulty to the
upright wires, all the time slipping down, till the tanager went to the
upper regions again. Every time the robin so much as flew past, the
tireless little fellow rushed out at him, scolding. When finally the
robin went into his own cage, and the tanager returned to his usual
place, the goldfinch at once assumed his uncomfortable perch and sang a
loud sweet song, wriggling his body from side to side, and expressing
triumph and delight in a remarkable way.
The approach of spring made a change in the tanager. He had not so
completely given up the world as it appeared. He began to chirp, to
call, and at last to sing. He was still so shy he went down behind his
screen to sing, but sing he must and did. Now, too, he began to resent
the attentions of his admirer, occasionally giving the poor little toes
a nip, as they clung to the tin band near his seat. He also went out
now, 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 a
little farther off, and stopped his gentle twittering talk a while. But
the tanager grew more and more belligerent. He came out every day, took
soaking baths, and returned to his examination of the windows, for the
trees were green outside, and plainly he longed to be on them. He stood
and 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 it
was so badly received. When the tanager turned savagely and gave his
faithful friend a severe peck, instead of resenting it the hurt bird
flew to another perch, where he stood a long time, uttering occasionally
a low, plaintive call, as if of reproach, all his cheerfulness gone, a
melancholy sight indeed. I waited only for warm days to set free the
tanager, and at last they came. Early in June the bird was put into a
traveling cage, carried into the country, where a lovely bit of woods
and a pretty lake insured a good living, and the absence of sparrows
made 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: not
quite so gay as before; not so much singing; and not a word of the soft
chattering talk we heard so constantly while his beloved friend was
here.
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 on
his snow-white breast a pointed shield of beautiful rose-color, and the
same rich hue lined his wings. With these exceptions his dress was of
sober black and white, though so attractively disposed that he was an
extremely pretty bird--the rose-breasted grosbeak.
Nor was beauty his only attraction; he was a peculiar character, in
every way different from his neighbors. He was dignified, yet his
dignity was not like that of a thrush; he was calm and cool, yet not
after the manner of an orchard oriole. He possessed a lovely gentleness
of 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. The
frivolous way common to smaller birds of going for each seed as they
want it, was beneath him. When he wished to eat he did so like a
civilized being, that is, took his stand by the seed-cup, and stayed
there, attending strictly to the business in hand till he had finished,
leaving a neat pile of canary-seed shells in one spot, instead of the
general litter common to cages. The meal over, he was ready to go out of
the cage, place himself comfortably in one of his favorite corners, and
remain for a long time, amused with the life in the room and the doings
in the street, on both of which he seemed to look with the eye of a
philosopher. In the same deliberate and characteristic way he disposed
of a meal-worm, or a bit of beef, which he enjoyed. He never bolted it
outright like a thrush, nor beat it to death like a tanager, nor held it
under one toe and took it in mouthfuls like an oriole: he quietly worked
it back and forth between his mandibles till reduced to a pulp, and then
swallowed it.
The rosy shield-bearer was preeminently a creature of habit. Very early
in his life with us he selected certain resting places for his private
use, and all the months of his stay he never changed them. The one
preferred above all others was the middle bar of the window-sash, in the
corner, and I noticed that his choice was always a corner. In this sunny
spot he spent most of the time, closely pressed against the
window-casing, generally looking out at the trees and the sparrow-life
upon them, and regarding every passer-by in the street, not in an
unhappy way, but apparently considering the whole a panorama for his
entertainment. When events in the room interested him, his post of
observation was a bracket that held a small cage, where he often sat an
hour at a time in perfect silence, looking at everybody, concerned about
everything, his rosy shield and white breast effectively set off by the
dark paper behind him.
Although thus immobile and silent, the grosbeak was far from being
stupid. 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 that
occupied by two orchard orioles, and he was never pleased with the
position. He was hardly restless even there, while suffering what he
plainly considered a grievance, but he was uneasy. I saw that something
was wrong, and guessed at once that it was because his upper perch was
three inches lower than that in the next cage, and to have a neighbor
higher than himself is always an offense to a bird. As soon as I raised
his cage he was satisfied on that score, and no more disturbed me in the
early 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 by
constantly going into the cage of the orioles and settling himself
evidently with the desire of taking up his residence there. He was so
gentle and unobtrusive everywhere, that no one resented his presence in
the cage, and he could have lived in peace with almost any bird. But I
wanted him contented at home, and moreover, I was curious to find out
what was amiss, so I tried the experiment of removing his cage from its
position next to the lively orioles, and hanging it alone between two
windows, where, although not so light, it had the advantage of solitude.
The change completed the happiness of the grosbeak. From that day he no
more intruded upon others, but went and came freely and joyously to his
own cage, and from being hard to catch at night he became one of the
most easy, proceeding the moment he entered his home toward dark to the
upper perch to wait for me to close the door before going to his
seed-dish. In fact, he grew so contented that he cared little to come
out, and often sat in his favorite corner of the cage by the hour, with
the door wide open and the other birds flying around. Now, too, he began
to sing in a sweet voice a very low and tender minor strain.
Among his other peculiarities this bird scarcely ever seemed to feel
the need of utterance of any soft. On the rare occasions of any
excitement he delivered a sharp, metallic "click"; a sudden alarm, like
the attack of another bird, called out a war-cry loud and shrill, and
very odd; and in the contest over the important question of precedence
at the bath he sometimes uttered a droll squeal or whining sound.
Besides these, he made singular noises in bathing and dressing his
feathers, which are not uncommon among birds, but are difficult to
describe. They always remind me of the rubbing of machinery in need of
oil.
This beautiful bird was not easily frightened; the only time I ever saw
him seriously disturbed was at the sight of a stuffed screech-owl, which
I brought into the room without thinking of its probable effect. I
placed it on a shelf in a closet, and I soon noticed that the moment the
closet door was opened the grosbeak became greatly agitated; he darted
across the room to a certain retreat where he always hurried on the
first alarm of any sort, and remained in retirement till the fancied
danger was over, while the others flew madly about. In this place he
stood posturing in much excitement, and uttering at short intervals his
sharp "click." For some time I did not understand his conduct, nor think
of connecting it with the owl on the shelf; but when it did occur to me
I tried the experiment of bringing it out into the room, when I
immediately saw, what I should have remembered at once, that it was an
object of terror to all the birds.
The song of the rose-breasted grosbeak is celebrated, and I hoped my
bird would become acquainted with us, and let out his voice; but I was
disappointed in both respects, for he never became familiar in the
least, and though not at all afraid he was very shy; and furthermore,
upon my bringing into the room two small musical thrushes, the
grosbeak--feeling, as I said, no need of utterance--readily relapsed
into silence, and all the winter never sang a note. His conduct before
the looking-glass indicated that he was not naturally so silent, and
that he could be social with one who understood his language. Being
unable to get another grosbeak, I tried to give him companionship by
placing a small glass against one end of his cage. On seeing his
reflection the bird was greatly agitated, began his low, whining cry,
postured, bowed, turned, moved back and forth, and at last left the cage
and looked for the stranger behind the glass. Not finding him he
returned, had another interview with the misleading image, and ended as
before in seeking him outside. At length he seemed to be convinced that
there was something not quite natural about it, for, feeling hungry, he
went, with many a backward glance at the glass, to the floor, took a
hemp-seed and carried it out into the room to eat, a thing he never did
at any other time.
I spoke of my bird's posturing; that was one of his pleasures, and
almost his only exercise while he lived in the house. He was not
graceful, his body was not flexible, and his tail was far from being the
expressive 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 of
opening it like a fan, but I never saw it droop or stir in any other
way. In these movements his head and tail maintained the same relative
position 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 wide
spread; he passed down a perch, alternately crouching and rising, either
sideways or straight; he jerked his whole body one side and then the
other, in a manner ludicrously suggestive of a wriggle; he sidled along
his perch, holding his wings slightly out and quivering, then slowly
raised them both straight up, and instantly dropped them, or held them
half open, fluttering and rustling his feathers.
He had also a curious way of moving over a long perch: he proceeded by
sidewise hops, and at each hop he turned half round, that is, the first
step 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 a
pound or two. He was much addicted to sitting with breast-feathers
puffed out covering his toes, or sometimes with wings held a little way
from his body, showing the delicate rose-colored lining, as though
conscious how pretty he looked; and among other eccentric habits he
often thrust out his tongue, first one side and then the other,
apparently to clean his bill.