e tries everything: the covers of cardboard boxes, always choosing the
spot that is weakest at the corner, and pounding till it is ruined; the
cane seats of chairs, which he selects with equal judgment, and never
leaves till he has effected a breach; a delicate work-basket, at which
he labors with enthusiasm, driving his pickaxe bill into it and cutting
a 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 matting
stretched upon the floor. Selecting, by some esoteric wisdom, the most
vulnerable spot, he pushes and pounds and pokes till he gets the tip of
his beak under a strand, and then pulls and jerks and twists till he
draws it out of its place. After this the task is easy, and he spends
hours over it, ending with a hole in the matting three or four inches in
diameter; for he is never discouraged, and his persistence of purpose is
marvelous. Books are a special object of his attentions; not only does
he peck the backs as they stand on the shelves, till he can insert his
beak and tear off a bit, but if he finds one lying down he thrusts the
same useful instrument into the edge, slightly open so as to enclose two
or three leaves, and then, with a dexterous twist of the head, jerks out
a neat little three-cornered piece. Thus he goes on, and after a short
absence from the room I have found a great litter of white bits, and my
big dictionary curiously scalloped on the edges. He is able to pound up
as well as down, crouching, turning his head back, and delivering
tremendous blows on the very spot he wishes, and so accurately that he
easily cuts a thread, holding its strands under one toe.

But hammering, though a great pleasure, is not his dearest delight. The
thing for which, apparently, he came into the world is to put small
objects out of sight,--bury them, in fact. No doubt the business for
which Nature fitted him, and which in freedom he would follow with
enthusiasm, is the planting of trees; to his industry we probably owe
many an oak and nut tree springing up in odd places. In captivity, poor
soul, he does the best he can to fulfill his destiny. When he has more
of any special dainty than he can eat at the moment, as meat, or bread
and milk, he hides it at the back of his tray, or in the hole already
spoken of in connection with the corks; and when outside, nothing can be
droller than the air of concern with which he goes around the floor