before him. Great would be the havoc if I were not there; and the
curious thing about it is that he will pull things over carelessly, with
one eye on me, to see if I object. If, on touching some particular
thing, he sees that I do not approve,--and he recognizes my sentiment as
quickly as a bright child would,--that thing, and that only, he will
have. At once he snatches it and flies away across the room, and I may
chase 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 if
cornered he uses his wings. I simply put my wits against his, follow him
about till he has to drop his load to breathe, when a sudden start sends
him off, and I secure it. If I cover up anything, he knows at once it is
some forbidden treasure, and devotes all his energy and cunning, which
are great, to uncovering and possessing himself of it. He opens any box
by delivering sharp blows under the edge of the cover, and hides my
postage stamps in books and magazines. He hops around the floor in a
heavy way, as often sideways as straight, and holds his toes as close
together as though he had worn tight boots all his life. If startled, he
bounds 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 other
way. If much alarmed he will bounce up in this way half a dozen times in
quick succession, and should he happen to be on a table at the time, he
usually ends by landing on the floor. His alighting after any flight is
most singular: he comes to the floor in a crouching position, legs
sprawled, body horizontal and nearly touching the matting, looking like
a bird gone mad; then instantly springs up six or eight inches, half
turns, and stands upright, crest erect, and looking excited, almost
frightened. If much disturbed he comes down with wings half open, tail
held up, and every feather awry, as if he were out in a gale, uttering
at the same time a loud squawk. He is a most expert catcher, not only
seizing without fail a canary seed thrown to him, but even fluttering
bits of falling paper, the hardest of all things to catch.

The blue-jay is a bird of opinions about most things, and able to
express himself quite clearly; as, for example, when he found himself
under a chair without rounds, on which he likes to perch, he stood and
looked around on every side, and made a low, complaining cry, plainly a
prote