st against so unnatural a chair; and again, when he scolded at the
rain that came in sudden gusts against the window, or charged furiously
at the crack under a door when he heard sweeping outside. In general he
is very quiet when one is in the room, but the moment the door closes
behind the last person his voice is heard,--whistling exactly like a
boy, calling, squawking, and occasionally uttering a sweet, though not
loud song, which is varied by a sound like rubbing a cork against glass.
The most quiet approach silences him. When under strong emotion he may
squawk or scream before spectators, but he never whistles or sings when
he knows any one is in the room. When out of his sight and so long
silent that he has forgotten me, I have now and then heard the song.

The funniest thing this knowing fellow does is to stamp his feet, and it
is a genuine expression of impatience or displeasure. When I take
something away from him or he thinks I mean to do so, or refuse him
something he wants, he stands still and jerks his feet in such a way
that they stamp with a loud sound, as if they were of iron. It is very
droll. In serious anger, he adds to this, bowing and curtsying by
bending the legs, snapping the bill, pecking, and jumping up with the
body without lifting the feet.

It may be that the jay in freedom disturbs other birds, as has been
affirmed, but among a number smaller than himself my bird has never once
shown the least hostility. He is interested in their doings, but the
only unpleasant thing he has done is to shriek and scream to stop their
singing. In spite of his natural boldness, always facing the enemy,
always ready to fight, and never running from danger nor allowing
himself to be driven anywhere, when he is not quite well he is a timid
bird. In moulting, this spring, my jay lost his entire tail, and was
extremely awkward in getting about, almost helpless, in fact; and at
that time he was afraid to hop to the floor, and refused to come out of
the cage. (I should have said, by the way, that he feared hurting
himself; he was quite as spirited as ever, as ready to show fight.) To
get him out of the door I offered him the greatest inducements, with the
cage on the floor, so that he could not fall far. He would stand on the
lowest perch, three inches from the floor, look at the meat or whatever
treasure I placed in the open doorway, and cry a faint, low, jay-baby
cry, yet not dare descend, though plainly aching with