desire to get the
object so nearly within his reach. Even since he is entirely recovered
and the possessor of a beautiful long tail, he dreads the one little
step and has to be coaxed out and in his cage every day, as we coax a
startled child.

Nothing ever interested the jay more than a piano, though he is fond of
any music. The first time he heard one he quickly hopped across to the
player, pulled at the hem of her dress, flew up to her lap, then her
arm, and mounted to her shoulder, where he stood some time, looking and
listening, turning his head this way and that, raising his crest,
jerking his body, and in every way showing intense excitement. Finally
he took his last step, to the top of her head, where he was more pleased
to be than the player was to have him. She put him down; and the next
time he tried a different way, mounted to the keys, and thence to the
cover, crouching and peering under the lid to see where the sounds came
from. Satisfied about this, he returned to her head, which he evidently
considered the best post of observation. Every time she played she
received the devoted attentions of the bird, and he could not be kept
away.

My blue-jay is now a beautiful creature, in perfect plumage, with breast
and back plumes so long that often in repose, just after he has dressed
them, the violet blue of the back meets the light drab of his breast, on
the side, covering his wings completely, and making a lovely picture.
All through the spring excitement, when the other birds, one after
another, grew uneasy, belligerent, or unhappy, and one after another
were returned to freedom, he never showed a moment's uneasiness, an
instant's desire to be free, but scrupulously attended to his own
regular business, which is to pound and pull and peck to pieces my
furniture, and especially to destroy my books.

As these last words are written, just at dusk, the dear, troublesome
rogue comes down to the corner of his cage nearest to me, and as if he
understood that I had said something about him begins to talk and
remonstrate in a low, loving tone. I do feel reproached, and I must
unsay it. His business, his manifest destiny, is to hammer and peck the
shells of nuts, and to hide them away where they will grow; and if cruel
man confines him in a house, he must exercise his untiring energy, his
demon of work, in what he finds there,--and who can blame him, or find
fault? Not I, certainly.

In behalf of this bird against