in what way this bird impressed every one with a
sense of his imperial character, but it is true that he did. He never
associated with the other birds, and he selected for his perches those
in the darker part of the room, where his fellows did not go. Favorite
resting-places were the edge of a hanging map, the top of a gas fixture,
and a perch so near my seat that most birds were shy of it. Though
extravagantly fond of water, requiring his bath daily, he greatly
disliked to bathe in the dishes common to all. Like a royal personage,
he preferred his bath in his own quarters.

Moreover, the clarin never added his voice to a medley of music. If
moved to sing while others were doing so, he first reduced them to
silence by a peculiar mystical call, which had a marked effect not only
upon every bird in the room, but upon the human listeners as well. This
call cut into the ripple of sweet sounds about him like a knife, loud,
sharp, and incisive, instantly silencing every bird. It consisted of two
notes exactly one octave apart,--the lower one first,--uttered so nearly
together that they produced the effect of one double note. After a pause
of a few seconds it was repeated, as clear and distinct as before, with
mouth open wide. It was delivered with the deliberation of a thrush; the
bird standing motionless except the tail, which hung straight down, and
emphasized every note with a slight jerk. This loud call, having been
given perhaps twenty times, began to diminish in volume, with longer
intervals between, till it became so faint it could scarcely be
heard,--a mere murmur with closed bill, yet so remarkable and so
effective that for some time not a bird peeped. Occasionally, while the
room was quiet, he began to sing; but again it appeared that it was his
purpose merely to hush the babble of music, for, having secured his
beloved stillness, the beautiful bird remained a long time at rest,
sitting closely on his perch, plainly in deep content and happiness.
Sometimes, when out in the room, he delivered the call with
extraordinary excitement, turning from side to side, posturing, flirting
one wing or both, lifting them quite high and bringing them down
sharply; but when in the cage at dusk--his favorite time--he stood, as I
said, motionless and without agitation.

In another way my bird differed from nearly all the feathered folk, and
proved his right to belong to the thrush family; he was not in any
degree fussy; he never hop