in was a very happy
bird. He flew freely and joyously about, delighting especially in
sweeping just over my head as if he intended to alight, and he sang
hours at a time. The only disturbance he had then--the crumpled roseleaf
in his lot--was the presence of a saucy blue jay, a new-comer whom he
could neither impress by his manner nor silence by his potent calls. So
far from that, the jay plainly determined to outshriek him; and when no
one was present to impose restraint on the naughty blue-coat (who, as a
stranger, was for a time quite modest), he overpowered every effort of
his beautiful _vis-a-vis_ by whistles and squawks and cat-calls of the
loudest and most plebeian sort. At the first sound of this vulgar tirade
the imperial bird was silent, scorning to use his exquisite voice in so
low company; while the jay, in no whit abashed, filled the room with the
uproar till some one entered, when he instantly ceased.

[Sidenote: _WRAPPED IN FUSS._]

The regularity of the clarin's bath has been mentioned; he dried
himself, if possible, in the sunshine. Even in this he had his own way,
which was to raise every feather on end; the delicate tips rose on his
crown, the neck plumage stood out like a ruff, the tail spread, and the
wings hung away from the body. In this attitude, he looked as if wrapped
in exquisite furs from his small beak to his slender black legs. He
shared with all thrushes a strange restlessness on the approach of
evening. First he moved back and forth on one perch with a gliding
motion, his body crouched till the breast almost touched the perch, tail
standing up, and wings quivering. Then he became quiet, and uttered his
call for some time, and soon after settled for the night, sleeping well
and even dreaming, as was evident from the muffled scraps of song and
whispered calls that came from his cage.

This bird has all the sensitiveness of an artistic temperament, and one
can readily believe that in freedom he would choose a life so secluded
as to merit the popular name, "the invisible bird," inhabiting the
wildest and most inaccessible spots on the rough mountain-side, as Mr.
Frederic A. Ober found some of his near relations in the West Indies.
If, in spite of his reserved manners, any bird was impertinent enough to
chase or annoy him, he acted as if his feelings were hurt, went to his
cage, and refused to leave it for some time. Yet it was not cowardice,
for he could and did defend his cage against intr