lashed to the other side of the stand, and, quick
as thought, gave one mighty dab at a delicate little fuchsia that is
just "picking up" from the effects of transplanting and a long winter
journey. Seeing he was bent on making himself disagreeable, I put him
into his cage again, first having to chase him all about the room to
catch him, and prying him up at last from between a picture and the
wall, where he had flown and settled down in his struggle to get out.
For my Cheri is not in the least tame. He is an entirely uneducated
bird. I have seen canaries sit on people's fingers and eat from their
tongues, but Cheri flies around like a madman at the first approach of
fingers. Indeed, he quite provokes me by his want of trust. He ought
to know by this time that I am his friend, yet he goes off into violent
hysterics the moment I touch him. He does not even show fight. There
is no outcry of anger or alarm, but one "Yang!" of utter despair. He
gives up at once. Life is a burden, his "Yang!" says. "Everything is
going to ruin. There is no use in trying. I wish I never was born.
Yang!" Little old croaker, what are you Yang-ing for? Nobody wishes
to harm you. It is your little cowardly heart that sees lions and
hyenas in a well-meaning forefinger and thumb. Be sensible.

Another opportunity for the exhibition of his perversity is furnished
by his bathing. His personal habits are exquisite. He has a
gentleman's liking for cold water and the appliances of cleanliness;
but if I spread a newspaper on the floor, and prepare everything for a
comfortable and convenient bath, the little imp clings to his perch
immovable. It is not only a bath that he wishes, but fun. Mischief is
his sine qua non of enjoyment. "What is the good of bathing, if you
cannot spoil anything?" says he. "If you will put the bathtub in the
window, where I can splash and spatter the glass and the curtains and
the furniture, very well, but if not, why--" he sits incorrigible, with
eyes half closed, pretending to be sleepy, and not see water anywhere,
the rogue!

One day I heard a great "to-do" in the cage, and found that half the
blind was shut, and helped Cheri to a reflection of himself, which he
evidently thought was another bird, and he was in high feather. He
hopped about from perch to perch, sidled from one side of the cage to
the other, bowed and bobbed and courtesied to himself, sung and swelled
and smirked, and became thoroughly fra