there should be any such prowlers, probably the jays meant to induce
them to come out of their ambush, to show themselves in the open, and
give their jayships a chance to escape. Bird psychology, as you will
have occasion to note more than once, is a good deal of an enigma. How
often we would give a handsome bonus to a bird if he would let us know
precisely what he was thinking about!

[Illustration: Blue Jay]

Although no musician, the jay has quite an extensive vocal repertory.
Besides his loud, challenging call, he frequently utters a series of
calls that have a pensive quality and that fill the mind with an
indefinable foreboding, especially on chill autumn days when all the
woods are bare and gray and the wind is moaning through the boughs.
Sometimes when a jay is hidden in a copse, he utters a low, scolding
sputter, that seems to express the very quintessence of disgust. It is
simply his way of telling you what he thinks of a man who goes prowling
about without leave in the precincts of the birds.

Have you ever heard the jay's brief musical roulade? It is only a wisp
of melody, rarely rich and suggestive, heard a moment, then gone. You
know something sweet has passed by, but something so brief and elusive
that you scarcely know what it was. Long after it has dropped on your
ear, it continues to haunt your memory, and you try again and again to
reproduce it, but in vain. It has a kind of gurgling quality, as if
the bird were pressing his notes through an aqueous lyre, if such a
conception is possible. Besides, I have, on more than one occasion,
heard a jay warble a soft, reserved little lay that was continued for
many minutes. It sounded very like the song of the brown thrasher,
much modulated and partly uttered under its breath--a sort of flowing,
rythmical melody.

A question that disturbs all bird lovers more or less is this: Does the
fine white vest of the jay cover a bad heart? Is he really a thief, a
nest robber, or even worse, a cannibal, in plumes? May the guardian
spirit of all feathered folk forbid that I should blacken the
reputation of any bird, yet honesty compels me to give an affirmative
answer to the foregoing question. I hasten, however, to say that I do
not believe he is as black as he has been painted by some observers,
who seem to delight in making out a verdict of capital guilt against
him. Although a predatory bird, he is not engaged all the time in
bloodthirsty pursuits, but