rol.
Sometimes there were vague hints of it in his vocal performances, but
for the most part he whistled strains in a loud, shrill tone that no
wild robin ever dreamed of inflicting on the world. They were more
like crude human efforts at whistling than anything else. Indeed, I
think they were picked up from the whistling he heard about the house.
Some of his strains were very sweet, and all of them were wonderful for
a bird. A friend played "Yankee Doodle" on a cornet, and Master
'Rastus--for that was his name--gave a very fair and funny imitation of
part of the air. There were many robins caroling in the trees about
the premises, and 'Rastus was often left out of doors among them, but
he never acquired the red-breast minstrelsy.

A similar instance was that of a pet red-winged blackbird, which,
instead of whistling the labored "Grook-o-lee" of his species, learned
to mimic all kinds of sounds in and out of the house, among them the
crowing of the cocks of the barnyard. These two instances would
indicate that some birds must at least be associated with their kin in
order to learn the songs of their species.

My comical pet blue jay gave proof of the need of parental training.
While he intuitively called like a jay, he never was able to sing the
sweet, gurgling roulade of the wild jays. On the contrary, he treated
us to all kinds of odd, imitative, mirth-provoking performances that no
self-respecting jay in the open would think of enacting. After several
months of cage life he was given his liberty. Now, indeed, he showed
his lack of jay bringing up, and how little, in some respects, mere
instinct can be relied on. When evening came he perched on a limb of
the maple tree before the house, in a place as exposed as he could well
find, not knowing that there was more danger in an outdoor roost than
in his shielding cage. I could not induce him to come down, nor could
I climb out to the branch on which he sat, and so I was compelled to
leave him out of doors.

The next morning he was safe, the screech owls of the neighborhood
having overlooked him in some way. The next evening he went to roost
in the same exposed place, and that was the last I ever saw of my
beloved pet. He was undoubtedly killed and devoured by the owls. Had
he been reared out of doors in the usual way, his parents would have
taught him to find a roosting place that was secure from predatory
foes. No one has ever seen a wild jay sleeping i