cry. Obviously the mocking-bird, finding the first method
of attack, which was probably his usual one, a failure, decided to try
another, as the event proved, successfully. The excitement of this
performance evidently gave him pleasure, no doubt helped to pass away
the long hours, for be often indulged in it, always making his approach
in the same deliberate way, tripping daintily a step or two at a time,
examining everything in a careless way, tasting a piece of apple-skin,
lifting a bit of thread, toying and dallying to all appearance, as he
moved, still always advancing, and never turning aside from his purpose
till he reached the distance of a foot from the thrush, crouching
motionless with crown feathers erect. At that point he often stood a
moment, looking grimly at his victim, then gave a quick, exaggerated
jump which carried him forward not more than an inch, but sent the
thrush, in a panic, running half across the room, where he brought up in
a heap,--his claws sprawled as they slipped on the matting, every
feather standing up,--and made no attempt to draw his feet together. A
slow, formal attack he could meet, but a sudden rush was irresistible.
Then the assailant turned, slowly, gracefully, the personification of
tranquillity, his air saying, "Who's done anything?" yet taking a direct
line for the enemy, approaching in the same way, by easy stages, but
relentlessly drawing nearer and nearer, till he ended by a quick plunge,
which sent the thrush off with a cry. In a moment he began again,
teasing, following, tormenting; so wily, so wicked, so determined!

The motions of this bird were most bewitching; his flight the perfection
of grace. He never flew straight across the room as if on business, but
always in a dancing, loitering, easy way; hovering to examine a picture,
slowly pausing on wing to look at anything, turning, wheeling, up or
down or any way, buoyant and light as the air itself. It was his delight
to exercise on wing about the room, diving between the rounds of the
ladder, darting under a stretched string or into a cage full dash. His
feet found rest on any point, however small,--the cork in a bottle, the
tip of a gas-burner, or the corner post of a chair; nothing was too
small or too delicately balanced for his light touch, and he never upset
anything. He enjoyed running up and down a ladder six feet long with six
or eight rounds, passing over it so rapidly that he could not be seen to
touch it at