uders, flying at them
with cries of rage. Also, if his wishes chanced to interfere with the
notions of another bird,--as they did on one or two occasions that I
noticed,--he showed no lack of spirit in carrying them out. Once that I
remember, he chose to perch on the top of a certain cage next a window,
where he had not before cared to go. The particular spot that he
occupied was the regular stand of another bird, one also accustomed to
having his own way, and quite willing to fight for it,--a Brazilian
cardinal. The cardinal, of course, disputed the point with the clarin,
but the latter retained his position as long as he desired, running at
the enemy with a cry if he ventured to alight near. In general, his
tastes were so different from others that he seldom came into collision
with them.

[Sidenote: _NOT DARING TO LAUGH._]

When, on the approach of spring, some of his room-mates grew
belligerent, and there arose occasional jarring between them, my bird
showed his dislike of contention and coarse ways by declining to come
out of his cage at all. Although the door stood open all day, and he was
kept busy driving away visitors, he insisted on remaining a hermit till
the restless birds were liberated, when he instantly resumed his usual
habits, and came out as before. His sensitiveness was exhibited in
another way,--mortification if an accident befell him. For example,
when, by loss of feathers in moulting, he was unable to fly well, and
fell to the floor instead of reaching the perch he aimed at, he stood as
if stunned, motionless where he happened to drop, as if life were no
longer worth living. Once he fell in this way upon a table beside a
newspaper. As he landed, his feet slid on the polished surface, and he
slipped partly under the loose paper, so that only his head appeared
above it. There he stood for five minutes looking at me, and bearing a
droll resemblance to a bird's head on a newspaper. He was not more than
four feet from me, and was obviously deeply chagrined, and in doubt
whether he would better ever try to recover himself; and I positively
did not dare to laugh, lest I hurt him more.

The first time the clarin fell to the floor, I ventured to offer him the
end of a perch which I held. Not in the least startled, he looked at it,
then at me, then accepted the civility by stepping upon it, and holding
there while I lifted and carried him to the door of the cage. This soon
came to be the regular thing, an