164 MYSTERY IN THRUSH LIFE. 



sound like soft patter of summer rain, while 

 lie moved back and forth on his perch with the 

 daintiest of little steps and hops : now up, now 

 down, now across the cage, with gentle noise 

 of feet and wings. No music accompanied it, 

 and none was needed — it was music itself. 

 Not only did he dance away the long hours of 

 twilight, till so dark he could not be seen, but 

 he greeted the dawn in the same way ; long 

 before any other bird stirred, before the hid- 

 eous morning call of the first sparrow in the 

 street, the soft flutter of his wings, the light 

 patter of his feet was heard. In the night also, 

 if gas was lighted, however dimly, dancing 

 began and was continued in the darkness, long 

 after the light was out and every other feather 

 at rest. A sudden light stopped the motion, 

 but revealed the dancer agitated, stirred, with 

 soft dark eyes fixed upon the observer. This 

 dance was not an attempt or indication of a 

 desire to escape, as I am sure for several rea- 

 sons. I can tell the instant that longing for 

 freedom sets in. It was a fresh sign of the 

 strange, mysterious emotion with which all 

 thrushes greet the rising and setting of the 

 sun. 



The singular use of the feet by this bird was 

 very peculiar, and not confined to his dancing 

 hours. While standing on the edge of the 



