LITTLE GUESTS IN FEATHERS. 



NELLY HART WOODWORTH. 



T\ BROOKLYN naturalist who gives 



T""T much time to bird-study told 



j \. me that as his rooms became 



overfull of birds he decided to 



thin them out before the approach of 



winter. Accordingly he selected two 



song sparrows and turned one of them 



adrift, thinking to let the other go the 



next morning. 



The little captive was very happy 

 for a few hours, flying about the "wild 

 garden" in the rear of the house a 

 few square rods where more than 400 

 varieties of native plants were growing. 

 It was not long, however, before a 

 homesick longing replaced the new 

 happiness and the bird returned to the 

 cage which was left upon the piazza. 

 roof. 



The next morning the second spar 

 row was given his freedom. Nothing 

 was seen of him for a week, when he 

 came to the window, beat his tired 

 wings against the pane, and sank down 

 upon the window sill so overjoyed at 

 finding himself at home that he was 

 fairly bursting with song. His throat 

 trembled with the ecstasy; the feathers 

 ruffling as the melody rose from his 

 heart and deluged the air with sweet 

 ness. His joy was too complete for 

 further experiment. 



The first sparrow was again released 

 only to return at nightfall and go 

 promptly to bed at the general retiring 

 hour. 



This hour, by the way, varied indefi 

 nitely; the whole aviary accommodat 

 ing their hours to those of their mas 

 ter, rising with him and settling for the 

 night as he turned off the gas. After 

 this same bird was repeatedly sent out, 

 like Noah's dove, coming home at 

 evening, till after many days it came 

 no more an implicit confidence in the 

 Tightness of all intention doubtless 

 making it an easy prey to some evil 

 design. 



A handsome hermit thrush from the 

 same aviary, domesticated in my room, 

 after an hour or two "abroad" is as 



homesick for his cage as is a child for 

 its mother. 



When this bird came into my pos 

 session his open and discourteous dis 

 approval of women was humiliating. 

 His attitude was not simply endurance 

 but open revolt, a deep-rooted hatred 

 for the entire sex. When, after long 

 weeks of acquaintance, this hostility 

 was overcome he followed me about 

 the room, stood beside me at my work, 

 and has since been unchanging in a 

 pathetic devotion. 



He plants his tiny feet in my pen- 

 tray and throws the pens upon the 

 floor. He stands on tiptoe before the 

 mirror, staring with curious eyes at the 

 strange rival till awe is replaced by 

 anger and the brown wings beat in un 

 availing effort to reach the insolent 

 mimic. When shown a worm he trem 

 bles in excited anticipation, his little 

 feet dancing upon the floor, his wings 

 moving rapidly, while he utters a coax 

 ing, entreating syllable. The song is 

 sweetest when raindrops fall or when 

 the room is noisy and confused. I 

 notice, too, that he is more tuneful be 

 fore a rain. 



I must confess that he keeps late 

 hours, that he is often busy getting 

 breakfast when orthodox birds should 

 be dreaming, his active periods being 

 liable to fall at any hour of the night, 

 more especially if there be a moon. 

 An intensely sentimental nature may 

 be unable to sleep when the beauty of 

 the world is so strongly emphasized. 



His last frolic was with a frog the 

 children smuggled into the house, 

 chasing it around the room, darting 

 at it with wide-open beak, advancing 

 and retreating in a frenzied merriment. 

 As the cage door is often left open 

 he is sometimes "lost" briefly. At one 

 of these times I decided that he had 

 gone to sleep under the bed and would 

 be quite safe till morning. Before day 

 light my mother called to me from the 

 next room that there was "something 

 in her bed," and, sure enough, the truant 



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