THE CROSSBILL. 127 



never lose entirely their instinctive fear of human 

 beings — in short, are never very happy. They are 

 uneasy and restless, will not eat when watched, and 

 often grovel in a sort of stupor of abject fear upon 

 the floor of their cage. Their songs — for these poor 

 creatures sing, as captives will, to cheat an aching 

 heart — do not delight the ear that comprehends their 

 import ; they rather inspire tis to tear open the door 

 of the prison-house and bid the prisoner " God- 

 speed," than wish to retain him to listen to his sor- 

 rowful lamentations. 



Such is not the brave little crossbill — brightest, 

 cheerfulest, and best contented of bond-servants ; for 

 he is the honored servant not of fear but of love. 

 He has a thousand and one ways of showing this, 

 not the least of which is his evident delight on being 

 noticed or caressed, and the queer little self-taught 

 tricks with which he seeks to entertain his friends. 

 A party of spectators gathered about his caffe is a 

 signal for the performance to begin. He leaps into 

 the ring attached to the roof of his cage, and, falling 

 backward, swings upside down, supported by his 

 claws ; taking hold with his bill, which he uses much 

 as a parrot does its beak, and letting go one claw, he 

 hangs suspended ; then, loosing his beak, he sways 

 backward and forward, held by one claw alone. The 

 enthusiasm with which all this is done, and the pride 

 aud pleasure the crossbill takes in " showing off " be- 

 fore an appreciative assembly, make his performance 

 doubly amusing. After a series of such aerial gym- 

 nastics, if a lead pencil, penholder, or any such article 



