458 
BIRD-LIFE. 
them, bring their spirits into subjection to his own and 
appropriate them, no one, who has himself kept feathered 
pets, can well deny; and certainly a Ruhlaer does not 
doubt it for a moment! He experiences the deepest 
pleasure which the cage bird can afford its friend and 
protector, a pleasure which reaches his inmost soul. His 
only object in keeping his little friend in confinement is 
to become thoroughly and intimately acquainted with it. 
The newly-caught bird is either timid, terrified, 
intractable, fierce, or sad, when first caged or confined in 
a room,—each one according to its natural temperament. 
The bird of prey, at man’s approach, places itself in a 
posture of defence, lying on its back, and presenting its 
claws to the enemy, and beating its wings to pieces 
against the bars of the cage. The Warbler flutters 
anxiously hither and thither, without peace or rest, 
fleeing man’s presence as though he was its worst 
enemy. The Lark dashes its head against the roof of 
the cage. The Woodpecker chips away the bars of its 
prison, and will even manage to peck through the leg of 
the table to which it may happen to be attached. 
Ravens, Crows, Herons, and Divers, strike at the face of 
their keeper. Pigeons dash, as though bereft of their 
senses, at any point where they can see light in their 
place of confinement. Partridges, Ducks, and Geese, are 
perfectly unmanageable,—invincible, in fact. One and 
all refuse food. 
After a storm comes a calm, sadness succeeds to rage. 
The unhappy prisoner sits for hours, aye, days even, 
perfectly motionless at one spot; the instant, however, it 
is approached, all its former terror returns, and the 
experienced bird-catcher only does so, when absolutely 
necessary,—for instance, to give it fresh food; otherwise 
