460 
BIRD-LIFE, 
the first day of its captivity, picking up the grains of 
hemp-seed, and, holding them gracefully in its claws, 
fed at its leisure, caught the flies, and hunted every 
crevice;—laughing all the while, even when the cat 
entered the room. With all this, however, it will never 
become thoroughly tame; it will be always quarrelling 
with every other bird, and be the very first to take 
advantage of an open door. 
We will, however, now return to our prisoner: it is a 
Warbler; and we all know what they are when robbed 
of freedom. It is true it may be said to live, though in 
its jail its song falls dead upon the ear. It is only now 
and again that a note is rung from it,—broken, sad; a 
wailing call for the absent darling; one trembling harp- 
like tone torn from its very bosom, even as the love-lorn 
minstrel, allowing his hand to wander aimless to his 
instrument, strikes a chord vibrating with an agony, which 
proclaims his loss—all is lost! It is a long while before 
the bird becomes patiently reconciled to its fate : dreaming 
at night, it often flutters round the cage. The sad winter 
days are reflected in the bird’s demeanour; and yet, 
without being aware of it, the wounds are gradually 
closing, for time, the great comforter, is doing his work. 
The little captive at last becomes accustomed to confine¬ 
ment ; friends, companions, partners, are, alas, all 
wanting; it hopes, however, to meet with them again! Its 
only companion is its gaoler, and to him the little heart 
is opened, and the gaoler is rendered happy by the bird’s 
friendship. With friendship comes confidence,—slowly, 
but surely; beware lest you check it,—it will be a long 
time returning, and possibly will never do so. The 
captor, however, is sure to do all he can to preserve it: 
quietly and carefully he approaches the cage, speaks low, 
