Birds of Town and Village | Page 7

his walks in the village. He had given the institute, and
so could not pull it down nor prevent them from using it.
It was refreshing to hear that the Badgers had shown a proper spirit in
the matter, and I was grateful to them for having kept the right-of-way,
as on most days I spent several hours in the beautiful woods.
To return to the jay. In spite of the keeper's persecution, I knew that he
was there; every morning when I got up to look out of the window
between four and five o'clock, I heard from some quarter of the village
that curious subdued, but far-reaching, scolding note he is accustomed
to utter when his suspicions have been aroused.
That was the jay's custom--to come from the woods before even the
earliest risers were up, and forage in the village. By and bye I
discovered that, by lying motionless for an hour or so on the dry moss
in the wood, he would at length grow so bold as to allow himself to be
seen, but high up among the topmost branches. Then, by means of my
binocular, I had the wild thing on my thumb, so to speak, exhibiting
himself to me, inquisitive, perplexed, suspicious, enraged by turns, as
he flirted wings and tail, lifted and lowered his crest, glancing down
with bright, wild eyes. What a beautiful hypocrisy and delightful power

this is which enables us, sitting or lying motionless, feigning sleep
perhaps, thus to fool this wild, elusive creature, and bring all its
cunning to naught! He is so much smaller and keener-sighted, able to
fly, to perch far up above me, to shift his position every minute or two,
masking his small figure with this or that tuft of leaves, while still
keeping his eyes on me--in spite of it all to have him so close, and
without moving or taking any trouble, to see him so much better than
he can see me! But this is a legitimate trickery of science, so innocent
that we can laugh at our dupe when we practise it; nor do we afterwards
despise our superior cunning and feel ashamed, as when we slaughter
wild birds with far-reaching shot, which they cannot escape.
* * *
All these corvine birds, which the gamekeeper pursues so relentlessly,
albeit they were before him, killing when they killed to better purpose;
and, let us hope, will exist after him--all these must greatly surpass
other kinds in sagacity to have escaped extermination. In the present
condition of things, the jay is perhaps the best off, on account of his
smaller size and less conspicuous colouring; but whether more cunning
than the crow or magpie or not, in perpetual alertness and restless
energy or intensity of life, he is without an equal among British birds.
And this quality forms his chief attraction; it is more to the mind than
his lifted crest and bright eyes, his fine vinaceous brown and the patch
of sky-blue on his wings. One would miss him greatly from the woods;
some of the melody may well be spared for the sake of the sudden,
brain-piercing, rasping, rending scream with which he startles us in our
solitary forest walks.
It is this extreme liveliness of the jay which makes it more distressing
to the mind to see it pent in a cage than other birds of its family, such as
the magpie; just as it is more distressing to see a skylark than a finch in
prison, because the lark has an irresistible impulse to rise when his
singing fit is on. Sing he must, in or out of prison, yet there can be little
joy in the performance when the bird is incessantly teased with the
unsatisfied desire to mount and pour out his music at heaven's gate.
Out of the cages, jays make charming and beautiful pets, and some who
have kept them have assured me that they are not mischievous birds.
The late Mark Melford one time when I visited him, had two jays,
handsome birds, in bright, glossy plumage, always free to roam where

they liked, indoors or out. We were sitting talking in his garden when
one of the jays came flying to us and perched on a wooden ledge a few
feet from and above our heads, and after sitting quietly for a little while
he suddenly made a dash at my head, just brushing it with his wings,
then returned to his perch. At intervals of a few moments he repeated
this action, and when I remarked that he probably resented the presence
of a stranger, Melford exclaimed, "Oh, no, he wants to play with
you--that's all."
His manner of playing was rather startling. So long as I kept my eyes
on him