Very soon after these birds were at home in the room, the female began
to sing a low and sweet song of considerable variety. The male confined
his utterances to scolding and "huffing," and he tried to silence her
with a peck, or by making ostentatious preparations for a nap, in which
curious way many birds show contempt. But she did not often sing at
home. She preferred a perch the other side of the room, where she sat
down, her breast feathers covering her toes, threw her head up, and
turned it from side to side (perhaps looking for the enemy always ready
to pounce upon her), as she poured out the pleasing melody. Not a note
of song came out of his throat till weeks afterwards, when her presence
no longer disturbed him, and spring came to stir even his hard heart.
Matters culminated, in this ill-assorted union, with a tragedy. He
began a bully and a scold; and so far from being mollified by her
gentleness, his bad temper increased by indulgence, until he absolutely
prevented her from eating, bathing, or entering the cage when he was
about. At this point providence--in the shape of the
mistress--interfered, bought a new cage as big as the old one, and, in
the summary way in which we of the human family dispose of the lives and
happiness of those we call the lower animals, declared a divorce. This
was agreeable to the female, at least. She entered her solitary cage
with joy, and ate to her satisfaction, but not so well pleased was the
tyrant; he wanted an object on which to vent his ill-humor, and it
grieved his selfish soul to see her happy, out of his reach, with table
spread as bountifully as his own. He usurped the new cage; she retired
contentedly to the old. Still he was not suited, for the old one was
nearer the window; so he tried to occupy both, and drive her away
altogether. So outrageous did he become that finally he had to be shut
into one cage before she could enter the other. It was curious, on these
occasions, to see the care with which she examined the door of his cage,
to be sure that he really could not get out, and the satisfied air with
which she finally went home; even then she ate at the point of the
bayonet, as it were, he raging from side to side of his cage, as near
to her as he could get, and scolding furiously. This could not go on
forever, and the most watchful care was not able always to protect her
without making prisoner of one. It was the middle of winter, and she
could not be set free; but if I had suspected how far his tyranny would
go, I should have removed one of them to another room. To my deep
sorrow, I found her dead one morning, and her body so thin I was sure
she had been worried to death.
[Sidenote: _A BAD TEMPER._]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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