Glass. wU _W.G *? G> Book ,L- /v ? CO pyre 2Jt± -"7/1* Bob The Story of Our Mocking-Bird THE STORY of OUR MOCKING-BIRD. By Sidney Lanier. With Six- teen Illustrations in Color Charles Scribner's Sons New York, Mdcccxcix Copyright, 1883, by ^The Independent Copyright, 1899, by Mary Day Lanier QLfc7<. L1.Z M ot % " C Prefatory Note * HE poet Sidney Lanier loved to swing in full-muscled walks through the fields and woods; to take the biggest how and quiver out of the archery implements provided for himself and his brood of boys, and with them trail- ing at his heels, to tramp and shoot at rovers; to be- stride a springy horse and ride through the mountains and the valleys, noting what they were pleased to show of tree and bird and beast life. He could feel the honest savage instincl of the hunter (and lose it in his first sight of a stag's death-eyes J. A rare bird's nest with eggs produced in him the rapture vouchsafed to barbarian Boy, along with the divine suggestions vouchsafed to the Poet. This may be worth while to say to those of Lanier's readers who may think of him as a sensitive, delicate man of letters, and who must see in most of his writing evidences of extreme sensibility. It was this habit of a practical, face-to-face conversation with nature which, joined with the artist's instincl, makes the sketch of "Bob" so veracious a picture of a bird-indi- vidual and a bird-species. Lanier's wife and chil- dren remember well the delight the bird had for his brother artist; how the amused flute would trill with extravagant graces to the silent but heedful wonder of the caged one. Every surprising token of intelli- gence, of affection, of valor displayed by Bob was hailed by Mr. Lanier with a bofs ecstacy over a pet, and a poet's thankfulness of a beautiful work of the Creator. 'There is, doubtless, no need to assure the reader that the events of Bob's life as hereinafter depitled are historically true; he was acquired by one of the poefs boys, who, forbidden to rob nests, remembers his fear, on the way home with Bob in his straw hat, that the account of the bird's helpless condition would not serve as a fair and reasonable excuse for keep- ing him as a pet. The illustrations which form so important a part of the effort to make a picture of Bob, are unusual in their origin and in their method. Mr. Dugmore made photographic studies of a young mocking-bird, or, rather, of a number of young mocking-birds, the photographs were colored by him, and the plates from these photographs were printed in color. The variety of rare tints in any bird's plumage, their extreme delicacy, and the infinitely fine gradations of shading have almost always baffled the artist and the printer. The present attempt to reproduce Mr. Dugmore's masterly piclures in color shows at least a handsome advance in the difficult art. Charles Day Lanier. Otlober, 1899. List of Illustrations From Photographs made froin Life and colored hy A. R. Dug more "Boh lying in a lump" To face page 4 " To increase the volume of his rudimentary feathers" 8 " Throw his head hack and open his yellow- lined heak" 10 "He scramhled to the hars of the cage which his feehle companion was unahle to do" 14 "For it was his own image in the looking- glass of a bureau" 28 "His hath" 30 "When he smoothed his feathers" 32 "And as many times slid down the smooth surface of the ?nirror and wounded himself upon the perilous pin-cushion" 34 "The most elegant, trim . . . little dandy" 38 "A sidelong, inquiring posture of the head, . . . Is she gone?" 40 "He eats very often" 42 "Boh never neglecls to wipe his heak after each meal" 44 "He stretches his body until he seems incredi- bly tall" 50 "When he is cold he makes himself into a round hall of feathers" 52 "When his feathers fall. He is then unspeak- ably dejetled. . . . every feather dropped from his tail" 56 "We have only to set Bob's cage where a spot of sunshine will fall on it. . . . up goes his beak, and he is off" 58 BOB f The Mocking-Bird Superb and sole, upon a plumed spray That o'er the general leafage boldly grew, He sumtrfd the woods in song; or typic drew The watch of hungry hawks, the lone dismay Of languid doves when long their lovers stray, And all birds' passion-plays that sprinkle dew At morn in brake or bosky avenue. Whatever birds did or dreamed, this bird could say. Then down he shot, bounced airily along The sward, twitched in a grasshopper, made song Midflight, perched, prinked, and to his art again. Sweet Science, this large riddle read me plain: How may the death of that dull insecl be The life of yon trim Shakspere on the tree ? BOB OT that his name ought to be Bob at all. In respedt of his behavior during a certain trying pe- riod which I am presently to recount, he ought to be called Sir Philip Sidney: yet, by virtue of his con- duSl in another very trou- [ i ] QB blesome business which I will relate, he has equal claim to he known as Don Quixote de la Mancha : while, in consideration that he is the Voice of his whole race, singing the passions of all his fellows better than any one could sing his own, he is clearly en- titled to be named Wil- liam Shaksfiere. For Bob is our mocki?ig- bird. He Jell to us out of the top of a certain great pine in a certain small city on the sea-coast of Georgia. In this tree and a host of his lordly fellows which tower over that little city, the mocking-birds abound in unusual numbers. They love the prodigious masses of the leaves, and the gen- erous breezes from the neighboring Gulf Stream, OB [ 3 ] HHHh y# ». 1 E s • -~ * t "--^*^^ r # * 5 #* * * OB sions were held. He could not be put back into a tree: the hawks would have had him in an hour. The origi- nal nest was not tobejbund. JVe struggled hard against committing the crime — as we had always considered it — of caging a bird. But finally it became plain that there was no other resource. InfaSiy we were obliged to recognize that he had come [ ^ 3 spoiled child. JVhen it was brought, he would throw his head back and open his yellow-lined beak to a width which no one would credit who did not see it. Into this enormous cavity, whichseemed almost larger than the bird, his protec- tress would thrust — and the more vigorously the bet- ter he seemed to like it — ball after ball of the yolk OB [ 9 ] OB of hard-boiled egg mashed up with Irish potato. How y from this dry com- pound which was his only fare except an occasional worm off the rose-bushes y Bob could have wrought the surprising nobleness of spirit which he displayed about six weeks after he came to us . . . is a matter which I do not believe the most expansive application 10 of Mr. Herbert Spencer's theory of the genesis of emotion could even remote- ly account for. I refer to the occasion when hef airly earned the title of Sir Philip Sidney. A short time after he became our guest a cou- ple of other Jledgelings were brought and placed in his cage. One of these soon died, but the other con- tinued for some time longer OB q B to drag out a drooping ex- istence. One day, when Bob was about six weeks old, his usual ration had been delayed, owing to the pres- sure of other dutiesupon his attendant. He was not slow to make this circumstance known by all the language available to him. He was very hungry indeed and was squealing with every appearance of entreaty and of indignation when at last the lady of the house was able to bring him his break- fast. He scrambled to the bars of the cage — which his feeble companion was unable to do — took the prof- fered ball of egg-and-po- tatqfercely in his beak, and then, instead of swallowing it, deliberately Jlappedback to his sick guest in the cor- ner and gave him the whole OB [ n ] cup, he ordered that it should be handed to the soldier, saying, cc His ne- cessity is greater than mine 55 OB Mocking - bird is called Bob just as a goat is called Billy or Nan, as a parrot is called Poll, as a squirrel is called Bunny, or as a cat is called Pussy or Tom. In spite of the suggestions forced upon us by the similarity of his be- havior to that of the sweet young gentleman of Zut- phen, our bird continued [ 16 ] to bear the common appel- lation of his race and no efforts on the part of those who believe in the Jitness of things have availed to change the habits of Bob's friends in this particular. Bob he was, is, and will probably remain. Perhaps under a weight- ier title he would not have thriven so prosperously. His growth was amazing OB 17 OB in body and in mind. By the time he was two months old he clearly showed that he was going to be a singer. About this period certain little feeble trills and ex- perimental whistles began to vary the monotony of his absurd squeals and chir- rups. The musical busi- ness^ and the marvellous work of feathering him- self ] occupied his thoughts [ 18 ] continually. I cannot but suppose that he superin- tended the disposition of the blacky white and gray markings on his wings and his tail as they succes- sively appeared: he cer- tainly manufadtured the pigments with which those colors were laid on^ some- where within himself ] — * and all out of egg-and- potato. How he ever got OB [ 19 ] OB the idea of arranging his feather characteristics ex- a&ly as those of all other male mocking-birds are arranged — is more than I know. It is equally beyond me to conceive why he did not — while he was about it — exert his individuality to the extent of some little peculiar black dot or white stripe whereby he could at least tell himselffrom any 20 q B he engaged his enemy, the gallantry with which he continued thejight, and the good faithful blood which he shed while it lasted. In all these particulars his battle fairly rivalled any encounter of the much- bruised Knight of la Man- cha. He was about a year old when it happened, and thejight took place a long 11 way from his native heath. He was spending the sum- mer at a pleasant country home in Pennsylvania. He had appeared to take just as much delight in the clover fields and mansion- studded hills of this lovely region as in the lonesome Jbrests and sandy levels of his native land. He had sung, and sung: even in his dreams at night his sensi- OB [ *3 ] tive little soul would often get quite too full and he would pour Jbrth raptur- ous bursts of sentiment at any time between twelve o'clock and daybreak. If our health had been as little troubled by broken slumber as was his, these melodies in the late night would have been glorious; but there were some of us who had gone into the coun- try especially to sleep; and we were Jinally driven to swing the sturdy songster high u/i in our outside porch at nighty by an apparatus contrived with careful re- ference to cats. Several of these animals in the neighborhood had longed unspeakably for Bob ever since his arrival. TVe had seen them eyeing him from behind bushes and through OB windows, and had once rescued him from one who had thrust a paw between the very bars of his cage. That cat was going to eat him, art and all, with no compun&ion in the world. His music seemed to make no more impression on cats than Keats 9 s made on crit- ics. If only some really discriminating person had been by with a shot-gun [ 26 ] by circumstantial evidence when we returned. As soon as he was alone, he had availed himself of his un- usualfreedom to go explor- ing about the room. In the course of his investigation he suddenly found himself confronted by . . . it is impossible to say what he considered it. If he had been reared in the woods he would probably have re- 28 garded it as another mock- ing-birdj—Jbr it was his own image in the looking- glass of a bureau. But he had never seen any member of his race except thejbr- lorn little urifledged speci- men which he hadjedatsix weeks of age^ and which bore no resemblance to this tall, gallant^ bright-eyed Jigure in the mirror. He had thus had no opportu- OB C *9 ] OB nity to generalize his kind; and he knew nothing what- ever of his own personal appearance except the par- tial hints he may have gained when he smoothed his feathers with his beak after his bath in the morn- ing. It may therefore very well be that he took this sudden apparitionfor some Chimcera or dire monster which had taken advan- [ 30 ] him to new rage. In order to give additional momen- tum to his onset he would retire towards the other side of the room and thence Jly at the Joe. Again and again he charged: and as many times slid down the smooth surface of the mir- ror and wounded himself upon the perilous pin-cush- ion. As I entered, being Jirst up from table, he was OB [ 33 ] q B in the adt of fluttering down against the glass. The counterpane on the bed, the white dimity cover of the bureau, the pin-cush- ion, all bore the bloody re- semblances of his feet in various places, and showed how many times he had sought distant points in or- der to give himself a run- ning start. His heart was beating violently, and his [ 34 ] feathers were ludicrously tousled. And all against the mere shadow of him- self IN ever was there such a temptation for the head of a family to assemble his people and draw a prodi- gious moral. But better thoughts came : for, after all, was it not probable that the poor bird was de- fending — or at any rate believed he was defending OB [ 35 ] OB — the rights and proper- ties of his absent masters against a Joe of unknown power? All the circum- stances go to show that he made the attack with a faithful valor as reverent as that which steadied the lance of Don Quixote against the windmills. In after days, when his cage has been placed among the boughs of the trees, he has [ 3^ ] not shown any warlike feelings against the robins and sparrows that passed about, but only a friendly interest. At this present writing, Bob is the most elegant, trim, ele&ric, persuasive, cunning, tender, coura- geous, artistic little dandy of a bird that mind can im- agine. He does not confine himself to imitating the OB C 37 ] O B songs of his tribe. He is a creative artist. I was wit- ness not long ago to the se- lection and adoption by him of a rudimentary whistle- language. During an ill- ness it Jell to my lot to sleep in a room alone with Bob. In the early morning, when a lady — to whom Bob is passionately attached — would make her appear- ance in the room, he would [ 38 ] salute her with a certain joyful chirrup, which ap- pears to belong to him pe- culiarly. I have not heard it from any other bird. But sometimes the lady would merely open the door, make an inquiry, and then re- tire. It was ?iow necessary for his artistic soul tojind some form of expressing grief. For this purpose he seledted a certain cry al- OB [ 39 ] OB most identical with that of the cow-bird — an inde- scribably plaintive, long- drawn, thin whistle. Day after day I heard him make use of these expres- sions. He had never done so before. The mournful one he would usually ac- company, as soon as the door was shut, with a side- long inquiring posture of the head, which was a [ 40 ] clear repetition of the lov- er's Is she gone? Is she really gone? JjOB [ 41 ] &>HERE is one particular in which Bob's habits cannot be recommended. He eats very often. Injadt if Bob should hire a cook, it would be absolutely necessary for him to write down his hours for her guidance; and this writing would look very much like a time-table of the Pennsylvania, or the Hudson River, or the [ 4* ] OB minutes until 6 p.m.); my supper is irregular , but I wish Bridget particularly to remember that I always eat whenever I awake in the night, and that I usu- ally awake Jour or Jive times between bedtime and daybreak" TVith all this eatings Bob never negledts to wipe his beak after each meal. This he does by drawing it quickly^ three [ 44 ] or Jour times on each side, against his perch. I never tire of watching his motions. There does not seem to be the least Jridtion between any of the com- ponent parts of his sys- tem. They all work, give, play in and out, stretch, contrast, and serve his desires generally with a smoothness and soft pre- cision truly admirable. OB [ 45 ] OB Merely to see him leap from his perch to thejloor of his cage is to me a never- failing marvel. It is so instantaneous , and yet so quiet : clip, and he is down, with his head in the food- cup: I can compare it to nothing but the stroke of Fate. It is perhaps a strained association of the large with the small: but when he suddenly leaps [ 46 ] OB woods where he would have had the opportunity to hear the endlessly-various calls of his race. So Jar as we can see, the stock of songs which he now sings must have been brought in his own mind from the egg, or from some further source whereof we know nothing. He certainly never learned these calls: many of the birds of whom he gives per- [ 48 ] them, make any sign that he desired to retain them, beyond a certain air of at- tention in his posture. Up- on repetition on a differ- ent day, his behavior was the same: there was no attempt at imitation. But sometime afterward, quite unexpectedly, in the hila- rious jlow of his birdsongs would appear aperfedt re- production of the whistled [ So ] tones. Like a great artist he was rather above Jiitile and amateurish efforts. He took things into his mind, turned them over, and, when he was jierfedtly sure of them, brought themforth with perfedtion and with unconcern. He has his little joke. His favorite response to the en- dearing terms of the lady whom he loves is to scold OB [ 51 ] and stretches his leg along the inner surface of it as far as he is able. He has great capacities in the way of elongating and contrasting himself JVhen he is curious, or alarmed, he stretches his body until he seems incredibly tall and of the size of his neck all the way. TVhen he is cold, he makes himself into a round ball of feathers. OB [ 53 ] OB €T THINK I envy him most when he goes to sleep. He takes up one leg somewhere into his bosom, crooks the other a trifle, shortens his neck, closes his eyes, — and it is done. He does not ap- pear to hover a moment in the borderland between sleeping and waking but hops over the line with the same superb decision with [ 54 ] which he drops from his perch to thejloor. I do not think he ever has anything on his mind after he closes his eyes. It is my belief that he never committed a sin of any sort in his whole life. There is but one time when he ever looks sad. This is during the season when his feathers Jail. He is then unspeakably deje&ed. Never a note do we get OB [ S5 ] IOB from him until it is over. Nor can he be blamed. Last summer not only the usual loss took place, but every feather dropped from his tail. His deje&ion during this period was so extreme that we could not but be- lieve he had some idea of his personal appearance under the disadvantage of no tail. This was so ludi- crous that his most ardent [ 56 ] OB Jident, dashing, riotous, innocent, sparkling glory of jubilation, we have only to set Bob's cage where a spot of sunshine will Jail on it. His beads of eyes glisten, his form grows in- tense, ufi goes his beak, and he is off. Finally we have sometimes discussed the question: is it better on the whole, that Bob should have lived in [ 5» ] 1 1 Ai wf / L f ffli I _ § a ~~ ' 1 K%**\ morfc a cage than in the wild- wood? There are conflidt- ing opinions about it: but one of us is clear that it is. He argues that although there are many songs which are never heard, as there are many eggs which never hatch, yet the general end of a song is to be heard, as that of an egg is to be hatched. He further argues that Bob's life in his cage OB [ 59 ] OB has been one long blessing to several people who stood in need of him: whereas in the woods , leaving aside the probability of hawks and bad boys, he would not have been likely to gain one appreciative listener for a single half hour out of each year. And, as I have already mercifully released you from several morals (continues this disputant) 60 which I might have drawn from Bob, I am resolved that no power on earth shall prevent me from drawing thisjinal one. — JVe have heard much of "the privi- leges of genius" of "the right of the artist to live out his own existence free from the conventionalities of society" of "the un- morality of art " and the like. But I do protest that OB [ 61 ] the greater the artist, and the more profound his pity toward the fellow -man Jbr whom he passionately works, the readier will he his willingness to forego the privileges of genius and to cage himself in the conventionalities, even as the mocking-bird is caged. His struggle against these will, I admit, be the great- est: he will feel the bitterest [ 62 ] sense of their uselessness in restraining him from wrong-doing. But, never- theless, one consideration will drive him to enter the door and get contentedly on his perch: hisfrllow-men, his frllow-men. These he can reach through the re- spedtable bars of use and wont; in his wild thickets of lawlessness they would never hear him, or, hear- OB C 6 3 ] O B i n g> would never listen. In truth this is the sublime st of self-denials, and none but a very great artist can compass it: to abandon the sweet green forest of liberty, and live a whole life behind needless con- straints, for the more per- fect service of his fellow- men. [ 6 4 ] Epilogue f To Our Mocking-Bird Died of a Cat, May, 1878 I Trillets of humor, — shrewdest whistle-wit, — Contralto cadences of grave desire Such as frofn off the passionate Indian pyre Drift down through s andal-o dor ed flames that split About the slim young widow who doth sit And sing above, — midnights of tone entire, — tissues of moonlight shot with songs of fire; — Bright drops of tune, from oceans infinite Of melody, sipped off the thin-edged wave And trickling down the heak, — discourses brave Of serious matter that no man may guess, — Good-fellow greetings, cries of light distress — All these but now within the house we heard: Death, wast thou too deaf to hear the bird? II Ah me, though never an ear for song, thou hast A tireless tooth for songsters: thus of late Thou earnest, Death, thou Cat/ and leaf st my gate, And, long ere hove could follow, thou hadst passed Within and snatched away, how fast, how fast, My bird — wit, songs, and all — thy richest freight Since that fell time when in some wink of fate Thy yellow claws unsheathed and stretched, and cast Sharp hold on Keats, and dragged him slow away, And harried him with hope and horrid play — Ay, him, the world's best wood-bird, wise with song — Till thou hadst wrought thine own last mortal wrong. 'Twas wrong! 'twas wrong! I care not, wrong 's the word — To munch our Keats and crunch our mocking- bird. Ill Nay, Bird; my grief gainsays the Lord's best right. 'The Lord was fain, at some late festal time, That Keats should set all Heaven's woods in rhyme, And thou in bird-notes. Lo, this tearful night, Methinks I see thee, fresh from death's despite, Perched in a palm-grove, wild with pantomime, O'er blissful companies couched in shady thyme, — Methinks I hear thy silver whistlings bright Mix with the mighty discourse of the wise, Till broad Beethoven, deaf no more, and Keats, 'Midst of much talk, uplift their smiling eyes, And mark the music of thy wood-conceits, And halfway pause on some large, courteous word, And call thee "Brother" thou heavenly Bird! Baltimore, 1878. D. B. Updike T^he Merrymount Press 104 Chestnut Street Boston LBJl'19