73 



THE VOICES OF BIRDS. 



BY 0. S. ROUND, ESQ. 



In wandering among sylvan solitudes, it has always been my dellghr to" 

 be a silent observer of the ways of nature's sweet choristers, and many a 

 delightful hour have I thus spent, far from the din of population, when 

 the warm sun of early summer shed a delicious fragrance and a soft green 

 light amid the branches of the oak or beech, whose callow leaves formed 

 so refreshing a medium between the eye and the brilliant beams of the 

 bright orb of day. At these seasons there might be said to have been 

 a full "band" of sweet untaught music; but, besides the song of the pretty 

 feathered performers, their voices were no less a subject of attention. 

 Gilbert White has some excellent remarks upon this matter, and, if I 

 mistake not, speaks generally as well as specially, and indeed, no one who 

 has ears open to what passes around, can have failed to be struck with 

 the language of the feathered tribes. 



That all animals have some mode of communicating with each other, 

 there can be no doubt; of course we must ever remain ignorant of its true 

 nature and extent, but the fact is palpable enough, and known to every one. 

 Thus, cries of defiance, menace, or endearment, are common to all; and 

 even the little glow-worm "hangs out her lamp" as a kind of hieroglyphic 

 invitation to her mate. Animals, however, compared with birds, are not 

 rich in language, properly so called, and the neigh of the horse, the bark 

 or snarl of the dog, or the mew of the cat in its varied phases and in- 

 tonations, is about the apparent extent of their vocal powers. With birds 

 it is diflferent, for, by the least observation, it will be seen that their 

 colloquial powers are very great. Let us just instance domestic poultry, 

 who are certainly not in any sense singing birds, and see how, from the 

 rising to the setting of the sun, their conversation continues. First, honest 

 chanticleer no sooner snuffs the morning air, than he proclaims the fact in 

 a loud voice, that seems to say ^'It is light again, why be ye there 

 slumbering?" then there is the cackling and commotion attendant upon 

 such early rising; no movement is taken without a loud proclamation 

 of the event, as if the excitement was too great to be passed by in 

 silence. Then begins the business of the day; the dewy grass is explored 

 for stray worms and spiders who are basking on their floating cradles in 

 the early beams, or any luckless entomological specimen that shews its 

 head above ground; and when the dunghill monarch chances to find some 

 uncommon prize, how he exults over the capture, and calls his Harem around 

 him, to share in the repast. Then there is what is called the "prating," 

 said to be a forerunner of laying, and a multitude of sounds, all modifications 

 of a croak or a scream, which is sometimes so singular that I have been 



VOL, VI. L 



