892 SONG 



These are meagre details, but they amount to more than we 

 know of the Dodo, while perhaps no species has had its osteology 

 examined on so great a scale as the Solitaire. 



SONG plays a most important part in the economy of Birds, 

 though the word in a treatise like this has to be used in a general 

 sense, and not limited to the vocal sounds uttered by not more than 

 a moiety of the feathered races which charm us by the strains they 

 pour from their vibrating throat {cf. Syrinx), — strains indeed denied 

 by the scientific musician to come under cognizance as appertaining 

 to his art, but strains which in all countries and in all ages have 

 conveyed a feeling of true pleasure to the human hearer, and 

 strains of which by common consent, in the Old World at least, 

 the Nightingale is the consummate master. It is necessary in 

 a scientific spirit to regard every sound made by a Bird under 

 the all-powerful influence of love or lust as a " Song." It seems 

 impossible to draAv any but an arbitrary line between the deep 

 booming of the Emeu, the harsh cry of the Guillemot (which, 

 proceeding from a thousand throats, strikes the distant ear in a con- 

 fused murmur like the roar of a tumultuous crowd), the plaintive 

 wail of the Lapwing, the melodious whistle of the Wigeon, " the 

 Cock's shrill clarion," the CuCKOw's "wandering voice," the scream of 

 the Eagle, the hoot of the Owl, the solemn chime of the Bellbird, 

 the whip-cracking of the Manakin, the Chaffinch's joyous burst, 

 or the hoarse croak of the Raven, on the one hand, and the bleat- 

 ing of the Snipe or the drumming of the Ruffed Grouse, on the 

 other. Innumerable are the forms which such utterances take. 

 In many birds the sounds are due to a combination of vocal and 

 instrumental powers, or, as in the cases last mentioned, to the latter 

 only. But however produced — and of the machinery whereby 

 they are accomplished this is not the place to speak — all have 

 the same cause and the same effect. The former has been already 

 indicated, and the latter is its consummation. Almost coinstan- 

 taneously with the hatching of the Nightingale's brood, the song of 

 the sire is hushed, and the notes to which we have for weeks 

 hearkened with rapt admiration are changed to a guttural croak, 

 expressive of alarm and anxiety, inspiring a sentiment of the most 

 opposite character. No greater contrast can be imagined, and no 

 instance can be cited which more completely points out the purpose 

 which Song fulfils in the economy of the bird, for if the Nightin- 

 gale's nest at this early time be destroyed or its contents removed, 

 the cock speedily recovers his voice, and his favourite haunts again 

 resound to his bewitching strains. For them his mate is content 

 again to undergo the wearisome round of nest-building and incuba- 

 tion. But should some days elapse before disaster befalls their 

 callow care, his constitution undergoes a change and no second 



