THE FAERY YEAR 



whilst we rise and make ready for breakfast a break- 

 fast bird I call the starling. 



" Oh, blackbird, sing me something well, 

 While all the neighbours shoot thee round." 



But blackbirds* lay, take the year through, is 

 stinted dole compared to starlings'. The starling 

 sings often to himself; no starling rival or mate is 

 near ; but, perched on the house-roof or tree, he 

 will sing softly, a gentle crooning, half an hour at a 

 stretch. It is as an inspired song, in this at any rate 

 he sings as though he had no notion what may be 

 coming next ; there is no impression of fastidious 

 phrasing or of set performance about this joyous 

 starling song. These are the garden and homestead 

 starlings. There are also considerable singing parties 

 to be met with in autumn in the hedges. I have 

 heard a sound as of hundreds of twittering linnets 

 coming from a farm hedge, and have been surprised 

 to find that it was made entirely by starlings. 



Finally, there are the vast starling congregations, 

 in the main dingy birds that have not put on the full 

 jewelled dress. These congregations are not yet 

 breaking up. I have seen large bodies of dingy 

 starlings even in mid-May. Eve after eve they 

 assemble at a particular point to sing their hymn. 

 Then up and away, with a rush of wings, loud as 

 the storm in the pine-tops, to settle again in some 

 thickets or tree-clumps, and drop asleep. The 

 evening hymn is raised and kept up by every 

 member of the congregation. In this amazing 



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