A Flood of Eloquence.. 133 



utter the same notes over and over again ; others sit 

 on a branch and sing the same song, as the thrush ; 

 but the starling has a whole syllabary of his own, 

 every note of which evidently has its meaning, and 

 can be varied and accented at pleasure. 



His whistle ranges from a shrill, piercing treble 

 to a low, hollow bass ; he runs a complete gamut, 

 with ' shakes,' trills, tremulous vibrations, every pos- 

 sible variation. He intersperses a peculiar clucking 

 sound, which seems to come from the depths of his 

 breast, flattering his wings all the while agajnst his 

 sides as he stands bolt upright on the edge of the 

 chimney. Other birds seem to sing for the pure 

 pleasure of singing, shedding their notes broadcast, 

 or at most they are meant for a mate hidden in the 

 bush. The starling addresses himself direct to his 

 fellows : I think I may saj- he never sings when 

 alone, without a companion in sight. He literally 

 speaks to his fellows. I am persuaded you may 

 almost follow the dialogue and guess the tenor of 

 the discourse. 



A starling is on the chimney-top ; yonder on the 

 ash tree are four or five of his acquaintance. Sud- 

 denly he begins to pour forth a flood of eloquence 

 facing them as he speaks : Will they come with him 

 down to the field where the cows are grazing ? There 

 will be sure to be plenty of insects settling on the 

 grass round the cows, and every now and then they 

 tear up the herbage by the roots and expose creeping 

 things. ' Come,' you may hear him say, modulating 

 his tones to persuasion, ' come quickly ; you see it is 

 a fresh piece of grass into which the cows have been 

 turned only a few hours since ; it was too long for us 



