A Bird's Education 169 



I must now describe several cases in which inherited 

 instinct did not prove so true a teacher. A young robin 

 was once given me by a friend, and was kept by myself 

 and others until the following summer. Strange as it 

 may seem, he never acquired the well-known robin carol. 

 Sometimes there were vague hints of it in his vocal per- 

 formances, but for the most part he whistled strains in a 

 loud, shrill tone that no wild robin ever dreamed of inflict- 

 ing on the world. They were more like crude human 

 efforts at whistling than anything else. Indeed, I think 

 they were picked up from the whistling he heard about 

 the house. Some of his strains were very sweet, and all 

 of them were wonderful for a bird. A friend played 

 " Yankee Doodle" on a cornet, and Master 'Rastus for 

 that was his name gave a very fair and funny imita- 

 tion of part of the air. There were many robins caroling 

 in the trees about the premises, and 'Rastus was often 

 left out of doors among them, but he never acquired the 

 red-breast minstrelsy. 



A similar instance was that of a pet red-winged black- 

 bird, which, instead of whistling the labored "Grook-o- 

 lee" of his species, learned to mimic all kinds of sounds 

 in and out of the house, among them the crowing of the 

 cocks of the barnyard. These two instances would indi- 

 cate that some birds must at least be associated with their 

 kin in order to learn the songs of their species. 



My comical pet blue jay gave proof of the need of 

 parental training. While he intuitively called like a jay, 

 he never was able to sing the sweet, gurgling roulade of the 



