324 VOCAL POWERS OF THE MOCKING-BIED. 



seems to be comprised, for the Mocking-bird can with equal ease imitate, or rather repro- 

 duce, the sweet and gentle twittering of the blue-bird, the rich fall song of the thrush, or 

 the harsh ear-piercing scream of the eagle. At night especially, when labour has ceased, 

 " silence has attuned her ear," says Webber, " and earth hears her merry voices singing in 

 her sleep. 



Yes, they are all here ! Hear then each warble, chirp, and thrill ! How they crowd 

 upon each other ! You can hear the flutter of soft wings as they come hurrying forth ! 

 Hark, that rich clear whistle ! ' Bob White, is it you ?' Then the sudden scream ! is it a 

 hawk ? Hey ! what a gush, what a rolling limpid gush ! Ah, my dainty redbreast, at thy 

 matins early ! Mew ! what, Pussy ! No, the cat-bird ; hear its low liquid love-notes 

 linger round the roses by the garden- walk ! Hillo ! listen to the little wren ! he must 

 nearly explode in the climax of that little agony of trills which it is rising on its very 

 tip-toes to reach ! What now ? Quack, quack ! Phut, phut, phut ! cock-doodle-doo ! 

 What, all the barn-yard ! Squeak, squeak, squeak ! pigs and all Hark, that melancholy 

 plaint, Whip-poor- Will, how sadly it comes from out the shadowy distance ! What a 

 contrast ! the red-bird's lively whistle, shrilly mounting high, higher, highest ! Hark, the 

 orchard oriole's gay, delicious, roaring, run-mad, raming-riot of sweet sounds ! Hear that ! 

 it is the rain-crow, croaking for a storm ! Hey day ! Jay, jay, jay ! it is the imperial 

 dandy blue-jay. Hear, he has a strange, round, mellow whistle too ! There goes the little 

 yellow-throated warbler, the woodpecker's sudden call, the king-bird's woeful clatter, the 

 dove's low plaintive coo, the owl's screeching cry and snapping beak, the tomtit's tiny 

 note, the kingfisher's rattle, the crow, the scream, the cry of love, or hate, or joy, all come 

 rapidly, and in unexpected contrasts, yet with such clear precision, that each bird is fully 

 "expressed to my mind in its own individuality." 



Yet all these varied notes are uttered by the one single Mocking-bird, as it sits on a 

 lofty spray or flings itself into the air, rising and falling with the cadence of its song, 

 and acting as if absolutely intoxicated with sweet sounds. 



Let it but approach the habitation of man, and it straightway adds a new series of 

 sounds to its already vast store, laying up in its most retentive memory the various noises 

 that are produced by man and his surroundings, and introducing among its other imitations 

 the barking of dogs, the harsh "setting" of saws, the whirring buzz of the millstone, the 

 everlasting clack of the hoppers, the dull heavy blow of the mallet, and the cracking of 

 splitting timbers, the fragments of songs whistled by the labourers, the creaking of 

 ungreased wheels, the neighing of horses, the plaintive baa of the sheep, and the deep 

 lowing of the oxen, together with all the innumerable and accidental sounds which are 

 necessarily produced through human means. Unfortunately, the bird is rather apt to spoil 

 his own wonderful song by a sudden introduction of one of these inharmonious sounds, 

 so that the listener, whose ear is being delighted with a succession of the softest and 

 richest-toned vocalists, will suddenly be electrified with the loud shriek of the angry 

 hawk or the grating whirr of the grindstone. 



It is impossible to do justice to this most wonderful bird without quoting largely from 

 those writers who speak from personal experience, and I therefore take the following 

 passage from Wilson. 



" In measure and accent he faithfully follows his originals ; in force and sweetness of 

 expression he greatly improves upon them. In his native groves, mounted on the top of 

 a tall bush or half-grown tree, in the dawn of dewy morning, while the woods are already 

 vocal with a multitude of warblers, his admirable song rises pre-eminent. Over every 

 other competitor the ear can listen to his music alone, to which that of all birds seems a 

 mere accompaniment. 



Neither is this strain altogether imitative. His own native notes, which are easily 

 distinguishable by such as are well acquainted with those of our various song-birds, are 

 full and bold, and varied seemingly beyond all limit. They consist of short expressions of 

 two, or three, or at the most four or six syllables, generally interspersed with intonations, 

 and all of them uttered with great emphasis and rapidity, and continued with unlimited 

 ardour for half an hour or an hour at a time. His expanded wings and tail glistening 

 with white, and the buoyant gaiety of his action arresting the eye, as his cry most 



