THE BIRD OF SOCIETY. 103 



in the first syllable in a crack, or choke, or even 

 in a dismal squeal, as it sometimes does. He 

 simply pauses a moment as if to collect his en- 

 ergies, and then utters his whole song, every 

 note clearly and well, as if to say, " That was 

 only a slip ; you see I can sing yet." It is ex- 

 tremely interesting to hear the gentle, low trials 

 which he will give of his returning powers when 

 the moulting season is over; whispered songs, 

 as it were, till he is sure he has recovered his 

 voice, and can utter the full, clear song in 

 which he delights. 



Then, again, his song needs for full enjoy- 

 ment to be alone, while in the " madding 

 crowd " of a flock of blackbirds, noisy and gar- 

 rulous as a pack of school-children, the " h' wa- 

 ker-ee " of one is spoiled by the scream of an- 

 other and the " chack, chack's " of twenty 

 more. Listen to one bird alone in his own 

 chosen nook, and no song in the woods seems 

 more appropriate, more to breathe the very soul 

 of wildness. 



When this bird expresses his emotions in a 

 house the strain is most characteristic, being a 

 curious medley of all the sounds he can make 

 in rapid succession, as " h' wa-ker-ee ! chack, 

 chack ! (scream) ee-uu ! chack, chack ! (scream) 

 chick, chick ! ee-u u ! h' wa-ker-ee ! (scream ) " 

 and so on for fifteen minutes or more without 



