BIRDS IN A VILLAGE 95 



Sometimes one can pick them out; thus, on the 

 borders of a marsh where redshanks bred, I have 

 heard the call of that bird distinctly given by the 

 thrush. And again, where the ring-ouzel is com- 

 mon, the thrush will get its brief song exacdy. 

 When thrushes taken from the nest are reared 

 in towns, where they never hear the thrush or 

 any other bird sing, they are often exceedingly 

 vocal, and utter a medley of sounds which are 

 sometimes distressing to the ear. I have heard 

 many caged thrushes of this kind in London, but 

 the most remarkable instance I have met with 

 was at the little seaside town of Seaford. Here, 

 in the main shopping street, a caged thrush lived 

 for years in a butcher's shop, and poured out its 

 song continuously, the most distressing throstle 

 performance I ever heard, composed of a medley 

 of loud, shrill and harsh sounds— imitations of 

 screams and shouts, boy whistlers, saw filing, 

 knives sharpened on steels, and numerous other 

 unclassifiable noises; but all, more or less, pain- 

 ful. The whole street was filled with the noise, 

 and the owner used to boast that his caged thrush 

 was the most persistent as well as the loudest 

 singer that had ever been heard. He had no 



