BIRDS 



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delights in imitating, in the most disconcerting way, all 

 kinds of bird-voices, as well as the neigh of a foal, the 

 bark of a dog, and the swish of the scythe. Its com- 

 panion in robbery, the wood-chat, strings together the 

 most varied notes, such as the croaking of frogs and 

 a number of other sounds, with the bird-songs it hears, 

 into a charming song. Imitation plays a great part 

 in all songs ; in fact, Wallace believes that the song of 

 the bird is entirely due to imitation. That is not 

 correct, however. The bird has an instinct to its 

 particular song, otherwise there would be no specific 

 songs at all. But this instinct, as in the play of animals, 

 may not be developed with full precision, and so the 

 accession of a second instinct, that of imitation, enables 

 the creature to improve its voice by hearing and practice. 

 What pleasure the bird takes in its song! Anyone 

 who has watched the singer will know this. It is 

 certainly not love alone that inspires its song, as the 

 bird sings long after the love-period is over. During 

 the hatching, we still hear the note of the chafifinch, and 

 the song of the yellow-hammer and the black-cap. In 

 the autumn the voice of the blackbird trills out once 

 more ; also the song of the willow wren, and the tender 

 ripple, like the splash of a tiny waterfall, of the red- 

 breast. When the ground is covered with snow in the 

 wood, when the fir- branches bend under their load of 

 snow, and everything sparkles in the sun, we often hear 

 the song of our smallest bird, the wren ; and the water- 

 ousel sings its spirited, rippling song by the brook in the 

 severest cold of January, and then, to the astonishment 

 of the observer, dips into the icy flood. 



