BIRDS IN A VILLAGE. 
13 
flit round my head emitting the two strangely 
contrasted sounds with which they express solici- 
tude — the clear, thin, plaintive, or wailing note, 
and low, jarring sound, an alternate lamenting 
and girding. One day when I approached the 
nest they displayed more anxiety than usual, 
fluttering close to me, wailing and croaking more 
vehemently than ever, when all at once the male, 
at the height of his excitement, burst into singing. 
Half a dozen notes were uttered rapidly with great 
strength, then the small complaining cry again, 
and at intervals a fresh burst of melody. I have 
remarked the same thing in other singing birds, 
species in which the harsh grating or piercing 
sounds that properly express violent emotions of 
a painful kind have been nearly or quite lost. In 
the nightingale this part of the bird's language 
has lost its original character, and has dwindled 
to something very small. Solicitude, fear, anger, 
are expressed with sounds that are mere lispings 
compared with those emitted by the bird when 
singing. It is worthy of remark that some of 
the most highly developed melodists — and I am 
now thinking of the mocking-birds — never, in 
moments of extreme agitation, fall into this con- 
fusion and use singing notes that express agreeable 
emotions to express such as are painful. But in 
the mocking-bird the primitive harsh and grating 
