said to sing his song round, or in all its varieties of passages, which he connects together, and executes without a pause. G Barrington defines a bird's song to be a succession of three or more different notes, which are continued without interruption during the same interval with a musical bar of four crotchets in an adagio movement, or whilst a pendulum swings four seconds. Now let us see what notes have been detected in the song. Observers have marked r natural in woodlarks; A in thrushes; c falling to a commonly in the cuckoo; a natural in common cocks; B flat in a very large cock; D in some owls; B flat in others. Thus we have A, B flat, C, D, and F, to which Barrington adds & from his own observations on a nightingale, which lived three years in a cage; and he confirms the remarks of the observer who furnished him with the list, and says he has frequently heard from the same bird c and F. Το prove the precision of the pitch of these notes, the B flat of the spinnet by which he tried them was perfectly in tune with the great bell of St. Paul's. E, then, is the only note wanting to complete the scale; but, as he says, the six other notes afford sufficient data for making some conjectures with regard to the key in which birds may be supposed to sing, as these intervals can only be found in the key of F with a sharp third, or that of G with a flat third; and he supposed it to be the plaintive flat third, that affecting tone which, in the simple ballad, or "wild and sad" chorus, so comes home to our bosoms. "Oft have I listened, and stood still As it came softened up the hill Who languished for their native glen." Barrington pronounces in favour of the flat third, because he agrees with Lucretius, that man first learnt musical notes from birds, and because the cuckoo, whose "plain song" has been most attended to, performs it in a flat third. He strengthens his argument by showing that most of our simple compositions-old melodies such as " Morva Rhydland," and ancient music generally -are almost always in a flat third. The music of the Turks and Chinese, he also adduces as having half of the airs in a minor third, which is "adapted to simple movements such as may be expected in countries where music hath not been long cultivated." It will appear, however, from the following observations collected by White, in his enchanting History of Selborne, that neither cuckoos nor owls keep to one key. One musical friend informs the natural historian that all the owls that are his near neighbours hoot in в flat. But in the next letter to the author whom we have so largely quoted, dated August 1, 1771, before the publication of B that zoologist's memoir on the singing of birds, in the Philosophical Transactions, bearing date 1773, White says that a friend remarks that many (most) of his owls hoot in в flat; and that one went almost half a note below A. He adds, that a neighbour with a nice ear remarked that the owls about Selborne hooted in three different keys,—namely, in a flat, or F sharp in в flat, and ▲ flat. "He heard two hooting to each other, the one in a flat, and the other in B flat." The same person found that the note of the cuckoo varied in different individuals; for, about Selborne wood, he observed, they were mostly in D; he heard two sing together, the one in D, the other in D sharp, "who made a disagreeable concert ;" [one would think as much.] He afterwards heard one in D sharp, and, about Woolmer forest, some in c. It may seem a rather Milesian method of treating the subject of singing birds, to dwell so long upon the notes of cocks, owls, and cuckoos; but we shall find that the distinctness and simplicity of intonation in these birds afford a much better chance of accurately determining the key than the rapid gush of song of the true warblers; and it will be necessary, before we enter upon the melodies of that exhilarating tribe, to draw the reader's attention to what may be called the conversational notes of birds. Those which congregate in bushes keep up a constant twittering, as if to apprize each other of their presence; and all have notes expressive of alarm, or satisfaction, to say nothing of the language of incubation. These powers may be particularly remarked in the common poultry. The peculiar shrill cry with which the bird of dawning, with uplifted eye, and head raised on one side, to give the widest upward sweep to his vision, gives warning of the horrible advent of the kite or sparrow-hawk; the note with which he gallantly calls his seraglio about him, to feast on the barleycorn which he has found and saved for them; the exulting cackle of Dame Partlet giving notice that one more milkwhite egg is added to the careful henwife's treasure, a cackle that is caught up from farm-yard to farm-yard, till the whole village is in an uproar, must be familiar to every one: even the newlyhatched chicken-it is White, we believe, who makes the observation-will seize a fly, if offered to it, with complacent twitterings: but if a wasp be tendered, a note of aversion and distress is the consequence. The wild fowl, in their lofty aërial flights, keep up a constant watch-note of communication with each other; and far and wide in the silence of night does their cry resound. The windpipes of many of these are complete wind instruments; that of the wild swan takes a turn within the sternum somewhat after the fashion of a French horn or bugle. May not these unearthly sounds, heard from on high, "At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have power," have assisted the legends of the ghostly huntsman, and his wild chase in the air, sweeping overhead like the rush of withered leaves? The call, as it is technically termed, of singing birds seem to have an almost miraculous power over the race, as the birdcatcher well knows. 66 When the bird-catcher hath laid his nests, he disposes of his call-birds at proper intervals. It must be owned that there is a most malicious joy in these call-birds to bring the wild ones into the same captivity, which may likewise be observed with regard to the decoy ducks. Their sight and hearing infinitely excel those of the bird-catcher. The instant that the wild birds are perceived, notice is given by one to the rest of the call-birds (as it is by the first hound that hits on the scent, to the rest of the pack), after which follows the same sort of tumultuous ecstasy and joy. The call-birds, while the bird is at a distance, do not sing as a bird does in a chamber; they invite the wild ones by what the birdcatchers call short jerks, which, when the birds are good, may be heard at a great distance. The ascendency by this call, or invitation, is so great, that the wild bird is stopped in its course of flight, and, if not already acquainted with the nets, lights boldly within twenty yards of perhaps three or four bird-catchers, on a spot which otherwise it would not have taken the least notice of. Nay, it frequently happens that, if half a flock only are caught, the remaining half will immediately afterwards light in the nets, and share the same fate; and should only one bird escape, that bird will suffer itself to be pulled at till it is caught-such a fascinating power have the call-birds." We do not mean to detain the reader upon a bird-catching expedition-though it would be more full of interest than some would think-but he ought to know, before he goes on one, that a bird acquainted with the nets is by the bird-catchers termed a sharper; him they endeavour to drive away, as they can have no sport in his company. It is worthy of note, too, that even in their captivity the natural instinct of the call-birds is in many points no whit blunted; for the moment they see a hawk, caged though they be, they communicate the alarm to each other, by a plaintive note, nor will they then jerk or call, though the wild birds are near.t It is in the Insessorial ordert of birds that the songsters abound, but there is one remarkable exception among the Raptorial order, in that warbling African, Le Faucon Chanteurs of Le Vaillant, * Barrington on the small birds of flight. Insessores-Perching birds. † Ibid. perhaps the only known bird of prey-Cuvier says the only known one-that sings agreeably. Its song is very sweet, but dangerous as the lay of the Syrens, and "Mocks the dead bones that lay scattered by." Few spots are more musical with song-birds than these islands. Not that the woods of America are mute-but they want the brilliant variety of ours; and one of her sons, who has so well deserved of the lovers of natural history in all countries, has endeavoured to colonize the Transatlantic groves with the feathered songsters of Britain. And yet they have that wonderful polyglot the mock-bird. Him we have seen and heard in captivity, and -but Wilson has immortalized the bird with his graphic pen, and, in all humility, we lay down ours. “The ease, elegance, and rapidity of his movements, the animation of his eye, and the intelligence he displays in listening and laying up lessons from almost every species of the feathered creation within his hearing, are really surprising, and mark the peculiarity of his genius. To these qualities we may add that of a voice full, strong, and musical, and capable of almost every modulation, from the clear mellow tones of the wood-thrush, to the savage screams of the bald eagle. 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 a dewy morning, while the woods are already vocal with a multitude of warblers, his admirable song rises pre-eminent over every competitor. Tha ear can listen to his music alone, to which that of all the others 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 bold and full, and varied seemingly beyond all limits. They consist of short expressions of two, three, or at the most five or six syllables; generally interspersed with limitations, and all of them uttered with great emphasis and rapidity; and continued, with undiminished 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 song most irresistibly does the ear. He sweeps round with enthusiastic ecstasy-he mounts and descends as his song swells or dies away; and, as my friend Mr. Bartram has beauti fully expressed it, "He bounds aloft with the celerity of an arrow, as if to recover or recall his very soul, expired in the last elevated strain." While thus exerting himself, a bystander, destitute of sight, would suppose that the whole feathered tribes had assembled * Orpheus polyglottus. together on a trial of skill, each striving to produce the utmost effect, so perfect are his imitations. He many times deceives the sportsman, and sends him in search of birds that perhaps are not within miles of him, but whose notes he exactly imitates; even birds themselves are frequently imposed on by this admirable mimic, and are decoyed by the fancied calls of their mates, or dive with precipitation into the depths of thickets, at the scream of what they suppose to be the sparrow-hawk. The mocking-bird loses little of the power and energy of his song by confinement. In his domesticated state, when he commences his career of song, it is impossible to stand by uninterested. He whistles for the dog; Cæsar starts up, wags his tail, and runs to meet his master. He squeaks out like a hurt chicken, and the hen hurries about with hanging wings, and bristled feathers, clucking to protect its injured brood. The barking of the dog, the mewing of the cat, the creaking of a passing wheelbarrow, follow, with great truth and rapidity. He repeats the tune taught him by his master, though of considerable length, fully and faithfully. He runs over the quiverings of the canary, and the clear whistlings of the Virginia nightingale or red-bird, with such superior execution and effect, that the mortified songsters feel their own inferiority, and become altogether silent, while he seems to triumph in their defeat by redoubling his exertions. Both in his native and domesticated state, during the solemn stillness of night, as soon as the moon rises in silent majesty, he begins his delightful solo, and serenades us the livelong night with a full display of his vocal powers, making the whole neighbourhood ring with his inimitable medley." * * * * * * * * 米 But we must return to the singing birds of Britain, which may be divided into two classes, the regular visiters and the residents. Food is the principal motive that induces migration on the part of the former, which, like Grisi, Tamburini, Rubini, and, though last not least, Lablache, leave the more genial climes of the south to shiver in the spring of our more austere shores, delighting our ears, and revelling in the harvest made ready for them. But we are not entirely dependent on these warbling strangers, for we number among our residents many birds that in sweetness of tone, if not in brilliancy of execution, rival their visiters. What with the influenza and the cutting easterly winds, it has been, Heaven knows, a bitter black season for us unfeathered bipeds, but it has been worse than bitter for the birds. What a month was the "Month before the month of May!" well did it justify the corresponding line, telling us that "The spring comes slowly up this way." |