THE MOCKING-BIRD.(Turdus polyglottus.)
The Mocking-bird is a species of thrush, not uncommon in many parts both of North and South America and the West India Islands. In size, it does not exceed the European song-bird, and perhaps is not equal to it in the beauty of its plumage; it is, however, far from being an inelegant creature, but it is better known for the peculiarity and amazing power of its voice. Although not gifted with any powerful weapons of self-defence, these birds display extraordinary courage in defence of their eggs and young, and will fearlessly attack any animal which may approach their haunts, even their greatest enemy, a species of black snake.
“To these qualities” (says Wilson, the American author), “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 scream of the bald-eagle. In measure and accent, he faithfully follows his originals. In force and sweetness of expression, he greatly exceeds them. In his native groves, mounted on the top of a tall bush, or half-grown tree, in the dawn of dewy morning, while the woods are already vocal with a multitude of warblers, his admirable song rises pre-eminent over every competitor. The 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. 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 ecstacy. He mounts or descends as his song swells or dies away. While thus exerting himself, a bystander, destitute of sight, would suppose that the whole feathered tribes, had assembled together on a trialof skill, each striving to produce his 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.
THE MOCKING BIRD.
THE MOCKING BIRD.
“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 the redbird, 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 melody.”
A lover of natural history cannot I think be a bad man, as the very study of it tends to promote a calmness and serenity of mind, favourable to the reception of grateful and holy thoughts of the great and good Parent of the universe. He cannot be a cruel man, because he will be unwilling wantonly to destroy even an insect, when he perceives how exquisitively each of them is contrived, and how curiously it is made for the station it is destined to fill in the animal world.—Jesse.
Many methods have been suggested for saving life in cases of accidents on the water: the following was stated to me as an experiment actually made by the relater; he had thus supported himself in the sea, at Plymouth, for twenty minutes, and could have done it much longer. As danger of overturning or of sinking appears, have your hat in readiness, and place it under your chin, holding it with your hands in the same position upon the water as on the head. The air in the crown will prevent the water from rising, and is sufficient to keep the whole head above water.
Homerton.James Edmeston.