In the article "Sedge Bird," in Montagu's "Dictionary of Ornithology" (Rennie's edition, p. 455), the writer says: "It has a variety of notes, which partake of those of the Skylark and the Swallow, as well as the chatter of the House-Sparrow." According to my observation, it has a much greater variety than this. I have heard it imitate in succession (intermixed with its own note, chur, chur), the Swallow, the House-Martin, the Greenfinch, the Chaffinch, the Lesser-Redpole, the House-Sparrow, the Redstart, the Willow-Wren, the Whinchat, the Pied-Wagtail, and the Spring- Wagtail; yet its imitations are chiefly confined to the notes of alarm (the fretting-notes as they are called here) of those birds, and so exactly does it imitate them in tone and modulation, that if it were to confine itself to one (no matter which), and not interlard the wailings of the little Redpole and the shrieks of the Martin with the curses of the House-Sparrow, the twink, twink of the Chaffinch, and its own care-for-naught chatters, the most practiced ear would not detect the difference. After being silent for awhile, it often begins with the chue, chue of the House-Sparrow, so exactly imitated in every respect that were it not for what follows, no one would suppose it to be any other bird. It is called a Mocking-Bird here, and it well deserves the name, for it is a real scoffer at the sorrows of other birds, which it laughs to scorn and turns into ridicule by parodying them so exactly. I never heard it attempt to imitate any of the Larks or Thrushes, although I have listened to it for hours.
This bird was very plentifully met with in Wharfdale ten years ago, and is also found in this neighbourhood, but I am not aware that anybody in either of these districts ever attempted to keep one in confinement, although from their powers of imitation, I think the experiment well worth trying; probably the idea that it would be difficult to supply them with proper food has prevented the experiment being made. (May 2nd, 1832.)
I am surprised that no other writer on Natural History has noticed the wonderful imitative power of this bird. So far is the above notice from overstating this bird's powers of imitation, that I have scarcely enumerated half the notes which it hits off with such wonderful exactness.
In listening to one the other day for about a quarter of an hour, I heard it give three notes of the Swallow, two of the Martin, and two of the Spring-Wagtail; and in addition, notes of the House- Sparrow, Whinchat, Starling, Chaffinch, Whitethroat, Greenfinch, Little Redpole, and Whin-Linnet, besides the notes of half-a-dozen birds which I did not know; at least, a reasoning from analogy would induce me to think them imitations, and I have no right to suppose they were not because I did not happen to recognize them. I am not strictly correct when I say that it only imitates the alarm-notes (called here fretting-notes) of other birds, for although this is generally the case, it is not invariably so. For instance, in addition to the alarm-note of the Swallow, chizzic, chizzic, it also had the whit, whit, which the Swallow uses when flying about, and the chatter of self-satisfaction (not the song) which one often hears in a barn when two Swallows are arranging their plan of operations in the spring. Again, in addition to the shriek of the Martin, there was the note which it utters when on the wing in pursuit of its food. There was also the chirrup of the Greenfinch, and the whee, whee, whee which is the climax of the Linnet's song, by which it is so irresistible as a call-bird, and which appears to bring down the flock in spite of themselves.
Although the Sedge-Bird imitated all I have mentioned, it made much more frequent use of the notes of some than of others—the Sparrow, the Whinchat, the Swallow, and the Starling appeared to be its chief favourites, whilst it only touched once or twice on the notes of the Greenfinch and the Linnet. It had been very sparing also in its use of the Chaffinch's note, until one in the neighbourhood had begun to twink, twink, twink; then the Mocking-Bird took it up, and twinked away for fifty times together. Next morning the Linnet's note was much more frequent in request, and it also made more use of notes with which I was not acquainted. On neither day did it touch upon the notes of the Redstart, or Pied-Wagtail, both of which I had heard frequently used by the Mocking-Bird before. On the other hand, I had not previously observed the notes of the Starling and Whin-Linnet, and therefore, although I have said that I have never heard it make use of the notes of any of the Larks or the Thrushes, I would not be understood to say that this never happens. It is, perhaps, difficult to say whether it has a note which is not an imitation of some other bird, but there is one which it always makes use of when any person approaches its nest (intermixed, however, with the notes of the Swallow, Whinchat, and Whitethroat). This is something like chur-r-r, chur-r-r, prolonging the sound of the r very considerably, and in a style which would be quite an acquisition to the Northumbrians if they could attain it. (May 29th, 1834.)
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THE WATER OUZEL.
The Water Ouzel sings very frequently, and as much in winter as at any time. Perched on a stone or a piece of ice, it chirps away at a famous rate, but its song consists almost entirely of its note zeet, zeet, which it hashes up in all sorts of ways, lengthening and shortening—now a crotchet, then a semiquaver, rising an octave or so, and then descending again. It makes as much of it as can be made, but with all its efforts its song is a very so-so affair, all its syllables beginning with z, and almost ending with it too. Yet, although it is not much of a songster, it is almost a sacred bird with me, in consequence of the associations connected with it. A pair had built for forty years, according to tradition, in a wheel-race near to where I was born, and had never been molested by anybody until a gentleman in the neighbourhood, who was a great ornithologist, employed his gamekeeper to shoot this pair. I think the natives of Calcutta were not more indignant when an unlucky Englishman got one of their sacred bulls into his compound and baited him, than was our little community at what we considered so great an outrage. The gamekeeper narrowly escaped being stoned by myself and some more lads, any one of whom would have shot fifty Blackbirds or Fieldfares without any misgivings.
This bird very much resembles the Wren in its habits and motions, its nods and curtsies, and cocks its tail in exactly the same manner. Its nest is also similar in form to that of the Wren.
Some persons seem to think that it is impossible for the Water Ouzel to walk at the bottom of the water, owing to its body being of less specific gravity. I will not argue the point with them, but disbelieving my own eyes, I will endeavour to submit with a good grace; otherwise I should have said that I have repeatedly seen it doing so, from a situation where I had an excellent opportunity of observing it, the window of a building directly over the place where it was feeding. It walked into the water and began to turn over the pebbles with its bill, rooting almost like a pig, and it seemed to have no difficulty whatever in keeping at the bottom at all depths where I could see it; and I have frequently observed it when the water just covered it, and its head appeared above the water every time it lifted it up, which it did incessantly, turning over a pebble or two, then lifting its head, and again dipping it below to seize the creepers (aquatic larvae) it had disturbed from their hiding-places. Besides, its speed was too slow for diving. Every aquatic bird with which I am acquainted moves much faster when diving than when it is swimming or walking, and its course is generally in a straight line, or nearly so; but the Water Ouzel, when feeding, turns to the right or left, or back again to where it started, stops and goes on again, just as it does when out of the water. Yet when it wished, it seemed to have the power of altering its own gravity, as after wading about two, or perhaps five minutes, where it could just get its head out, it would suddenly rise to the surface and begin to swim, which it does quite as well as the Water-hen. The awkward, tumbling, shuffling wriggle which it appears to have, is occasioned by the incessant motion of its head as it turns over the gravel in search of creepers, which appear to me to form the bulk of its food.