# The Strand Magazine/Volume 2/Issue 8/The Music of Birds

Illustrations by Allan Barraud.
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The Music of Birds.
T this season of the year there is no necessity to say one word in praise of our song birds. Their notes are to be heard on every hand, in delicious profusion. Whether it is the rich warbling of the thrush and blackbird, the thrilling song of the skylark, the sweet, low voice of the wood-pigeon, or the "link'd sweetness, long drawn out," of the nightingale, there is a charm of rich variety, which is always pleasing. It is difficult to put their melody into music. The timbre of the tone cannot be actually approached by any musical instrument. Then, again, they are mostly very untrue—musically—in their singing. The thrush is the great exception. The first three notes of his song descend in perfect seconds, with a purity of tone unsurpassable—a quality strikingly absent amongst most of the feathered songsters. They find a response (the principle of true melody) in the ascending tones immediately following.
What has been attempted here is to give an idea of the construction of the songs of the chief British birds, showing that there is a certain method in the singing, and that it is based on melodic principles. No satisfactory result will be obtained by playing them on a piano, the piano being the least realistic approach to a bird-note. But whistled "under the breath," it gives a good imitation in proper tonalty.
THE BLACKBIRD.
THE CANARY.
The canary has much of the nightingale's and skylark's song. In freedom each flock has its own song. In captivity the quality varies largely, some uttering soft and agreeable notes, and others indulging in a succession of noisy bursts. Those are most valued that introduce most passages from the song of the nightingale. It should be borne in mind that no caged canary sings a natural note—that is, the habitual strain of the wild race. In the illustration given can be traced a similarity of method in the opening notes to that of the nightingale. A canary can, however, be taught to imitate the notes of almost any bird, or to pipe, like a trained bullfinch, a bar or two of a popular air, and even to speak a few words, though this is very rare in a wild state. The colour of a canary, like its song, is quite different from that which it acquires in captivity, being a kind of dappled olive-green; but the bird-fanciers, by careful selection, are able to produce canaries of almost every tint between black, green, and yellow.
THE LINNET.
THE SKYLARK.
The skylark, or laverock, is deservedly conspicuous among our singing birds, and is the only one that warbles while on the wing. As it leaves its ground nest and almost perpendicularly, by successive jumps, rises higher and higher, it indulges in a gush of cheerful song unequalled by any English bird. It is a fact not generally known, that as it rises it makes a corresponding crescendo, not, however, sufficiently marked to counteract the natural diminuendo of increasing distance. Then, after passing out of sight, the bird drops as if exhausted, only to mount and sing again.
THE GOLDFINCH.
THE BULLFINCH.
The bullfinch in its natural state is by no means remarkable as a songster, but its power of imitation is so remarkable that it can be taught to pipe tunes with the sweetness and intonation of a clarionet. In Germany, where the finest piping bullfinches come from, boys are employed to pipe to the birds the whole day long. The consequence is that most of the bullfinches heard here pipe German airs. The two "free" tunes mostly affected in this country are "The Mousetrap" and "Polly Perkins," and these the birds will pipe perfectly as to time and tune. The teacher keeps his birds separate, and plays the tune to be learned on a flageolet or a bird-organ—preferably the former, as the bird-organ, while giving a mechanical precision of note, gives also a total absence of feeling. If they are permitted to hear other birds while being taught, they are apt to jumble up foreign notes with the air which they are learning, in a most absurd manner.
THE SPARROW.
THE CUCKOO.
The peculiar note of the cuckoo is well known, but it is not always recognised that the note changes according to the time of year, being at first full and clear, but towards the middle of August becoming hesitating, hoarse, and broken. The voice of a female cuckoo is quite distinct from the well-known note of the male, and has been compared to the sound made by pouring water out of a narrow-necked bottle. Robert Browning, in one of his poems speaks of
"That one word In the minor third There is none but the cuckoo knows."
It will be seen, however, from the music here given, that the cuckoo's "one word" is not a minor third, but a major fourth.
THE THRUSH.
The Dove.
The illustration of the "coo" of the dove may not be uninteresting. It is not at all unmusical, but shows that the word generally used does little justice to the musical sound. Its laugh—which frightens other birds—is very amusing.
THE NIGHTINGALE.
The nightingale shares with the lark the honours of poesy. Though sometimes dwelling for minutes on a strain composed of only two or three melancholy tones, beginning with a mezza voce, it swells gradually, by a most perfect crescendo, to the highest point of strength, and ends with a dying cadence. Sometimes a rapid succession of brilliant sounds terminates by detached ascending notes; while, again, as many as twenty-four different strains may be reckoned in one song of a fine nightingale.