The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1884-10-19

In the Haunts of the Sweet Singer-"Listen
to the ocking-Bird

W ~ uAOCAAiS-DhHOs
Maurice Thompson, in November Atlantic.
Near the mouth of the st. Marks river. as 1
lay under a small tree, a mocking-b bird came and
lit on the top of a neighboring bush, and sang for
me its rarest and most wonderful combination,
called by the negroes the dropping song" Who
ever has closely observed the bird has noted its
mounting song" a very frequent performance,
wherein the songster begins on the lowest branch
Of a tree and appears literally to mount on its
music, from bough to bough, until the highest
spray of the top is reached, where it will sit for
many minutes fiinging upon the air an e~cstatic
stream Of almost infinitely varied vocaliza-
ton. But he who has never heard
the dropping song" has not discovered the last
possibility of the hooking birds voice. 1 have
never found any note of this extremely inter
esting habit of the bird by any ornitholigist, a
habit which is, l suspect, occasional, and con
nected with the most tender part of the mating
season. 1t is, in a measure, the reverse of the
mounting song beginning where the latter
leaves off. l have heard it but four times, when
| was sure of it, during all my rambles ard pa
tent observations in the chosen haunts of the
bird; once in North Georgia, twice in the imne-
date vicinity of Tallahassee, Florida, and once
near the st. Marks river, as above mentioned.
have at several other times heard the song, as
thought, but not being able to see the bird, or
clearly distinguish the peculiar notes, 1 can not
register these as certainly correct. My atten-
ton was first called to this interesting per-
Torrance by an aged negro man, who, being
with me on an egg-hunting expedition, cried out
one morning, as a burst of strangely rhap-
sodie music rang from a haw thicket
near our extemporiged camp, "Lis'n mars, lisn,
dar, he's a-droppin, he's a-droppin', sho's yo'
bonln could not see the bird, and before |
could get my attention rightly fixed upon the
song it had ended.
Something of tho rare aroma, so to speak. Of
the curiously modulated trills and quavers lin
gered in my memory, however, along with Uncle
JOS graphic description of the birds actions.
After that I was on the lookout for an opportu-
nifty to verify the Negroes statements. l have not
exactly kept the date of my first actual observa-
zion, but it was late in April, or very early in
May; for the crab-apple trees, growing wild in
the Georgian hills, were in full bloom, and spring
had come to stay. l had been out
since the first sparkle of daylight. The
sun was rising, and l had been
standing quite still for some minutes, watching
a mocking-bir that was singing in a snatchy,
broken way, as it futtered about in a thick
topped crab-app!e tree thirty yards distant from
me. Suddenly the bird, q fine specimen, leaped
like a flash to the highest spray of the tree and
began to futter in a trembling way, with its
wings half-spread and its feathers pulled out.
Almost immediately their came a strange, gurg-
ling series of notes, liquid and sweet, that
seemed to express utter rapture. Then the
bird dropped, with a backward motion, from the
spray, and began to fall slowly and somewhat
spirally down through the bloom-covered boughs.
Its progress was quite like than OF a bird
wounded to death by a shot, clinging
mere ana tnero 10 q tWlgi qulVerlng, and
weakly striking with its wings as it fell, but all
the time it was pouring forth the most exquisite
gushes and trills of song, not at all like its usual
medley of improvised limitations, but strikingly,
almost startlingly, individual and unique. The
bird appeared to be dying of an ecstasy of must
cal inspiration. The lower it fell the louder and
more rapturous became its voice, until the song
ended on the ground | in a burst of incompatible
vocal power. 1t remained for a short time. after
its song was ended, crouching where it had fallen,
with its wings outspread, and quivering ard
boldly into the air and few away into an adjacent
thicket. Since then, as l have said, three other
opportunities have been afforded me Of witnessing
this curiously pleasing exhibition of bird acting.
l can half imagine what another ode Keats might
have written had his eyes seen and his ears heard
that strange, fascinating, dramatically rendered
song. Or it might better have suited Shelley's
powers of expression. 1t is said that the grand
est bursts Of oraJory are those which contain q