We have elsewhere taken notice of some interesting peculiarities in the American blue-jay* (Garrulus cristatus, BRISSON), and shall now advert to what is said of its powers of imitation and mimicry. "In the charming season of spring," says Wilson, "when every thicket pours forth harmony, the part performed by the jay always catches the ear. He appears to be, among his fellow-musicians, what the trumpeter is in a band, some of his notes having no distant resemblance to the tones of that instrument. Thus he has the faculty of changing through a great variety of modulations, according to the particular humour he happens to be in. When disposed for ridicule, there is scarce a bird whose peculiarities of song he cannot tune his notes to. When engaged in the blandishments of love, they resemble the soft chatterings of a duck, and while he nestles among the thick branches of the cedar, are scarce heard at a few paces distance; but no sooner does he discover your approach, than he sets up a sudden and vehement cry, flying off, and screaming with all his might, as if he called the whole feathered tribes of the neighbourhood to witness some outrageous usage he had received. When he hops undisturbed among the high branches of the oak and hickory, they become soft and musical; and his calls of the female a stranger would readily mistake for the repeated creakings of an ungreased wheelbarrow. All these he accompanies with various nods, jerks, and other gesticulations, for which the whole tribe of jays are so remarkable.

"He is not only bold and vociferous, but possesses a considerable talent for mimicry, and seems to enjoy great satisfaction in mocking and teasing other birds, particularly the little hawk (Falco sparverius), imitating his cry wherever he sees him, and squealing out as if caught; this soon brings a number of * Archit, of Birds, Chap, on Basket Makers.

his own tribe around him, who all join in the frolic, darting about the hawk, and feigning the cries of a bird sorely wounded and already under the clutches of its devourer; while others lie concealed in bushes ready to second their associates in the attack. But this ludicrous farce often terminates tragically. The hawk singling out one of the most insolent and provoking, sweeps upon him in an unguarded moment, and offers him up a sacrifice to his hunger and resentment. In an instant the tune is changed; all their buffoonery vanishes, and loud and incessant screams proclaim disaster.

"Wherever the jay has had the advantage of education from man, he has not only shown himself an apt scholar, but his suavity of manners seems equalled only by his art and contrivances, though it must be confessed that his itch for thieving keeps pace with all his other acquirements. Dr. Mease, on the authority of Colonel Postell, of South Carolina, informs me that a blue jay, which was brought up in the family of the latter gentleman, had all the tricks and loquacity of a parrot, pilfered every thing he could conveniently carry off, and hid them in holes and crevices, answered to his name with great sociability when called on, could articulate a number of words pretty distinctly, and when he heard any uncommon noise or loud talking, seemed impatient to contribute his share to the general festivity (as he probably thought it) by a display of all the oratorical powers he was possessed of* "

Though this account, however, appears to be circumstantially and rather minutely given, we are disposed to consider the alleged imitations no better proved than those by which our native bird, the flusher (Lanius Collurio), is said to lure small birds within its beat by mimicking their notes,-a feat of ingenuity not borne out by any observation we have been able *Am. Ornith. i. 16.

to make, though our attention has been for five summers directed to this point, in a district where the species abounds. We have, on the contrary, ascertained that the flusher utters no call that has the most distant resemblance to that of any other bird, its usual note being a harsh, disagreeable screech*.

The American mocking-bird attracted the notice of the earlier voyagers to the New World by the variety of its notes and the extraordinary compass and fineness of its voice, and above all by its apparent talent of mimicking the notes and cries of other birds and beasts. According also to Fernandez, Nieremberg, and Sir Hans Sloane, it is not satisfied with barely re-echoing the sounds imitated, but gives them a softness and grace not characteristic of the original, for which reason the Mexicans termed it the bird of four hundred tongues (Cencontlatotli). These writers also mention its mingling action with its song, accompanying the notes with measured movements expressive of successive emotions. In its preluding, it rises slowly with expanded wings, sinking back to the same spot, with its head hanging downwards, as the sky-lark may sometimes be observed to do. When it has advanced further in the performance, it ascends and descends on the wing in a spiral manner, and if the notes are brisk and lively, it describes in the air circles, crossing in all directions. When the notes are loud and rapid it flaps its wings with proportional rapidity, and when the notes are unequal it bounds and flutters in unison; but as it becomes apparently tired of exertion, its tones soften by degrees, melt into tender strains, and die away in a pause, which has a peculiarly fine effect, while at the same time it gradually diminishes its action, glides gently and smoothly above its station tree

* J. R.

till the wavings of its wings become imperceptible, and finally ceasing, the little musician remains in the air suspended and motionless, as the kestril (Falco tinnunculus) may be seen to do when it watches for prey.

"I saw, heard, and admired," says Fernandez, "a small bird brought to Madrid, the queen of all singing birds, that could command any voice or tune. It is not bigger than a starling, white underneath, brown above, with some black and white feathers intermixed, especially next the tail, and about the head, which is encircled with the likeness of a silver crown. It is kept in cages to delight the ear, and for a natural rarity or rather wonder. It excels all birds in sweetness and variety of song and perfect command of its voice, imitating the note of any sort of bird whatsoever, and excelling its exemplar. It goes far beyond the nightingale. I myself kept it a long time *"'

According to Goldsmith, who appears to speak from private information, as he does not here, as usual, translate nor follow Buffon, the mocking-bird "is possessed not only of its own natural notes, which are musical and solemn, but it can assume the tone of every other animal in the wood, from the wolf to the raven. It seems even to sport itself in leading them astray. It will at one time allure the lesser birds with the call of their mates, and then terrify them, when they have come near, with the screams of the eagle. There is no bird in the forest but it can mimic, and there is none that it has not at times deceived by its call. But, not like such as we usually see tamed for mimicking with us, and who have no particular merit of their own, the mock-bird is ever surest to please when it is most itself. At those times it usually frequents the houses of the American planters; and, sitting all * Hist. Anim. Nov. Hisp.

not so frequently build on the trees in the farm-yard; yet we observed, in 1830, a magpie's nest in such a locality on the borders of Epping Forest, near Chigwell, and another in a clump of elms about a hundred yards from Sion House, the seat of the Duke of Northumberland*. The following is a more singular instance, from the very low situation of the nest.

"On the road," says the Reverend John Hall, "between Huntley and Portsoy, I observed two magpies hopping round a gooseberry bush, in a small garden near a poor-looking house, in a peculiar manner, and flying out and into the bush. I stepped aside to see what they were doing, and found, from the poor man and his wife, that these magpies, several succeeding years, had built their nest and brought up their young in this bush, and that foxes, cats, hawks, &c. might not interrupt them, they had barricadoed not only their nest, but had encircled the bush with briars and thorns, in a formidable manner, nay, so completely, that it would have cost even a fox, cunning as he is, some days' labour to get into the nest.

"The materials in the inside of the nest were soft, warm, and comfortable, but all on the outside so rough, so strong, and firmly entwined with the bush, that without a hedge-knife, hatch-bill, or something of the kind, even a man could not, without much pain and trouble, get at their young, for from the outside to the inside of the nest extended as long as my arm.

They fed the young brood with frogs, mice, worms, or anything living, within their power to subdue. It once happened that one of the magpies having seized a rat, which it was not able to kill, one of the young ones came out of the nest to its mo

*J. R.