Unfortunately for the rule there are too many
exceptions.
Thus confining ourselves to a single family - that
of the finches - in our own islands, the most modest coloured
have the least melody, while those that have the gayest
plumage are the best singers - the goldfinch, chaffinch,
siskin, and linnet. Nevertheless it is impossible to listen
for any length of time to the redstart, and to many redstarts,
without feeling, almost with irritation, that its strain is
only the prelude of a song - a promise never performed; that
once upon a time in the remote past it was a sweet, copious,
and varied singer, and that only a fragment of its melody now
remains. The opening rapidly warbled notes are so charming
that the attention is instantly attracted by them. They are
composed of two sounds, both beautiful - the bright pure
gushing robin-like note, and the more tender expressive
swallow-like note. And that is all; the song scarcely begins
before it ends, or collapses; for in most cases the pure sweet
opening strain is followed by a curious little farrago of
gurgling and squeaking sounds, and little fragments of varied
notes, often so low as to be audible only at a few yards'
distance. It is curious that these slight fragments of notes
at the end vary in different individuals, in strength and
character and in number, from a single faintest squeal to half
a dozen or a dozen distinct sounds. In all cases they are
emitted with apparent effort, as if the bird strained its pipe
in the vain attempt to continue the song.
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