February 1991 – vol. 84, issue 2, pp 79–79 "THERE is a polyglot Starling in this garden. Sometimes he rehearses a recitation from memory. At other times he improvises according to his fancy, and now and then he hits an unexpected nail on the head with remarkable success. Thus the other morning I awoke to a reiterated whine, a long shrill splinter of sound, that gave me an odd feeling of discomfort before I could follow the train of memories... This article is only available to subscribed users.To read more, please log in or purchase a subscription.