the return of spring-who mark with joy the progress made by every lengthening day, and hail each vernal flower as it openswho can be happy because the landscape smiles around, and the howl of the tempest and the whistling of the winter winds have yielded to the soft genial breath, to the bright warm sunshine of a "merrie Aprile morn"-to those who can rejoice in Nature's holiday, and can stoop to derive instruction and pleasure from observing the various every-day beings that surround us, to whom volumes of wisdom lie open in every weed-to the true lovers of Nature, in whose ardent bosoms every advance of the opening season kindles a new pleasurable emotion, and awakens a fresh delightful reminiscence- -the arrival of our summer birds of passage, as gradually, one after another, they are announced by their cheerful melody resounding through the woods and glades, from garden and from grove-constitute a sort of epoch in the youthful year: till then, the sunbeams are regarded but as wintry smiles, and the fragrant breath of spring is feared as the precursor of a storm.

Order in which the more conspicuous species make their appearance. First, upon some balmy morning, when the thrilling Larks, on high, attune the very skies to harmony, and the deep, full melody of the Blackbird, and broken music of the Thrush, reverberate through the leafless woods, and the yellow vernal butterflies are first seen disporting in the sunshine-when the primrose and odorous violet begin to dot the banks, and the budding willows already shew their yellow green-suddenly, a loud cheering note, the lively animated flourish of the gay Blackcap, sounds from a bare spray again repeated and again, and the monotonous continued cry of the wee Chiffchaff, echoing from afar, proclaim at length that summer is indeed at hand, and already is triumphant in the south.

Already on the open downs the Wheatear is seen hopping over the glebe, and a cloud of Sand-Martins are sporting about the stream; the joyous, laughing peal of the little Willow-Wren soon is warbled from the furze, the sailing Tree Pipit descends, singing, from the lofty elm, and the Wryneck repeats his call from the gnarled stump: and now the Redstart chaunts his lay from the tip-top of some high pinnacle; the welcome Cuckoo-cry is heard, and a solitary Swallow skims before us across the meadow. The earlier trees have half put forth their leaves, and the teeming earth is fragrant with refreshing rain.

The Nightingale.-Then soon, upon a soft, bright morning, when the fruit-trees are arrayed in purest white, and diamond dropsmemorials of the passing shower-hang sparkling in the sunshine,

high over all the warbling of the grove, a louder, more distinct, and more articulate song is heard, in broken and detached staves; now gently stealing on the ear in low, soft, swelling music; now loudly shaking, thrilling, piping, rattling,-exulting in the maziness of sound; now dwelling slowly over each lengthened note, and anon rolling, with inimitable perspicuity and rapidity, through most complicated passages. At times, we hardly can conceive it to be the voice of a bird, and wonder what strange sound now steals upon us; and then, perhaps, we again are lost in increasing amazement, when at length we behold the little throat whence issues so incomparable a flow of loud and varied melody.

General character of its song.-The characteristic trait of the Nightingale's song consists in his very superior powers of execution. He has an endless variety of inimitable rolls and quavers, all of which are delivered with a perspicuity and richness of tone quite peculiar to himself. No verbal description, however, will convey a definite idea of the musical powers of this bird; he must be heard to be duly appreciated. His singular, clear, piping notes, contrasted with bold shakes, and long-continued, quick, distinct repetitions of a monosyllabic sound, are wholly and entirely unlike the songs of every other British bird, nor can they be mistaken for any other; (a few notes of some Canaries, perhaps, approaching nearest to them). Loud, and interrupted by frequent pauses, like the broken stanzas of the Thrush, his various notes are in general more continuously connected, and each separately is dwelt upon more repeatedly, than in that bird. As he is the finest, so, when in full song, he is the loudest minstrel of the wood, to whose powerful music all the rest are a mere accompaniment; and in the silent midnight, when nought else breaks the calm and universal stillness that prevails-save, perhaps, a cold, chilly breeze, at intervals, rustling through the dry, dead leaves, that, curled up and crisp, still loosely attach to the vigorous and sturdy bushes of oak-his clear, soft, plaintive swells, loud shakes, and sudden cadences, re-echoed all around by other rival songsters of his race, form a soft, witching concert from the moonlit woods, that stirs and elevates the very soul to harmony.

Illustrated, in some degree, by a comparison of it with those of other birds.-The Nightingale's song invariably improves upon acquaintance. At first, all are surprised by it—astonished at the volume of his voice and some hardly know even whether to like it; so different does it prove from what they had expected. To resort again to comparison, it may be said to be delivered somewhat in the

manner of the Wood Lark's lay; yet each note-save one or twoare extremely different. Some few of the clear, silvery, dulcet warblings of that charming songster, are, indeed, fully equal to any of those of the Nightingale; but, altogether, its song is inferior, being too much uttered in a single plaintive key: The Nightingale has no flourishing liquid melody, like the pure sweet note of the Blackcap, nor does he try to emulate the rich, deep, flute-like music of the Blackbird and Garden Warbler; but he excites our admiration by the wonderful variety of his tones, by that perfect command and compass of his rich and powerful voice, which enables him, without seeming effort, to articulate the most delicate and complex passages; he moves our wonder-" by the infinitude of resources of his incomparable organ-brilliant bursts, lively, delicate trills, vollies of rapid notes whose distinctness equals their volubility; an internal, dull murmur—not itself pleasing to the ear, but very fit to enhance the brilliancy of the more agreeable strains; sudden and rapid runs, articulated with strength, and even a tasteful ruggedness,-plaintive accents, and tender cadences."* No difficult combination of sound would seem too much for him-for a few short weeks he literally overflows with song; the woods by night are vocal with his melody, and he leads the band of feathered choristers by day.

Supposed difficulty of studying the Nightingale's wild habits.It is observed, by an able and very eloquent writer of the present day, that, “from their retiring disposition, the habits of Nightingales, in a state of nature, must always be to a very considerable extent conjectural; because, instead of being able to follow them in the details of their history, it is not very easy to see the same individual twice.” Now, I am by no means disposed to accede, altogether, to this remark of Mr. Mudie; and, in fact, it will not apply even where the birds are plentiful, much less where the species is comparatively rare. My endeavour, therefore, in the present essay, will be, to treat very fully, and in detail, of all that relates to Philomel as a British bird; hoping that, in my attempts to elucidate completely, and in all its bearings, the natural history of this celebrated songster, I may not be considered tedious, prolix, or ver

bose.

Its general expression and attitude, and mode of progression on the ground. I have already endeavoured to describe the character and style of its delightful music-the quality for which, in all ages,

Buffon.

it has ever been the theme of poets, and the delight of all those who have music in their souls; and I have introduced it, as the song itself comes into notice, as a sort of climax to the development of the vernal season. Of the colours and specific characters of the bird, we have, at present, no occasion to treat minutely. Its form is very similar to that of a Robin, though rather larger, and longer in all its proportions; and its common attitude and general expression are also much the same as in that bird. As observed upon the ground, where it finds the greater portion of its subsistence, its manner of progression exactly resembles that of the Thrush tribe, and very much that of the Robin, moving about by regular, deliberate hops, with its plumage generally much puffed, and the tail mostly raised higher than the points of its wings; now and then this is jerked, at which time a deep tack is sometimes uttered, which, as Bechstein remarks, may be exactly imitated by smacking the tongue this note is always expressive of satisfaction and pleasure, and is sure to be uttered on the occasion of finding a favourite morsel. It is, in general, an extremely quiet, sedentary species, retiring very much from observation, and, in confinement, will often sit for hours together upon its perch, with its plumage puffed, and resting on one leg, though, at times, it is sufficiently active.

*

*

Pugnacity and rivalry of song.-The Nightingale is at all seasons a solitary and pugnacious bird, each selecting a little district to itself, and attacking all of its own species that invade its territory; in this, reminding us of the Robin Redbreast, to which it is somewhat allied—indeed, sufficiently so to breed with it in confinement. It also resembles that bird in the habit of two or three often singing against each other; not warbling simultaneously, in the manner of Linnets and others, but each replying to another's strains. M. Bechstein observes of them, in confinement, that " some Nightingales dislike being in the window, and prefer a dark corner of the room; others like the light and the sun. Some will sing only when they are alone, while others like to perform alternately with a neighbour; but they never sing so loud and well when there are many together in the same room. Perhaps jealousy is the chief cause of this," [or rather, I would say, they dislike being interrupted.] "On these occasions," he continues," the first that begins generally maintains the superiority; the others sing only when he stops, and this but seldom, or in an under tone. Some are so sulky that they will not sing at all, and, from their silence, are occasionally mistaken for females, and dismissed the room; but no sooner do they find themselves alone, than they sing aloud.”

Evinces no hostility to birds of any other species.-Like Robins, and most other birds nearly allied to the latter, two Nightingales of the same sex can never be kept together in a single cage (excepting when very young), or one would soon destroy the other. Yet I have often kept them in the same cage with birds of various other species, to the presence of which they are quite indifferent. "A Nightingale," observes the Hon. and Rev. W. Herbert, "which had lived two years in a cage full of birds, in perfect amity with them, and even suffered the common Wrens to jump and rub themselves on its back, instantly attacked, in the most violent manner, another Nightingale which was placed in the cage." Like Robins, they frequently fight very desperate battles when one intrudes a little upon another's territory.

Its periods of arrival and departure.-The Nightingale is heard mostly, for the first time, in the neighbourhood of London, about the 14th of April; sometimes a few days earlier, but that is the day upon which those who make a trade of catching them depend on their arrival. I have generally first heard them about the 17th. In The Naturalist's Calendar, of White, of Selborne, the period of their first appearance is extended from the first of April to the same day of the following month.* They depart in September, I have reason to believe singly, and not in families, as is stated by Bechstein. It would be contrary to the whole tenor of the Nightingale's habits to assemble even in small societies, and at variance, also, with those of the birds to which it is most allied. In Italy, they are said to arrive in March, and depart in November; from which, at first sight, we might be naturally led to infer, with M. Bechstein, that they proceed, by slow journeys, overland, though I do not believe this to be the case, for reasons it will be more convenient to mention when I come to treat more particularly on the nature of the migratory instinct.

Has been noticed, in the south of England, on New Year's day.— A few very rare instances have been recorded of this bird remaining through the winter, in the southern counties of England. The poet Cowper addresses some stanzas "To the Nightingale, which the author heard singing on New Year's day, 1792;” and Mr. Newman, in The Magazine of Natural History, relates that, “On December 12th, either 1823 or 1824, he heard the Nightingale singing clearly and distinctly, although not very loudly, at Godalming, Surrey ;" and he remarks that, in the same neighbourhood,

* This depends very much on the state of the moon.

VOL. IV.NO. XV.

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