NESTS, EGGS, AND FOOD.

3383

About a week after the arrival of the female birds, says Audubon, the male Nightingales first seen are mated, and a spot has been chosen for the nest. The situations of their choice are generally in the interior of close thickets, but not unfrequently also at the roots of the thick-sets of hedge-rows. The colour of the materials employed in the composition of the nest, and even that of the eggs, is in accordance with the dull reddish-brown garb of the bird itself. The whole of this fabric may be said to be of a rather rude construction, it being large, loosely put together externally, and scantily lined. The outer layer is usually composed of the dried leaves of various trees of the previous season, extending at times in a loose manner to the distance of several inches from the proper nest. The latter is cup-shaped, with its cavity about four inches in breadth, and nearly as much in depth, formed of dry fibrous roots of small size, now and then interwoven with a few loose leaves. The eggs are from four to six, rather large for the bird, three quarters of an inch in-length, seven twelfths in breadth, and of a pale brownish colour. The parent birds incubate alternately, although the female spends more time on the eggs than the male. Young Nightingales, like most young birds of their tribe, are at first fed on macerated substances, for eight or ten days, after which they receive small larvæ, worms, and insects.

Sweet says that the food of this bird consists entirely of insects of various sorts, but it prefers the eggs of the ant to any other. It is also very fond of the larvæ of wasps and hornets. Without such food, it is almost impossible to keep it alive in confinement. Chopped or shredded raw meat is the best substitute for that. but it will not do so well.

Let us here enter our protest against the barbarous custom which prevails to some extent among bird-fanciers, of putting out the eyes of the Nightingale, in order that it may, unscared or unattracted by the objects around it, give its whole attention to the utterance of sweet melody. Poor bird! well may the strains of such be sad and complaining, as the poets feign was that of the daughter of Pandion, when deprived of her silver-sounding tongue. Mr. H. W. Dixon, of the Mark Lane Express,' has

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34

THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE COG.

related a very remarkable and touching anecdote of this bird. He says:—

I went, on agricultural business, last May (1859), to visit Mr. Jonas Webb, of Babraham, a large sheep-farmer in Cambridgeshire. Whilst at dinner, I heard the 'jug-jug' of a Nightingale, close outside the window. On asking about it, they said Poor thing, she's only taunting the house-dog. It seems that the large dog (a Newfoundland, I think) had been following its master down the drive, past a laurel bush, where the Nightingale had built her nest; he snapped at it, and, just missing the old bird as she flew off, devoured all the young ones. From that moment the bird never left the dog. She followed it when he walked, and sat, either upon his kennel-top, or on a bush hard by, with its plaintive note, asking for its young ones. Actually, if the dog followed his master into the house, the bird would accompany him to the very door-step, and wait till he came out, just like an avenging spirit. I was told that the poor bird had done this for three weeks, at the time I was there. By the courtesy of Mrs. Webb, we are enabled fully to confirm the above affecting incident. She states-Our sympathy was deeply called forth, and we earnestly desired that it were in our power to replace the nest and little ones, and restore comfort to the disconsolate mourner. Our surprise was great that the poor bird could keep up her mournful song so long. It seemed as if her little throat must be sore through her screaming for hours together. So long as "Pilot" was in sight she continued upbraiding him night and day. Sometimes "Pilot" was allowed to join us when we took our work or tea on the lawn. He would ascend the front steps, and seat himself by the door in the hall. Even then the poor bird would come, and actually hop on the steps after the dog. The young persons would sometimes walk close to the bird, and see if it would not fly away; but no, the bird would still hop after the destroyer of her little brood. For three weeks or a month we could always tell whereabouts "Pilot" was, by the wearisome wail of the poor bird. At length the sorrowful note ceased to be heard, and we concluded that the bird was gone; but suddenly it was again heard. My husband looked out, and there was our poor bird on a high birch trce across the lawn, and almost at the same moment "Pilot" seen passing under the tree. As it is believed that birds which migrate return again to the same locality, we look forward with much interest to watch if we shall hear any more of the one in question, and whether "Pilot" will be remembered.'

was

No one has more closely studied the habits of this bird than Bechstein, and he states that it expresses its varying emotions by distinct cries, or intonations of the voice. To the simple cry or whistle, fitt, uttered when the bird is alone,

THE BEREAVED PARENT.

333

35

he attaches but little meaning; add, however, to this the syllable crr, and it becomes the call of invitation from the male to the female. The utterance of fear or displeasure is fitt, repeated several times rapidly and loudly, and terminating with a very emphatic err; while the sound of satisfaction or pleasure is a deep tuck, which may be imitated by smacking the tongue. Melodious, as all the notes of the bird generally are, it sometimes utters hoarse, disagreeable sounds, like those of the Jay or cat; this is when excited by anger, jealousy, or any extraordinary eventsuch, for instance, as the plundering of its nest-described by the poet:

When home returning with her loaded bill,
The astonished mother finds a vacant nest
By the hard hands of unrelenting clowns
Robbed; to the ground the vain provision falls;
Her pinions ruffle, and, low drooping, scarce
Can bear the mourner to the poplar shade,
Where, all abandoned to despair, she sings
Her sorrow through the night, and on the bough
Sole sitting, still at every dying fall
Takes up again the lamentable strain
Of winding woe, till, wide around, the woods
Sigh to her song, and with her wail resound.

The Nightingale is the Bulbul of the eastern poets, and we would gladly gossip on about this favourite songster, which is found throughout Europe, extending as far north as Sweden; in Asia, and in Egypt on the banks of the Nile; but feel that we have already exceeded our space. As a fitting conclusion, we shall quote Wordsworth's fine lines descriptive of evening, leaving unnoticed with regret many beautiful poems, and interesting remarks, by authors of all ages and countries on this bird :—

The Linnet's warble, sinking towards a close,
Hints to the Thrush 'tis time for their repose;
The shrill-voiced Thrush is heedless, and again
The Monitor revives his own sweet strain;
But both will soon be mastered, and the copse
Be left as silent as the mountain-tops,
Ere some commanding star dismiss to rest
The throng of Rooks, that now, from twig or nest,

36

WORDSWORTH'S PICTURE.

(After a steady flight on home-bound wings,
And a last game of many hoverings

Around their ancient grove) with cawing noise,
Disturb the liquid music's equipoise.

O Nightingale! who ever heard thy song
Might here be moved, till Fancy grows so strong
That listening sense is pardonably cheated
Where wood or stream by thee was never greeted.
Surely from fairest spots of favoured lands
Were not some gifts withheld by jealous hands,
This hour of deepening darkness here would be,
As a fresh morning for new harmony;

And lays as prompt would hail the dawn of night;
A dawn she has both beautiful and bright,
When the East kindles with the full moon's light
Wanderer by spring with gradual progress led,
For sway profoundly felt as widely spread;
To king, to peasant, to rough sailor, dear,
And to the soldier's trumpet-wearied ear;
How welcome wouldst thou be to this green vale.
Fairer than Tempe! Yet, sweet Nightingale!
From the warm breeze that bears thee on alight
At will, and stay thy migratory flight;
Build at thy choice, or sing, by pool or fount,
Who shall complain or call thee to account?
The wisest, happiest of our kind are they
That ever walk content with Nature's way,
God's goodness measuring bounty as it may;
For whom the gravest thought of what they miss,
Chastening the fullness of a present bliss,
Is with that wholesome office satisfied,
While unrepining sadness is allied
In thankful bosoms to a modest pride.

CHAPTER III.

WARBLERS, CONTINUED.- BLACKCAP, GARDEN WARBLER, WHITE-THROAT, AND LESSER WHITE-THROAT.

THE

HE BLACKCAP (Sylvia atricapilla), called by Macgillivray the Black-capped Warbler,' is somewhat smaller in size than the Nightingale, from which the male bird is distinguished especially by a jet-black head, and the female by the dark tint of the reddish brown one. We have here another of the summer Warblers, a little greyish, or yellowish brown bird, elegant in shape, brisk and lively in its motions. It arrives about the middle of April, or rather sooner, according to the progress of the season. Selby says it is never with us until the larch trees are visibly green. As with the Nightingale, the males precede the females by some days. Woods, plantations, thick hedges, orchards, and gardens, are the chief haunts of the bird, which is shy and timid. The female is very cautious in selecting a nestingplace, sometimes commencing to build in two or three different places, before finally settling down in one spot. The nest is usually fixed in a bush, about two or three feet from the ground; it is constructed of bents and fine herbage, lined with fibrous roots, mixed with hair. The eggs are generally five in number, of a pale greenish white, mottled with light brown and ash colour, with a few spots and streaks of dark brown. This species is pretty generally distributed through England, being rare towards the north; it has not been met with in Scotland. British naturalists generally agree in giving to this bird the second place in the scale of songsters; it is sometimes called 'the Mock Nightingale.' Monk, and Moor, are common terms for it amorg the Germans. Buffon calls it a Fauvet; and Neville Wood, after stating that the best time to observe its habits and appearance is when the currants and raspberries are ripe, for it