treble and the bass nearly at the same instant; at other times, mournful and plaintive, the unfortunate Philomela draws heavily her lengthened notes, and breathes a delightful melancholy around. These have the appearance of sorrowful sighs; the other modulations resemble the laughter of the happy. Solitary on the twig of a small tree, and cautiously at a certain distance from the nest, where the pledges of his love are treasured under the fostering breast of his mate, the male fills constantly the silent woods with his harmonious strains; and during the whole night entertains and repays his female for the irksome duties of incubation. The Nightingale not only sings at intervals during the day, but waits till the blackbird and the thrush have uttered their evening call, even till the stock and ring doves have, by their soft murmurings lulled each other to rest, and then pours forth his full tide of melody.

It is a great subject of astonishment that so small a bird should be endowed with such potent lungs. If the evening is calm, it is supposed that its song may be heard above half-a-mile. This bird, the ornament and charm of our spring and early summer evenings, as it arrives in April, and continues singing till June, disappears on a sudden about September or October, when it leaves us to pass the winter in the North of Africa and Syria. Its visits to this country are limited to certain counties, mostly in the south and east; as, though it is plentiful in the neighbourhood of London, and along the south coast in Sussex, Hampshire, and Dorsetshire, it is not found in either Cornwall or Wales. As soon as the young are hatched, the song of the male bird ceases, and he only utters a harsh croak, by way of giving alarm when any one approaches the nest. Nightingales are sometimes reared up, and doomed to the prison of a cage; in this

state they sing ten months in the year, though in their wild life they sing only as many weeks. Bingley says that a caged Nightingale sings much more sweetly than those which we hear abroad in the spring.

The Nightingale is the most celebrated of all the feathered race for its song. The poets have in all ages made it the theme of their verses; some of these we cannot resist giving:

"The Nightingale, as soon as April bringeth

Unto her rested sense a perfect waking,

Which late bare earth, proud of new clothing, springeth,
Sings out her woes

66

."-SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

-Beast and bird,

They to their grassy couch, these to their nests,
Were slunk; all but the wakeful Nightingale;
She all night long her amorous descant sung.'

"And in the violet-embroidered vale,
Where the lovelorn Nightingale

MILTON.

Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.'

"O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray

MILTON.

Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still,
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill,
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May,
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,

First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Portend success in love. Oh, if Jove's will
Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate

Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh;
As thou from year to year hast sung too late
For my relief, yet hadst no reason why:
Whether the muse, or love, call thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I."

The cool, the silent, save where silence yields
To the night-warbling bird, that, now awake,
Tunes sweetest his love-laboured song."

MILTON.

"How all things listen while thy muse complains,
Such silence waits on Philomela's strains,
In some still evening, when the whispering breeze
Pants on the leaves, and dies upon the trees."

POPE.

"There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream,
And the Nightingale sings round it all the year long;
In the days of my childhood, 't was like a sweet dream
To sit in the roses, and hear the bird's song.

"That bower and its music I never forget,

But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year,

I think, Is the Nightingale singing there yet?

Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer?"

MOORE.

THE BLACK-CAP (Sylvia atricapilla)

Is a very small warbler, not weighing above half-anounce. The top of the head is black, whence he takes his name; the neck ash-coloured, the back a dark green, the wings of a dusky colour, with green edges; the tail nearly the same; the nether part of the neck, throat, and upper part of the breast of a pale ash-colour; the lower part of the belly white tinctured with yellow.

The Black-cap visits us about the middle of April, and retires in September; it frequents gardens, and builds its nest near the ground. The female lays five eggs of a pale

reddish brown, sprinkled with spots of a darker colour. This bird sings sweetly, and so like the nightingale, that in Norfolk it is called the mock nightingale. White observes, that it has usually a full, sweet, deep, loud, and wild pipe, yet the strain is of short continuance, and its motions desultory; but when it sits calmly, and earnestly engages in song, it pours forth very sweet but inward melody; and expresses a great variety of modulations, superior perhaps to any of our warblers, the nightingale excepted; and while it sings, its throat is greatly distended.

THE WREN. (Troglodytes vulgaris.)

"Fast by my couch, congenial guest,
The Wren has wove her mossy nest;
From busy scenes and brighter skies
To lurk with innocence she flies;
Her hopes in safe repose to dwell,
Nor aught suspects the sylvan cell."
T. WARTON.

THE Wren is a very small bird; indeed, one species, the golden crested, is the smallest in Europe; but as if nature had intended to compensate the want of size and bulk in the individuals, by multiplying them to a greater extent, this little bird is one of the most prolific of the feathered tribe, its nest containing often upwards of eighteen eggs of a whitish colour, and not much bigger than a pea. The male and female enter by a hole con

trived in the middle of the nest, and which, by its situation and size, is accessible only to themselves. The Wren weighs no more than three drachms. Its notes are very sweet, and rival those of the robin redbreast, in the middle of winter, when the coldness of the weather has condemned the other songsters to silence. Like the redbreast it frequently approaches the habitation of man, enlivening the rustic garden with its song during the greater part of the year. It begins to make a nest early in the spring, but frequently deserts it before it is lined, and searches for a more secure place. The Wren does not, as is usual with most other birds, begin to build the bottom of the nest first. When against a tree, its primary operation is to trace upon the bark the outline, and thus to fasten it with equal strength to all parts. It then, in succession, closes the sides and top, leaving only a small hole for entranee.

(Sylvia trochilus.)

THE WILLOW WREN. The Willow Wren is somewhat larger than the common Wren. The upper parts of the body are of a pale olivegreen; the under parts are pale yellow, and a streak of yellow passes over the eyes. The wings and tail are brown, edged with yellowish green; and the legs are inclined to yellow. This bird is migratory, visiting us usually about the middle of April, and taking its departure towards the end of September. The female constructs her nest in holes at the roots of trees, in hollows of dry banks, and other similar places. It is round, and not unlike the nest of the Wren. The eggs are dusky white, marked with reddish spots; and are five in number. A Willow Wren had built in a bank of one of the fields of Mr. White near Selborne. This bird, a friend and himself observed as she sat in her nest, but were particularly careful not to disturb her, though she eyed them with some degree of jealousy. Some days afterwards, as they passed the same way, they were desirous of remarking how the brood went on; but no nest could be found, till Mr. White happened to take up a large bundle of