/ » PICTURES OF BIRD LIFE IN ^en cmd pencil'. The Rev. M. G. AVATKINS, M.A. WITH Illustrations by Giacomelli. Cassell, Petter, G-alpin & Co.: LONDON, PARIS $ NEW YORK. [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] OVEWzZ Qu 67 i, W33 LONDON: CASSELL, PETTER, GALPIN & CO., LUDGATE HILL, E.C. CONTENTS. PAGE THE ROBIN ........... 15 THE REED WARBLER ........ 25 THE NIGHTINGALE . 35 THE BLACKCAP . . . . . ' . . . 45 THE BLACKBIRD .......... 55 THE ORIOLE .......... 65 THE WREN ........... 75 THE TITS. .......... 85 THE SPARROW . 95 THE KINGFISHER . 105 THE SWALLOWS .......... 115 THE WOODPECKERS ......... 125 THE QUAIL . ■ J 35 SSI INTRODUCTION “ What knowest thou of birds, lark, mavis, merle, Linnet ? What dream ye when they utter forth May-music growing with the growing light, Their sweet sun-worship ? ” Tennyson, Gareth and Lynette, HE object of this book is not to add another to the histories of British birds, but to direct those who are fond of natural history to the manner in which the life of our familiar birds should be studied, as well as to point out to those who complain of the dulness of the country that a large and interesting field of observation spreads out before their doors. There is no need in ornithology to make long journeys or undergo many privations in order to find objects which will exercise all the mental faculties. Birds can be studied in the garden, through the windows, from a sick-bed. And let no one think that the life-history of even the ordinary birds of English fields and gardens is exhausted. The least research in books bearing on British ornithology will show an inquirer that the very contrary is the case. He will be struck at a very early period of his literary investigations by the unwelcome conviction that writer after writer blindly follows in the wake of his predecessors, accepting and recounting, often in the same way and almost the same words, what they state. Independent research is here the exception and not the rule. The birds are too often treated in a literary method instead of being carefully studied and observed in their haunts for a series INTRODUCTION. 9 of years, until the writer can lay claim at all events to having made many observations on if he has not succeeded in solving any of the many problems connected with their distribution, partial migration, and general disappearance at stated seasons. He should be able to propound conclusions based on long attention to the objects of his study, if he cannot altogether fathom the secrets of bird life and movement. Ornithological nomenclature and classification offer special attractions to a certain type of chamber naturalists, one of whom Mr. Marks happily painted a few years ago, arranging his stuffed specimens. And, of course, ornithology and its students cannot afford to neglect the aids which are thus offered them. By such studies the field of comparison is much enlarged, and the species of birds common to different countries mutually throw light upon each other. But undoubtedly the most pleasant and gainful pursuit of ornithology is derived from open-air observation. Not that an out-door student can afford to dispense with the lucubrations of his more scientific brethren, but he can with very little aid from them hope materially to enlarge the boundaries of the subject, to fill up blanks in the life history of the different species which come before his ken—to make discoveries, in short, in an empirical manner which are denied to the mere arranger of birds in new groups and systems. His whole procedure, too, is carried on in the presence of nature; healthful exercise is his, and beauty is presented to his gaze in a thousand different forms of cloud and plant, beast, bird, and insect, till from the universal chorus of praise and harmony arising from the adaptation of all life to the circumstances in which it is placed, the observer falls into the poet’s train of thought, discerning— “Authentic tidings of invisible things, Of ebb and flow, and ever-during power, And central peace subsisting at the heart Of endless agitation. Here you stand, Adore and worship, when you know it not; Pious beyond the intention of your thought, Devout above the meaning of your will.” The Excursion. The writer trusts that, from these accounts of bird life and the drawings of Giacomelli, some who might otherwise have neglected so pleasant a pursuit as ornithology may be led to the study of our familiar birds. The group of thirteen here described are selected as a fair sample of the birds to be found more or less during summer near most country houses. Some are with us all the year, others only during the warm weather. Some (such as the reed warbler and nightingale) are local. Several of them can be seen anywhere; others must be sought in their characteristic localities—as for instance the tits, the woodpeckers, and the kingfisher. B IO INTRODUCTION. One or two are rarely seen, such are the quail and the oriole; but the first of these possesses a special interest, and the other introduces the student to a large family of tropical and American birds. Three of the great orders into which birds are divided—the Passeres, Scansores, and Gallinae, are thus illustrated. Of the remaining orders, the Accipitres (birds of prey and owls) are now become very scarce, two causes mainly causing their extinction—preservation of game and increase of popu¬ lation. The birds which belong to the Grallatores and Natatores are for the most part birds of the coast and its estuaries, and water-fowl which visit us in winter to compensate for the absence of the migratory warblers. If the thirteen birds and groups of birds which are here described are typical specimens of summer birds, many more remain for observation, some of them more or less rare, and many of the others but little known as far as regards their minor characteristics. Thus Yarrell, in his third edition (1856), gives the numbers of British birds as— Resident all the year Summer visitors Winter do. Occasional do. 140 63 48 103 354 Johns (in 1862), by the addition of a few more occasional visitors, brings the total up to 361. After a still more rigorous examination, and by including all the new species (forty-seven) which had been observed in Great Britain and Ireland since the third edition of Yarrell, Mr Harting (eliminating four birds of Yarrell’s list, of which one is a domesticated species, two mere varieties, and one, the Great Auk, now extinct), brings up the numbers to 395.* This then may be taken as the present state of the British avi-fauna, and of these, in round numbers, 130 species are residents, 100 periodical migrants, and 30 annual visitants, the remainder being rare and accidental visitants. Nor is the writer without hope that what he has written with much love and enthusiasm for creatures so beautiful and mostly so inoffensive to man as birds may contribute, if it be slightly, to teach kindness and humanity to the lower orders of creation. Bird-nesting, for instance, when followed by boys as a means of acquainting themselves with the wonderful instincts which prompt birds to build their different kinds of nest, and when only an egg or two is taken to form a collection, he sympathises with and would encourage. When it results in nests being ruthlessly torn down which have cost the poor bird (as here described in a few cases) so * “A Hand-book of British Birds,” by J. E. Harting, F.L.S., Introduction, p. v. INTRODUCTION. I I much toil and trouble, and when eggs are wantonly taken to be hung in festoons or carelessly broken, he unreservedly condemns. So, too, birds must occasionally be shot for comparison and scientific purposes, but no one can reprobate more than the writer the senseless custom which prompts so many on seeing a rare bird to shoot it. This it is which has robbed our woodlands of many of their most interesting denizens. Nor can the writer believe that the almost complete destruc¬ tion of birds of prey through many districts of Scotland is beneficial to the increase of game. Certainly the absence of hawks, owls, and the like greatly diminishes the interest which every true sportsman as well as every naturalist must take in his walks. Fortunately the legislature has of recent years succeeded by the three Bird Bills in protecting many innocent birds from cruel and often useless slaughter. The Field newspaper and others are much to be commended for their ceaseless advocacy of the rights of our native birds. It may be hoped, too, that the gradual spread of learning and the advance of cheap and wholesome literature in our country districts will do much more for the good cause of protecting birds and other native animals, such as hedgehogs and water-rats, from the unrelenting persecution of rustics, at present too ignorant and unreasonable to be persuaded to extend immunity and forbearance to these interesting creatures. Without an enlightened love of country sights and sounds, a strong conviction of the sanctity of life, and a reverent heart and mind, these objects can hardly be attained. “Far less had then The inferior creatures, beast or bird, attuned My spirit to that gentleness of love (Though they had long been carefully observed), Won from me those minute obeisances Of tenderness, which I may number now With my first blessings.”* A few, and but very few, of the teachings of the poets about birds and the inspiration they have derived from them, have been added to the description of each bird in these pages. The subject is far too wide, and contains such a wealth of illustration that it could only be touched upon, in order to recommend its prosecu¬ tion to all who are fond of the intelligent study of birds, especially in its literary aspect. No one can read Shelley's wonderful “ Ode to the Skylark,” or Keats’ exquisite verses on the nightingale, without perceiving how a poet’s fancy may be kindled to produce a music sweeter than the bird’s own song from so trivial a sound as— “A blackbird’s whistle in a budding grove.” The effect of a bird’s song upon different poetic temperaments is another very * Wordsworth, “ The Prelude. 12 INTRODUCTION. curious part of this subject. Poets have, for instance, always been divided in opinion whether the nightingale’s song is joyous rather than sad, as it seemed to so many classic poets whose minds were prepared for the latter view by the myth alluded to in the following pages. Again the greater power which a bird’s song, or the classical associations attached to its name, have over some poets’ minds rather than others, is another wide field of research which has as yet been scantily explored. Thus Milton hardly cares to recognise any birds except the lark and nightingale; the latter, as might have been expected from his own late hours of study, his love of music and sympathy with the classical writers, being an especial favourite, which has won from him over and over again some of the most magnificent passages of his own song— “ Thee, chantress, oft the woods among I woo, to hear thy even-song.” The cock, too, from the prominent part it plays in a touching passage of Holy Writ, and from his own habits of prolonging study and vigils until “The first cock his matin rings,” is a familiar bird in his poetry. His words must often recur to the mind of his lovers as they listen what time “ The cock with lively din Scatters the rear of darkness thin.” Gray, another poet of essentially classical modes of thought, tempers his admiration for ancient models with many a discriminating touch drawn from loving observation of nature. For him “ The skylark warbles high His trembling, thrilling ecstasy ; And lessening from the dazzled sight Melts into air and liquid light.” And again— “ Far, far aloft the affrighted ravens sail, The famished eagle screams and passes by,” as they may yet be heard and seen in some districts of Scotland. Ihe strength of Shakespeare with regard to fancy and imagination can hardly be better seen than in his treatment of the birds, beasts, and flowers of the country. How lovingly does he dwell upon them all, extracting it may be but a thought from each, and yet those are just the thoughts which mainly endear the objects of his admiration to ourselves ! To be named in his verse is for a bird to be embalmed in human memory far longer than has been the existence of the most cherished INTRODUCTION. 13 objects of love and reverence with the Egyptians, while no hortus siccus can compare with the pages of his plays. How universal, too, was his glance, so that the traveller by the Avon can hardly find tree, bird, flower, or reptile on which his eye has not fastened, and forthwith turned it into gold by his alchemy! Besides the literary associations which our birds possess, a multitude of popular beliefs and ancestral stories are connected with them. It has been another aim of the writer’s to direct attention to this side of bird life, feeling confident that it will well repay research and bring its students into closer relations both with their fore¬ fathers and with birds themselves. Here again it has only been possible to touch upon a tithe of the curious associations of birds which constitute their folk-lore, but he is the less concerned about his omissions as a work treating of the folk¬ lore of English birds in its entirety is now being composed by a very competent author,- which will ere long be published under the auspices of the Folk-lore Society. The pleasing duty remains of returning thanks to those authors who have so largely assisted the writer. Foremost among these comes Professor Newton, whose edition of Yarrell’s “ Birds,” so far as it is published, is indispensable to every observer of English bird life. The more it is used, the more does the reader regret that its author does not endeavour to continue its issue at an accelerated pace. Twenty years hence at the present rate will hardly see its conclusion, and unfortunately ornithologists are not antediluvians. To the late Mr. Johns’ “History of British Birds,” and to Mr. Harting’s “ Handbook and Ornithology of Shakespeare,” the writer is much indebted; as well as to Mr. Jesse, Mr. Dixon, Mr. Cordeaux, Mr. J. Harvie Brown, Waterton, and several others whose assistance has generally been acknowledged as used. A heav’n-sent wanderer, I come, The bird of faithful Hope, Your sympathies to call from home And give them larger scope. Bethink thee of the village poor, — Thy plenty bid them share, — The shepherds on the wind-swept moor, The widow’s load of care. The snow drifts fast, a keener blast Forebodes a cruel night; With outer cheerlessness contrast Your festal warmth and light. Bestow your crumbs ; lest haply morn, Though decked with winter’s wreath, Unhonoured by my song should break, — Its minstrel stilled in death. Mil III! II mill ifl 3 VillH aflif ljf| L fcJUJll IliLw! 1 jay lllifl J|l POf? JililJ || I'Hi i ip 1 Ull M THE ROBIN REDBREAST. (Erithocus rubecula , L.) ^JNIVERSALLY known and universally loved, not in the British Isles only, but throughout Europe, the Robin is a curious instance of a bird with no verv amicable temper becoming a general favourite. This arises partly from the welcome patch of colour on its breast, but still more from its habit of drawing near man’s habitations in winter, and its trustfulness when fed by him. The poets have seized this trait. So Chaucer speaks of “ the tame Ruddocke,” and Wordsworth apostrophises it— “ Thrice happy creature in all lands Nurtured by hospitable hands.” And again— “ The bird whom man loves best, The pious bird with the scarlet breast, The cheerer, thou, of our indoor sadness.” Very familiar also to all is the picture so beautifully drawn by the poet of “ The Seasons,” whose verses are too little read at the present day— “ The Redbreast sacred to the household gods, Wisely regardful of th’ embroiling sky, In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man His annual visit. Half-afraid, he first Against the window beats; then brisk alights On the warm hearth ; then, hopping o’er the floor, Eyes all the smiling family askance, And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is.” It would be more difficult to say where the Robin is not found than to name He who rests a moment on the dullest road, or halts while shooting its haunts. i6 PICTURES OF BIRD LTFE. at the side of the loneliest field, hears a rustling beside him, and suddenly a Robin hops out. Even in the depths of a wood, in spots too sunless to be frequented by other small birds save perhaps a wren or a family of titmice feeding, the well- known gay breast of the Robin quickly presents itself. It is fond of the company of the labourer afield, while any one digging in a garden, more especially in autumn or winter, will speedily see one hopping on his wheelbarrow, and when he stops, sitting a moment on the spade, before it flits to the turned-up soil and begins to feed eagerly on its worms and insect treasures. The Robin belongs to the family of warblers, most of which are regular migrants, coming every spring to us, and leaving in autumn. Like the hedge-sparrow, however (which is really a warbler and no sparrow), the Robin continues with us throughout the year. But its movements during the different seasons are very erratic and, partly perhaps from choice, partly because the foliage is so thick during late summer, it appears then to retire more to the fields and lonely spots, whereas in severe weather it invariably draws near to man. Professor Newton remarks that no bird can be more readily studied with regard to this most wonderful mystery of bird life, partial migration. One reason why the Robin seeks seclusion towards the end of summer appears to be in order that it may undergo its annual moult. Finding the young of the previous spring in possession of their garden haunts, on their return the old ones engage them with much fierceness, and the younger are generally worsted in the encounter. The latter, it is supposed, then join those wandering bands which leave our shores for warmer climes. In most parts of the Continent, Robins also take these long autumnal journeys. Even round our houses and homesteads more or less severe weather during winter appears to affect the distribution of the Robins ordinarily found there. Thus any one ambitious of ornithological reputation can find plenty of opportunities for observing migration at his very door if he studies the winter movements of the Robin. No description of this bird is required. The breast of the female is not so bright as that of the male bird. The young after leaving the nest, with their spotted brown breasts, are like footmen out of livery. The red colour is only assumed after their first autumnal moult, and is then fainter than in the adult bird, and tinged with orange, while the legs are dark brown instead of purple-brown. Robins are often eaten, along with many other small birds which no one in England would think of killing, while on their migration throughout Italy and the south of France. Waterton says—“ At the bird market near the Rotunda, in Rome, I have counted more than fifty Robin Redbreasts lying dead on one stall. ‘ Is it THE ROBIN REDBREAST. 17 possible,’ said I to the vendor, ‘ that you can kill and eat these pretty songsters ? ’ ‘ Yes,’ said he with a grin, ‘ and if you will take a dozen of them home for your dinner to-day, you will come back for two dozen to-morrow.’” It was during one of their partial migrations that the prodigy mentioned in a book of 1641 took place. On October 16, 1637, the Puritan, Dr. John Bastwick, landed as a prisoner at the Scilly Islands, when many thousands of Redbreasts (none of which birds the relation affirms were ever seen in those islands before or since), newly arrived at the castle the evening before, “welcomed him with their melody, and within a day or two after took their flight from thence, no man knoweth whither.” The song of the Redbreast is also well known, and is heard with the greater delight when other birds are mostly silent. Even on dull days during winter it ■ will sing in rich yet plaintive notes. With most people its ditty is identified with the dreary wet days of autumn, when it has recovered from moulting and sings its clearest. Tennyson has cleverly introduced the Robin’s song as greeting the long-lost Enoch Arden on his return home in such weather:— “ On the nigh-naked tree the Robin piped Disconsolate, and through the dripping haze The dead weight of the dead leaf bore it down: Thicker the drizzle grew, deeper the gloom.” Save during its autumnal retirement in July the Robin is a perennial songster. “ The reason that Robins are called autumn songsters is,” says White of Selborne, “ because in the two first seasons their voices are drowned and lost in the general chorus; in the latter their song becomes distinguishable.” He notes, too, that despite the prejudice in its favour, the Robin (as well as, we may add, others of our soft-billed birds) does much mischief to the fruit in gardens during summer. Frequently two Robins will sing one against the other. This bird sings also very early in the morning, especially in August, when other birds are silent, and after darkness falls in the evening. It is said that when one thus posts itself on a tree or other elevated place and sings for some time, a fine day may safely be predicted for the morrow. White’s friend, the Hon. Daines Barrington, found that a Robin could be taught to sing in the style of the nightingale. Its voice must be deficient, however, in compass and power. The Robin’s nest is found in every variety of position—in a bank, at the root of a tree or bush, among withered leaves, or in the hole of an ivy-covered wall. It breeds early in spring. In the mild winter of 1877 we knew of a nest in a garden frame during the first week of February. The nest is made of moss, c i8 PICTURES OF BIRD LIFE. dead leaves, and hair, occasionally mixed with a few feathers. The eggs are usually from five to seven in number, of a freckled yellow or reddish-brown colour, and two or three broods are produced each season. It breeds almost up to the Arctic Circle, and is among the first birds to visit Sweden and the latest to leave in autumn. The old bird sits very closely on the nest, evidently depending for concealment on the close assimilation of the nest to the locality where it is placed, but soon abandons the young ones when they are once fledged. Few sights are more miserable in a garden than to see these little orphans hopping about in deplorable plight, scarcely able to use their wings, and a ready prey for cats. Jesse relates many anecdotes of unusual situations for Robins’ nests. A waggon had been packed with boxes and straw at Walton Heath for some days, during which a pair of Robins built among the straw, and had hatched their young. When it was sent down to Worthing, one of the old birds accompanied it, finding food for the little ones from the hedges by the wayside ; and as the waggoner took care not to disturb the straw more than was necessary, the young ones, together with the parent, returned safely in the same manner, the distance travelled in the meantime not being less than one hundred miles. Again, “ His late Majesty William IV., when residing in Bushey Park, had a part of the mizenmast of the Victory , against which Lord Nelson was standing when he received his fatal wound, deposited in a small temple in the grounds of Bushey House. A large shot had passed completely through this part of the mast, and in the hole a pair of Robins had built their nest, and reared a brood of young ones. It was impossible to look at this without reflecting on the scene of blood which had occurred to produce so snug and peaceable a retreat for a nest of harmless Robins.” A still more affecting instance of the confidence of the Robin is related of a pair which built for two years together on the Bible as it lay on the reading-desk in the parish church of Hampton-in-Arden, Warwick¬ shire. The worthy vicar would on no account suffer the birds to be disturbed ; and another Bible was brought into church, from which he used to read the lessons. Valentine, in the “ Two Gentlemen of Verona,” is known to be in love because “ he has learnt to relish a love-song, like a Robin Redbreast; ” but from very early days English poetry has celebrated the Robin chiefly for its piety. Izaak Walton had this in his mind when he spoke of “ the honest Robin, that loves mankind both alive and dead.” It is to the ballad of “ The Children in THE ROBIN REDBREAST. 21 the Wood,” however, that the Robin is mainly indebted for this characteristic. There it is told how “ No burial this pretty pair From any man receives, Till Robin Redbreast piously Did cover them with leaves.” Naturally Shakespeare did not forget this trait of the bird, and in a beautiful passage of “Cymbeline,” says— “ With fairest flowers, Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I’ll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack The flower that’s like thy face, pale primrose, nor The azured harebell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweetened not thy breath; the Ruddock would With charitable bill bring thee all this, Yea, and furr’d moss besides, when flowers are none, To winter-ground thy corse.”—(IV. 2, 218). And Collins, in strains fully as sweet, to adduce one more example, dwells on it in his dirge— “ The Redbreast oft at evening hours Shall kindly lend his little aid With hoary moss and gathered flowers To deck the ground where thou art laid.” Herrick, too, alludes to the same belief; while Drayton draws the useful moral— “ Covering with moss the dead’s unclosed eye, The little Redbreast teacheth charitie.” Throughout Germany, as well as in England, this legend of the Redbreast is current. If this is one side of the Robin’s character, it must be owned that he has another, and that not a very amiable set of traits. His very friendliness often degenerates into mischief and impudence, while he is one of the most pugnacious of our birds. The other frequenters of the lawn have a wholesome dread of his approach, and retire from a dainty, to compare little things with great, much as a jackal slinks off from a carcase when the tiger which killed it draws near. During March especially he fights with his rivals on very little provocation, and not unfrequently one of the combatants loses his life in the struggle. We once found a pair of Robins encountering each other with much ferocity in spring. One had its wing broken, and was so injured that we easily caught it; but on putting it down under a neighbouring bush the other immediately flew to it, and D 22 PICTURES OF BIRD LIFE. recommenced the battle. Mr. Dixon (“ Rural Bird Life,” 1880, p. 74) relates how he on one occasion heard a rustling at the edge of a rivulet, and saw a Robin “ tangled, as it appeared, in the herbage at the edge.” “ I took hold,” he says, “of the bird, with the intention of releasing it from its captivity, and was about to lift it up, when—judge of my surprise!—I pulled out from under the bank a second Robin, that had evidently, when conquered, tried to seek safety by squeezing under the bank, also in the water. Both birds, like two warriors bold, were locked in deadly embrace, the one first seen being entangled in the breast- feathers of its antagonist by its claws. Their plumage, too, was all wet and ragged, and they had lost many feathers. After keeping them for a short time, I restored them to liberty. The victorious one, I should say, flew quickly off, while its terribly exhausted antagonist just managed to gain a thick bush, and was soon lost to view.” Folk-lore, as well as poetry, has taken the Robin under its protection. Pliny has an old wives’ tale how it changes into a redstart during summer. Through¬ out Germany its ruddy breast rendered it sacred to Thor, the god of the lightning. The Welsh believe that the Redbreast bears drops of water in his bill to assuage the sufferings of sinners in torment, but that, flying too near the flames, his breast is scorched, and he gains the name of “ Bron-rhuddyn ” (i.e., breast- scorched). He feels the winter’s cold more than other birds as he returns from the land of fire, and therefore comes shivering to man for protection. In this beautiful fancy Kelly sees an ancient pagan tradition altered to suit popular notions of Christianity, and points to it as one of the many legends relating to the gift of fire to men from heaven. In Northamptonshire, from something of a similar feeling for the Robin, it is said that weasels and wild cats will neither molest Robins nor eat them when dead. It were well, many lovers of birds will wish, if the domestic cat were imbued with the same reverence, for no bird falls a more frequent victim to its cruelty during winter. The red hue of the Robin’s breast is accounted for in Brittany by another beautiful belief, which reminds us of the folk-lore explanation for the crossbill’s beak. It took a thorn away from the crown which the Saviour wore on the cross ; this dyed its breast, and ever since Robins have been dear to men. In Scotland, however, the song of the Robin is thought to bring ill luck to the hearer if he be sick, and the same belief holds in Northamptonshire. It becomes there a harbinger of death, and is said to tap three times at the window of a dying person’s room (Henderson, “Folk-lore”). THE ROBIN 1 REDBREAST. 23 For many other associations connected with the Robin the reader may be referred to an enthusiastic lecture on it by Mr. Ruskin. He draws out in a curious manner what may be termed the philosophy of its arrangement of feathers, showing how the strength and continuity of its wing-feathers are pro¬ duced. Its legs, too, for their neatness, finish, and precision of action come in for no small admiration. As for the prettiness of its red breast, he lays down, viewing it in the abstract, and with an artist’s eye only, “he can always be outshone by a brickbat.” For a good example, however, of the fantastic mode in which Mr. Ruskin blends ornithology, aesthetics, and morals, a characteristic paragraph of his on this point of the Redbreast’s appearance may fitly end this chapter. “ I said just now, he might be at once outshone by a brickbat. Indeed, the day before yesterday, sleeping at Lichfield, and seeing, the first thing when I woke in the morning (for I never put down the blinds of my bedroom windows), the not un¬ common sight in an English country town of an entire house-front of very neat and very flat and very red bricks, with very exactly squared square windows in it, and not feeling myself in any ways gratified or improved by the spectacle, I was thinking how in this, as in all other good, the too much destroyed all. The breadth of a Robin’s breast in brick-red is delicious, but a whole house-front of brick-red as vivid is alarming. And yet one cannot generalise even that trite moral with any safety, for infinite breadth of green is delightful, however green, and of sea or sky, however blue. “ You must note, however, that the Robin’s charm is greatly helped by the pretty space of grey plumage which separates the red from the brown back, and sets it off to its best advantage. There is no great brilliancy in it, even so relieved ; only the finish of it is exquisite ” (p. 34). Singularly enough, the eloquent writer forgets to enlarge on the perfect adaptation of the Robin’s plumage to its woodland haunts, especially when they are clad in the bravery of autumn. Nor can he find a word for the delightful contrast of its red breast against freshly-fallen snow in winter; and yet these points, it would be supposed, are the first to strike any lover of country sights and birds. To league-long wastes of knotted reeds And mirrored iris, straight succeeds The open Broad ; no sedges shake, With scarce a dimple spreads the lake, The June sun, redd'ning all the west. Pours floods of crimson o’er its breast, And now to glorious night and song Enamoured wakes the warbling throng. Each female sits within the shade Of lofty reeds ; his serenade Her mate resumes, now sweet at will, And softly murmured ; then, more shrill Clear as a bell it forthwith breaks To mimic melodies, now shakes, Is silent now—deep into night Thus sings he with increased delight. Sing on, sweet bird ! affection’s voice Will cheer the partner of thy choice ; It cheers me, listening to thy song, Once heard, by love remembered long; Fulfil thy part in Nature’s plan, To soothe, perchance to teach proud man Soon other lands must hear that strain, But, patience ! thou wilt come again. THE REED WARBLER. {Salicaria arundinacea, L.) Unlike the robin, this member of the large family of the Warblers is a migratory bird, coming to us late in April and leaving in September. White of Selborne does not seem to have known it. though he makes many observations on the Sedge Warbler, which, however, is quite a different and a smaller bird. Yarrell says that the late Mr. Lightfoot was the first who, in the year 1783, clearly discriminated our bird from its congeners, and described its nest, plumage, and habits. “ Like many others of our summer migrants, it is more common on the eastern than on the western side of England ; and it seems not to breed in Devon or Cornwall. In the last county, indeed, it is only known with certainty to have occurred as a straggler, and that but once, in the autumn of 1849, when several were taken in Scilly ” (Newton’s Yarrell, I., p. 370). It does not appear to extend farther towards the north-west than E 26 PICTURES OF BIRD LIFE. Derbyshire, but is known at Scarborough, and so high as the East and West Lothians. A straggler or two only have been found in Ireland. It is eminently a bird of the great reed-beds which form so conspicuous a feature in much of the scenery of the eastern counties, and were still more predominant before the drainage operations of the present century. “ O’er the illimitable reed, And many a glancing plash and sallovvy isle. The wide-wing’d sunset of the misty marsh Glares ” * on the little brown bird and its nest. Thus it is often known as the Reed Bird or Reed Wren. It may have been the bird which Keats had in his mind when he wrote— “ The sedge has withered from the lake, And no birds sing.” It is somewhat curious that the Laureate, with his fondness for marshland scenery and life, does not introduce it specially into his poetry. Mariana might well have listened to its song when “ Upon the middle of the night, Waking, she heard the night-fowl crow; The cock sang out an hour ere light; From the dark fen the oxen’s low Came to her,” for these are precisely the sounds which Mr. Stevenson, who has given so excellent an account of the Reed Warbler, heard when he spent that summer night on Sul- kingham Broad of which he has written so charmingly,! till “ Cold winds woke the grey-eyed morn.” This bird is occasionally found far from reeds, and even water, in thickets; but both by its song and its nest it loves to identify itself with them. Some who are strangers to the fenland scenery of East Anglia may fancy its reed-beds monotonous both in colour and vegetation. We cannot better describe them for such persons as they are seen in the Broads of Norfolk and form the peculiar haunt of the Reed Warbler than by quoting a description which appeared in Blackwood's Magazine for December, 1879. “On either side of the river and round the Broads is a dense wall of emerald reeds from seven to ten feet in height. Then come the yellow iris flowers, tall and bending rushes and bulrushes, the sweet sedge with its curious * “The Last Tournament.” t See Stevenson’s “Birds of Norfolk,” Vol. I., p. 121. THE REED WARBLER. 27 catkins, tangled feathery grasses in such variety that as you stand up to your neck in them you may pluck a dozen kinds without moving, blue clusters of forget-me- nots, foxgloves, spikes of purple loose-strife and broad tufts of valerian, bushes of woody nightshade, and, sweeter than all, masses upon masses all the way along of the cream-white and strong-scented meadow-sweet—these are what make the immediate banks changing panoramas of kaleidoscopic beauty. Then on the water, beneath the reeds, and across shallow bays, and in the little ‘ pulks,’ or miniature Broads, which everywhere open off the river, are lilies, yellow and white, in dazzling abundance.” The Reed Warbler is a great songster, and may be heard throughout the day except in windy weather, but is said to delight chiefly in singing through the twilight of a summer night. It frequently indulges in mimicry of other birds’ songs, and its strains are not so interrupted by the harsh twittering which often spoils the effect of the Sedge Warbler’s melody. Perhaps Mr. Tennyson was thinking of the Reed Warbler when he penned the following striking description of the bulbul’s song :— “ The living airs of middle night Died round the bulbul as he sung: Not he, but something which possessed The darkness of the world. Delight, Life, anguish, death, immortal love, Ceasing not, mingled, unrepressed.” He who would hear this bird must visit the following counties :—Essex, Surrey, Kent, Suffolk, and especially Norfolk. It is common on the banks of the Thames between Erith and Greenwich, in the reed-beds. Worms, insects, and fresh-water molluscs form its food. In these watery districts then the searcher may look out for a brown bird in its upper plumage, with a white throat and under plumage of a yellowish-white. It has no yellowish-white streak over the eye, as has the Sedge Warbler, neither is it so small as that bird. Both birds, however, are noticeable from the rounded form of their tails, of which the outer feathers are shorter than those in the centre. Besides these two birds, the Grass¬ hopper Warbler and Savi’s Warbler (the latter very scarce in England) make up the genus Salicaria, distinguished by its rounded tail, as has been said, and its partiality for watery situations. A single specimen of a fifth member of the family, the Great Sedge Warbler ( S . turdoides ), has been shot near Durham. This is the largest of the European Warblers, being eight inches in length. We can promise the intruder upon the watery domains where the Reed Warbler is found, a feast of beauty, if his eyes have been purged with the euphrasie which will enable him to 28 PICTURES OF BIRD LIFE. see it. We have already quoted a prose account of these singular localities ; Lowell furnishes an excellent companion picture in verse— “ Dear marshes! vain to him the gift of sight Who cannot in their various incomes share, From every season drawn, of shade and light, Who sees in them but levels brown and bare ; Each change of storm or sunshine scatters free On them its largess of variety, For Nature with cheap means still works her wonders rare. “All round, upon the river’s slippery edge, Witching to deeper calm the drowsy tide, Whispers and leans the breeze-entangling sedge; Through emerald glooms the lingering waters slide, Or, sometimes wavering, throw back the sun, And the stiff banks in eddies melt and run Of dimpling lights, and with the current seem to glide.” * There is the nest of the bird to be seen, and what a marvel of beauty and constructive ingenuity is it! It may be compared advantageously in both respects with the nest of the Pensile Grosbeak (Loxia ftensilis), an African nest-weaving bird. Our bird interweaves its nest between the stems of two, three, four, or some¬ times as many as five reeds, with the seed-branches of the reeds and grass, mixed with a little wool, all wound round and together so as to be supported at the same height, however much wind may shake the reeds. It measures five inches in depth outside, and is often three inches deep inside, so that when the reeds are waving in the wind the eggs do not roll out, and the bird has been seen sitting safely on them when almost every gust forced it to the surface of the water. Indeed the nest is so strongly interwoven and compacted that it may be carried away intact, if the reeds which uphold it are cut below, and be preserved as a beautiful specimen of bird architecture. When the nest thus sways in the wind, the old bird is careful to fix her claws firmly into its sides, and then keeping her head towards the wind, swings perfectly secure. The eggs are dull greenish- white, speckled with olive and light brown, and are four or five in number. The young soon quit the nest after being hatched, and by means of their sharp claws cling with much facility to the reeds. The cuckoo frequently lays her egg in a Reed Warbler’s nest. Mr. Thomas relates a curious scene which he once beheld, when a young cuckoo, having settled on a rail, was being fed by its foster-mother, a Reed Warbler:—“ The difference in the size of the two birds was great; it was * “An Indian Summer Reverie. THE REED WARBLER. 31 like a pigmy feeding a giant. When the Reed Warbler was absent, the cuckoo shuffled along the rail, and hopped upon a slender post to which it was nailed, and which projected about eight inches above the rail. The Reed Warbler soon returned with more food, and alighted close to the cuckoo, but on the rail beneath him ; she then began to stretch herself to the utmost to give him the food, but was unable to reach the cuckoo’s mouth, who, like a simpleton, threw his head back, with his mouth wide open, as before. The Reed Warbler, by no means at a loss, perched upon the cuckoo’s broad back, who, still holding back his head, received in this singular way the morsel brought for him. * The Reed Warbler is found in South Sweden, and in Denmark, Germany, and Southern Russia; in short, wherever on the Continent suitable localities tempt it. It is known in Asia Minor, and is very common in the Holy Land, where Dr. Tristram fancied it was an early spring migrant. Just as the bird itself is not invariably found near reeds and water, so its nest is occasionally placed in a different locality. Thus it has been taken from the low part of a poplar-tree, and from a hazel-bush. In such situations the plan of the nest is somewhat modified, but the bird is always fond of wrapping it round with long grass, or with what wool, yarn, string, and the like, she can procure. The Reed Warbler has been kept in confinement, and was then heard to sing at intervals through the winter, as if it were in its favourite spots “ Where winds with reeds and osiers whispering play.” The Sedge Warbler ( S . phragmitis ) keeps up more of a chatter than a song in such places, and especially in the bushes and thickets which fringe a river. It is a great mimic, and, like the Reed Warbler, often sings far into the night, keeping up a perpetual fluttering from twig to twig, and seldom being seen quiet for long together. It is connected in our mind with marshy thickets and balmy summer evenings, when the reeds wave in the refreshing breeze—a time and a scene so well painted by Mr. Jefferies:—“Hush! it is the rustle of the reeds. Their heads are swaying, a reddish-brown now, later on in the year a delicate feathery white. Seen from beneath, their slender tips, as they gracefully sweep to and fro, seem to trace designs upon the blue dome of the sky. A whispering in the reeds and tall grasses, a faint murmuring of the waters; yonder, across the broad water-meadow, a yellow haze hiding the elms.”f If the bustling chatterer within his leafy recesses is silent for a minute or two, a stone or clod hurled in will * See Johns’ “British Birds,” p. 120. t “Wild Life in a Southern County,” p. 243. 32 PICTURES OF BIRD LIFE. at once cause him to resume his varied chirping. His nest is probably close at hand, about a foot from the ground, at no great distance from the water, composed of dead grass, moss, and fine roots, and lined with hair, wool, and feathers. The five or six eggs within are of a dull brown or dirty white hue. Like the Reed Warbler, it comes in April and leaves again in September. To Pennant and White of Selborne belongs the credit of having discovered this species in England. Yet another of the family, the Grasshopper Warbler (S. locustella), may be expected in precisely the same situations as these two birds. It, too, is an immigrant of April, retiring in September. It is more shy than the others, secreting itself in the thickest coverts of its fastnesses and creeping about among the stems of the herbage and reeds, “more like a mouse than a bird,” says Professor Newton. Its chirping monotonous sounds are very characteristic when once recognised, and resemble nothing so much as the constant “click, click” of a fisherman’s reel; hence the bird is sometimes known provincially as the “reeler.” This chatter is very common in the evening, and has been called “ ventriloquistic,” as it seems to proceed from all parts of the thicket where the bird is concealed. It is a small greenish- brown, dusky creature, with a long tail, and its enrolment amongst British birds is again due to the patient observations of White. The nest is as difficult to discover as the bird, and very few ornithologists have ever succeeded in finding one. It is said to be cup-shaped, about four inches across over the top, formed externally of coarse grass and sedges mixed with moss, and lined within with fine bents. It lays from five to seven eggs, of a reddish-white, closely spotted with a darker red. The Grasshopper Warbler is not uncommon in every county of England, and reaches far up into the west coast of Scotland. It does not cross the Baltic, but is found frequently in Germany. Any one with the least pretension to ornithology should be able to distinguish these three birds of the marshes by their song alone—the Reed Warbler, the Sedge Warbler, and the Grasshopper Warbler. Broderip rightly applies the epithet “merry” to the song of the Reed Warbler, “ for merry he is, notwithstanding his pale brown Quakerly suit.” His description of its song agrees with that of most ornithologists. “ The song is varied and pleasing, though hurried, like that of the Sedge Warbler, and is of better quality. Frequently have we heard it when plying the rod on the banks of the Colne. It sings by night as well as by day continually, and its loud music, often heard clearest in the evening twilight or grey dawn, resembles the notes and voices of several different birds.” Barrington, however, did not highly regard its song, perhaps owing to his dissociating it from the watery localities which the bird loves, and viewing THE REED WARBLER. 33 it merely as a bird’s song in the abstract. He constructed a curious table of the comparative merit of our singing birds, making twenty the point of perfection, and assigning so many marks to each bird respectively for its mellowness of note, sprightly notes, plaintive notes, compass, and execution, in a manner worthy of our own age of examinations. Thus the nightingale is credited with a total of ninety marks, or ten less than perfection, the skylark with sixty-three, the robin (of whose song he had evidently a high idea) with fifty-eight. The Reed Warbler, however (or Reed Sparrow, as he terms it), only obtains eight in all ! Such an attempt to con¬ struct an exact estimate of birds’ songs is its own refutation. The writer is swayed by his own predilections, and cannot possibly do justice to all the songsters. Of course the best mode of hearing and observing the Reed Warbler is by boat, save in exceptional localities. Its slender bill, compact form, and sharp claws are admirably adapted for the reed-beds which it loves. Few writers have better described the habits of this bird and its nice adaptation to the reeds and the con¬ ditions of its life than Mudie, with whose remarks the history of the Reed Warbler may fitly conclude :— “That this bird is not adapted for so many situations as the Sedge Bird” (he means the Sedge Warbler) “ might be inferred from the different form of the tail, which is more produced and not wedge-shaped, so that while it answers better as a balance on the bending reeds or other flexible aquatic plants, it would not be so convenient among the unyielding sprays of a hedge or brake. The bird rarely, if ever, perches upon the tops of reeds, even on its first arrival, and when the song of invitation to a mate is given, its place is on a leaf or a leaning stem, though upon an emergency it can cling to an upright one, the stiff feathers of the tail acting as a sort of prop. It is not easily raised, and remains but a very short time upon the wing; but it is by no means timid on its perch, upon which, if it be very flexible, it sits with its wings not quite closed, but recovered, so as to have a little hold on the air, and thereby either prevent its fall or be ready when a gust comes to bear it to a more secure footing. Its food is found wholly over the stagnant waters. The Reed Warbler does not come until the reeds are considerably advanced, and it departs before they are cut, so that it dwells in peace; and, especially in the mornings about the end of May or beginning of June, it may be observed with the greatest ease.” The Kiqhtinqale. Far from thy myrtle-groves, with what keen pleasure To night and silence trill’st thou here thy song ! While pale tranced Dian lingers o’er the measure, And echo fain each cadence would prolong. Sweet bird, of love and callow nestlings dreaming Pour’st thou thy notes in glad nay gleeful mood ? Winged with strange pow’r through dewy foliage streaming Jocund and joyborn runs their hurrying flood ? Not so; thy strain yet rings of old-world trouble Of Tereus and that nameless Daulian grief; Its murm’rous tones their woe renew, redouble, Nor time nor distance lend thy pains relief. Thy plaint, o’er oaks and moonlit waters pealing. Wells from a heart with endless anguish torn ; Afar I listen rapt ; it still comes stealing From darkling glades, though gleams now saffron morn. THE NIGHTINGALE. (,Philomela luscinia, L.) IS is the most famous of the warblers ( Syhnadce ), its song being celebrated both in ancient and modern poetry. Few birds possess a more splendid reputation, and few have a plainer dress. The Nightingale is rich brown above, with a reddish tinge on the tail ; the under parts are greyish-white, the bill and legs light brown. The bird is six and a quarter inches long. Both sexes have the same plumage, and might be passed over unnoticed amongst the tenants of copse and hedgerow by a careless eye. But the soul that has least music in its composition is immediately arrested when the Nightingale sings, especially if a tranquil, balmy night lends additional charms to the melody. The rapture, sweetness, and force of the strain is marvellous. We have listened for an hour at a time to the bird pouring forth burst after burst without intermission a few yards over our head, yet perfectly hid among the foliage, utterly indifferent to any one’s presence, possessed, as the ancients would have said, by a spirit of song. On reaching home, a mile away, in the grey dawn of the brief summer’s night, the bird’s song could still be heard, pealing forth strongly passage after passage of curiously intricate melody. It is a migratory bird, singularly averse to cold or to prolonged flights. For this reason it has been supposed that the Nightingale only crosses the Channel in spring at its narrowed part, the Straits of Dover, and then spreads out in the direction of a fan towards east, north, and west. The theory at all events corresponds well enough with the 36 PICTURES OF BIRD LIFE. ordinary distribution of the bird in England. It is thus all but unknown in Cornwall and Devon, though the latter county especially seems eminently fitted for it, and wholly unknown in Ireland. It is local and rare in North Somerset, found plentifully on the Wye near Tintern, and more rarely through Herefordshire, Shrop¬ shire, Staffordshire, Derbyshire, to about five miles north of York. In Lincolnshire it is local, though some have thought that each year of late it has penetrated to more northern districts. The Oxford and Cambridge college gardens are famed for this bird, and Norwich is a very city of Nightingales. In Scotland it is unknown, and an attempt to introduce it into Caithness by Sir J. Sinclair, who placed Nightin¬ gales’ eggs sent to him from London in robins’ nests, proved an utter failure. The Nightingales were, indeed, hatched, but in September they flew off never to return. On the Continent it occurs in Austria and as far north as Funen. In Greece it is as common as of old. It is found, too, in Arabia and Egypt, and breeds in the valley of the Jordan. With us it arrives, according to White and Markwick’s calendar, and begins to sing in April. The bird-catchers take a great many of the males (which arrive some ten or fourteen days before the females), but multitudes ol these birds speedily die. Copses, thick bushy plantations near water, and the like are favourite localities of the Nightingale. It is said, too, that this bird is fond of a place with an echo. From pairing-time to the hatching of the young the male bird sings his best, day and night. The nest is loosely constructed of dead leaves, bents, and the like, and is placed on or near the ground. The eggs are five or six in number, olive-brown in colour, sometimes passing into red. The food of the bird consists of insects, especially meal-worms, and berries. The male birds cease their serenades when they have to supply the little ones, and then White notices of them:—“ Nightingales, when their young first come abroad and are helpless, make a plaintive and a jarring noise, and also a snapping or cracking, pursuing people along the hedges as they walk. These last sounds seem intended for menace and defiance.” Towards the end of August the Nightingale leaves us again for his winter abodes in the East. Almost all the interest connected with the Nightingale centres in its song. Jesse points to it as a special instance of the power of emulation in causing birds to sing, especially at pairing-time. “ At such time two Nightingales may be heard pouring forth their delightful notes, both day and night, near each other. When a female arrives a contest takes place for her, and when her choice has been made, the rejected bird quits the locality and resumes its song in some other quarter.” The bulbul is a near relative of the Nightingale, and sings beautifully, but is, perhaps, THE NIGHTINGALE. 37 more celebrated amongst the natives of the Carnatic for its fighting qualities. It is held on the finger, attached to it by a string, and fights with great pertinacity. Matthew Arnold exactly points out the time and place when the Nightingale may be best heard— “ With a free onward impulse brushing through, By night, the silvered branches of the glade— Far on the forest-skirts, where none pursue, On some mild pastoral slope Emerge, and resting on the moonlit pales, Freshen thy flowers, as in former years, With dew, or listen with enchanted ears From the dark dingles to the Nightingales ! ” What that song is has been described by a multitude of poets in every term of praise permitted by the language. A list of 178 adjectives applied as epithets to this bird has been published, and probably a diligent student of poetry could add many more to them. A most excellent prose imitation was composed by Bechstein, upon a type of Bettini’s, a Jesuit who lived more than two hundred years ago. It will be found in a book easily accessible to most people, Chambers’ “ Book of Days,” Vol. I., p. 516. But no one has written so beautifully of the bird as Izaak Walton, who is popularly celebrated for quite another craft than authorship :—“ The Nightingale, another of my airy creatures, breathes such sweet loud music out of her little instrumental throat, that it might make mankind to think miracles are not ceased. He that at midnight, when the very labourer sleeps securely, should hear, as I have very often, the clear airs, the sweet descants, the natural rising and falling, the doubling and redoubling of her voice, might well be lifted above earth and say, ‘ Lord, what music hast Thou provided for the saints in Heaven when Thou affordest bad men such music on earth! ’ ” For a scientific criticism of its melody perhaps the following words recently published by Mr. Sully may suffice :— “It is a noteworthy feature of bird-song that for the most part it does not wander freely from note to note, but confines itself to certain fixed groups of notes, which may be called elementary themes or motives. The song of the lark illustrates the absence of such recurring phrases; the song of the robin, the chaffinch, the thrush, the Nightingale, and a host of others is marked by their presence. A bird’s rank in the feathered orchestra may be determined by the number and beauty of these recurring phrases. Measured in this way, the Nightingale is facile princeps among the visitants of our climate, though it is disputed whether the American mocking¬ bird is not superior by reason of its richer rdpertoire of subjects.” 38 PICTURES OF BIRD LIFE. Much of the folk-lore that gathered round the Nightingale in classical poetry, and still furnishes it with poetical epithets, names, and imagery, comes from the myth that Philomela and Progne, daughters of Pandion, King of Athens, were changed respectively into a Nightingale and a swallow. As this happened at Daulis, the former is often called the Daulian and, again, the Attic bird. Pliny says that it sings on its first arrival for fifteen days and nights without intermission, and when conquered in song often dies from vexation. One sang in the mouth of Stesichorus when an infant, he goes on to assert, typifying the sweetness of his future lyrics. With a remembrance of this legend Lord Byron said that a Nightingale sang in the room in which Moore was born. Pliny, like Bechstein, in an exquisite passage, happily hits off the varied yet harmonious song of the Nightingale. It is often asserted amongst our poets, and believed by rustics, that the Nightingale builds its nest with a thorn to penetrate it and prick the bird’s breast. In France a still prettier myth makes the male bird lean upon a thorn as it sings, and thus bewail its own sufferings. The Nightingale was associated in English folk-lore with the robin for the kind services both were supposed to render to the dead. Thus Herrick says— “ When I departed am, ring thou my bell, Thou pitiful and pretty Philomel; And when I’m laid out for a corse, then be Thou sexton, redbreast, for to cover me; ” and another old writer makes “the robin waite in his redde livorie on the Nightin¬ gale, who sits as a crowner on the murthred man, and plays the sorrie tailour to make him a mossy rayment.” No bird is so universal a favourite among our poets as the Nightingale. Among all their descriptions of its melody, all their delight in its song, Keats’ “Ode to a Nightingale” is unsurpassed in feeling and beauty. Chaucer, who was as fond of singing birds as of May month and wild flowers, speaks of “ The Nightingale, That clepith forthe the freshe levis newe ; ” and adds it to a picture of spring— “ Then doth the Nightingale her might To makin noise and singen blithe.” Thomson, again, depicts the Nightingale’s woe in words as tender as they are true to nature, although due to a classical prototype— “ But let not chief the Nightingale lament Her ruin’d care, too delicately framed THE NIGHTINGALE. 41 To brook the harsh confinement of the cage. Oft when returning with a loaded bill Th’ astonished mother finds a vacant nest, By the hard hand 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 sorrows through the night, and on the bough Sole-sitting, still at every dying fall Takes up again her lamentable strain Of winding woe, till wide around the woods Sigh to her song, and with her wail resound.” Spring. Among modern poets, Coleridge and Tennyson ( The Vision of Sin ) have dwelt upon the Nightingale’s rapturous song. The latter has a novel image in “ Enoch Arden ” well worthy of quotation— “ Where a passion, yet unborn, perhaps, Lay hidden, as the music of the moon Sleeps in the plain eggs of the Nightingale.” Throughout all modern poetry two distinct views are taken of the Nightingale’s song one that it is a merry, joyous strain ; the other that it is a mournful melody. Partly their own idiosyncrasy, partly the fables of the ancients, have coloured men s minds herein. Milton, as might be expected, generally deems it a sad song. The Nightingale was his favourite bird, singing, like himself, in darkness, and “nightly singing her sad song well.’ A wonderful collection of poetic imagery may be made from the passages in which he dwells upon this bird, many of which are of un¬ rivalled sweetness and execution, and will gns the reader some idea of his learning and the prodigality of his poetic genius. The lark seems to have been Shake¬ speare’s favourite bird, and a theorist may easily see in this preference the character both of his temperament and his poetry. But we may be sure that as a Warwick¬ shire man he has not omitted the Nightingale from the long list of rustic birds and objects which appear in the plays. Juliet thus pleads with her lover “ It was the Nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree. Believe me, love, it was the Nightingale! ” and another lover says— Except I be by Sylvia in the night, There is no music in the Nightingale.” 42 PICTURES OF BIRD LIFE. We hear, too, of “the Nightingale’s complaining woes,” and of “twenty caged Nightingales,” showing that the cruelties practised on this bird by the snarers are not of recent infliction. But Shakespeare can upon occasion hear the merry, gleeful mood in this bird’s character, as in— “ Philomel with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby ; ” and in “ She sings as sweetly as any Nightingale.” The bird’s name and its suggestiveness probably caused him to put into Edgar’s mouth in “King Lear” that “the foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the shape of a Nightingale.” Almost every one, when disputing whether the bird’s song is glad or mournful, has been confronted with the objection that much of the sweetness and effectiveness of the strain is due to its association with the peaceful images of night. Shakespeare long ago put this view in the mouth of Portia— “And I think The Nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren.” There is a legend in Essex that Nightingales never sing at St. Oswyth, because they interrupted Becket’s evening prayers by their song, and were cursed by the saint for their ill-timed merriment. The love of the Nightingale for the rose forms the theme of much Persian poetry. Sir William Jones thus translates a Persian quatrain— “ Come, charming maid, and hear thy poet sing, Thyself the rose, and he the bird of spring; Love bids him sing, and Love will be obeyed. Be gay ! Too soon the flowers of spring will fade and Byron, in a beautiful description of the rose as known only in all its fragrance in the East, has not forgotten the myth— “For there the rose o’er crag or vale, Sultana of the Nightingale, The maid for whom his melody, His thousand songs, are heard on high, Blooms blushing to her lover’s tale. His queen, the garden queen, his rose, Unbent by winds, unchilled by snows, THE NIGHTINGALE. 43 Far from the winters of the west, By every breeze and season blest, Returns the sweets by nature given In softest incense back to heaven.” The Giaour. It is cruel to continue the quotation, seeing under what atmospheric difficulties the rosarians of the West cultivate their favourite flower, many of them uncheered by any Nightingale songs. Of two lovers the same poet, following herein Shakespeare, writes— And again— “ They should have lived together deep in woods, Unseen as sings the Nightingale; they were Unfit to mix in these thick solitudes Called social.” “ There was no reason for their loves More than for those of Nightingales or doves.” A delightful legend to account for the sadness and nocturnal singing of the Nightingale exists in the Val Ste. Veronique. “ Long ago it used to sing like other birds in the day-time; but once in a warm night of May one fell asleep on a rapidly growing vine. The tendrils of this grew very fast, and twined about its slender legs as it slept, so that when morn broke it could not escape, and its mates came to compassionate its woe. At length it died, and they were so impressed by its sad end that they dared no longer to sleep at night, but watched in fear, and sung to keep each other awake. Even yet they utter the same notes of warning, and what they say is this; ‘ La vigne pousse—pousse pousse, vitc, \ite, \ite, vite, vite, vite, vite! ’ pronouncing ‘pousse,’ &c., slowly and in soft cadences, vite higher and higher till it finishes in a rapid presto.”—(P. G. Hamerton in the Portfolio , 1874, P- 159 )- But of all the poetic descriptions of the Nightingale’s song none expresses its hopeful side, and contrasts with it that prophetic insight which is inseparable from all true human poetry better than the Laureate “And the Nightingale thought, ‘I have sung many songs, But never a one so gay, For he sings of what the world will be When the years have died away!’” The Poet's Song. The Blackcap And doubtless Milton's dark¬ ened sight Thy melody beguiled. For fancy flies with gladsome mood. As trill in murm’rous flows Thy plaintive joys, to Arden's wood, On where Herne's bugle blows. With this thought be thy song inspired, This thy life’s brightest page ;— Blackcap, by all thy friends admired, But loved by Selborne’s sage. Among the varied songs of May That gladden field or grove, I deem, blithe bird, thy wood¬ land lay All other songs above. The skylark cheers the grassy plain, The thrush may whistle strong From budding elms, a wilder Strain Is thine, a dearer song. Sure am I that our Shake¬ speare's might Thrilled at thy woodnotes wild ; Vi ; [Sylvia atricapilla , L.) ^jpHE Blackcap is a well-known member of the Sylvia dee, ^ celebrated chiefly for its song. The birds forming this great family are generally of a delicate type, with an awl-shaped bill, but there are several aberrant forms. This one is known in Norfolk as the Mock Nightingale, and like that bird it sing-s far into the night. Bechstein says that the Blackcap rivals, and in the opinion of some surpasses, the nightingale’s song. “If” he adds, “it has less volume, strength, and expression, it is more pure, easy, and flutelike in its tones, and its song is perhaps more varied, smooth, and delicate.” It is a migratory bird; “in April, in the very first fine weather they come trooping, all at once, into these parts, but are never seen in winter. They are delicate songsters,” writes White, with whom the bird was a special favourite. “ Its note,” again he says, “has such a wild sweetness, that it always brings to my mind those lines in a song in ‘ As You Like It — ‘And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird’s throat.’ ” And no one has better characterised its song than he has done in another passage. “The Blackcap has in common a full, sweet, deep, loud and wild pipe; yet that strain is of short continuance, and his motions are desultory ; but when that bird sits calmly and engages in song in earnest, he pours forth very sweet, but inward melody, and expresses great variety of soft and gentle modulations, superior perhaps 46 PICTURES OF BIRD LIFE. to those of any of our warblers, the nightingale excepted. Blackcaps mostly haunt gardens and orchards; while they warble, their throats are wonderfully distended.” The Blackcap is five inches and a half in length. The top and back of the head is jet-black in the male, but reddish or chocolate colour in the female ; the upper plumage, wings, and tail are ash-grey, shading into olive ; the under plumage is a lighter grey. The female is larger than the male, and the young birds have not so conspicuous a hood as she has. Occasionally the Blackcap spends the winter in the British Islands ; and (says Professor Newton) “ it would, singularly enough, seem that in winter some, if not all of the males, lose their black caps, and have their heads coloured like those of the females.” About the middle of April, but never till the larches are green, “ the pilgrim gray with sable head ” appears in his favourite haunts. White gives 26th March to 4th May as the times within which he is first heard. And he departs before the middle of September, when so many of his family also leave our shores. The males seem to arrive, as does the nightingale, before the females, and they are at first timid and shy, seeking to conceal themselves. It has then the trick of practising its song in a low tone, “ recording ” as the bird-fanciers call it, a habit which often leads to its capture. After a few days it obtains its full powers of song. It is said, like many other powerful songsters, to be a mimic, or “ polyglot,” as White quaintly termed it, at times. Another curious trait in its history is that it shares with its mate the duties of incubation, and is then very fearless, but not so much as the hen-bird, who will not mind an observer coming quite close to her. Its food consists of insects, berries, and fruit, especially ivy-berries, raspberries, and red currants. Sweet says, “When it first arrives in this country its chief food is the early-ripened berries of the ivy, and where these are there the Blackcaps are first to be heard singing their melodious and varied song. By the time the ivy-berries are over, the little green larvae of the small moths will be getting plentiful, rolled up in the young shoots and leaves ; this then is their chief food until the strawberries and cherries become ripe; after that there is no want of fruit or berries till their return, and there is no sort of fruit or berry that is eatable or wholesome that they will refuse. After they have cleared the elder-berries in autumn, they immediately leave us.” This bird visits and breeds in all our counties. It is local, but not scarce in Ireland, while in Scotland it may be called rare, though its nest has been found in the south, and the bird itself has occurred so far north as Caithness and the Orkneys. It visits also every country of Europe, though scarce in Sweden and Norway. It breeds in the Holy Land, and is a bird of passage in Egypt, Nubia, the blackcap. 47 Abyssinia, and along the Red Sea, coming from the south in February and March. Bishop Mant gives a very faithful sketch of the Blackcaps life in England in the following pretty lines :— “ Mid the fruit-trees’ blooming bowers, Where now the warm prolific hours Tempt him the ivy buds to quit, And through the flowery orchard flit Or garden, for his filmy prey, Enlivened by the sunny ray, The Blackcap see! And now with trill Of wild note from his mellow bill He cheers, and now with gnat or fly Caught sporting in the azure sky, Attent his brooding consort feeds. And, as the nestling task proceeds, Oft may you mark his sable crown Exchanged for hers of russet brown.” The nest is usually placed in a hedge or low bush a few feet above the ground, and is built of bents and dry herbage, with a lining of fine roots and hair. The eggs are five or six in number, and differ greatly in colour, usually falling under one of two types. They are either pale greenish-white variously mottled with several shades . , d r pa ie crimson hue mottled with darker reddish- of brown, or are ot a ngni reu u b brown or purple. The Blackcap is a favourite cage-bird, not merely from its song, but from the friendly disposition it shows. On the Continent a still worse fate too often befalls it. It is killed as a beccafico, or fig-eater; all fruit-eating birds, , i-.- fAr tbp table coming- under this appellation in Italy, when fat and in good condition for the taoie, coi & be y ,, , , .i Aristotle and Pliny was that beccaficoes and A very old article of folk-lore both with Aristotle an y . , <