  The name of this bird is familiar to every one—ornithologist or otherwise. Poets have sung his praises for centuries, and not in vain, for there are few who do not in consequence feel a desire to hear this unsurpassed musician of the bird world. Like all good things, however, our songster does not overwhelm us with his melody. On his arrival in this country, about the third week in April, he bursts forth, pouring out his ecstasy in glorious and varied song. What a thrill it gives us as we listen on a warm spring evening to the liquid notes bubbling forth and resounding through the still air. He pauses for breath, and we can then hear in the distance the voice of another and yet another answering the song, the more distant warbling sounding as echoes of our own musician, till the whole country-side is full of exquisite melody. We retire, feeling in ourselves the magic of that “breath of spring” which has brought the ever-welcome wanderer to our shores once more. To attempt to describe that song in words would be impossible; loud and clear with full-toned deep liquid notes, now rising with impassioned fervour, and then, suddenly stopping, he recommences after a telling pause with a low plaintive cry. There is no mistaking it when heard; it is the trained voice breathing soul and fire with every note, compared with which the songs of our other birds, however bright and joyous, are like dismal pipings. NIGHTINGALE Soon after his arrival comes his mate, and then the song will be at its best and continue both day and night, till one wonders how and when he can sleep. Nest-building is begun almost immediately; a site is chosen on the ground in some thicket, and a delicate cup is formed of dead leaves loosely laid together with a lining of horse hair and other finer materials. The eggs are of a uniform dark olive green and are generally six in number. The hen alone sits, and when disturbed hops away silently from her nest, rendering it very difficult to be discovered. Small woods and coppices are the situations most popular with these birds, especially narrow strips of woodland bordering fields, to which they often make excursions in search of their food. This consists entirely of insects; spiders and flies forming the greater bulk, though no insect comes amiss. These are almost entirely sought for on the ground, and in fact he very seldom seeks the upper branches of the trees or bushes, preferring to remain hidden in their lower recesses. As soon as the young are hatched the song ceases, and a harsh croak is the only sound emitted as he watches us passing near his nest. One brood only is reared, and then they seem to disappear from our “ken.” Shy and silent birds, always keeping to the thick cover, they spend a few The plumage above is warm brown, passing to reddish brown on the tail and tail coverts; under parts greyish white, buffish on the flanks and breast. The young have light centres to the feathers of the upper parts and are indistinctly barred on the breast. Length 6·5 in.; wing 3·35 in. In our islands this species has a very restricted range, being only known to the south-east of a line from the Humber to the Severn. In Shropshire and South Wales it is sometimes heard, and the same may be said of Devonshire, where, however, of late years a pair or two have nested annually. (This species sometimes exceeds in size the Greater Nightingale or “Sprosser,” which has been recorded from this country, but our bird may always be recognised by the larger bastard primary, which in the “Sprosser” is minute.) |
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