ON THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE NIGHTINGALE. 29 



the return of spring — who mark with joy the progress made by 

 every lengthening day, and hail each vernal flower as it opens — 

 who can be happy because the landscape smiles around, and the 

 howl of the tempest and the whistling of the winter winds have 

 yielded to the soft genial breath, to the bright warm sunshine of a 

 " merrie Aprile morn" — to those who can rejoice in Nature's holi- 

 day, and can stoop to derive instruction and pleasure from observing 

 the various every-day beings that surround us, to whom volumes of 

 wisdom lie open in every weed — to the true lovers of Nature, in 

 whose ardent bosoms every advance of the opening season kindles a 

 new pleasurable emotion, and awakens a fresh delightful reminis- 

 cence — the arrival of our summer birds of passage, as gradually, 

 one after another, they are announced by their cheerful melody 

 resounding through the woods and glades, from garden and from 

 grove — constitute a sort of epoch in the youthful year : till then, 

 the sunbeams are regarded but as wintry smiles, and the fragrant 

 breath of spring is feared as the precursor of a storm. 



Order in which the more conspicuous species make their appear- 

 ance. — First, upon some balmy morning, when the thrilling Larks, 

 on high, attune the very skies to harmony, and the deep, full melo- 

 dy of the Blackbird, and broken music of the Thrush, reverberate 

 through the leafless woods, and the yellow vernal butterflies are 

 first seen disporting in the sunshine — when the primrose and odor- 

 ous violet begin to dot the banks, and the budding willows already 

 shew their yellow green — suddenly, a loud cheering note, the lively 

 animated flourish of the gay Blackcap, sounds from a bare spray 

 again repeated and again, and the monotonous continued cry of the 

 wee ChiffchaiF, echoing from afar, proclaim at length that summer 

 is indeed at hand, and already is triumphant in the south. 



Already on the open downs the Wheatear is seen hopping over 

 the glebe, and a cloud of Sand-Mar tins are sporting about the 

 stream ; the joyous, laughing peal of the little Willow- Wren soon is 

 warbled from the furze, the sailing Tree Pipit descends, singing, frosa 

 the lofty elm, and the Wryneck repeats his call from the gnarled 

 stump : and now the Redstart chaunts his lay from the tip-top of 

 some high pinnacle ; the welcome Cuckoo-cry is heard, and a soli- 

 tary Swallow skims before us across the meadow. The earlier trees 

 have half put forth their leaves, and the teeming earth is fragrant 

 with refreshing rain. 



The Nightingale. — Then soon, upon a soft, bright morning, when 

 the fruit-trees are arrayed in purest white, and diamond drops- 

 memorials of the passing shower — hang sparkling in the sunshine. 



