64 ENGLISH BIRD LIFE 



practically unknown in others. Its northern breed- 

 ing range is limited — the neighbourhood of Copen- 

 hagen being given as the highest latitude at which 

 eggs have been found. 



It is not easy to speak soberly of the song of 

 the Nightingale. In all questions relating to art, 

 unanimous opinion is rare. The characters of taste 

 are so diverse that they find of necessity matter for 

 admiration in widely different objects. The supre- 

 macy which binds every critic, great and small 

 alike, helpless to its chariot wheels, is obviously of 

 the highest. It is the final test, and this test the 

 song of the Nightingale has long survived. In the 

 mind of the world it stands alone. 



There is a mystery in the music of birds, a 

 mystery which transcends all merely technical laws 

 of harmony, which ceases to be a mere matter of 

 volume and quality of note. Nature's appeals, her 

 sunrises, snow-clad peaks, springing meadows and 

 hushed woodland recesses, are made constantly 

 through the single channel of the eye. As we 

 listen to the Nightingale, we feel that another line 

 of communication has been opened. 



" Lord, what musick hast Thou provided for the 

 saints in Heaven, when Thou affordest bad men 

 such musick on earth." 



Izaak Walton's enthusiasm for " the airy creature 

 which breathes such sweet sounds out of her little 

 instrumental throat, that it might make mankind to 

 think that miracles had not ceased," is an all- 

 pervading sentiment. It is possessed by poet and 

 by ploughman alike. 



