146 An OrnitJiological Visit to Warzvickshire. [Sess. 



imagination can call its music beautiful, as it seems to consist 

 solely of the same few notes repeated indefinitely ; yet the 

 sound is cheerful, and by no means unpleasant. The bird 

 itself is lively and restless, usually jumping about the tops 

 of high trees, and seldom remaining long in any one posi- 

 tion, although the radius of its movements is not great, as it 

 seems to confine these to one specified locality, where, judging 

 from the sound, it must be indulging in what to it is circum- 

 navigation of the globe on a diminished scale. Why this 

 species is not more frequent in Scotland would be difficult to 

 tell, as it is quite as hardy as the willow-wren and wood- 

 wren — in fact, more so, as in some years it arrives very early, 

 when cold wintry blasts inform us that, notwithstanding the 

 calendar division of the year into seasons, the months of 

 March and April are often only spring months in name, and 

 hardly deserve to be designated as such. Not to prolong 

 description of this less attractive species, let us turn to the 

 much more interesting nightingale. Probably no bird has been 

 the subject of so much writing in prose, or provoked in a greater 

 degree the zeal of the poets, among which latter class are 

 included for the time being all those who imagine themselves 

 possessed of the " sacred fire," whatever that article may be. 

 An ill-natured writer once said that a poet was a man who 

 wrote stuff that nobody would read, and that he could not 

 understand himself ; but without acquiescing in that sweeping 

 denunciation, there is no doubt that many rhymers are re- 

 sponsible for much erroneous matter when they go into 

 raptures over bird-life. An old idea, now happily exploded, 

 used to pass muster that the nightingale placed a sharp thorn 

 in her nest, and, by leaning painfully against it, was thereby 

 induced to sing in a more plaintive and sorrowful tone. Over- 

 looking for the moment the curious inaccuracy of attributing 

 vocal powers to the female, as it is only the male who warbles, 

 it can scarcely be thought probable that a thorn inflicting pain 

 upon the performer would be an incentive to melody. Mr 

 Harting, author of several ornithological works, and among 

 them ' The Ornithology of Shakespeare,' gives an interesting 

 account of this superstition, and indicates two passages where 

 the great dramatist himself makes allusion to the belief. It 

 by no means follows, however, that Shakespeare believed in its 



