WARBLERS. 65 
noticed the intense sadness which, according to 
Mr. Johns, is the prevailing characteristic of its 
utterances. On the contrary, it has always seemed 
to me that the song was more or less bright and 
joyful throughout, and, although some parts may be 
more restrained and subdued than others, there is 
always, to my ears, an under-current of pride and 
content, giving one a dimly-realised impression that 
the floods of melody are forced from the bird by 
its utter inability to restrain the expression of its 
happiness. 
There is a very general belief, dating back for 
three centuries at least, to the effect that the nightin- 
gale is a strictly nocturnal songster, remaining per- 
sistently mute until after the shades of evening have 
fallen; and another, equally fallacious, which holds 
that the hen-bird is the vocalist. Portia, for instance, 
delivers herself of her conviction that— 
The nightingale, if she should sing by day, 
When every goose is cackling, would be thought 
No better a musician than the wren. 
Merchant of Venice, act v. scene I. 
Shakespeare, of course, was far from being an 
accomplished naturalist, and, for the majority of his 
zoological statements, seems to have trusted entirely 
to popular report. And, in the present instance, he 
expressed an opinion entertained by many from that 
day to this, which, strangely enough, has held its own 
in spite of its utter falsity. 
That the bird is generally Zeard at night I grant, 
F 2 
