Nightingales 75 



of blackbirds, the piping of thrushes, the warbling 

 of a hundred others, suddenly, as a Diva's voice above 

 that of some great human choir, ring out the long- 

 drawn notes of the nightingale, followed by a succes- 

 sion of trills and warbles, which perhaps only Jenny 

 Lind ever really represented in the human voice. 

 There is a peculiar strength of quality in a nightin- 

 gale's voice, which, even when he is singing in the 

 midst of a full chorus of other birds, shines out and 

 is separated from among them, forcibly catching the 

 ear of the listener. Other voices, such as the black- 

 birds, may be, in a sense, richer in quality, even as 

 a contralto or mezzo-soprano may have at times a 

 richer sound than a soprano ; but no bird can equal 

 the nightingale in that wonderful gush of quickly- 

 changing notes and stanzas, poured forth with such 

 ease and strength — strength more wonderful con- 

 sidering the small body from which it issues. 



And this bird Diva — if one may, with poets, 

 endow him with a feminine title — [the hen bird does 

 not sing] — what is his outward appearance ? 



Certainly extremely unlike the Divas of human 

 society, gorgeous in Parisian silks and satins. 



What is he like, this sweet singing bird whose 

 notes are ringing out from among the thorn trees ? 



The very fact that he is hidden under showers of 

 blossoming May rather enhances the beauty of his 

 song than otherwise, lending a spirit of mystery to his 

 presence. 



Now he has paused at the end of a trill, and a 

 small gracefully-made bird flits to the ground amongst 



