SYLVIAD^E. 



think, too, though, my assertion may seem a barbarous 

 one, that if the Nightingale's song comprised the wailing 

 notes alone, it would be universally shunned as the most 

 painfully melancholy sound in nature. From this, however, 

 it is redeemed by the rapid transition, just when the 

 anguish of the bird has arrived at such a pitch as to be no 

 longer supportable, to a passage overflowing with joy and 

 gladness. In the first or second week of June he ceases 

 his song altogether. His cataract of sweet sounds is 

 exhausted, and his only remaining note is a harsh croak 

 exactly resembling that of a frog, or the subdued note of 

 a raven. On one occasion only I have heard him in full 

 song so late as the fourth week in June ; but this probably 

 was a bird whose first nest had been destroyed, and whose 

 song consequently had been retarded until the hatching of 

 a second brood. From this time until the end of August, 

 when he migrates eastward, he may often be observed 

 picking up grubs, worms, and ants' eggs on the garden 

 lawn, or under a hedge in fields, hopping from place to 

 place with an occasional shake of the wings and raising of 

 the tail, and conspicuous whenever he takes one of his short 

 flights by his red tail-coverts. 



The Nightingale's nest is constructed of dead leaves, 

 principally of the oak, loosely put together and placed on 

 the ground under a bush. Internally it is lined with grass, 

 roots, and a few hairs. It contains four or five eggs of a 

 uniform olive-brown. 



