THE NIGHTINGALE. 27 



and flapping wings, and readily took the morsel I held 

 out for it between the points of a small old pair of surgical 

 forceps that I had devoted to the use of young birds. 



At this time the Nightingale would eat flesh-flies and 

 wood-lice, or any kind of garden insect that was offered 

 to it, but afterwards, when it became able to feed itself, 

 which it did in the course of ten or twelve days after I 

 had it, it absolutely refused to touch them, and would 

 only partake of ants' eggs and mealworms, of which last 

 it would, I believe, have eaten any number given it. 



When this bird, which required to be fed about every 

 twelve minutes or so from daylight to dark, while it 

 was immature, became able to supply its own wants, 

 it got considerably wilder than poor dear Joey had been 

 and would never come on my hand, though while I was 

 feeding it it used to do so freely, and I had to keep it in 

 a cage, which was three feet six long, by two wide and 

 two and a half high, and only wired in front. 



Instead of straight perches I substituted a branch of a 

 tree, on which it would sit and sing for half an hour at 

 a time. If was extremely fond of bathing and soon 

 began to change colour. The tail and wing feathers 

 were not cast, but the body ones were and in a very 

 short time after it was able to feed itself the nest feathers 

 were replaced by those that distinguish the adult. 



It was a very handsome creature, and large, too, with 

 every plume as perfect as if it had been in the woods. 

 After a time it began to sing sweetly in a low tone, as 



