94 Idylls of the Field. 



rise a few loud notes that seem to cut the air with 

 keen clear tone. 



That is the prelude. And then follow the liquid 

 warble, the plaintive monotone, the silvery trill — all 

 the beauty of that wonderful song that poets in all 

 ages have delighted to honour. 



And although Audubon claimed the mocking-bird 

 as the chief of singers ; though to the fancy of Linnaeus 

 sweeter seemed the warble of the redwing ; though to 

 the colonist of New Zealand the organ-bird surpasses 

 all the half-forgotten songsters of his native land, the 

 nightingale, at his best, need fear no rival. 



In so long a composition it is not surprising that 

 there should be constant variations, and indeed it is 

 probable that few birds repeat their songs without 

 alteration. Even the chiffchaff constantly varies the 

 arrangement of his simple notes, and the chaffinch is 

 for ever changing the position of the trills in his 

 polished little ditty, and the number of notes in the 

 flourish at the end. 



A bird like the sedge-warbler — who weaves together 

 any songs to which he listens, and who copies all with 

 equal skill — brings endless changes into his song, 

 though it lacks the vigour and expression of more 

 original composers. 



He, too, sings in the twilight, though, like the 

 nightingale, you may hear him all the livelong day. 



His haunt is by the stream that loiters through the 

 meadows, or among the reeds along the ditch over- 



