LONDON BIRDS 21 



oak-trees of Grendon Wood. It is fresh Nature 

 everywhere. 



Milton takes the wand and the country changes to 

 the town. We smell the leather of dusty piles of 

 learned volumes, and stand half afraid in the presence 

 of the man who could see in the gloom to report for a 

 Parliament of Devils, and look without flinching at 



' The living throne, the sapphire blaze, 

 Where angels tremble as they gaze,' 



but never, even before his blindness, could have had an 

 eye for a bird. 



But to return to the Nightingale's song. It is a libel 

 to call it sad. As a matter of fact, it's the exact 

 reverse. There are in it, of course, none of the blood- 

 stirring notes of war and crime to be heard in the cry 

 of the Eagle, nor does it, like the wail of the seabird on 

 the hungry shore, carry with it suggestions of Robinson 

 Crusoe adventure ; but it is peaceful, self-sufficing, and 

 perfectly happy home affections and domestic joy set 

 to music. Perhaps to some of us, with boys to start in 

 life, even the curious croak, almost like a frog's, which 

 a Nightingale gives every now and then when the 

 young birds are leaving the nest, but only then, may 

 not altogether destroy the truth of the rendering. 



This is old Isaac Walton's opinion : ' He that at 

 midnight, when the very labourer sleeps securely, 

 should hear, as I have very often, the clear airs, the 

 sweet descants, the natural rising and falling, the 

 doubling, and redoubling of her voice, might well be 

 lifted above earth and say, "Lord, what music hast 



