THE THRUSH'S FAREWELL. 135 



sings earlier and later in the day than most of our sylvan choristers, 

 and I never enjoyed its song so much as when waiting for the Brake 

 Nightingale to strike up. Then indeed it is peculiarly delightful 

 even to hear them sending forth their alarm-notes, bidding good- 

 night as it were to their companions : when, but a few minutes 

 before, the woods had rung with their charming melody, all is now 

 still, and nothing of the Garden Thrushes is heard but their ' good- 

 night.' When one individual shouts out this farewell from his airy- 

 bed, he is answered on all sides by dozens of others, and then for a 

 few minutes deep silence reigns in the woods, until, all vulgar song- 

 sters having ended their tales, the Brake Nightingale commences 

 his. The Garden Thrush continues singing till it is nearly dark, 

 and one or two individuals keep up much later. In the long days 

 he commences at one o'clock in the morning, and I have frequently 

 been out at this time on purpose to hear it singing. 



Richard Howitt, we remember, thus alludes to the even- 

 ing song of this bird : 



High in the dawn the Lark will sing 



O'er mountain and o'er river, 

 Wafting that worship on free wing 



To the all-bounteous Giver. 



The Thrush at eve as sweet as loud, 



Of joy like large partaker, 

 Will sing amid the singing crowd 



Yet louder to his Maker. 



Macgillivray thus beautifully describes one of the localities 

 in which he has observed this bird, and the soothing effect 

 of its music : 



The Song Thrush is associated in my memory with the Hebrides, 

 where it is perhaps more abundant than in most parts of Britain. 

 There, in the calm summer evening, such as for placid beauty far 

 exceeds any that I have elsewhere seen, when the glorious sun is 

 drawing towards the horizon, and shedding a broad glare of ruddy 

 light over the smooth surface of the ocean; when the scattered 

 sheep, accompanied by their frolicsome lambkins, are quietly 

 browsing on the hill ; when the broad- winged eagle is seen skim- 

 ming along the mountain ridge, as he wends his way toward his 

 eyrie on the far promontory ; when no sound comes on the ear, save 

 at intervals the faint murmur of the waves, rushing into the caverns, 

 and rising against the faces of the cliffs ; when the western breeze 

 stealing over the flowery pastures carries with it the perfume of the 

 wild thyme and white clover ; the song of the Thrush is poured 

 forth from the summit of some granite block, shaggy with grey 



