THE NIGHTINGALE 447 



of a bird suddenly darted into view, flung itself without ceremony 

 upon the most conspicuous perch to be seen, and there burst into 

 a strident song that filled the wood. Need I say this vocalist was 

 a wren? The nightingale stopped singing. He at least seems to 

 have been impressed painfully so. And if he was, small wonder ! 



Many who have heard the nightingale sing have not seen it 

 doing so, and their impression of the bird when thus engaged is 

 gained from stuffed specimens or faulty drawings. In actual life 

 it has not the long-drawn thin appearance, as of a wild emaciated 

 minor poet, which it is given, for instance, in the glass case at 

 South Kensington. It is a well-built bird, robust, compact. Notwith- 

 standing the almost violent vibrations of the throat which set every 

 feather on it quivering, and send responsive, though far less 

 perceptible, tremours through the whole body to the ends of the 

 slightly drooping wings and down-bent tail, it preserves, even when 

 uttering its most tumultuous notes, an appearance of ease and perfect 

 self-possession. 



The same lack of familiarity with the bird itself accounts partly 

 for the contrast not uncommonly made between the beauty of its 

 song and the plainness of its plumage. No one, however, can see 

 the nightingale without being impressed by the fact that it is a 

 handsome bird, shapely in all its lines and curves, and though 

 lacking any striking colours, yet showing soft tints of russets and 

 chestnut reds and greys that have a beauty quite as pleasing in its 

 way as that of plumages much more resplendent. And just as 

 Meredith's Egoist, Sir Willoughby Patten, and our Sir Robin Red- 

 breast have a "leg," so the nightingale has a "tail," not lively like 

 that of the redstart, and not so brilliant in its warm chestnut hue, 

 but larger, broader, more shapely, more imposing, and above all 

 more weighty, so much so, that when the bird jerks it he seems to 

 be lifting weight. 



In many of its habitual actions the nightingale, like the redstart, 

 resembles the robin. It has the same way of cocking its head on one 



