542 



A HISTORY OF 



found their words, or talk both together, but 

 rather utter them alternately and of course. 

 Besides the daily discourse of the guests, 

 they chaunted out two stories, which gene- 

 rally held them from midnight till morning ; 

 and that with such modulations and inflex- 

 ions, that no man could have taken to come 

 from such little creatures. When I asked 

 the host if they had been taught, or whether 

 he observed their talking in the night ; he 

 answered, no: the same said the whole family. 

 But I, who could not sleep for nights together, 

 was perfectly sensible of their discourse. 

 One of their stories was concerning the tap- 

 ster and his wife, who refused to follow him to 

 the wars, as he desired her : for the husband 

 endeavoured to persuade his wife, as far as I 

 understood by the birds, that he would leave 

 his service in that inn, and go to the wars in 

 hopes of plunder. But she refused to follow 

 him, resolving to stay either at Ratisbon, or 

 go to Nuremberg. There was a long and 

 earnest contention between them ; and all 

 this dialogue the birds repeated. They even 

 repeated the unseemly words which were 

 cast out between them, and which ought 

 rather to have been suppressed and kept a 

 secret. But the birds, not knowing the dif- 

 ference between modest, immodest, honest, 

 and filthy words, did out with them. The 

 other story was concerning the war which the 

 emperor was then threatening against the 

 Protestants; which the birds probably heard 

 from some of the generals that had conferen- 

 ces in the house. These things did they re- 

 peat in the night after twelve o'clock, when 

 there was a deep silence. But in the day- 

 time, for the most part they were silent, and 

 seemed to do nothing but meditate and revolve 

 with themselves upon what the guests con- 

 ferred tojrcther as they sat at table, or in 

 thoir walks. I verily had never believed our 

 Pliny writing so many wonderful things con- 

 cerning these little creatures, had I not 

 myself seen with my eyes, and heard them 

 with my ears uttering such things as I have 

 related. Neither yet can I of a sudden write 

 all, or call to remembrance every particular 

 that I have heard." 



Such is the sagacity ascribed to the night- 

 ingale: it is but to have high reputation for 

 any one quality, and the world is ready 



enough to give us fame for others to which 

 we have very small pretensions. But there 

 is a little bird, rather celebrated for its affec- 

 tion to mankind than its singing, which, how- 

 ever, in our climate, has the sweetest note of 

 all others. The reader already perceives 

 that I mean the RED-BREAST, the well-known 

 friend of man, that is found in every hedge, 

 and makes it vocal. The note of other birds 

 is louder, and their inflexions more caprici- 

 ous, but this bird's voice is soft, tender, and 

 well supported ; and the more to be valued, 

 as we enjoy it the greatest part of the winter. 

 If the nightingale's song has been compared 

 to the fiddle, the red-breast's voice has all 

 the delicacy of the flute. 



The red-breast, during the spring, haunts 

 the wood, the grove, and the garden ; it re- 

 tires to the thickest and shadiest hedge-rows 

 to breed in. But in winter it seems to be- 

 come more domestic, and often to claim pro- 

 tection from man. Most of the soft-billed 

 birds, the nightingale, the swallow, and the 

 tit-mouse, leave us in the winter, when their 

 insect food is no longer offered in plenty : 

 but the red-breast continues with us the year 

 round, and endeavours to support the famine 

 of winter by chirping round the warm habi- 

 tations of mankind; by coming into those 

 shelters where the rigour of the season is ar- 

 tificially expelled, and where insects them- 

 selves are found in greater numbers, attract- 

 ed by the same cause. 



This bird breeds differently in different 

 places : in some countries its nest is usually 

 found in the crevice of some mossy bank, or at 

 the foot of a hawthorn in hedge-rows ; in 

 others it chooses the thickest coverts, and 

 hides its nest with oak leaves. The eggs are 

 from four to five, of a dull white, with reddish 

 streaks. 



The Lark, whether the sky-lark, the wood, 

 or the tit-lark, being all distinguishable from 

 other little birds by the length of their heel, 

 are louder in their song than either of the 

 former, but not so pleasing. Indeed, the 

 music of every bird in captivity produces no 

 very pleasing sensations; it is but the mirUi 

 of a little animal, insensible of its unfortunate 

 situation : it is the landecap* . (he grove, the 

 golden break of day. the contest ni on the 

 hawthorn, the fluttering from branch to 



