A HUNT FOR THE NIGHTINGALE 85 



slightly suggesting the call of our toads, but more 

 vague as to direction. Then as it grew darker the 

 birds ceased; the fisherman reeled up and left. No 

 sound was now heard, — not even the voice of a 

 solitary frog anywhere. I never heard a frog in 

 England. About eleven o'clock I moved down 

 by a wood, and stood for an hour on a bridge over 

 the railroad. No voice of bird greeted me till the 

 sedge- warbler struck up her curious nocturne in a 

 hedge near by. It was a singular medley of notes, 

 hurried chirps, trills, calls, warbles, snatched from 

 the songs of other birds, with a half-chiding, 

 remonstrating tone or air running through it all. 

 As there was no other sound to be heard, and as 

 the darkness was complete, it had the effect of a 

 very private and whimsical performance, — as if the 

 little bird had secluded herself there, and was giv- 

 ing vent to her emotions in the most copious and 

 vehement manner. I listened till after midnight, 

 and till the rain began to fall, and the vivacious 

 warbler never ceased for a moment. White says 

 that, if it stops, a stone tossed into the bush near 

 it will set it going again. Its voice is not musical; 

 the quality of it is like that of the loquacious Eng- 

 lish house sparrows; but its song or medley is so 

 persistently animated, and in such contrast to the 

 gloom and the darkness, that the effect is decidedly 

 pleasing. 



This and the nightjar were the only nightingales 

 I heard that night. I returned home, a good deal 

 disappointed, but -slept upon my arms, as it were, 



