BIRDS IN THE GARDEN 265 



once addressed a poem to Cambridge, telling of its 

 beauties and worth, but ending with ' Thou art a voice- 

 less place ; thou hast no bells ' ; but a voiceless garden, 

 a garden without the singing of birds, is far more 

 incomplete than a town without bells. It would scarcely 

 deserve the name of a garden, certainly not of 'a 

 pleasaunce,' or a paradise. Addison, writing to the 

 Spectator (No. 477), in the assumed character of an 

 eccentric or unfashionable gardener, describes his ideal 

 garden : — 



' My garden invites into it all the birds of the country by 

 offering them the conveniency of springs and shade, solitude 

 and shelter. I do not suffer any one to destroy their nests in 

 the spring, or drive them from their usual haunts in fruit- 

 time. I value my garden more for being full of blackbirds 

 than cherries, and very frankly give them fruit for their songs. 

 By this means I have always the musick of the season in its 

 perfection.' 



The perfection of such garden music where it can be 

 had, and while it lasts, is the nightingale's ; and of all 

 song-birds none surpasses the English nightingale. 

 Pliny gives an excellent description of the Italian 

 nightingale, but when Philemon Holland translated it 

 he showed his love of the English bird by a translation 

 so free that it is not easy to detect in it much of the 

 original Latin. The whole passage is delightful, but 



