58 THE NIGHTINGALE. 



unatractive. " In calm weather, in the fine 

 nights of spring," says a writer, from whom we 

 have before quoted the editor of Cuvier 

 " when its voice is heard alone, undisturbed 

 by any other sound, nothing can be more ra- 

 vishing and delightful. Then it developes, in 

 their utmost plenitude, all the resources of its 

 incomparable organ. But from the setting in of 

 the summer solstice, it grows more sparing of its 

 song. It is seldom heard, and when it is, there 

 is neither animation nor constancy in its tones. 

 In a few days, at this time, the song ceases alto- 

 gether, and we hear nothing but hoarse cries, 

 and a croaking sound, in which we should in 

 vain endeavour to recognise the melodious Phi- 

 lomela. 1 ' 



Bird-fanciers have sometimes eagerly debated 

 the comparative merits of the Surrey and Mid- 

 dlesex nightingales. It is said, the London 

 bird-catchers give the preference to Surrey. We 

 take it for granted, however, that the imagina- 

 tive and delightful Isaac Walton, heard the 

 Middlesex birds, and drew from them that ad- 

 mirable portraiture of their strains, which 

 breathes the very soul of poetry. " He that at 

 midnight, when the very labourer sleeps se- 

 curely, should hear, as I have often done, the 

 clear airs, the sweet descants, the natural rising 



