THE NIGHTINGALE. 217 



" to whom the name of the nightingale does not recal some one of those 

 fine nights in spring, when the sky being clear, the air calm, all nature 

 silent, and as it were attentive, he has listened with delight to the song of 

 this chorister of the woods. Several singing birds may be named whose 

 voices in some respects may compete with that of the nightingale ; the 

 lark, the canary, the greenfinch, the blackcap, the linnet, the goldfinch, the 

 common blackbird, the solitary thrush, the American mocking-bird, are 

 all listened to with pleasure when the nightingale is silent : some havo 

 fine tones, others have their voice as clear as it is soft, others have as fine 

 flourishes, but there is not one which the nightingale does not surpass in 

 the complete union of all these different talents, and in the prodigious 

 variety of his songs ; so that the song of each of the above-named birds is, 

 when taken in its whole extent, only one couplet of that of the nightingale. 

 The nightingale always charms, and never copies himself servilely; if he 

 repeats any passage it is animated with a new accent, embellished by new 

 ornaments. He succeeds in all styles, he renders all expressions, he seizes 

 all characters, and he also augments their effect by contrast. If this Cory- 

 phaeus of the spring prepares to sing a hymn to nature, he begins by a timid 

 prelude, by faint uncertain sounds, as if he would try his instrument and 

 interest his audience ; then gaining courage he becomes gradually animated, 

 warmed, and he soon displays in their plenitude all the resources of his 

 incomparable organ, brilliant bursts, lively delicate trills, volleys of notes 

 whose distinctness equals their volubility ; an internal dull murmur, not 

 itself pleasing to the ear, but very fit to enhance the brilliancy of the 

 agreeable strains, sudden, brilliant, and rapid runs, articulated with 

 strength, and even a tasteful ruggedness, plaintive accents, tender cadences ; 

 sounds dwelt on without art, but swelling with sentiment ; enchantingly 

 penetrating notes, the true sighs of voluptuousness and love, which seem tc 

 come from the heart, and make all hearts palpitate ; which produce in all 

 who are not insensible a delightful emotion, a touching languor. In those 

 impassioned tones are recognised the language of sentiment which a happy 

 husband addresses to his beloved partner, and which she alone can inspire ; 

 while in other strains, more surprising perhaps, but less expressive, are dis- 

 covered the simple wish of amusing and pleasing her, or of disputing before 

 her the prize of singing with rivals jealous of his glory and happiness. 



" These different strains are interspersed with pauses which in all styles 

 of melody concur in producing great effects. We dwell on the beautiful 

 notes we have just heard, and which still resound in our ears ; we enjoy 

 them the more because the pleasure is more limited, more exclusive, and 

 undisturbed by new sensations. Soon we expect, we desire another strain ; 

 we hope it may be pleasing ; if we are mistaken, the beauty of what we 

 hear will not leave us room to regret that which is only delayed., and the 

 interest of hopejis maintained for the strains which will follow. One of 

 the reasons why the song of the nightingale is so striking, and produces so 

 much effect, is, as Mr. Barington has well said, because he sings in the 

 night, which is the most favourable time, and he sings alone, whereby his 

 voice is heard in all its splendour, and is undisturbed by any other voice. 

 He eclipses all other birds, adds Mr. Barington, by his soft flute-like tones, 

 and by the uninterrupted duration of his warole, which lasts sometimes for 

 twenty- seconds. The same observer reckoned in this warble sixteen dif- 



