A HUNT FOR THE NIGHTINGALE. 93 



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 any- 

 where. 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 giving vent to her emotions in the most copious 

 and vehement manner. I listened till after mid- 

 night, and till the rain began to fall, and the viva- 

 cious 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 loqua- 

 cious English house sparrows ; but its song or med- 

 ley is so persistently animated, and in such contrast 

 to the gloom and the darkness, that the effect is 

 decidedly pleasing. 



This and the night-jar were the only nightingales 

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

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

 and was out upon the chase again at four o'clock in 



