98 A HUNT FOB THE NIGHTINGALE. 



could stop or turn it aside. We followed it along 

 the side of a steep hill, with copses and groves 

 sweeping down into the valley below us. It was as 

 wild and picturesque a spot as I had seen in Eng- 

 land. The foxglove pierced the lower foliage and 

 wild growths everywhere with its tall spires of purple 

 flowers ; the wild honeysuckle, with a ranker and 

 coarser fragrance than our cultivated species, was 

 just opening along the hedges. We paused here, 

 and my guide blew his shrill call ; he blew it again 

 and again. How it awoke the echoes and how it 

 awoke all the other songsters ! The valley below 

 us and the slope beyond, which before were silent, 

 were soon musical. The chaffinch, the robin, the 

 blackbird, the thrush the last the loudest and 

 most copious seemed to vie with each other and 

 with the loud whistler above them. But we listened 

 in vain for the nightingale's note. Twice my guide 

 struck an attitude and said, impressively, " There ! 

 I believe I 'erd *er." But we were obliged to give it 

 up. A shower came on, and after it had passed we 

 moved to another part of the landscape and repeated 

 our call, but got no response, and as darkness set in 

 we returned to the village. 



The situation began to look serious. I knew there 

 was a nightingale somewhere whose brood had been 

 delayed from some cause or other, and who was 

 therefore still in song, but I could not get a clew to 

 the spot. I renewed the search late that night, and 

 again the next morning ; I inquired of every man and 

 boy I saw. 



