A HUNT FOR THE NIGHTINGALE. 99 



" I met many travelers, 



Who the road had surely kept; 

 They saw not my fine revelers, 



These had crossed them while they slept; 

 Some had heard their fair report, 

 In the country or the court." 



I soon learned to distrust young fellows and their 

 girls who had heard nightingales in the gloaming. I 

 knew one's ears could not always be depended upon 

 on such occasions, nor his eyes either. Larks are 

 seen in buntings, and a wren's song entrances like 

 Philomel's. A young couple of whom I inquired in 

 the train, on my way to Godalming, said Yes, they 

 had heard nightingales just a few moments before on 

 their way to the station, and described the spot, so I 

 could find it if I returned that way. They left the 

 train at the same point I did, and walked up the 

 street in advance of me. I had lost sight of them till 

 they beckoned to me from the corner of the street, 

 near the church, where the prospect opens with a view 

 of a near meadow and a stream shaded by pollard 

 willows. " We heard one now, just there," they said, 

 as I came up. They passed on, and I bent my ear 

 eagerly in the direction. Then I walked farther on, 

 following one of those inevitable foot-paths to where 

 it cuts diagonally through the cemetery behind the 

 old church, but I heard nothing save a few notes of 

 the thrush. My ear was too critical and exacting. 

 Then I sought out the old naturalist and taxidermist 

 to whom I had a card from the squire. He was a 

 short, stout man, racy both in look and speech, and 



