Flower-Gardens and Song Birds. 253 



bear marks of his interesting labours, I wish him well from my 

 heart, and I hope that he may not fail to receive a remunerating 

 return for his many useful services to us. 



Were I asked my opinion of a highly cultivated English 

 flower-garden, I should say that it is the loveliest sight in 

 rural nature; and, moreover, that if it afforded me an oppor- 

 tunity of listening to the song of birds, I should pronounce it 

 little short of absolute perfection. But, in general, the charm- 

 ing melody of birds is of rare occurrence in the modern flower- 

 garden; and I fear that any observations which I may make on 

 this head will not have sufficient weight with them to attract 

 attention to it on the part of the horticulturist. Nevertheless, 

 I will venture for once to offer a remark or two to Mr. 

 Loudon's readers on a subject which always interests me ; and, 

 if what I shall say does not meet with their approbation, may I 

 hope that they will give me credit for good intentions. I wish 

 not to appear dictatorial. A few brief observations, penned 

 down without the least wish on my part to be considered in the 

 light of an innovator, will, I trust, not be wholly lost. 



To me, whom kind Providence has destined to spend the 

 best part of my time in the open air, the song of birds is 

 soothing beyond expression; and, whilst I am admiring the 

 beauty of the rising flowers around me, I know no greater 

 addition to my gratification than that of listening to it. How 

 enchanting is it to inspect the early snowdrops, those " fair 

 maids of February," whilst the stormcock is pouring forth his 

 newly acquired notes from the top of a neighbouring elm ! and 

 how delightful it is to hear cock-robin's carol on the thorn that 

 affords a shelter to the humble primrose ! The lily of the 

 valley, too, sweet, lovely, lowly daughter of May, how I gaze in 

 ecstacy on its virgin whiteness, whilst the stranger cuckoo's 

 note sounds through the del!, and insures me the return of 

 warmer weather ! The chaffinch, too, and the whitethroat, and 

 the thrush, and the blackbird, with pretty jenny-wren, and the 

 hedge-sparrow, all add charms inexpressible, by their sweet 

 voices, to the rising flowers of the dale. And this brings me to 

 another bird not seen now in this country, but interesting to us 

 on account of the place which it occupies in Holy Writ. Its 

 history is but little known to the world at large, and its iden- 

 tity is exposed to be called in question, on account of the name 

 which it erroneously bears. The bird to which I allude is the 

 Passer solitarius ; in English, the solitary sparrow ; and in 

 Italian, passera solitaria. Would Mr. Loudon's readers lend a 

 patient ear for a short time, they shall have both the history 

 and the true name of this bird placed in a proper light. 



The royal psalmist, whilst bending down in penitential 

 prayer before his offended Maker, exclaims, " Vigilavi, et factus 



