NIGHTINGALE. 37 
pleasures in the spring-time. Impossible as it is to 
express in words the music of the Nightingale, which 
combines the sweetest and liveliest with the most plain- 
tive notes of our favourite singing birds, there is always 
one part of its song by which it can be recognised, com- 
mencing with a long-drawn plaintive fwee, fwee, fwee, fwee, 
repeated four or six times in succession, and succeeded 
by achuckling rapid chookachookachookachookachookachookee, 
which has been called by poets the ‘jug-jug of the Night- 
ingale ;’ how such an unpoetical expression of the sound 
came to be applied to it I do not pretend to understand, 
the chuckling does not even terminate so abruptly as in 
my attempt to express it, but passes off into other more 
pleasing sounds. 
The nest, even when placed in the most exposed situa- 
tions, may easily be passed by anyone not specially seeking 
for it, as it merely looks like a round hole in the earth 
surrounded by many dead leaves, and containing a few 
pebbles; it varies greatly in depth, but is always rather 
deep, so that at times it requires a close inspection to 
see the dark-coloured eggs at the bottom; these are 
generally of a deep olive or stone-brown colour of the 
type represented by my fig. 9; the zoned variety, fig. 8, 
is much rarer, and I have only once taken a clutch of this 
type. In its lowly position, though not a conspicuous 
object to us, the nest is subject to the attacks of stoats, 
rats, and other wood-infesting vermin, and therefore it 
is not very unusual to find a clutch of broken egg shells 
in place of eggs. 
