58 British Birds, with their Nests and Eggs. 



impenetrable Kentish Woods, it is no unusual thing to see this russet coloured 

 songster dart out from the covert, and after an irregular flight of a few yards 

 disappear again amid the thick foliage. 



In its actions the Nightingale resembles the Robin, but it has none of the 

 impudent confidence of that bird; and, though very pugnacious, it is no match 

 for the Redbreasted bird ; of which, indeed, I proved that it stands greatly in awe : — 

 On one occasion I turned a Nightingale loose in an aviary in which a Robin was 

 flying about, and no sooner did they catch sight of one another, than Bob flew 

 straight for Philomel, who crouched on the ground in such abject terror, that I 

 quickly snatched him up to save his life. (It was a male Philomel !) In a state 

 of nature, when scared, the Nightingale always seeks concealment in some tangled 

 cover of bramble, hawthorn, scrambling honeysuckle or shady evergreen, uttering 

 the while its harsh croak of alarm, and clicking together its mandibles after the 

 fashion of other insectivorous birds. On the rare occasions when one catches a 

 glimpse of it, in some small clearing in wood or shrubbery, seeking for small 

 worms, beetles, or spiders, its behaviour is precisely that of the Robin, the manner 

 in which it jumps and jerks at the worm,, and having gulped it down, stands for 

 a moment with head erect and tail slightly raised ; then bobs, flicks its wings 

 and throws up its tail, is in every respect a perfect facsimile of the Redbreast's 

 actions. Like most of the Thrush-tribe the Nightingale turns over dead leaves 

 most industriously in the search for concealed insects. 



Such is my experience of this bird as seen in the Kentish woods ; but Henry 

 Stevenson, speaking of it in Norfolk says : — " Though frequenting the thick 

 cover of our groves and shrubberies, the Nightingale is by no means a sh}' bird, 

 at least on its first arrival, but sings fearlessly throughout the day in the most 

 exposed situations. In my own garden, bordered on two sides by public roads, I 

 have known one sing at intervals throughout the day, on the yet leafless branches 

 of an almond tree, perfectly indifferent to the voices and footsteps of the passers 

 by; and on the ist May, 1864, a most exquisite songster stationed himself on a 

 small tree, in Mount Pleasant lane, close to the footpath, where groups of Sunday 

 walkers, both morning and afternoon, stopped to listen to its 'sweet descants,' 

 and probably for the first time in their lives saw, as well as heard, a Nightingale." 



This last sentence chimes in exactly with my belief It is not often easy to 

 discover the author of sweet Philomel's discourses; one needs to look long 

 and carefully; and perchance at length, one finds that the singer which one 

 has been seeking for in the undergrowth, is perched among the smaller 

 branches of some lofty elm; not that it always seeks so high a seat; for, 

 many a time, on a hot spring morning I have seen it in full song in a 



