My hidian K ightingalc'i 
ill 
My Indian Nightingales. 
Bv B. Theo. 8'1'ewakt. 
"Tlu'.v imt tile Nightingale into a cage but lie only sang 'Oh my 
Rose-bush ! ' " 
My Sluimas know nothing of monotony and they mif^take 
tiic ciii-aretto jsnioke which envelopes their cages for the per- 
fume of tltc lost rose-bush. 
There is something 
peculiarly fascinating about 
the Shama, at any rate to 
uie. I think the bird must 
have the artistic tempera- 
ment I He is at once so 
charming, so sensitive, and 
so lonely ! 
I had a glorious col- 
lection of Shamas at one 
time ; now the bloom of 
time covers their memories. 
Only one remains of 
that bright train. Not much, 
but it is sufficient. 
A Sliama is very in- 
sistent I 
My first Shama was 
a delightful hand -reared 
Phi lid l>!i T. G. Xicahon. and obviously young bird. 
A Tame Shama. He sang charmingly too. It 
gtrucL me however that he had but a short way to fly, on to 
my finger, where he spread his wings for their last flight. 
Nightingales are strangely susceptible to beauty ! I 
cannot believe that climatic conditions affected the manner of 
his going. 
Of Madame Shama I have had a long acquaintance— 
though nature has painted her in faint colours, yet she has 
charms. Her voice is sweet and low like the still small voice 
of conscience, only more welcome. 
I have nothing but a tender regret for my first hen, 
in that she died, and died so young. The Gods knew be^t. 
They took her before her character developed. 
