84 NIGHTINGALE. 
The late Bishop Stanley relates the followmg account of 
one which was reared from the nest in the spring of 1835: 
-— Tt soon became tame, and was kept in a cage till May, 
1837, singing always in the winter from Christmas till April, 
and shewing no symptoms of impatience at the usual period 
of migration; it was silent the rest of the year. Last May 
it was permitted to go out of its cage, which was hung up, 
open, at the door of the offices. At first it returned regularly 
in the evening to its cage, and was taken in, and released 
again the next morning. As the season advanced, it some- 
times stayed out all night in the shrubberies and pleasure- 
grounds, but if called by any of the servants, whose voice 
it knew, would return and feed out of their hand. For a 
a day or two, towards the close of summer, it seemed rather 
uneasy, but this soon wore off. As the evenings got cool, 
in the autumn, it returned to its cage before nightfall, and 
was taken as usual into the house; as the season still further 
advanced, it was to be permanently housed, and was expected 
to sing again at Christmas.’ 
He also mentions a remarkable instance of their removing 
their eggs, under peculiar circumstances, as communicated to 
the French Academy of Sciences by M. Merveaux.—A_ pair 
of these birds had built their nest in his garden in the 
lower part of a hedge, containing four eggs, when some 
water in the neighbourhood rose with such impetuosity as to 
inundate the garden. He watched them with some anxiety, 
and one day when the water had reached to within six 
paces of the nest, he only perceived two eggs. He at first 
thought that the nest had been abandoned; but coming to 
it very soon after, he only saw one, and ‘this time he waited 
to see the result, and was much astonished to see the last 
egg disappear with the birds, who, flying cautiously, but 
rapidly, carried it to a new nest, at the highest part of the 
hedge, where he saw all the four eggs deposited in safety, 
and where they were afterwards hatched. 
Its flight is swift, light, smooth, and even, though not 
extended far. On the ground it stands very erect. When 
alighting on a branch the wings are slightly shaken or 
quivered. 
It takes its prey just in the same way that the Thrush 
does, flying to the ground, hopping quickly along in search 
of any, then suddenly seizing it, and after a sidelong glance 
returning to its post, often the very spot from which it had 
