grow very fat, and are taken in great numbers for our tables. They build their nest on the ground, beneath some clod, forming it of hay, dry fibres, &c. and lay four or five eggs. The place these birds are taken in the greatest quantity, is the neighbourhood of Dunstable; the season begins about the 14th of September, and ends the 25th of February: and during that space about 4000 dozen are caught, which supply the market of the metropolis. Those caught in the day are taken in clap-nets of fifteen yards length, and two and a-half in breadth; and are enticed within their reach by means of bits of looking-glass, fixed in a piece of wood, and placed in the middle of the nets, which are put in a quick whirling motion, by a string the larker com. mands: he also makes use of a decoy lark. These nets are used only till the 14th of November, for the larks will not dare, or frolick in the air, except in fine sunny weather; and of course cannot be inveigled into the snare. When the weather grows gloomy, the larker changes his engine, and makes use of a tram. mel-net, twenty-seven or twenty-eight feet long, and five broad; which is put on two poles, eighteen feet long, and carried by men under each arm, who pass over the fields and quarter the ground as a setting dog; when they hear or feel a lark hit the net, they drop it down, and so the birds are taken. [Pennant. SECTION XIV. Nightingale. Motacilla luscinia.-LINN. THE nightingale takes its name from night, and the Saxon word galan, to sing; expressive of the time of its melody. In size it is equal to the redstart; but longer bodied, and more elegantly made. The colours are very plain. The head and back are of a pale tawny, dashed with olive; the tail is of a deep tawny red; the throat, breast, and upper part of the belly, of a light glossy ash-colour: the lower belly almost white; the exterior web of the quill-feathers are of a dull reddish brown; the interior of brownish ash-colour: the irides are hazel, and the eyes remarkably large and piercing; the legs and feet a deep ash-colour. length, and sweetness of its notes, visits England the beginning of April, and leaves us in August. It is a species that does not spread itself over the island. It is not found in North Wales; or in any of the English counties north of it, except Yorkshire, where they are met with in great plenty about Doncaster. They have been also heard, but rarely, near Shrewsbury. It is also remarkable, that this bird does not migrate so far west as Devonshire and Cornwall; counties where the seasons are so very mild, that myrtles flourish in the open air during the whole year: neither are they found in Ireland. Sibbald places them in his list of Scotch birds; but they certainly are unknown in that part of Great Britain, probably from the scarcity and the recent introduction of hedges there. Yet they visit Sweden, a much more severe climate. With us they frequent thick hedges, and low coppices; and generally keep in the middle of the bush, so that they are very rarely seen. They form their nest of oak-leaves, a few bents, and reeds. The eggs are of a deep brown. When the young first come abroad, and are helpless, the old birds make a plaintive and jarring noise, with a sort of snapping, as if in menace, pursuing along the edge the passengers. They begin their song in the evening, and continue it the whole night. These their vigils did not pass unnoticed by the ancients; the slumbers of these birds were proverbial; and not to rest as much as the nightingale expressed a very bad sleeper. This was the favourite bird of the British poet, who omits no opportunity of introducing it, and almost constantly noting its love of solitude and night. How finely does it serve to compose part of the solemn scenery of his Penseroso, when he describes it. In her saddest sweetest plight, Smoothing the rugged brow of night; Gently o'er the accustom'd oak; Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among, I woo to hear thy evening song. *Elian Var. Hist. 577, both in the text and note. It must be remarked, that nightingales sing also in the day. In another place he styles it the solemn bird: and again speaks of it, As the wakeful bird, Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid, Tunes her nocturnal note. The reader must excuse a few more quotations from the same poet, on the same subject; the first describes the approach of evening, and the retiring of all animals to their repose: Silence accompanied; for beast and bird, When Eve passed the irksome night preceding her fall, she, in a dream, imagines herself thus reproached with losing the beauties of the night, by indulging too long a repose: Why sleep'st thou, Eve? now is the pleasant time The same birds sing their nuptial song, and lull them to rest. How rapturous are the following lines! how expressive of the deli cate sensibility of our Milton's tender ideas! The earth Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill; These lull'd by nightingales, embracing slept; These quotations from the best judge of melody, we thought due to the sweetest of our feathered choristers; and we believe no reader of taste will think them tedious. Virgil seems to be the only poet, among the ancients, who hath attended to the circumstance of this bird's singing in the night time. Qualis populeâ morens Philomela sub umbrâ As Philomel in poplar shades, alone, Georg. IV. L. 511. For her lost offspring pours a mother's moan, F. WARTON. Pliny has described the warbling notes of this bird, with an elegance that bespeaks an exquisite sensibility of taste; notwithstanding that his words have been cited by most other writers on natural history, yet such is the beauty, and in general the truth of his expressions, that they cannot be too much studied by lovers of natural history. We must observe notwithstanding, that a few of his thoughts are more to be admired for their vivacity, than for strict philosophical reasoning: but these few are easily distin guishable. [Pennant. SECTION XV. Red Breast. Motacilla rubecola.-LINN. THIS bird, though so very petulant as to be at constant war with its own tribe, yet is remarkably social with mankind; in the win. ter it frequently makes one of the family; and takes refuge from the inclemency of the season even by our fire-sides. Thomson* has prettily described the annual visits of this guest; The red-breast, sacred to the household gods, Against the window beats; then, brisk, alights And pecks and starts, and wonders where he is: The great beauty of that celebrated poet consists in his elegant and just descriptions of the economy of animals; and the happy use he hath made of natural knowledge in descriptive poetry, shines through almost every page of his Seasons. The affection this bird has for mankind, is also recorded in that ancient ballad, The babes in the wood; a composition of a most beautiful and pathetic simplicity. It is the first trial of our humanity; the child that refrains from tears on hearing that read, gives but a bad presage of the tenderness of his future sensations. In the spring this bird retires to breed in the thickest coverts, or the most concealed holes of walls and other buildings. The eggs are of a dull white, sprinkled with reddish spots. Its song is remarkably fine and soft: and the more to be valued, as we enjoy it the greatest part of the winter, and early in the spring, and even through great part of the summer; but its notes are part of that time drowned in the general warble of the season. Many of the autumnal songsters seem to be the young cock red breasts of that year. The bill is dusky; the forehead, chin, throat, and breasts are of a deep orange-colour: the head, hind part of the neck, the back, and tail, are of a deep ash-colour, tinged with green: the wings rather darker; the edges inclining to yellow; the legs and feet dusky. [Pennant. |