British Birds in Their Haunts

by C. A. Johns

It generally builds its nest in a hole, near the bottom of a hedge or under the stump of a tree, in an ivy-clad wall, or amidst the creepers trained round the veranda of a cottage. I have seen it also placed in a niche in a wall intended for the reception of a vase, in a bee-hive stored away on the rafters of an outhouse, and under a wisp of straw accidentally left on the ground in a garden. It is usually composed of dry leaves, roots, bents, and moss, lined with hair and wool, and contains five or six eggs. The young birds are of a brown tint, and have the feathers tipped with yellow, which gives them a spotted appearance. Until they acquire the red breast, they are very unlike the parents, and might be mistaken for young Thrushes, except that they are much smaller. They may be often observed in gardens for many days after they have left the nest, keeping together, perching in the bushes, and clamorous for food, which the old birds bring to them from time to time. It is said, that only one brood is reared in a year, but this I am inclined to doubt, having observed in the same locality families of young birds early in the spring, and late in the summer of the same year. Towards the end of August, the young birds acquire the distinctive plumage of their species, and are solitary in their habits until the succeeding spring. The call-notes of the Redbreast are numerous, and vary beyond the power of description in written words; the song is loud, and it is needless to say, pleasing, and possesses the charm of being continued when all our other feathered songsters are mute. The red of the breast often has a brighter tint, it is occasionally almost a carmine red. The late Lord Lilford told the editor such were often birds that had been bred on the Continent. Numbers of young birds come across the sea to us each autumn.

THE NIGHTINGALE
DAULIAS LUSCÍNIA

Upper plumage russet brown; tail bright rust-red; under plumage buffish white; flanks pale ash colour. Length six and a quarter inches; breadth nine and a half inches. Eggs uniform olive-brown.

The southern, eastern, and some of the midland counties of England, enjoy a privilege which is denied to the northern and western—an annual visit, namely, from the Nightingale. It is easy enough to understand why a southern bird should bound its travels northwards by a certain parallel, but why it should keep aloof from Devon and Cornwall, the climate of which approaches more closely to that of its favourite continental haunts than many of the districts to which it unfailingly resorts, is not so clear. Several reasons have been assigned—one, that cowslips do not grow in these counties; this may be dismissed at once as purely fanciful; another is, that the soil is too rocky; this is not founded on fact, for both Devon and Cornwall abound in localities which would be to Nightingales a perfect Paradise, if they would only come; a third is, that the proper food is not to be found there: but this reason cannot be admitted until it is proved that the portions of the island to which the Nightingale does resort abound in some kind of insect food which is not to be found in the extreme southern counties, and that the Nightingale, instead of being, as it is supposed, a general insect-eater, confines itself to that one; and this is a view of the question which no one has ventured to take. My own theory—and I only throw it out for consideration—is that the Nightingale is not found in these two counties on account of their peculiar geographical position. The continental Nightingales are observed to take their departure in autumn, either eastward through Hungary, Dalmatia, Greece, and the islands of the Archipelago; or southwards across the Straits of Gibraltar, but none by the broad part of the Mediterranean. Hence we may infer that the bird dislikes a long sea voyage, and that when in spring it migrates northward and westward, it crosses the English Channel at the narrowest parts only,[3] spreads itself over the nearest counties in the direction of its migration, but is instinctively prevented from turning so far back again to the south as the south-west peninsula of England. From Scotland it would be naturally excluded by its northern position, and from Ireland by the Welsh mountains and the broad sea.

For the dwellers in these unfavoured districts alone is my description of the Nightingale intended; for, where it abounds, its habits are too well known to need any description. Twenty-four hours of genial May weather spent in the country with a good use of the eyes and ears, will reveal more of the life and habits of the bird than is contained in all the ornithological treatises that have been written on the subject, and they are not a few.

No great amount of caution is necessary in approaching the Nightingale while singing at night. One may walk unrestrainedly across the fields, talking in an ordinary tone of voice, and not even find it necessary to suppress conversation when close to a singing bird. Either he is too intent on his occupation to detect the presence of strangers, or he is aware of the security in which he is wrapped by the shades of night, or he is actually proud of having listeners. In the neighbourhood of my present residence in Hertfordshire, Nightingales are numerous. They arrive about the seventeenth of April, and for the first few days assemble year after year in the bushes and hedges of a certain hillside, the position of which it would be unsafe to indicate particularly, and taking their station two or three hundred yards apart from each other, set up a rivalry of song which is surpassingly beautiful. At this season, one may hear five or six chanting at once; every break in the song of the nearest being filled up by the pipings or wailings of the more distant ones. The male birds arrive several days before the female, and employ the interval, it is fancifully said, in contending for the prize in a musical contest. This period is anxiously watched for by bird-catchers, who have learnt by experience that birds entrapped before they have paired will bear confinement in a cage, but that those captured after the arrival of their mates pine to death. The Nightingale being a fearless bird and of an inquisitive nature is easily snared; hence, in the neighbourhood of cities, the earliest and therefore strongest birds fall ready victims to the fowler's art.

It must not be supposed that this bird sings by night only. Every day and all day long, from his first arrival until the young are hatched (when it becomes his duty to provide for his family), perched in a hedge or on the branch of a tree, rarely at any considerable height from the ground, he pours forth his roundelay, now, however, obscured by the song of other birds. But not even by day is he shy, for he will allow any quietly disposed person to approach near enough to him to watch the movement of his bill and heaving chest. At the approach of night he becomes silent, generally discontinuing his song about an hour before the Thrush, and resuming it between ten and eleven. It is a disputed point whether the Nightingale's song should be considered joyous or melancholy. This must always remain a question of taste. My own opinion is, that the piteous wailing note which is its most characteristic nature, casts a shade of sadness as it were over the whole song, even those portions which gush with the most exuberant gladness. I think, too, though my assertion may seem a barbarous one, that if the Nightingale's song comprised the wailing notes alone, it would be universally shunned as the most painfully melancholy sound in nature. From this, however, it is redeemed by the rapid transition, just when the anguish of the bird has arrived at such a pitch as to be no longer supportable, to a passage overflowing with joy and gladness. In the first or second week of June he ceases his song altogether. His cataract of sweet sounds is exhausted, and his only remaining note is a harsh croak exactly resembling that of a frog, or the subdued note of a raven, wate-wate or cur-cur. On one occasion only I have heard him in full song so late as the fourth week in June: but this probably was a bird whose first nest had been destroyed, and whose song consequently had been retarded until the hatching of a second brood. From this time until the end of August, when he migrates eastward, he may often be observed picking up grubs, worms, and ants' eggs on the garden lawn, or under a hedge in fields, hopping from place to place with an occasional shake of the wings and raising of the tail, and conspicuous whenever he takes one of his short flights by his chestnut brown tail-coverts.