Essex, Suffolk, Norfolk, and a great part of Yorkshire possess it, but no record of its arrival in Lancashire exists, though it has been heard as high up as Carlisle.

The Welshman never hears it in the principality, though a poetical licence has made it vocal there ;* and yet we have heard it, and never sweeter, in the Valley of Nightingales, near Bristol. There is also a Welsh name for it-Eos. Neither Scotland nor Ireland are known to possess it. Patriotic attempts have been in vain made to introduce it into Wales and Scotland, but we never heard of any effort to naturalise it in Ireland; and, indeed, the countrymen of MOORE may well spare it, while they listen to the thrilling strains of their own impassioned bard.

Russia, Siberia, Sweden, Spain, Provence and Italy, North Africa, Egypt, Syria, Smyrna, and the Grecian Archipelago, are made musical by it; but neither the Channel islands, nor Brittany, are visited by the bird, though France generally owns it; for what says the old quatrain?

"Le Rossignol, des oyseaux l'outrepasse
Chante au prin-temps sans intermission,
Et nuict et jour avec invention

De chants divers, qui luy accroist la grace."

The general site of the nightingale's nest is on the ground; but we have found it in the fork of a low and young tree some three feet from the earth; and a very loosely formed nest it is, made of the dead leaves of the oak and hornbeam, with a few bents and bits of rushes, lined at the bottom with root-fibres-so loosely formed, indeed, that few have succeeded in taking up a nightingale's nest whole, without first binding it round with string or thread. Four or five olive-brown eggs are here deposited, and in this rude cradle the most brilliant of song-birds is nursed.

But, besides its natural vocal powers, the nightingale, it appears, can be taught to speak. Moschus, Statius, and Pliny, attest this, and the latter mentions, "luscinias Græco atque Latino sermone dociles" belonging to the young Cæsars.+ We must confess that all the attempts to speak made by singing birds heard by us, have been imperfect; for though as in the case of the celebrated talking canary, you might with a little aid from the imagination make out " Pretty queen" and other words, still the speech, like that of the witch in "Thalaba," was song, and the sound could hardly be termed more than an articulate whistle : -how different from the pronunciation of those anthropoglotts, the parrots, so well exemplified in Campbell's pathetic tale: they speak

in earnest:

"The captain spoke in Spanish speech,

In Spanish speech the bird replied."

Like other biped performers, nightingales vary much in their powers of song. They have among them their Rubinis, Tamburinis, and Lablaches, and also their Mopers, that sing at intervals only, without

connexion, and with long pauses-some minutes-between each strain. -It is amusing to see when a man mounts his hobby-and happy is he who has one in his stable-how far it will carry him, aye, and merrily too. Thus Bechstein prints no less than twenty-four lines of wordssome of them rare sesquipedalities-as expressive of the nightingale's song.

"Twenty-four different strains or couplets," says he, "may be reckoned in the song of a fine nightingale without including its delicate variations. This song is so articulate, so speaking, that it may be very well written. The following is a trial which I have made on that of a nightingale in my neighbourhood which passes for a very capital singer," and off the good Bechstein goes at score:

« Tiou, tiou, tiou, tiou,”

&c. &c. &c. &c.,

but we must introduce the reader to one or two of the words representing the strains:

"Zozozozozozozozozozozozo, zirrhading. Hezezezezezezezezezezezezezezezeze couar ho dze hoi. Higaigaigaigaigaigaigai guiagaigaigai couior dzio dzio pi.”

The British bird-fanciers have, also, a vocabulary of their own to express the same ideas.

The Honourable Daines Barrington, who kept a very fine nightingale for three years, attending particularly to its song, remarks that the tone is more mellow than that of any other bird, though at the same time by a proper exertion of its musical powers it can be excessively brilliant. Whenfhis bird sang its song round, Mr. Barrington observed sixteen different beginnings and closes, at the same time that the intermediate notes were commonly varied in their succession with such judgment as to produce a most pleasing variety. He also remarked that the bird would sometimes continue without a pause not less than twenty seconds; and that whenever respiration became necessary, it was taken with as much judgment as by an opera-singer. He also observed that his nightingale began softly, like the ancient orators, reserving its breath to swell certain notes, which by this means had a most astonishing effect, eluding all verbal description. He took down indeed certain passages, which may be reduced to our musical intervals; but though, he remarks, one may thus form an idea of some of the notes used, yet it is impossible to give their comparative durations in point of musical time, upon which the whole effect must depend; and, indeed, he once procured a very capital flute-player to execute the notes which Kircher has engraved in his Musurgia as being used by the nightingale, when, from not being able to settle their respective lengths, it was hardly possible to observe any traces of the nightingale's song. He adds, that he thinks he may venture to say that a nightingale may be very clearly distinguished at more than half a mile, if the evening be calm, and he suspects that it would be heard further than a

man.

The following is Mr. Barrington's table of the comparative merit of singing birds, making twenty the point of perfection:

And here we conclude our imperfect sketch of the feathered songsters who enliven us with their wood-notes wild. When this meets the eye of some gentle reader who has wasted his time over it, all will be, comparatively speaking, hushed; for, in mute July, the concert of birds may be said to be closed, till the returning year again brightens our fields,

"Fields where the spring delays,

And fearlessly meets the ardour
Of the warm summer's gaze,
With but her tears to guard her.

"Islands so freshly fair,

That never hath bird come nigh them;
But from his course through air,

Hath been won downward by them."

THE QUIET CELL.

BY MAJOR CALDER CAMPbell.

I fill my quiet cell

With shapes of beauty bright,
Scenes fair, and inaccessible

To such as fix the dazzled sight
On all the whirling wheels of life,
Its canker'd cares and selfish strife!

I'wear not here the mask

The curious world requiresMy energies I do not task

To ape the artificial fires

The smiles, deceptions, guileful speech,
Which custom and the crowd will teach.

I summon from the past,

The fairest and the best,
The virgin pure, the matron chaste,
The patriot spurning his own rest
His country's weal t' ensure-the brave
Who knows to slay, yet dares to save!

The martyr who hath borne

Unflinchingly each pain,

The fire, the fetters, and the scorn,

And all to shake his faith in vain.
For why? His Saviour filled his breast
With strength to bear each cruel test!

The martyr in his cell,

Triumphant, bright, I see;

Freed from the pains ineffable,

Freed from the scourge, the cord, the TREE,

And crowned with glory, radiant now,

With "Angel" written on his brow.

Bright visitants are mine,

Forms of the lost and dead,

Whose eyes with wonted kindness shine,
With all to love and naught to dread;
And voices birdlike in the breeze,
Murmur celestial melodies!

But sudden as the wind

Over the bending trees,

A thought of dust-a touch unkind
Of man's-of earth's impurities,
Destroys the imagery of peace,
And fancy's fairy labours cease.

They flit, they fade away,

Chased in the worldly war
Of common cares; they fall the prey
Of sins and strifes; and flee afar,
As down doth from the thistle run,
When kissed too hotly by the sun!

Oh! for a home of rest!

Oh! for a spirit pure!

Oh! for the quiet of a breast

By sorrow cleansed-from sin secure!

Oh! that release from one sad thought were given

A shadow, stalking 'twixt my soul and Heaven!

THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF CHARLES CHESTERFIELD,

THE YOUTH OF GENIUS.

BY MRS. TROLLOPE.

CHAP. XXIX.

CHARLES CHESTERFIELD SETS OFF FOR HIS NATIVE SHADES-SIR GEORGE MEDDOWS SHOWS HIMSELF SUPERIOR TO CIRCUMSTANCES-HE EXHIBITS GREAT ABILITY IN MANY WAYS.

ON returning to Bruton-street to dine, Charles received from the servant who opened the door for him, a note containing these words:

"Dear Mr. Chesterfield,

"You must forgive my not bidding you farewell in person, as I do not feel well enough to leave my room, Accept my best wishes for your health, welfare, and happiness in all ways, and believe me, Very sincerely your friend, "CLARA MEDdows."

This was a disappointment: Charles Chesterfield's attachment to Miss Meddows was very strong-his admiration of her unbounded-his esteem perfect and his affection such as her unceasing kindness to him deserved. Though without the shadow of a suspicion as to the real importance of the service she had just rendered him, and the tremendous self-sacrifice it involved, his memory was deeply impressed by a hundred comparatively trifling proofs of her kindness, and it is no idle figure of speech to say that he would have died to serve her. Tears sprang to his eyes as he put her precious little note in his pocket-book, and he determined to take the liberty of answering it, when he could give her friendly heart the satisfaction of knowing that he was once more happy in the midst of his family, to which she had restored him as unbroken in fortune as unchanged in heart.

Mrs. Longuéville made her appearance at dinner in a deshabille which made her look a dozen years older than the startled Charles had ever conceived her to be; she appeared moreover exceedingly out of spirits, eating little and speaking less. Sir George, on the contrary, was remarkably gay; when Charles announced his immediate departure, he rallied him on being home-sick; but added that he was not altogether wrong in taking himself off at full speed, as it was a known fact that Noah's preparations for going into the ark, notwithstanding his being followed by so large and heterogeneous a train, were just nothing in comparison to the fuss and bustle of an English family of distinction preparing to go abroad.

"There is Clara, you see, absolutely fallen sick of it; and Mrs.