c over- “ The birds about here is beautiful birds, the the-water birds’ (. e. birds caught Battersea, Crystal Palace way, &c.), ain’t nothing to these ’ere forest birds; and we knows where a bird comes from when we hears his voice, and they are different, too, in blumage, but there ain’t nobody as I knows on as knows how this is, and they say the larned gentlemen don’t know nothing at all about it neither.”

The last bird in the cage then began to sing most beautifully. “ Ay, sir, that’s one of the best birds in Whitechapel, and he has beat many heavy finches out of time. We sings him against other birds at the public-houses at night, and a better-hearted bird there ain’t in the fancy. You see, sir, we must have goodhearted birds when we goes out a pegging (j. e. y catching by means of the stuffed bird pegged on to the tree) or

Plumage.

the other birds won’t come to fight him. I would not take a sovereign for this bird from any man. The pegging season is from April to June, and the only other birds we catches in this manner is bullfinches, and then they begins with the flight-nets. We never catches the hens; they ain’t of no account; but the good-singing birds is worth now half a crown a bird to sell at the bird-shops; but later in the year we sells hens and cocks mixed at fourpence a dozen. We catches them with the flight-nets; it’s no use to go out { pegging ’ after their nests is made. We catches nothing but cock birds at this time of year; but it’s terrible to hear the poor hen a-crying when she has lost her young ’uns. She will follow us for miles, flying after us along the hedge a-crying f Pink, pink, pink.’ ”

At that moment the call-bird began his beautiful song again in the cage under the dirty handkerchief, and his owner translated his song into human words for me. “ You see, sir, when we sings this bird at matches, we are obliged to listen to him.” “ How do you know what he sings?” said I. u Ah, sir, in these matches we are very particular; and if a bird don’t finish his song we loses a chalk. Do you hear him now, sir? he has finished his song.” “ Well, pray tell me how can you know that?” “ Why, sir, you listen carefully you will hear that he says, 1 Cha-cha-rattle-rattle-rattle-chop wado.’ When

’ hehe’s a-singing, if he leaves out the 1 chop wado ain’t finished his song, and we loses a chalk.”

I then listened, and the above words give as good an idea of the bird’s song as human language is capable of

expressing. u Now them over-the-water birds never finishes their song, and this is what they sings: 4 Chow-chow-

4 chow-rattle-sweet my dear.’ And some on ’em sings rattle-chump.’ It’s no use singing matches with them sort of birds; they ain’t no use. We are much obliged to you, sir, and we would much like your company with us out a bird-catching. We have got to walk to Whitechapel, a good ten miles; so good afternoon, and thank you, sir.”

As I came home I saw a foolish-looking cockney boy with a nest of young birds in his hands. Of course, they would all be dead by next morning under his care, and the poor mother is now crying in vain for her young. Ladies, pray forbid the idle boys from bird-nesting, and send your husbands and brothers after them with the sticlc, if you see them looking for nests, and you will be doing much good; for not only do the birds do the gardens great benefit by eating insects innumerable, but consider how you would like your nest taken away from you, and how you would like to follow the destroyer of your happiness crying, like the poor chaffinch, the mournful 44 Pink, pink, pink.”

Again, ladies should be careful about buying nesta of young birds in the spring of the year from the boys in the streets. Last spring a lady requested me to examine some young nightingales which she had bought for a considerable sum. The little half-feathered wretches were all crowded together in a sort of nest, and somehow their physiognomies looked very familiar to me, and the nest was certainly a hand not a bill made nest. However, the matter passed off, and the young nightingales were nurtured and cared for by their owner in the most attentive way, much to the annoyance of Puss, who was carefully put out of the way for the time. As time went on the birds began to show their feathers. Curious coloured nightingales, thought the lady; but still she continued to tend them. One day I called to inquire after the nightingales, and the lady anticipated my inquiry. u Oh, Mr. Buckland, what do you think? Those wretched little birds were no nightingales a bit; they were only vulgar common larks after all. I wish I could find the horrid man who sold them to me.”

175

NIGHTINGALE-CATCHING.

1 now must say somewhat about nightingales and the way in which they are caught by the London bird-catchers. It seems—and it really is—a cruel thing to catch these birds the moment they arrive on the shores of England, which bears such a good character for hospitality to all wandering visitors. Nevertheless the poor birds are caught, though I myself for one would be the last to set a trap for poor Philomela. I met the other day two men going along the street with birdcages in their hands, and a lame boy trudging behind them carrying a sack and a hand-hoe. This hand-hoe immediately betrayed their occupation to me. u How many nightingales have you caught, boy?”

said I. “ Ask father,” was the reply; “ we ain’t catched only two, and we have been out some eighteen hours in the [Epping] forest.” I soon made acquaintance with the father, a tall, powerful-looking, big-whiskered individual, with a quick observant eye, gentle hand, and, what is best of all, a

tender heart. He had caught the two first nightingales of this year, and was about to sell them for half a crown each. He intended going on writh this catching till he had executed all his orders; for he had orders to get three dozen nightingales, which he hoped to be able to obtain very shortly for his customers—the bird-shops.

He then informed me that, in his experience, nightingales always choose the same locality; that many birds might be caught in succession out of the same identical bush or thicket. Once a good place for a nightingale, always a good place for a nightingale. This he thought odd. I did not; “ for,” said I, “ did you ever know a good house, or a good comfortable berth vacant among ourselves that we did not always find somebody occupying it? ” He told me that he called to the birds, using no instrument but his lips long practice had enabled him to imitate the nightingale exactly; so well, indeed, that they would answer is, what they considered to be thethe song—that challenge of defiance from another bird—but which, in fact, was produced by human lips. I asked my friend to let me hear a specimen of his performance. He said he could not, 11 his lips were quite dead and numb from calling so many hours.” However, the application of a pewter pot containing beer had a wonderfully relaxing effect upon his lips; and he immediately

began the nightingale’s song. I was amazed and astonished at what I heard. The notes he produced were exactly like those of the nightingale, particularly the high and sweet note, “ Water bubble,” or “ Wheet, wheet,” followed by the deep-sounding “ cur-r-r-r ” the challenge of the male bird to his rivals. The male nightingales come over at least a week before the females, and if they are caught before the arrival of the females, they will live and do well under proper treatment it is not everybody who is going to make them—but live. After the arrival of the female, not one in a thousand will live. Dr. McLean of Colchester, my friend Mr. Coulson tells me, had a nightingale in a cage twenty-three years. This was an old bird when he

caught it. I no longer disbelieve the old story of a man being specially retained by the proprietors of Vauxhall or Spring Gardens in days gone by, to sit in a bush and

sing like a nightingale. I believe, moreover, that both Sir Roger de Coverley and Mr. Spectator were grossly humbugged, especially the latter, for we read that on the 20th of May, 1712, these two worthies took an evening stroll, and Mr. Spectator tells us:

“We were now arrived at Spring Garden, which is exquisitely pleasant at this time of the year. When I considered the fragrancy of the walks and bowers, with the choirs of birds that sung upon the trees, and the

SER. III. N

loose tribe of people that walked under tbe shades, I could not but look upon tbe place as a kind of Maho-metan paradise. Sir Roger told me that it put him in mind of a little coppice by his house in the country, which his chaplain used to call an aviary of nightingales. ‘ You must understand,’ says the knight, 1 there is nothing in the world that pleases a man in love so much as your nightingale. Ah! Mr. Spectator, the moonlight nights that I have walked by myself and thought on the widow by the music of the nightingale! ’ He here fetched a deep sigh, and was falling into a fit of musing.” I am curious to know how the u choirs of birds ” were managed. I wonder, too, how much the human nightingale who sang under a bush in Yauxhall used to get as his weekly salary from the proprietor of the gardens, who used to boast, u Hear ’em, sir, why you’re sure to hear ’em. We keeps a nightingale.” My nightingale-catching friend told me that he had been u wheeling” and “ curring ” since half-past four that morning, and that he could “ wheet ” and ct curr ” no more that day. Recollecting at the pause of his song that the chaffinch-catcher had put the song of the chaffinch into words, I asked him if he could do the same for the song of the nightingale. He immediately whistled off the song of the nightingale, and told me that there were two songs. The one was rendered thus

“m words: — Wheet-wheet—-jug-jug-jug—swattee; u the other (and it generally followed the preceding), thus: a Pipe-pipe-pipe — water-wabble-wabble swattee; ” but that the bird in full song generally began with the “ wheet and curr,” and sang off that. He then

the nightin-described how he went to work:—When gales first come over, a regular army of 16 catchers ” go out in quest of them. 11 It is ten or twelve mile from London before you hears one, and he ain’t there long before he gets catched by somebody. It ain’t always you can get hold on ’em, because if a bird has been once catched, it makes him artful next time. The way I hears a bird a-singing, I putsX catches ’em is this-down the trap, and fastens some nice meal-worms with pins on and about the traps. I then drives the bird towards the place, and he is pretty well sure to see the worms, and go into the trap. I always scratches up a place, and lays the dirt about where I sets the trap; a bird is pretty nigh sure to go to a place fresh scratched up ” (he is insectivorous, and goes to look for insects in newly-tumed-up earth). “ They comes over at the end of March or beginning of April. I catched above two dozen last spring, and sold them in London. I gets from one shilling to two shillings for ’em when they first comes; then they goes down to ninepence, and then to sixpence each. I sold above a dozen, dead, for sixpence each, to the bird-stuffer for stuffing; the shop

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