the singing as he was, and Philomel had the field to himself
till the song was over. It was as if Jenny Lind had come
into a country church when the rustic choir of boys and girls
were performing.

The nightingale will sometimes sing out of season if his
mate be killed, or if the nest with the eggs therein be destroyed.

He is not a shy bird. He comes out into the highway and will
fly in and out of the hedges, sometimes following a traveller.
And the note of one bird will, in the singing season, provoke
the others, so that a dozen or twenty will sometimes be heard
rivalling one another at night, making it impossible for the
occupants of the farmhouses to sleep.

The superstition is well known that if a new-married man
hear the cuckoo before he hear the nightingale in the spring,
his married peace will be invaded by some stranger within
the year. But if the nightingale be heard first he will be
happy in his love. It is said that the young married swains
in the country take great pains to hear the nightingale first.
We all remember Milton's sonnet:

O nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray
Warbl'est at eve, when all the woods are still,
Thou with fresh hope the Lover's heart dost fill,
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May,
They liquid notes that close the eye of Day,
First heard before the shallow Cuckoo's bill
Portend success in love; O, if Jove's will
Have linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate
Foretell my hopeless doom in some Grove nigh;
As thou from year to year hast sung too late
For my relief; yet hadst no reason why,
Whether the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

I had a funny bit of evidence that this superstition is not
entirely forgotten. A very beautiful young lady called upon
us in London just as we were departing for the Isle of Wight.
I told her of my great longing to hear the nightingale, and
that I hoped to get a chance. She said that she had just
come from one of her husband's country estates; that she had
not seen a nightingale or heard one this year, although they
were very abundant there. She said she had seen a cuckoo,
which came about the same time. I suppose she observed a
look of amusement on my countenance, for she added quick as
lightning, "But he didn't speak."

I made this year a delightful visit to Cambridge University.
I was the guest of Dr. Butl