“‘The nightingale,’ says Buffon, ‘begins with a timid prelude in weak and almost wavering tones, as if wishing to try its instrument and win the attention of those within hearing; but presently, gaining assurance, it gradually becomes animated and displays all the resources of its incomparable organ. Bursts of melody, lively volleys of rippling song in which clearness is equaled only by volubility, low and voiceless murmurs inaudible to the listener, but calculated to increase the brilliance of the notes about to be heard, vivid and rapid trills that sweep the gamut and are articulated with force and even with a certain hardness of effect not unpleasing to the ear, plaintive cadences softly modulated, notes struck without art but full of soul, enchanting and poignant chords that seem to come from the very heart and to convey a touching significance—such are the impassioned strains by which, in a tongue doubtless full of sentiment, this natural songster appears to try to charm its mate or, rather, to contend before her with his jealous rivals for the prize of supreme excellence in song.’ “I have seen unfeeling barbarians cut short this pretty romance with a shot from a gun. They say that half a dozen nightingales make an excellent broiled dish. Horrors! What a frightful brute is man when he thinks of nothing but his stomach! “The nightingale builds its nest in bushes and rather near the ground, sometimes even among the roots. Coarse grasses and oak leaves are used for the outside, tufts of fleece and horsehair for the inside. The female lays five dark-green eggs. “With the nightingale, though less wonderful as singers, are to be classed the warblers, thirty or more species of which can be counted in Europe. All live on flies, caterpillars, small beetles, spiders, and larvæ of various kinds. Their nests are constructed with much art. Some nest in trees and hedges in our gardens; others prefer thickets and lonely groves; still others choose holes in tree trunks and walls. Others, again, build on piling that projects above the water in marshes; that is, they unite three or four slender reeds with a ligature and build their nest on this swaying support. Others, finally, content themselves with a little hole in the ground. Among the best-known of these birds is the black-capped warbler, so named on account of the black hood that covers the top of the head and the nape of the neck. You remember it is one of the cuckoo’s victims, as was proved by the egg found a few days ago, in the nest at the foot of the garden. Then we must include the babbling warbler, lover of copses, orchards, and gardens; the little red warbler, which visits our fruit-trees and says, zip-zap, zip-zap, zip-zap; the marsh-warbler, which builds its nest among the marsh reeds; and the Alpine warbler, guest of chalets and tuneful songster of high, snowy mountains.