He halted on a hedgerow in a narrow lane, which bordered a deep wood. The sky was lovely sapphire colour, pierced here and there by bright stars. It was wonderfully still, save for those indescribable sounds which ever accompany the close of a summer's evening, those sounds which reveal to us that the great pulse of life is still strong,--strong even at that hour of repose,--the sleepy half-notes of the woodland bird, the "droning flight" of the beetle, or the passing hum of a belated bee. Tiny lamps, the glow-worm's "dusky light," shone here and there from the hedgerow. No step sounded, the air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and had not yet lost the heat of a long summer day. All at once, in the midst of the general stillness, there broke forth on the night air a song so strange, so beautiful, that the Blackbird held his breath to listen. It came suddenly; and from a tree close beside him, a sweet low murmuring song, and then it changed to a swift "jug, jug." This was followed by a shake, clear and prolonged, and then came a "low piping sound," which, as the song ceased, the air gave back, as if it were loth to lose the melody. Once again the song broke forth, varied, and, if possible, more full, more beautiful than before, finishing with the same low pipe. The Blackbird gazed about him in ecstasy; who could the unseen minstrel be? A very unpretending looking bird, with a brown back, and a dull white breast was sitting on a beech-tree close by. Could that be the minstrel, that plain insignificant looking bird? And then as the Blackbird reflected, he all at once called to mind who it was,--this songster of the night! It was none other than the Nightingale, the queen of song, the glory of the woods; and the Blackbird flew back to his nest, lost in admiration of the small brown-coated singer, his heart filled with gratitude for the glorious song. END OF CHIRP THE THIRD. CHIRP THE FOURTH. AUTUMN. The strawberries had entirely disappeared, the raspberries and gooseberries had followed, the last of the hay had been some time gathered in, and dry grass had taken the place of flowery meadows. The corn which had been green and soft was rapidly becoming hard and golden. It was now that the Blackbird became aware that the sun was once more beginning to go earlier to bed, and yet to get up later. "No doubt the sun is getting tired," thought the Blackbird, "and no wonder; he has been up and shining so many hours lately. I shall be glad when he has had a good long rest, and begins to rise early again, for the birds are not singing so sweetly as they used to do, and even the poor flowers begin to droop." However, the days were still beautiful, though the blue sky was now often obscured by clouds, and the evenings were getting rather chilly.