case; the birds sing by daylight at least as often as they do at night, and of a pleasant morning or evening, one may hear a whole choir of them singing cheerfully together. It is said that they never move about in flocks; this may be so, but they certainly live in close neighborhood—a number in the same wood. In the months of May and June, at early dawn, just about the time when the market people and chimney-sweeps are moving about the streets of Paris, the nightingales are heard singing gayly enough, a dozen at a time, perhaps, in the very heart of that great city. They live in the maronniers, and lindens, and elms, among the noble gardens of the town, whether public or private, and seem to mind the neighborhood of man as little as the greenlets which flit about the plane-trees of Philadelphia. It is true, that at the same season, you may, if you choose, take a moonlight walk in the country,
| “ | And the mute silence hist along, |
| Lest Philomel will deign a song | |
| In her sweetest, saddest plight.” |
And probably this solitary song, owing partly to the moonlight, and partly to the stillness of night, will produce a much deeper effect than the choir you heard in the morning, or at sunset.
It is said that an attempt was made, some years since, to introduce the nightingale into this country, a gentleman in Virginia having imported a number and given them their liberty in the woods. But they seem to have all died; the change of climate and food was probably too great. They are delicate birds; they are said to be very rare in the northern counties of England, and to avoid also the western parts of the island. Still, the nightin-
