Shades dark as night;—and lo! a voice that calls, When, by the banks of yonder osier'd stream, Was fixed on forms that, through his dark'ning shades, Meek Piety her gentle eye would raise; And here, with smile benignant on her foes, J. MITFORD. THE NIGHTINGALE CATCHER. Yes, I have stood And marked thy varied note, and frequent pause— HURDIS. Sweet artless songster, thou my mind do'st raise W. DRUMMOND. IN a former work I have noticed the respective characters of rat and mole catchers, exactly such as I had met with, and no two characters can be more distinct. I may now add a third, who have a placid, untiring appearance or aspect, exercising patience like fishermen for the hour together. I refer to bird-catchers, such as we see them in the fields around London, contentedly awaiting fortuitous flocks of goldfinches, linnets, and red-poles, with hopes as visionary and deceptive as those of the expectant disciple of Walton himself. I have frequently talked to these men, as they have been seated with a long string in their hands, ready to close the net, should any unlucky birds settle within its range. I always approach them with great caution, fearful that my intrusion may drive away the expected prey; but it is extraordinary how little apprehensive they seem of this being the case. In fact, they appear by no means anxious to conceal themselves, trusting to the fascinating powers of their call-birds. These are arranged round the net, and evidently show a spiteful pleasure in getting their wild brethren into the same scrape with themselves. They jug and sing, and flutter and call, with extraordinary energy, and which increases as they hear themselves responded to at a distance. As the wild birds approach, the call is changed; and many of these latter settle on the net, as if unable to resist the allurements of the others. These bird-catchers, as I have already remarked, are patient, untiring men, fond of descanting on the relative merits of their call-birds, some of which have a large price put upon them. They are generally Spitalfields weavers; but sometimes, shoemakers, thus having employment when birds cannot be caught. They appear to be an industrious sober race of men. The nightingale catcher, on the contrary, is generally a stealthy, downcast vagabond, most justly detested by all owners of groves, plantations, and hedge-rows, possessing any good taste, within twenty miles of the metropolis. I knew one of these men, who passed much of his time in the Spring in the pretty lanes of Buckinghamshire, trapping the "merry nightingales" as they Answer'd and provok'd each other's song. He was a hard-featured, uneducated man, looking very like a veteran poacher; in which occupation, I was informed, he was very expert. Much of his time had been passed in woods and coppices in trapping any good songsters he heard in the breeding season; such as thrushes, blackbirds, woodlarks, and blackcaps; and it was extraordinary in how short a time he tamed them and brought them to resume their song. I have seen a nightingale a few days after it was caught take its food out of his lips, but he kept his method of taming a secret. The nightingale catcher's season is very short, but he makes the most of it; and it is greatly to be regretted, that in the exercise of his craft, he deprives so many persons of those exquisite cadences which are justly appreciated by all lovers of harmony and nature. But whatever may be the faults of his character and calling, the nightingale catcher is by no means an individual devoid of taste; on the contrary, he appears to appreciate dulcet music, and delights in soft sounds; and is moreover a connoisseur in melody. His room, certainly, is generally filled with shrill canaries, and other birds, to say nothing of jackdaws, magpies and starlings, with a few tame bantams, and now and then a hedgehog or a guinea-pig on the floor. His craft is, however, much less a sin in his own estimation than in that of other people, but this is commonly the error of all rogues a dilettanti on a minor scale, but an unprincipled one at best. But let me draw the picture of a nightingale catcher from the life; not the one I have already referred to, but one who pursued his calling for many years in the sweet groves and tangled thickets of a delightful neighbourhood. To look at or to meet him, it would be supposed that a more guileless or diligent hind could not be seen. His work began early in the morning, for the commencement of it was as soon as two or three o'clock. The only questionable symptom about him was a shooting coat, deep in the pockets of which he concealed the instruments and entanglements of his calling, and the most irresistible enticements. The frogs which the amiable Walton recommended as baits were not more tempting to the fish, than the impaled meal worm to the gentle songster which it was unhappily destined to allure. The "sweetly plaintive song" is heard, the trap is set, and soon down drops the deluded victim to seize the bait; sweet bird, in an instant |