6 ADVENTURES AMONG BIRDS 



it and finds it an improvement, and infinitely more in- 

 teresting than the original, and the old feeling inevitably 

 changes — it is transferred from the man to the picture. 

 These changes in feeling never occur in the case of the 

 feathered friends we have made, and find pleasure in 

 portraying. We may put them again and again in books 

 without experiencing any diminution in our feelings to- 

 wards them. On the contrary, after doing our best we 

 no sooner look again on the originals than we see how 

 bad the portrait is, and would be glad to put it out of 

 sight and forget all about it. This lustre, this peculiar 

 grace, this expression which I never marked before, is 

 not in the picture I have made; come, let me try again, 

 though it be but to fail again, to produce yet another 

 painting fit only for the lumber-room. 



After all it does not need a naturalist nor an artist 

 nor a poet to appreciate and be the better for that best 

 thing in a wild bird, that free, joyous, joy-giving nature 

 felt by every one of us. The sight of a wild, free, 

 happy existence, as far as the fairies or angels from 

 ours, yet linked to us by its warm red blood, its throb- 

 bing human-shaped heart, fine senses, and intelligent 

 mind, emotions that sway it as ours sway us. A relative, 

 a "little sister," but clothed for its glory and joy in 

 feathers that are hard as flint, light as air and trans- 

 lucent, and wings to lift it above the earth on which we 

 walk. Is there on earth a human being who has not felt 

 this ? Not one ! 



I remember going once to see a member of a county 

 council to try to enlist his interest in the subject of 



