THE SACRED HIRD 91 



One odd result of tlii.s over-protection of an exotic 

 species and consequent degradation of the woodlands 

 is that the bird itself becomes a thing disliked by the 

 lover of nature. No doubt it is an irrational feeling, 

 but a very natural one nevertheless, seeing that what- 

 soever is prized and cherished by our enemy, or the being 

 who injures us, nuist conie in for something of the 

 feeling he inspires. There is always an overflow\ Per- 

 sonally I detest the sight of semi-domestic pheasants in 

 the preserves; the bird itself is hateful, and is the one 

 species I devoutly wish to see exterminated in the land. 



But when I find this srune bird where he exists com- 

 paratively in a state of nature, and takes his chance 

 with the other wild creatures, the sight of him affords 

 me keen pleasure: especially in October and November 

 when the change in the colour of the leaf all at once 

 makes this familiar world seem like an enchanted region. 

 We look each year for the change and know it is near, 

 yet when it comes it will be as though we now first 

 witnessed that marvellous transformation — the glory in 

 the high beechen woods on downs and hillsides, of in- 

 numerable oaks on the wide level weald, and elms and 

 maples and birches and ancient gnarled thorns, with 

 tangle of vari-coloured brambles and ivy with leaves 

 like dark malachite, and light green and silvery grey 

 of old-man's-beard. In that aspect of nature the 

 pheasant no longer seems an importation from some 

 brighter land, a stranger to our woods, startlingly unlike 

 our wild native ground-birds in their sober protective 

 colouring, and out of harmony with the surroundings. 



