23 



ZTbe IRe^start. 



By the Rev. C. D. Farrar. 



^V^R. Johnson once remarked that it was the 

 I f duty of a biographer to state all the failings 

 ■""^^^ of a respectable character. If I were to relate 

 all mine it would take too long, so I must be content 

 with one. I can never say No, to a good offer ; when, 

 therefore, I was offered, sometime since, a pair of 

 Redstarts, I fell an easy prey to the tempter. I had 

 had Redstarts before — and lost them — a Nightingale 

 kindly put an end to one pair, a Robin to another. 

 But what of that ? Was not Caesar indebted for his 

 success not so much to his wonderful talent as to the 

 single disposition of mind — Nil actum rep7da?is si 

 quid superesset ageiidiwi. It was the same with me : I 

 had not only to buy Redstarts, but to keep them alive! 

 And after all, in one case at any rate, the fault had 

 not been mine. If the question had been asked, as in 

 the old nursery rhyme, 'Who killed the Redstart?' 

 the answer would have immediately been ' I, said 

 cock Robin ! ' 



My cock Redstart, when I first got him, was not 

 exactly a thing of beauty, as his tail resembled a worn 

 out shaving-brush, and his poor wings were decidedly 

 the worse for wear. The fact that I had bought such 

 a scarecrow at all reminded me of a little lad in 'Aunt 

 Huldah,' the witty American book lately published. 

 "'Aunt Huldy,' said the child suddenly, 'it's just 

 like Iroy Gilbert said, you go and hunt up all the 

 pretty children, all the nice children, an' you just 

 keep the old ugly ones, like me, that nobody'll have.' " 



A friend happened to call the day the bird arrived 

 — why will people call at inopportune moments? — 

 and, after looking him up and down with unconcealed 

 contempt, exclaimed, * What do you call that thing?' 

 I remarked — I hope in a quiet and Christian spirit — 



