94 NATURE NEAR LONDON 



The little boy who dares to take a bird's nest is 

 occasionally fined and severely reproved. The ruffian- 

 like crew who go forth into the pastures and lanes about 

 London, snaring and netting full-grown birds by the score, 

 are permitted to ply their trade unchecked. I mean to 

 say that there is no comparison between the two things. 

 An egg has not yet advanced to consciousness or feeling : 

 the old birds, if their nest is taken, frequently build 

 another. The lad has to hunt for the nest, to climb for 

 it or push through thorns, and may be pricked by 

 brambles and stung by nettles. In a degree there is 

 something to him approaching to sport in nesting. 



But these birdcatchers simply stand by the ditch with 

 their hands in their pockets sucking a stale pipe. They 

 would rather lounge there in the bitterest north-east 

 wind that ever blew than do a single hour's honest 

 work. Blackguard is written in their faces. The 

 poacher needs some courage, at least; he knows a 

 penalty awaits detection. These fellows have no idea 

 of sport, no courage, and no skill, for their tricks are 

 simplicity itself, nor have they the pretence of utility, for 

 they do not catch birds for the good of the farmers or 

 the market gardeners, but merely that they may booze 

 without working for the means. 



Pity it is that any one can be found to purchase the 

 product of their brutality. No one would do so could 

 they but realise the difference to the captive upon which 

 they are lavishing their mistaken love, between the cage, 

 the alternately hot and cold room (as the fire goes out 

 at night), the close atmosphere and fumes that lurk near 

 the ceiling, and the open air and freedom to which it 

 was born. 



The rooks only came to the dust-heap in hard weather, 

 and ceased to visit it so soon as the ground relaxed and 



