n6 Alexander Goodman More. [i860 



scarce. May that vengeful cry long pursue his dreams ! 

 May each feather of the victim speed a shaft of remorse ! 

 Alas for the martyred Falcons ! alas for the glory of our 

 cliffs ! shorn of their chief attraction in such loss ! 



" * To the rescue, ye bird-lovers. Proclaim it ! Cry it 

 through the land, " Woe to the Falcon-Slayer ! " 



" <O spare, ye that would be our friends ! spare old, spare 

 young, spare nest ! 



" ' Away, you selfish egg-hoarders ! What use do you 

 make of those empty barren shells ? What pleasure do 

 they afford to you or to your friends ? Think that from 

 each of those withered graves, so prematurely useless, 

 might have flown a princely bird ; or, at worst, have been 

 reared the falconer's pride, "Attila" or "Camilla," un- 

 matched in speed. 



" ' Set your faces then against the pernicious practice. 

 Turn unlovingly from him that offers to entrap ! You may 

 be sure he is a haunted man. Don't you see it in that evil 

 eye ? sure sign of a hardened conscience. Avoid him with 

 a malison, not undeserved we think ; and thus the race of 

 Falcons may not become extinct. Shall we who boast 

 our descent from rover Vikings and from invading Nor- 

 mans shall we not try to save the Peregrine ? >; 



For so passionate a person " Hesperus " took his rebuff 

 philosophically : 



February lyth, 1860. 



MY DEAR NEWTON, Many thanks for your long and most wel- 

 come letter. Don't suppose that I felt in the least hurt at a refusal 

 at once so reasonable and courteous as yours. It is a pleasure 

 to deal with anyone who speaks so frankly. Now to work. As you 

 want reasons, let me try and find them ; and if you think me a 

 sadly obstinate fellow, pray remember I come of the old, once regal 

 house of the Scottish Mores, who were proverbial for sticking to their 

 errors. . . . Now why did I appeal to the passions ? Designedly ; and 

 as the only way in which I could hope to reach the delinquents. What 

 would reasoning do with such people as can hardly be expected to 

 reason much themselves ? And how would reason prevail to shake 

 one atom the murderous intention of Mr. Villikins, whom I meet 

 walking down to the river-side at Richmond to try his skill on the poor 

 Swallows ? Will he not reply, " Sir, my gun was made to shoot with ! 

 Birds, to be shot at; and me to enjoy me's-self !" so, if he did not 

 proceed to maledict my interfering eyes, I should be lucky. But I 



