THE PIPITS 263 



the ground, and the short swing up, with sudden plumb-down, at the 

 end of it the drop-scene which closes the performance. There are 

 the same variations, too, for sometimes the bird sinks, only, on wings 

 spread and raised, and sometimes, closing them, shoots swiftly earth- 

 wards, as the skylark also will do. So, too, the rock-pipit, that little 

 humdrum haunter of the wild, sea-flung beach and stupendous preci- 

 pice, who, over sand, or pebbles, or the drift of seaweed, or black 

 basaltic boulders, heaped in titanic confusion, pursues his business 

 of finding and eating, with a manner and air as though London 

 streets were around him I know of no bird more prosaical none 

 that I would less soon apostrophise even he, when the spring 

 comes, shows the spark of poetry that lives in him, rising, time after 

 time, into the air, with his weak, yet clear little song much resemb- 

 ling that of Pratensis to sink softly down again, as do the others 

 of his tribe. In characterising the rock-pipit as a prosaic little 

 bird, I mean only that he looks so for, speaking generally, is there 

 anything in the actions and ways, the mannerisms, tricks, graces, 

 prettinesses the personal charm, in short of one bird, to our 

 eyes, which makes it inwardly superior to another? In the spirit 

 around which these cluster, is there anything at all corresponding to 

 the human sentiment which we receive from them ? Surelv not, 



tf 



and therefore, when Jefferies calls the robin a "sentimental 

 humbug " this appears to me to be either meaningless or inapprecia- 

 tive meaningless if intended to apply to that sweet bird itself, 

 in particular, (" why he more than another ? "), inappreciative if the 

 poetry and charm of his apparent personality are, in any degree, 

 questioned. Most assuredly they are there, and the general senti- 

 ment which has grown around them is as just and true a one as 

 that which has grown around any bird in these islands, or out 

 of them. In a certain way, indeed, it is just and true. He does 

 come to the lowly cottage, in winter, when the earth is snow-covered, 

 sit in the little tree by the window, and sing his low, sweet song a 

 beautiful thing it is to see and hear him, and well may the poor feel 



