178 BIRDS OF THE COUNTRYSIDE 



rolling and shifting of the eyes. The feathers of the 

 crown were slightly raised as the hair stands upon a 

 dog's rump or a human head for fear of " some fearful 

 fiend." But the eyes were the most eloquent, terrified, 

 but with a certain pride in them. I took the bird out 

 forthwith with the agitated little bullfinches and let 

 them go, and the next day I found the hawfinch lying 

 dead, a few yards from where I had taken it out of the 

 cage. Though not bred in captivity, it was presumably 

 too unused to finding its own food. I do not regret it, 

 for I would rather have killed the bird with my own 

 hands than deciphered that contest of dignity with terror, 

 without restoring it to a liberty at the expense of life. 

 For eyes glazed with death are better than alight 

 with such stress. Many birds, of course, acquiesce 

 in their captivity, but they do so at the loss, if not 

 of the letter of life itself, of that invisible force " whose 

 smile kindles the universe," and theirs is but a death 

 in life. 



There are some birds which must invariably be seen 

 at their best, simply because of their rarity. This is not 

 a euphuism ; one so sees them, because one sees them in 

 life. My acquaintance with rare birds is not extensive, 

 but I have had my moments. On April 19th a golden 

 oriole (a bird of the thrush tribe as big as the throstle, 

 and, but for the dusky wings, all over a luminous 

 golden-yellow) flashed out of a hedge into the wood a 

 few yards off. I happened to be standing between 

 the hedge and the wood. There is no more to be said. 

 This oriole is a summer visitor, and flies over from 

 foreign parts straight into a glass case. I met him on 

 the way. 



The cirl bunting is not so rare and is a resident 

 species. But it is so local in distribution even in 

 Hampshire, its headquarters, that to see it in what- 

 ever circumstances is enough. I saw it in good, for 

 it was singing high up in a poplar, fifty yards from 

 my door, its harmonies of olive, chestnut, black and 

 yellow lustrous against the leaves. There has been 

 some controversy about the quality of the song, but, 

 unambitious though it be, it has a character of its 



