i860] u Hesperus" on the War-path. 115 



naturalists ; and if the murderous hand can but be stayed 

 the protest will not have been in vain : 



" 'Not far from where I live extends a long line of mag- 

 nificent cliffs, the glory of our Island, visited in summer 

 by hundreds of travellers who find, most of them, the 

 highest pleasure in surveying the grand precipice, with its 

 clamorous tenants, the sea-birds of various kinds. 



" 'Alas ! that some should think it sport, forsooth, to play 

 the butcher's part, and shed, with no scientific object, the 

 blood of innocent Puffins at their nests ! As if that were 

 worthy of a man ! As if such Cockneys did not deserve, 

 at each shot, to burst their barrels about their ears ; and so 

 to shed blood less innocent perhaps than that against 

 which their guns were pointed. 



" ' Often and often have I reverted to that beloved spot. 

 In calm to watch the glimmering wavelets that seemed 

 quietly to whisper peace ; while from afar rose the cheerful 

 cries of Gulls at play, and the voice of the Mallard, preen- 

 ing his azure shoulders beneath an April's sun. Why bring 

 murder here ? In storm, when the waves furiously lash the 

 cliffs, and none can stand against the gale, to see the gal- 

 lant Peregrine spring from some ledge, and shoot obliquely 

 upwards brave rider of the blast ! Who would bring 

 murder here ? 



"'And yet not very long since (so the story goes), traps 

 yes, miserable gins were set within the nest, and took both 

 parents ; then one of another pair. How the fingers should 

 have been wrung that set those snares ! What ! Falcons 

 sold for some miserable pittance to grace the shelf of a 

 Cockney ! Falcons, erewhile worth an Earl's ransom, be- 

 trayed to citizens for shillings ! Gamekeepers too are 

 overhard upon them. Sad avarice, to grudge an occa- 

 sional Pigeon or rabbit, to weigh even a few Partridges 

 against that noble bird, each feather from whose pinion is 

 worth a hecatomb of Pheasants. 



" * Shame to silence that voice whose ringing cry thrills 

 through the heart as it is borne re-echoing round the preci- 

 pice ! May the Vulture of Prometheus gnaw that wretch, 

 who for gain, or for spite, or for paltry selfish ends, could 

 slay the Falcon on his eyrie ! at least where the bird is 



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