134 WEEtf. 



and carry it about when caught, on the top of a pole in the 

 midst of holly or ivy, singing some doggrel verses, which 

 begin with 



'The Wren, the Wren, the king of all birds, 

 St. Stephen's day was caught in the furze; 

 We hunted him up, we hunted him down, 

 We hunted him all about the town.' etc., etc, 



The whole being an excuse for begging, and its consequent 

 debauchery. 



Take the following for a contrast, from an American paper, 

 whose editor I must likewise do honour to by naming it the 

 'Clinton Courant,' though I cannot him, for the following 

 right-minded sentiment so well put: 



'Leaning idly over a fence a few days since, we noticed 

 a little four-year-old 'Lord of the creation' amusing himself 

 in the grass, by watching the frolicsome flight of birds which 

 were playing around him. At length a beautiful Bob-o-link 

 perched himself upon the drooping bough of an apple-tree, 

 which extended to within a few yards of the place where the 

 urchin sat, and maintained his position apparently unconscious 

 of the close proximity of one whom birds usually consider a 

 dangerous neighbour. The boy seemed astonished at his 

 impudence, and after regarding him steadily for a minute or 

 two, obeying the instinct of his baser part, he picked up a 

 stone lying at his feet, and was preparing to throw it, steadying 

 himself carefully for a good aim. The little arm was reached 

 backward without alarming the bird, and Bob was within an 

 ace of damage; when lo! his throat swelled, and forth came 

 nature's plea: 'A link a link a 1-i-n-k, Bob-o-link Bob-o- 

 link ! a-no-weet a-no-weet ! I know it I know it ! a link 

 a link a link don't throw it! throw it! throw it! throw 

 it!' etc.; and he didn't. Slowly the little arm subsided to 

 its natural position, and the despised stone dropped. The 

 minstrel charmed the murderer! We heard the songster 

 through, and watched his unharmed flight, as did the boy 

 with a sorrowful countenance. Anxious to hear an expression 

 of the little fellow's feeling, we approached him and enquired, 

 'Why didn't you stone him, my boy? you might have killed 

 him and carried him home.' The poor little fellow looked up 

 doubtingly, as though he suspected our meaning, and with 

 an expression, half shame and half sorrow, he replied, 'Couldn't! 

 cos he sung so!' Who will say that our nature is wholly 



