XI 



BRIGHT and genial were all the last days of 

 June, when I loitered in the lanes before the 

 unwished day of my return to London. During 

 this quiet, pleasant time the greenfinch was perhaps 

 more to me than any other songster. In the village 

 itself, with the adjacent lanes and orchards, this 

 pretty, seldom-silent bird was the most common 

 species. The village was his metropolis, just as 

 London is ours and the sparrow's; its lanes were 

 his streets, its hedges and elm trees his cottage 

 rows and tall stately mansions and public build- 

 ings. We frequently find the predominance of 

 one species somewhat wearisome. Speaking for 

 myself, there are songsters that are best appre- 

 ciated when they are limited in numbers and keep 

 their distance, but of the familiar, unambitious 

 strains of swallow, robin, and wren I never tire, 

 nor, during these days, could I have too much 

 of the greenfinch, low as he ranks among British 



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