n8 BIRDS IN TOWN AND VILLAGE 



The bird, however hard the frost may be, flies 

 briskly to his customary roosting-place, and, with 

 beak tucked into his wing, falls asleep* He has no 

 apprehensions ; only the hot blood grows colder and 

 colder, the pulse feebler as he sleeps, and at mid- 

 night, or in the early morning, he drops from his 

 perch dead* 



Yesterday he lived and moved, responsive to a 

 thousand external influences, reflecting earth and 

 sky in his small brilliant brain as in a looking-glass ; 

 also he had a various language, the inherited know- 

 ledge of his race, and the faculty of flight, by means 

 of which he could shoot, meteor-like, across the 

 sky, and pass swiftly from place to place ; and with 

 it such perfect control over all his organs, such 

 marvellous certitude in all his motions, as to be able 

 to drop himself plumb down from the tallest tree- 

 top, or out of the void air, on to a slender spray, 

 and scarcely cause its leaves to tremble* Now, on 

 this morning, he lies stiff and motionless ; if you 

 were to take him up and drop him from your hand, 

 he would fall to the ground like a stone or a lump of 

 clay so easy and swift is the passage from life to 

 death in wild nature ! But he was never miserable* 



Those of my readers who have seen much of 

 animals in a state of nature, will agree that death 

 from decay, or old age, is very rare among them* 

 In that state the fullest vigour, with brightness of 



