FEBEUARY 69 



She is very fond of cage birds, and I have never known 

 her drawing-room without one or more. On this 

 occasion I remarked, ' That is not the same little bird 

 you had last time I was here.' — 'Oh no,' she replied, 

 ' that one died ; they never live very long, but one can 

 always get others.' 



The remark sounds heartless ; but I know well how 

 tender is that lady's heart. She is incapable of inflict- 

 ing unhappiness or pain intentionally upon any living 

 creature. Nevertheless, the truth remains that the 

 whole traffic in cage birds is tainted with cruelty, 

 unintentional in the main, but none the less grievous. 

 If educated persons have not imaginative power 

 enabling them to realise the real nature of the penalty 

 inflicted upon a winged creature by depriving it of 

 freedom of flight, they are not entitled to condemn an 

 Italian bird-catcher for depriving a nightingale of its 

 organs of sight to stimulate its song. The motive in 

 the first case is pastime — in the second, livelihood. 



I have enjoyed within the last few hours (8th 

 February 1913) two instances of the delight to which 

 birds minister when left in perfect freedom. The first 

 was in the woodland; a cock golden-pheasant was 

 strutting in his gorgeous attire along a bank thickly 

 covered with snowdrops in full bloom. Taking 

 advantage of the thick foliage of a thuja, I was 

 able to get within five yards of the bird without 

 alarming him. It was indeed a feast of colour ; the 

 milk-white pallor of the flowers enhanced the richness 

 of scarlet and gold, of bottle-green and brown, which 

 compose this fine creature's everyday wear, and he 



