230 SPARE THE SONG-BIRDS 



So large has been the throng of listeners that the chief 

 constahle has drafted a number of policemen to maintain 

 order and prevent damage.' 



Cinema theatres had not been invented when this 

 paragraph was printed; but even now, when they 

 appear to be numbered among the necessaries of every 

 neighbourhood, methinks — 



' The nightingale, full-toned in middle May ' 



might still hold an audience of Leicester artisans 

 spellbound. 



A friend, writing to me from London his experience 

 of German air-raids on two successive nights, described 

 how he and all his household spent the hours of dark- 

 ness in the basement of his suburban villa, adding: 

 'After the roar of guns for hours in the dark, the 

 blackbirds were singing at dawn as bravely as ever. 

 What jolly boys they are !' 



As I plead the cause of the song-birds, there comes to 

 mind a certain occasion when I happened at dinner to 

 sit next a very high dignitary of the Church of England. 

 It was in pre-war days of affluence and gourmandise, 

 when hosts and chefs were wont to conspire in 

 presenting a menu of exorbitant length and variety. 

 A lark pudding was handed round, which I passed 

 with silent protest against the barbarity. Howbeit, the 

 prelate by my side helped himself liberally to it. I 

 ventured to express surprise that he should partake 

 of such a dish. ' Why not ? ' quoth he, ' it 's very good.' 

 Whereupon I said bluntly that it was almost as dire 

 an outrage as Nero's entrSe of nightingales' tongues. 



