GILBERT WHITE AND SELBORNE 91 



" hirundines," dwindling so surely year by year, now 

 that the French, Spaniards, and Italians have found 

 a new and improved method of taking them on migration, 

 so that the security and quietude of that old church- 

 yard seemed menaced and ruffled, and I left it. 



I went home by the Liss main road. Every half- 

 minute or so motor-cars passed by in a convulsion of 

 stinks, dust, whirr and hoots. In the middle of the 

 road, perfectly quiet and composed, stood a little bird, 

 uttering every few seconds a subdued, pensive, sorrow- 

 ful twitter. Whenever a motor squealed by it fluttered 

 under the very wheels into a near holly-bush, and 

 when the clamour had subsided flew down again into 

 the same place, uttering that plaintive call. I was 

 astounded when I recognized the shy goldfinch. So 

 I walked up to where it stood (it was a male), and there 

 I found the body of another goldfinch — not a body, 

 but a shell, all that was left being the outer skin clothed 

 in faded feathers. It had been dead several days. I 

 took the bird and laid it in some long grass by the road- 

 side, and as soon as I had turned my back, the live 

 bird flew down from the holly and perched beside the 

 grass, uttering his mournful, scarce audible requiem. 

 Then at last did I understand that strange talk between 

 the two naturalists in Selborne churchyard, now that 

 nature had shown me this wonder, now that I had 

 found the crock of gold. 



