BIRDS IN A VILLAGE 125 



ficent ivory-limbed giant, with flowing yellow locks 

 and cerulean eyes, was not the child of her own 

 womb. 



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 spfedes. 

 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 buildings. We fre- 

 quently find the predominance of one species 

 somewhat wearisome. Speaking for myself, there 

 are songsters that are best appreciated 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 melodists. Tastes differ ; 

 that is a point on which we are all agreed, and every 

 one of us, even the humblest, is permitted to have 



