140 
BIBD8 IN A VILLAGE, 
the volatile bird dines on no more than twenty 
dishes every day he loves to taste of a hundred, 
and to have at least a thousand on the .table to 
choose from. 
Feeding the birds and keeping the cage always 
sweet and clean would occupy most, if not the 
whole, of my time. But would that be too much 
to give if it made me tranquil in my own mind ? 
For it must be noted that I have done all this, 
mentally and on paper, for my own satisfaction 
rather than for that of the canaries. Birds are not 
worth much — to us. Are not five sparrows sold for 
three farthings ? I have even shot many birds and 
have felt no compunction. True, th.Qj perished 
before their time, but they did not languish, and, 
being dead, there was an end of them ; but the 
caged canaries, continuing with us, cannot be dis- 
missed from the mind with the same convenient 
ease. After all, I begin to think that my imaginary 
reforms, if carried out, would not quite content 
me. The " compunctious visitings " would linger 
still. I look out of the window^ and see a sparrow 
on a neighbouring tree, loudly chirruping. And 
as I listen, trying to find comfort by thinking of 
the perils which do environ him, his careless un- 
conventional sparrow-music resolves itself into 
articulate speech, interspersed with occasional 
bursts of derisive laughter. He knows, this 
