BIRDS— YOUNG AND OLD. 
67 
A young chaffincli that had someliow lost alike itself and its 
parents, once came to us for sustenance, and it was pathetic to 
see the little mite begging from one old bird after another ; but 
none of the busy parents had anything to spare for the little 
orphan, and they flew away with their own families. Possibly 
young birds may not always know their own parents, but the 
parent birds evidently know their own young ones. 
Last summer the robin who owns the best half of our lawn 
brought his family to see us ; he himself flitted about among the 
plump chaffinches like a little spectre, thin with family cares, his 
once scarlet breast discoloured with scars of war, and his bright 
eyes nearly starting out of his head with anxiety. We noticed 
the hereditarj' instinct leading a young robin to watch the 
turning over of earth, almost before it could find for itself the 
delicacies hidden therein. 
A family of blue tits is a charming sight ; one day I heard 
buzzing, squeaking sounds proceeding from the thick foliage of a 
Spanish chestnut, and presently I saw a family party of blue tits, 
now heads, now tails up, parents and children equally “ light of 
heart, and light of limb.” 
A thrush brought his young ones to feed on our lawn, a 
greenfinch brought his ill-behaved but good-looking family, and 
we watched a family of wagtails out insect-hunting for the first 
time ; and the bird life goes on, with all its quarrels, jealousies, 
rivalries, loves and fears — a world of its own. Those of us who 
accept Nature as a teacher, and love the open air, cannot imagine 
ourselves without the unfailing interest of bird life. The affec- 
tion we feel for those (sparrows excepted) who stay with us 
through the winter, deepens ; the delight with which we wel- 
come the migrants back to their summer homes is ever new ; 
the joy of discovering a new friend does not detract in the least 
from the love we bear the old. Then the excitement of the nest- 
building, the feeding and bringing out of the young ; and best of 
all, the joy of hearing the song of blackbird and thrush, the 
warble of the robin, the trill of the chaffinch, the twitter of the 
swallows. All these, and many more delights than we can 
name, are theirs who enter into the bird life around them ; for 
without its song and merriment and grace, the most beautiful 
garden would have a want that no flower-colour or fragrance 
could supply. 
Helen J. Ormerod. 
Chagford. 
