THE GREENFINCH. 
Of all the finches that sing this is the most humble. He 
is the boy’s first songster, — the penny bird. Often have I seen 
the schoolboy wistfully eyeing the birdcatcher’s store-cage, and 
turning his penny over and over in his pocket, while his face 
wears a perplexed and anxious expression. Willingly would he 
change his penny for a bird, but then — what shall he keep it 
in. There is no such thing as a bird-cage at home, so he is 
afraid he must, — stay a minute, though ! There is that old 
bonnet-box, discarded by sister Jane — his empty rabbit-hutch — • 
one of those empty pickle-jars — either of which will serve as a 
make-shift cage while he “ saves up ” till he can buy the genuine 
and proper article. So at once the penny is transferred to the 
birdcatcher’s pocket, and the green bird to the boy’s, and home 
he hurries, proud as a peacock. 
For my own part, the greenfinch will always retain a kindly 
comer in my remembrance, for it was he who first set my mind 
on bird-keeping. It came about in this way. Many years ago, 
when I was quite a little chap, indeed, and wore a pinafore, I 
lived at Kensington. One morning, while I was taking a walk 
through a lane — it was very early — I came upon a milk-boy, 
who had with him a little dog. The dog was snarling and 
jumping, and the milk-boy was clapping his hands, as though 
urging the animal to attack something. Presently I discovered 
that the object of sport was a little bird, whose wings were 
somehow injured so that it could do no more than flutter along 
the ground. I remonstrated with the milk -boy (he was bigger 
than I), but finding that of no avail, I seized his cur and gave 
it a cuff, upon which its master immediately retaliated by 
striking me. I never was a great hand at fighting, but this 
behaviour of the milk-boy so exasperated me, that I hit him in 
return, and the result was a pitched battle, which ended in the 
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