THE LINNET. 
This modest little songster is a living contradiction of the 
old-fashioned proverbs, “ Fine feathers make fine birds,” “ It is 
the coat that makes the man,” &c. There is rather a large 
family of this sort of proverb, and the sooner they are banished 
from amongst ns the better, as their teaching serves but to 
embolden the arrogant and dishearten those whose lot it is to 
strive and persevere with little present prospect of “ fine fea- 
thers.” Besides, even as regards birds, it is untrue—as regards 
flowers, as regards all nature, it is untrue, Who would think 
of comparing the kingfisher, with his blue and green and 
scarlet suit, to the little brown nightingale ? Which is most 
prized, the gorgeous crossbill or the lark ? among flowers, the 
lily or the tulip, the rose or the sunflower ? among animals, 
the horse or the zebra, the fox or the honest cur ? ' No, my 
boys, it is not the coat that makes the man ; wealth without 
worth is a flower without scent, and good repute the most 
becoming coat a man can wear. However, this is not in- 
tended for a disquisition on stupid proverbs, so we will get back 
to the lionet. 
To my fancy he is, without exception, the nicest little finch 
of the whole tribe ; more grateful for kindness, more solicitous 
to please you than any other. It is by no means a fashionable 
bird, you will find more of them in the vicinity of “ Butcher’s 
Bow,” Whitechapel, than in Belgravia ; but this is no criterion 
of the bird’s worth, and the same remark holds good with all 
song birds except the canary. 
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