THE ROBIN 1 REDBREAST. 
23 
For many other associations connected with the Robin the reader may be 
referred to an enthusiastic lecture on it by Mr. Ruskin. He draws out in a 
curious manner what may be termed the philosophy of its arrangement of 
feathers, showing how the strength and continuity of its wing-feathers are pro¬ 
duced. Its legs, too, for their neatness, finish, and precision of action come in 
for no small admiration. As for the prettiness of its red breast, he lays down, 
viewing it in the abstract, and with an artist’s eye only, “he can always be outshone 
by a brickbat.” For a good example, however, of the fantastic mode in which 
Mr. Ruskin blends ornithology, aesthetics, and morals, a characteristic paragraph of 
his on this point of the Redbreast’s appearance may fitly end this chapter. “ I said 
just now, he might be at once outshone by a brickbat. Indeed, the day before 
yesterday, sleeping at Lichfield, and seeing, the first thing when I woke in the 
morning (for I never put down the blinds of my bedroom windows), the not un¬ 
common sight in an English country town of an entire house-front of very neat and 
very flat and very red bricks, with very exactly squared square windows in it, and 
not feeling myself in any ways gratified or improved by the spectacle, I was thinking 
how in this, as in all other good, the too much destroyed all. The breadth of a 
Robin’s breast in brick-red is delicious, but a whole house-front of brick-red as vivid 
is alarming. And yet one cannot generalise even that trite moral with any safety, 
for infinite breadth of green is delightful, however green, and of sea or sky, however 
blue. 
“ You must note, however, that the Robin’s charm is greatly helped by the 
pretty space of grey plumage which separates the red from the brown back, and sets 
it off to its best advantage. There is no great brilliancy in it, even so relieved ; 
only the finish of it is exquisite ” (p. 34). Singularly enough, the eloquent writer 
forgets to enlarge on the perfect adaptation of the Robin’s plumage to its woodland 
haunts, especially when they are clad in the bravery of autumn. Nor can he find a 
word for the delightful contrast of its red breast against freshly-fallen snow in winter; 
and yet these points, it would be supposed, are the first to strike any lover of country 
sights and birds. 
