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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..606ecef --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #50777 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50777) diff --git a/old/50777-8.txt b/old/50777-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ecf480f..0000000 --- a/old/50777-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4789 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Beautiful Birds, by Edmund Selous - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Beautiful Birds - -Author: Edmund Selous - -Illustrator: Hubert D. Astley - -Release Date: December 28, 2015 [EBook #50777] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEAUTIFUL BIRDS *** - - - - -Produced by Emmanuel Ackerman and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - -BEAUTIFUL BIRDS - -[Illustration: LYRE-BIRD] - - - - - BEAUTIFUL BIRDS - - BY - - EDMUND SELOUS - AUTHOR OF "TOMMY SMITH'S ANIMALS" - - WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS BY - HUBERT D. ASTLEY - - 1901 - LONDON: J. M. DENT & CO. - 29 & 30 BEDFORD STREET, W.C. - - - Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. - At the Ballantyne Press - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAP. PAGE - - I. WHY BEAUTIFUL BIRDS ARE KILLED 1 - - II. BIRDS OF PARADISE 20 - - III. THE GREAT BIRD OF PARADISE 35 - - IV. THE RED BIRD OF PARADISE 56 - - V. THE LESSER, BLACK, BLUE, AND GOLDEN BIRDS OF PARADISE 67 - - VI. ABOUT ALL BIRDS OF PARADISE, AND SOME EXPLANATIONS 93 - - VII. ABOUT HUMMING-BIRDS, AND SOME MORE EXPLANATIONS 108 - - VIII. SOME VERY BRIGHT HUMMING-BIRDS 129 - - IX. HERMIT HUMMING-BIRDS AND TWO OTHER ONES 151 - - X. THE COCK-OF-THE-ROCK AND THE LYRE-BIRD 164 - - XI. THE RESPLENDENT TROGON AND THE ARGUS PHEASANT 179 - - XII. WHITE EGRETS, "OSPREYS," AND OSTRICH-FEATHERS 203 - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - _Lyre-Bird_ _Frontispiece_ - - _Page_ - - _Papuan shooting Birds of Paradise_ 49 - - _Lesser Bird of Paradise_ 69 - - _King Bird of Paradise_ 77 - - _Golden-winged Bird of Paradise_ 89 - - _Racquet-tailed Humming-Bird_ 113 - - _Plover-crest Humming-Bird_ 125 - - _Train-bearer Humming-Bird_ 131 - - _Cock-of-the-Rock_ 168 - - _Resplendent Trogon_ 187 - - _Argus Pheasant_ 195 - - _White Egret_ 205 - - _End Piece_ 225 - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -BEAUTIFUL BIRDS. - - - - -CHAPTER I - -Why Beautiful Birds are Killed - - -What beautiful things birds are! Can you think of any other creatures -that are quite so beautiful? I know you will say "Butterflies," and -perhaps it _is_ a race between the birds and the butterflies, but -I think the birds win it even here in England. Just think of the -Kingfisher, that bird that is like a little live chip of the blue -sky, flying about all by itself, and doing just what it likes. The -Sky-blue Butterfly is like that too, I know, but then it is a much -smaller chip, and does not shine in the sun in such a wonderful way -as the Kingfisher does. Neither, I think, does the Peacock-Butterfly, -or the Red Admiral, or the Painted Lady, or the Greater or Lesser -Tortoise-shell; and, besides, they none of them go so fast. Yes, -all those butterflies are beautiful, very, very beautiful. But now, -supposing they were all flying about in a field that a river was -winding through, and, supposing you were sitting there too, amongst -the daisies and buttercups in the bright summer sunshine, and looking -at them, and supposing all at once there was a little dancing dot of -light far away down the river, and that it came gleaming and gleaming -along, getting nearer and nearer and keeping just in the middle all -the time, till it passed you like a sapphire sunbeam, like a star upon -a bird's wings, then I am sure you would look and look at it all the -time it was coming, and look and look after it all the time it was -going away, and when at last it was quite gone you would sit wondering, -forgetting about the butterflies, and thinking only of that star-bird, -that little jewelly gem. But, perhaps, if you were to see a _Purple -Emperor_ sweeping along--ah, _he_ is a _very_ magnificent butterfly, is -the purple emperor. You can tell that from his name, but whether he is -_quite_ so magnificent as a star-bird (for that is what we will call -the Kingfisher)--well, it is not so easy to decide. The birds and the -butterflies are both beautiful, there is no doubt about that, only this -little book is about beautiful birds, and perhaps afterwards there will -be another one about beautiful butterflies. That will be quite fair to -both. - -The birds, then! We will talk about them. I am going to tell you about -some of the most beautiful ones that there are, and to describe them -to you, so that you will know something about what they are like. But -perhaps you think that you know that already because you have seen -them, so that _you_ could tell _me_ what they are like. There is the -star-bird that we have been talking about, and then there is the Thrush -and the Blackbird. What two more beautiful birds could you see than -they, as they hop about over the lawn of your garden in the early dewy -morning? The Blackbird is all over of such a dark, glossy, velvety -black, and his bill is such a lovely, deep, orangy gold. It would be -difficult, surely, to find a handsomer bird, but the Thrush, with his -lovely speckled breast, is just as handsome. Then the Robin with _his_ -crimson breast, and his little round ball of a body--what bird could be -prettier? Or the Chaffinch, or Greenfinch, or Linnet? Or the Bullfinch, -surely _he_ is handsomer than all of them (except the star-bird), with -his beautiful mauve-peach-cherry-crimson breast, and his coal-black -head and nice fat beak, and that pleasant, saucy look that he has. -Yes, _he_ is the handsomest, unless--oh, just fancy! we were actually -leaving out the Goldfinch. _He_ has crimson on each side of his face, -and a black velvet cap on his head, whilst on both his wings he has -feathers of a beautiful, bright, golden yellow. I think _he must_ be -the handsomest, unless it is the Brambling, who is dressed all in -russet and gold. And then there is the Yellow-Wagtail! Could one think -of a prettier little bird than he is--unless one tried a good deal? -To be a wagtail at all is something, but to be not only a Wagtail but -yellow all over as well, _that does_ make a pretty little bird! And I -daresay you have seen him running about on your lawn, too, at the same -time as the thrush and the blackbird. And there is _another_ bird, -one that you do not see running or hopping over your lawn, but flying -over it, sometimes far above it, when the sky is blue and the insects -are high in the air, sometimes just skimming it when it is dull and -cloudy and the insects are flying low. You know what bird it is I mean, -now--the Swallow. I need not _say_ how beautiful _he_ is. - -So, as you have seen all these pretty birds, and a good many others -too--at least if you live in the country and not in London--perhaps you -think that there cannot be many, or perhaps any, that are so _very_ -much prettier. Ah, but do not be too sure about that. You must never -think that because something is very beautiful there can be nothing -still more beautiful. _You_ may not be able to imagine anything more -beautiful, but that may be only because your imagination is not strong -enough to do it. It may be a very good imagination in its way, better -than mine perhaps, or a great many other people's, but still it is not -good enough. In fact there is not one of us who has an imagination -which _is_ good enough to do things like that. _We_ could never have -imagined birds which are still more beautiful than those we have been -talking about. Indeed we could never have imagined those that we _have_ -been talking about. Only Dame Nature has been able to imagine them both. - -_She_ can imagine anything, and the funny thing is that as she imagines -it, there it is--just as if she had cut it out with a pair of scissors. -Perhaps she does do that. She is a lady--_Dame_ Nature, you know--so -she would know how to use a pair of scissors. But what _her_ scissors -are like and how she uses them and what sort of stuff it is that she -cuts things out of, those are things which nobody knows. Only, there -are the birds, not only the beautiful ones that you have seen, but a -very great many others which you have never seen, and which are so very -much more beautiful than the ones you have, that if you were to see -those beside them, they would look quite--well no, not ugly--thrushes -and blackbirds and swallows and robin-redbreasts could not look -_that_--but insignificant--in comparison. - -Now it is about some of those birds--the very beautiful birds of -all, the most beautiful ones in the whole world--that I am going to -tell you; but all the while I am telling you, you must remember that -they--these very beautiful birds--do not sing, whilst _our_ birds--the -insignificant-looking ones--do. So you must not think poorly of -our birds because their colours are plain or even dingy--I mean in -comparison with these other ones--for if they have not the great beauty -of plumage, they have the great beauty of song. And perhaps you would -not so very much mind growing up plain, like a lark or a nightingale -(which would not be so very, very plain), if you could _sing_ like a -lark or a nightingale--as perhaps one day you will. - -Indeed, I sometimes wish that those very beautiful birds were not quite -so beautiful as they are. You will think that a funny wish to have, but -there is a sensible reason for it, which I will explain to you. Perhaps -if they were not quite so beautiful, not quite so many of them would be -killed. For, strange as it may seem to you--and I know it _will_ seem -strange--it is just because the birds _are_ beautiful that hundreds and -hundreds, yes, and thousands and thousands, of them are being killed -every day. Yes, it is quite true. I wish it were not, but I am sorry to -say it is. People kill the birds _because_ they are beautiful. But is -not that cruel? Yes, indeed it is, very, very cruel. It is cruel for -two reasons: first, because to kill them gives them pain; and secondly, -because their life is so happy. Can anything be happier than the life -of a bird? Surely not. Only to fly, just think how delightful that -must be, and then to be always living in green, leafy palaces under -the bright, warm sun and the blue sky. For I must tell you that these -birds we are going to talk about live where the trees are always leafy, -where the sun is always bright and the sky always blue. So they are -always happy. Even if a bird _could_ be unhappy in winter--which I am -not at all sure about--there is no winter there. Now the happier any -creature is the more cruel it is to kill it and take that happiness -away from it. I am sure you will understand that. If you were carrying -a very heavy weight, which tired you and made you stoop and gave you no -pleasure at all, and some one were to come and take it away from you, -you would not think that so very cruel. You would have nothing now, it -is true, but then all you _had_ had was that weight, which was so heavy -and made you stoop. But, now, if you were carrying a beautiful bunch of -flowers which smelt sweetly and weighed just nothing at all, and some -one were to take _that_ away, you would think _that_ cruel, I am sure. -A bird's life is like that bunch of flowers. How cruel, then, it must -be to take it away from any bird. We should think it very wrong if some -one were to kill _us_. Yet it is not _always_ a bunch of flowers that -_we_ are carrying. - -So, as it is cruel to kill the birds, and as they are not nearly so -beautiful when they are dead as they are when they are alive, and as -the world is full of tender-hearted women to love them and plead for -them and to say, "Do not kill them," perhaps you will wonder why it is -that they are killed. I will tell you how it has come about. When Dame -Nature had imagined all her beautiful birds, and then cut them out of -that wonderful stuff of hers--the stuff of life--with her marvellous -pair of scissors, she said to her eldest daughter--whose name is -Truth--"Now I will leave them and go away for a little, for there are -other places where I must imagine things and cut them out with my -scissors." Truth said, "Do not leave the birds, for there are men in -the world with hard hearts and a film over their eyes. They will see -the birds, but not their beauty, because of the film, and they will -kill them because of their hearts, which are like marble or rock or -stone." "They are, it is true," said Dame Nature, "and indeed it was of -some such material that I cut them out. I had my reasons, but you would -never understand them, so I shall not tell you what they were. But -there are not only my men in the world; there are my women too. I cut -_them_ out of something very different. It was soft and yielding, and -that part that went to make the heart was like water--like soft water. -I made them, too, to have influence over the men, and I put no film -over _their_ eyes. _They_ will see how beautiful my birds are, and they -will know that they are more beautiful alive than dead. And because of -this and their soft hearts they will not kill them, and to the men they -will say, 'Do not kill them,' and my beautiful birds will live. Women -will spare them because they have pity, and men because women ask them -to. And to make it still more certain, see yonder on that hill sits the -Goddess of Pity. She has come from heaven to help me, and has promised -to stay till I return. It is from her that pity goes into all those -hearts that have it, and because she is a goddess, she sends most of it -into the hearts of women. Have no fear, then, for until the Goddess of -Pity falls asleep my birds are safe." "But _may_ she not fall asleep?" -said Truth. But Dame Nature had hurried away with her scissors, and was -out of hearing. - -As soon as she was gone, there crept out of a dark cave, where he had -been hiding, an ugly little mannikin, who hated Dame Nature and her -daughter Truth, and did everything he could to spite them both. Their -very names made him angry. He was a demon, really, and ugly, as I say. -But he did not _look_ ugly, because nobody saw him. All that people saw -when they looked at him was a suit of clothes, and this suit of clothes -was so well made and so fashionable, and fitted him so well, that they -always thought the ugly demon inside it was just what he ought to be. -So, of course, as every one had different ideas as to what he ought to -be, he seemed different to different people. One person looked at the -clothes, and thought him quite remarkable, another one looked at them -and thought him ordinary and commonplace, and so on. Only every one was -pleased, because, whatever else he seemed, he always seemed just what -he ought to be. So, when two people both found that he was that, they -each of them thought that he looked the same to the other. Of course -the clothes were enchanted, really, only nobody knew it, and if any one -had been told that it was the clothes and not the demon inside them -they were looking at, he would not have believed it. It was only Dame -Nature and her daughter Truth who could look at those clothes and see -the little demon inside them, just as he really was. That was why he -hated them, and never liked to hear their names. - -This ugly little demon crept up to the Goddess of Pity, who looked at -the clothes and was not even able to pity him; and, when he saw that he -had her good opinion, he began to repeat a sort of charm to send her -to sleep, for he knew that when once the Goddess of Pity was asleep he -might do whatever he liked. - -These were the words of the charm:-- - - Fashion, fashion, fashion! - Give a little sneer. - Fashion, fashion, fashion! - Science makes it clear. - Fashion, fashion, fashion! - A bird is not a bat. - Fashion, fashion, fashion! - Such a pretty hat! - -Under the influence of this drowsy charm--which, of course, had no -meaning in it whatever--the Goddess of Pity began to nod, and nodded -and nodded till, on the last line, she went fast asleep, with a pleased -smile on her face. - -Then the wicked little demon took from one of the pockets in the suit -of clothes that charmed everybody two little bottles that contained two -different sorts of powders, one hot like pepper, and the other cold -like ice, but both of them so fine that they were quite invisible. He -took a pinch of the hot powder which was labelled "Vanity," and blew it -upon the heads of all the women, and the instant it touched them they -all looked pleased, and you could see that they were thinking only of -how they looked, though they _talked_ in a _very_ different way. It was -funny that they _all_ looked pleased, because a great many--in fact, -most of them--were plain, not pretty, and yet they looked pleased too, -as well as the others. But, you see, it was all done by magic. Then -from the other little bottle, which was labelled "Apathy," the demon -took a pinch of the cold powder and blew it on the women's hearts, and -as soon as it fell on them they became frozen, so that all the pity -that had been in them before was frozen, too. Frozen pity, you know, is -of no good whatever. You can no more be kind with it in that state than -you can bathe in frozen water. So now there was nothing but vanity in -the women's heads, and no pity in their hearts, and as the Goddess of -Pity was fast asleep, it was not possible for any more to be put into -them until she woke up. Nobody could tell when that would be. Gods and -goddesses sometimes sleep for a long time, and very soundly. Besides, -you know, this was a charmed sleep. - -So, now, what happened after the wicked little demon had behaved in -this wicked way? Why, the women whose hearts he had frozen began to -kill the poor, beautiful birds, those birds that Dame Nature loved so, -and had taken such pains to keep alive. I do not mean that they killed -them themselves with their own hands. No, they did not do that, for -they had not enough time to go to the countries where the beautiful -birds lived, which were often a long way off as well as being very -unhealthy. You see they were wanted at home, and so to have gone away -from home into unhealthy countries to kill birds would have been -_selfish_, and one should never be that. So instead of killing them -themselves the women sent men to kill them for them, for _they_ could -be spared much better, and if they should not come back they would not -be nearly so much missed. And the women said to the men, "Kill the -birds and tear off their wings, their tails, their bright breasts and -heads to sew into our hats or onto the sleeves and collars of our gowns -and mantles. Kill them and bring them to us, that you may think us even -more lovely than you have done before, when you compare our beauty with -theirs and find that ours is the greater. Let us shine down the birds, -for they are conceited and think themselves our rivals. Then kill them. -Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill them." Then the men, whose hearts had -always been hard, and over whose eyes there was a film, went forth into -the world and began to kill the poor, beautiful birds wherever they -could find them. Everywhere the earth was stained with their blood, -and the air thick with floating feathers that had been torn from their -poor, wounded bodies. It was full, too, of their frightened cries, and -of the wails of their starving young ones for the parents who were dead -and could not feed them any more. For it is just at the time when the -birds lay their eggs and rear their young ones that their plumage is -most beautiful--most exquisitely beautiful--and it was just this most -_exquisitely_ beautiful plumage that the women, whose hearts the wicked -little demon had frozen, wanted to put into their hats. They knew that -to get it the young fledgling birds must starve in their nests. But -they did not mind that now, their hearts were frozen and the Goddess of -Pity was asleep. - -So the birds were killed, and the lovely, painted feathers that had -lighted up whole forests or made a country beautiful, were pressed -close together into dark ugly boxes--or things like boxes--called -"crates" (large it is true, but not _quite_ so large as a forest -or a country), and then brought over the seas in ships, to dark, -ugly houses, where they were taken out and flung in a great heap on -the floor. Soon they were sewn into hats which were set out in the -windows of milliners' shops for the women with the frozen hearts to -buy. You may see such hats now, any time you walk about the streets -of London--or of Paris or Vienna, if you go there--for the Goddess of -Pity is still sleeping, she has not woken up yet. There you will see -them, and outside the window, looking at them--sometimes in a great -crowd--you will see those poor women that the demon has treated so -badly. There they stand, looking and looking, ravenous, hungry--you -would almost say they were--longing to buy them, even though they have -new ones of the same sort on their head. Ah, if they could see those -birds as they looked when they were shot, before they were dressed -and cleaned and made to look so smart and fashionable! If they could -see them with the blood-stains upon them, the wet, warm drops running -down over the bright breasts--perhaps onto the little ones underneath -them--the poor, broken wings dragging over the ground and trying to -rise into the air, through which they had once flown so easily, the -flapping, the struggling! If they could see all this, and much more -that had been done--that _had_ to be done--before there was that -nice, gay, elegant shop-window for them to look into, would it not -be different then, would not the vain heads begin to think a little -and the frozen hearts to melt? No, I do not think so, because of the -ugly little demon in the correct suit of clothes. They would look -in at the window and go in at the door still, and--shall I tell you -something?--it would be the same, just the same, if all those bright -feathers in every one of the hats had been stripped, not from the -birds' but from the _angels'_ wings. Those who could wear the one could -wear the other, and if angels were to come down here I should not -wonder if angel-hats were to get to be quite the fashion. Only first, -of course, angels would _have_ to come down here. I do not think they -are so _very_ likely to. - -And the worst of it is that not only the _pretty_ women wear the -beautiful birds in their hats, but the plain ones do too, which makes -so many more of them to be killed. If it was _only_ the pretty women -who wore them it would not be quite so bad, but the wicked little demon -was much too clever to arrange it like that. He did not wish any of -the birds to escape, and I cannot tell you how many _millions_ of them -_would_ escape if only the pretty women were to wear their feathers. - -But now, how are the birds to be saved--for _we_ want them _all_ to -escape--and how are the women to be saved? That is another thing. You -know it is not _their_ fault. They were kind and pitiful till the -wicked little demon blew his powder into their hearts. It is _his_ -fault. You may be angry with _him_ as much as you like, but you must -not think of being angry with the women. Indeed, you should be sorry -for them, more even than for the birds, for it is much worse to be a -woman with a frozen heart than to be a bird and be shot. Oh, poor, -frozen-hearted women, who _would_ be so kind and so pitiful if only -they were allowed to be, if only the wicked little demon would go -away, and the Goddess of Pity would wake up! - -Then is there no way of saving them both, the poor birds and the poor -women? Yes, there is a way, and it is you--the children--who are to -find it out. Listen. It is so simple. All you have to do is to ask -these women (these _poor_ women) _not_ to wear the hats that have -feathers, that have birds' lives in them, and they will not do so any -more. They will listen to you. There is nobody else they would listen -to, but they will to you--the children. Perhaps you think that funny. -Listen and I will explain it. When the wicked little demon blew his -powder called "Apathy" into the hearts of the women, it froze them all -up, as I have told you, but there was just one little spot in every -one of their hearts that it was not able to freeze. That was the spot -called Motherly Love, which every woman has in her heart, and which -is the softest spot of all, if only a little child presses it--and -especially if it is her own little child. So I want you--the little -children who read this little book--to press that spot and to save -the birds from being killed. Nobody can do it but you, nobody even -can find that spot except you, but you will find it directly. And you -are to press it in this way. Throw, each one of you, your arms round -your mother's neck, kiss her and ask her not to kill the birds, not -to wear the hats that make the birds be killed. And if you do that and -really mean what you say, if you are really sorry for the birds and -have real tears in your eyes (or at least in your hearts), then your -mother will do as you have asked her, for you will have pressed that -spot, that soft spot, that spot that even the wicked little demon, try -as he might, could not freeze, could not make hard. And as you press -it, the whole heart that has been frozen will become warm again, and -the powder of the demon will go out of it, and the Goddess of Pity will -wake up. You will do this, will you not? It is only asking, and what -can be easier than to ask something of your mother? But you must make -her promise. Never, never leave off asking her till you have got her to -promise. - -And if some of you have mothers who do not kill the birds, who do not -wear the hats that have birds' lives sewn into them, well it will do -them no harm to promise too. Then they never _will_ wear them, and if -they should never mean to wear them, they will be all the more ready -to promise not to. Only in that case you might put your arms round the -neck of some other woman that you have seen wearing those hats and kiss -_her_ and ask _her_ to promise. And she will, you will have touched -that spot because you are a little child, even though you are not her -own little child. Perhaps you will remind her of a little child that -was hers once. - -Now I am going to tell you about some of the most beautiful birds that -there are in the world, but you must remember that they are being -killed so fast every day that, unless you get that promise from your -mother very quickly, there will soon be no more of them left; as soon -as she promises it will be all right, for of course it will not be only -_your_ mother who will have promised, but the mother of every other -little girl all over the country, and as the birds were only being -killed to put into their hats, they will be let alone now, for now no -more hats like that will be wanted. No one will wear hats that have -birds' lives sewn into them, any more. - -So the beautiful birds will go on living and flying about in the world -and making _it_ beautiful, too. You will have saved them--_you_ the -children will have saved them--and no grown-up person will have done -_anything_ to be more proud about. I daresay a grown-up person _would_ -be more proud about what he had done, even if it was nothing very -particular; but _that_ is another matter. - -Now we will begin, and as we come to one bird after another, you shall -make your mother promise not to wear it in her hat. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -Birds of Paradise - - -First I will tell you about the Birds of Paradise. You have heard of -them perhaps, and how beautiful they are, but you may have thought that -birds with a name like that did not live here at all. For the Emperor -of China lives in China, and if the Emperor of China lives in China, -the Birds of Paradise ought, one would think, to live in Paradise. But -that is not the case--not now at any rate. They live a very long way -off, it is true, right over at the other side of the world, but it is -not quite so far off as Paradise is. No, it cannot be there that they -live, because if you were to leave England in a ship and sail always in -the right direction, you would come at last to the very place, instead -of coming right round to England again, which is what you would do if -you were to sail for Paradise--for you know, of course, that the earth -is round. But why, then, are they called Birds of Paradise if they live -here on the earth? Well, there are two ways of explaining it. I will -tell you first one and then the other, and you can choose the way you -like best. The first way is this. - -A long time ago--but long after the little demon had crept out of his -cave--the early Portuguese voyagers (whom your mother will tell you -about), when they came to the Moluccas to get spices, were shown the -dried skins of beautiful birds which were called by the natives "Manuk -dewata," which means "God's birds." There were no wings or feet to the -skins, and the natives told the Portuguese that these birds had never -had any, but that they lived always in the air, never coming down -to settle on the earth, and keeping themselves all the while turned -towards the sun. One would have thought they must have wanted wings, at -any rate, to be always in the air, but that is what the natives said. -So the Portuguese, who did not quite know what to make of it, called -them "Passaros de Sol," which means "Sun-birds" or "Birds-of-the-Sun," -because of their always turning towards him. Some time after that, a -learned Dutchman who wrote in Latin (just think!), called these birds -"Aves Paradisei"--Paradise Birds or Birds of Paradise--and he told -every one that they had never been seen alive by anybody, but only -after they had fallen down dead out of the clouds, when they were -picked up without wings or feet, and still lying with their heads -towards the sun in the way they had fallen. So, after that these -wonderful birds were always called "Birds of Paradise." That is one way -of explaining how they got their names, but the other way, and perhaps -you will think it a _little_ more probable, is this. - -Once the Birds of Paradise were really Birds of Paradise, for they -lived there and were ever so much more beautiful than they are now, -though perhaps, if you were to see them flying about in their native -forests, you would hardly believe that possible. That is because -you cannot imagine _how_ beautiful _real_ Birds of Paradise are, -for these Birds of Paradise were not more beautiful than the other -ones that lived there. All were as beautiful as each other though in -different ways, and it was just that which made these Birds of Paradise -discontented. "If we go down to earth," said they, "the birds of all -the world will do homage to us on account of our superior beauty, for -there will be none to equal us. So we shall reign over them and be -their King. Here we are only like all the others. None of them fly to -the tree on which we are sitting to do us homage." "Do not be foolish," -said the tree (for in Paradise trees and all can speak). "The homage -which you desire you would soon weary of, and the beauty which you -enjoy here would, on earth, be only a pain to you, for it would remind -you of the Paradise you had left but could never enter again. For -those who once leave Paradise can never more return to it. Therefore -be wise and stay, for if you go you will repent, but then it will be -too late." And all the birds around said, "Stay," and then they raised -their voices, which were lovelier than you can imagine, in a song of -joy--of joy that they were in Paradise and not on earth. And the Birds -of Paradise sang too, their voices were as sweet as any, but they had -envy and discontent in their hearts. "Our singing cannot be surpassed, -it is true," thought they, "but it is equalled by that of every other -bird. We sing in a chorus merely. It would not be so on earth. We -should be 'prima donnas' there." (Your mother will tell you what a -prima donna is as well as what doing homage means.) - -So, when the song was over, they flew to the Phenix, who was the most -important and powerful bird of all the birds that were in Paradise. I -have told you that all the birds there were equal, and so they were, -only, you see, the Phenix was a little _more_ equal than the others. -One cannot be a Phenix for nothing. Now it was only the Phenix who -could open the gate of Paradise, and let any bird in or out of it. He -was not obliged to let them in, and there were very few birds (who -were not there already) that he ever did let in. Many and many a bird -fluttered and fluttered outside the door, that had to fly away again. -But if a bird that was in Paradise wanted to go out of it, then the -Phenix had to open the door and let it out, because if it had stayed it -would have been discontented, and birds that are discontented cannot -stay in Paradise. It would not be Paradise for long if they could. So -when the Birds of Paradise said to the Phenix, "Let us out, for we -are tired of being here, where all are equal, and wish to be kings -and 'prima donnas' on earth," he had to do it, only he warned them as -the tree had done, that if they once left Paradise they could never -come back to it again. "The door of Paradise," said he, "may be passed -through twice, but only entered once. When you pass through it the -second time, it is to go out of it, and when you are once out of it, -out of it you must remain. You can never come in again; you can only -flutter at the gate." - -"We shall never do that," said the proud Birds of Paradise. "We shall -stay down on earth and be kings and 'prima donnas' amongst the other -birds." So the Phenix let them out, and they flew down through the warm -summer sky, looking like soft suns or trembling stars or colours out of -the sunrise or sunset, they were so beautiful. - -Then the birds of earth flew around them and did them homage, and, when -they sang, the nightingale stood silent and hid her head for shame, and -would never sing in the daytime any more, but only at night when the -beautiful strangers were asleep. That is why the nightingale sings by -night and not by day--only since the Birds of Paradise have lost their -voice (which I am going to tell you about) she does sing in the daytime -sometimes, just a little. - -So the Birds of Paradise were kings and "prima donnas" amongst the -birds of earth, and they were happy--for a time. They were not quite -so happy after a little while, for they got tired of hearing the birds -praise them, and, wherever they looked, they saw nothing to give -them pleasure. The earth, indeed, was beautiful, but they remembered -Paradise, and that made it seem ugly. There was nothing for them to see -that was worth the seeing, or to hear that was worth the listening to, -except their own beauty and their own song. But that reminded them of -Paradise, and they could not bear to be reminded of it now that they -had lost it for ever. In fact they were miserable, and it was not long -before they were all fluttering outside the gates of Paradise, and -begging the Phenix to let them in. But the Phenix said, "No, I cannot. -I warned you that the gates of Paradise could only be passed twice, -once in and once out, and then no more. I tried to keep you from going, -but you chose to go, and now you must stay outside. You can never enter -Paradise again." "If we cannot enter it," said the poor Birds of -Paradise, "let us at least forget it. Take away our beautiful voices, -so that, when we sing, we shall not think of all the joys we have lost. -Let our song be no more than the lark's or the nightingale's, or make -us only able to twitter, and not sing at all. Then we can listen to the -lark and the nightingale, and perhaps, in time, we may grow to admire -them. As it is, we must either sing or be silent. We do not like to sit -silent, and when we sing we think only of Paradise." "Yes," said the -Phenix, "I will take your voice, your beautiful voice of song." So he -took it, and that is why the Birds of Paradise never sing at all now, -not even as the lark and the nightingale sing. - -After that they were happier, but still they had their great beauty, -their glorious, glorious plumage, and when they looked at each other -they felt sad and hung their heads, for still they thought of Paradise. -"You have taken our song from us," they said (for they were soon there -at the gate again), "but still our beauty remains. Take that also, -that, when we look at each other, we may not think of the Paradise we -have lost, and be wretched." "Fly back to earth," said the Phenix, -"and when you are a little way off I will open the gates of Paradise -wide, and the brightness that is in it will stream out and scorch your -feathers, and you will be beautiful no more. Only you must fly fast, -and you must not turn to look, for if you do, the brightness will blind -you. You could bear it once when you lived in it and had known nothing -else, but now that you have lived on earth you cannot. It would only -blind you now." So the Birds of Paradise flew towards the earth, and, -when they had got a little way, the Phenix opened the gates (he had -only been speaking to them through the keyhole), and, as the splendour -of Paradise streamed forth and fell upon them, their feathers were -scorched in its excessive brightness, all except a few tufts and plumes -which were not quite destroyed, because, you see, they were getting -farther away every second. A little of their beauty was left, and that -was enough to make them the most beautiful birds on earth (till we come -to the Humming-birds), but they are very ugly compared to what they -once were when they lived in Paradise. Think then, what the real Birds -of Paradise must be like when those that have left it, and have had -their plumage scorched and spoilt, are so very beautiful. That is the -other way of explaining how there come to be Birds of Paradise living -on the earth, and I think you will say that it is the more sensible -way of the two. For as for people having ever believed that there were -birds who had no feet or wings, and that lived always in the air with -their heads turned towards the sun, why, _that_ does not seem possible. -Nobody could have believed in a thing like that, but _here_ is a -_natural_ explanation. - -But now you must not think that the Birds of Paradise which are in the -world to-day, are the very same ones that used to live in Paradise, -and that had their feathers scorched. Oh no, you must not think that. -Those old Birds of Paradise died (for, of course, as soon as they came -to earth they became mortal, they had been immortal before), but before -they died they had laid a great many eggs, and reared a great many -young ones, and these young ones, as soon as they were grown up, laid -other eggs, and the birds that came out of those eggs laid others, and -so it has been going on for hundreds of thousands of years, right up -to now. And _now_, if you were to ask a Bird of Paradise where it was -he used to live, and why he had lost his voice and got his feathers -scorched, he would not know one bit what you were talking about. In -hundreds of thousands of years a great many things are forgotten, and -the Birds of Paradise of to-day are quite happy. The earth is quite -good enough for them, and if they were not shot and put into hats for -the women with the frozen hearts to wear, they would have nothing to -complain of. They have something to complain of now, but you must -remember your promise, and then, perhaps, they will not be shot any -more. - -Now, the Birds of Paradise that live on the earth to-day do not live -all over it, as they used to do in those old days when they could hear -the lark and the nightingale. It is only a very small part of the -world that they live in now--small, I mean, compared to the rest of -it--and there are no larks or nightingales there. I will tell you where -it is. Far away over the deep sea, farther than Africa, farther than -India, farther even than Burma or Siam, there are a number of great -islands and small islands and middling-sized islands, which lie between -Asia and Australia, and all of these together are called the Malay -Archipelago. The largest of all these islands, and the one that is -farthest away too, is called New Guinea, and it is a very large island -indeed, the largest, in fact, in the world after Australia, which, as -you know, is so large that we call it a continent. Round about this -great island of New Guinea, and not very far from its shores, there are -some other islands which are quite tiny in comparison, and it is here, -just in this one great island and in these few small islands near it, -that the Birds of Paradise live. They do not live in any of the other -islands of the Malay Archipelago, but only just here in the ones that -are farthest away of all. - -It would take you weeks to go in a steamer to where the Birds of -Paradise live, and if you were to go, not in a steamer but in a ship -with sails, it would take you longer still. But when you got there you -would not see the Birds of Paradise flying all about, as soon as you -went ashore out of the ship or the steamer, as you would see sparrows -here. Oh no, Birds of Paradise are not so common as that, even in their -own country. They do not come into the towns, like sparrows, either, -but live in the great forests where people do not often go, and even -when one does go into them, it is difficult to see them amongst the -great tall trees and the broad-fronded ferns and the long, hanging -creepers that make a tangle from one tree to another. - -Ah, those are wonderful forests, those forests far away over the seas! -Some of the trees have trunks so thick that a dozen men--or perhaps -twenty--would not be able to circle them round by joining their hands -together, and so tall that when you looked up you would not be able to -see their tops. They would go shooting up and up like the spires of -great cathedrals, till at last they would be lost in a green sky, not -the real sky, the blue one--that would be higher up still--but a green -sky of leaves made by all the trees themselves, and in this sky of -leaves there would be flower-stars almost as bright and as beautiful -as the real stars of the real sky. Then there are other trees that -have their roots growing right out of the ground, and going up more -than a hundred feet high into the air. At the top of them is the tree -itself, going up another hundred feet, or perhaps more, so that the -real tree--the trunk at any rate--begins in the air, and before you -could climb it, you would have to climb its roots, which _does_ seem -funny. And there are palm-trees with long, tall, slender trunks, smooth -and shining, crowned with leaves that are like large green fans; and -rattan-palms, which are quite different, for instead of being straight, -their trunks twist round and round the trunks of other trees, going -right up to their very tops, and raising their own most beautiful -feathery ones above theirs. Sometimes they will climb first up one tree -and then down it again, and up another, and then down that, till they -have climbed up and down several trees, all of them very, very tall. -How tall--or rather how _long_--_they_ must be you may think. We say -that a snake is so many feet long, not tall, and these rattan-palms are -palm-creepers, great vegetable serpents, that twist and coil as they -grow, and hug the forest in their great coils, which are larger and -more powerful than those of any python or boa-constrictor. A python or -a boa-constrictor could not kill a _very_ large animal, but the great -palm-snakes will crawl up the largest tree, and crush it and squeeze -it till at last it dies and comes thundering down in the forest, and -then they will crawl along the ground to another, and hug that to -death, too. Then there are tree-ferns, which are ferns that have trunks -like trees, which are sometimes thirty feet high, with fronds growing -from their tops, so broad and tall that a number of people could sit -underneath them in their cool, deep shade, as if they were a tent. And -there are wonderful flowers in these forests, such as you only see here -in botanical gardens or in the conservatories of rich people, orchids -and pitcher-plants, and others with Latin names that one forgets. Some -of them are flower-trees, or tree-flowers, as high as the trees are, -and with hundreds of large, crimson blossoms glowing out like stars -from their trunks. When you come upon them all at once in the gloom of -the forest, it almost looks as if some of the trees were on fire. - -Other flowers are golden like the sun and grow all together in -clusters, whilst others, again, grow on the branches of trees and hang -down from them by long stalks which are like threads, each thread-stalk -strung with flowers, as a thread is strung with beads. Only these -flower-beads are as large as sunflowers, with colours varying from -orange to red, and with beautiful, deep, purple-red spots upon them. - -But if you had wings like the Birds of Paradise, and could fly over -the tops of the trees that make the forest, and look down into a -leafy meadow instead of up into a leafy sky, then you would see the -most gloriously beautiful flowers growing in that meadow, just as the -daisies and buttercups grow in the meadows that you run over, here. -For flowers love the light of the sun, and they struggle up into it -through the leaves that keep it out. To them the leaves are not as the -sky, but as the clouds that shut the sky out, and as they are clouds -that will never roll away (even though they may fall sometimes in a -rain of leaves), the only thing for them to do is to climb up to them -and pierce them, and see the sky, with the sun shining in it, on the -other side. So whilst a few flowers stay in the shade below, most of -them grow and struggle up into the light and air above, and they are -all in such a hurry to get there that every one tries to grow faster -than all the others. Ah! what a race it is, a race to reach the sun. -You have heard of all sorts of races, and some, perhaps, you have seen; -running-races, races in sacks, boat-races, horse-races (though those, -I hope, you never have and never will see), but you never either saw -or heard of a fairer, lovelier, more delicate race than a race of -flowers to reach the sun. Think of it, all over those great, wide, -far-stretching forests, forests stretching away like the sea, and only -bounded by the sea! Think of all the millions of flowers there must be -in them, with all their delicate shapes, and rich, fragrant scents and -glorious colours, and then think of them all growing up together, each -trying to be the first to see the sun. So eager they all are, but so -gentle. There is no pushing, nothing rude or rough. But as the leaves -grow thinner, and the light shines more and more through them, they -tremble and sigh with joy, and one says to another, "We are getting -nearer--nearer. I can see him almost; we shall soon be bathed in his -light." And so they all grow and grow till at last they gleam softly -through the soft leaves, and see the beautiful deep blue sky and the -glorious, golden sun. Yes, that is a lovely race indeed--as anything to -do with flowers is lovely--and it is a race upwards, to the sky and to -the sun. Not all races are of that kind. - -It is in forests like those that the Birds of Paradise live; and -now that we know something about where they live, we will find out -something about them. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -The Great Bird of Paradise - - -The Great Bird of Paradise lives in the middle of the great island -called New Guinea, and all over some quite little islands close to -it which are called the Aru Islands. He is the largest of the Birds -of Paradise, and perhaps he is the most beautiful, but it is not so -easy to be sure about _that_. However, we shall see what you think of -him. His body and wings and tail are brown. "What, only brown?" you -cry. "That is like a sparrow." Ah, but wait. It is not _quite_ like a -sparrow. It is a beautiful, rich, _coffee_-brown, and on the breast it -deepens into a most lovely, dark, _purple-violet_ brown. There! That is -different to being just brown like a sparrow, is it not? Then the head -and neck are yellow, not a common yellow, but a very pretty, light, -delicate yellow, like straw. Sometimes ladies have hair of that colour, -and when they have, then people look at them and say, "What beautiful -hair!" which is just what they themselves say, sometimes, when they -look in the glass. These feathers are very short and set closely -together, which makes them look like plush or velvet, so you can think -how handsome they must be. What would you think if you were to go out -for a walk and see a bird flying about with a yellow plush or yellow -velvet head? But the throat is handsomer still. _That_ is a glorious, -gleaming, metallic green. Some feathers are called "metallic," because -when the light shines on them they flash it back again just as a bright -piece of metal does; a helmet or a breastplate, for instance. You know -how _they_ flash and gleam in the sunshine when the Horse-Guards ride -by. At least, if you have seen the Horse-Guards, you do, and if you -have not, well, I daresay you have seen it in a dish-cover or a bright -coal-scuttle. But fancy feathers as soft as velvet, gleaming as if -they were polished metal, but gleaming all emerald green as if they -were jewels--emeralds--too! Then on the forehead and the chin of this -bird--by which I mean just under the beak--there are glossy velvety -plumes of a deeper green colour. The other is emerald. These are like -the deep, lovely greens that one sees sometimes in the fiery opal or -the mother-of-pearl. What jewellery! and out of it all flash two other -jewels--the bird's two eyes--which are of a beautiful bright yellow -colour to match with the yellow plush of its head. Then this bird has -a pale blue beak and pale pink legs, and I am sure if he thinks himself -very handsome, you can _hardly_ call him conceited. For he would be -handsome only with this that I have told you about; that would be quite -enough to make him a beautiful bird without anything else. - -But _has_ he anything else--any other kind of beauty _besides_ what -I have told you about? Listen. The emerald throat and the yellow -velvet-plush head and the blue beak and the pink legs are as nothing, -nothing whatever, compared to the glorious plumes which this Bird of -Paradise has on each side of his body. Oh, you never saw such plumes, -and you cannot think how lovely they are. There are two of them--one -on each side--and each one is made up of a number of very long, soft, -delicate silky feathers, which are of an orange-gold or golden-orange -colour, and so bright and glossy that they shine in the sun like -floss-silk. Just where they spring from the body each one of them has -a stripe of deep crimson-red, and, towards the top, they soften into -a pretty pale, mauvy brown. Even one feather like that on each side -would be beautiful--or one all by itself in the middle--but fancy a -_plume_ of them on each side, a thick plume too, though each feather is -so slender and delicate--there are so many of them. They look lovely -enough when they stream out behind as the bird flies, for they are -twice as long as its whole body, so, of course, the two plumes come -together and make one lovely large one that lies as softly on the air -as the feather of a swan does on the water. The body, then, is almost -covered up in all these soft feathers, so that it is just like looking -at a flying plume with wings and a head to it. - -Yes, they look lovely enough then, these glorious plumes; but sometimes -they look lovelier still, and that is when the Great Bird of Paradise -raises them both up above its back so that they shoot into the air -like two golden feather-fountains that mingle together and bend over -and fall in spray all around, only it is a spray of feathers--not a -real spray--and, instead of falling, they only wave and dance. Such a -glorious, plumy cascade! The bird himself is almost hidden in his own -shower-bath, but the emerald throat and the yellow-plush head look out -of it and gleam like jewels as he peeps and peers about from side to -side to see if any one is looking at him. For, of course, the Great -Bird of Paradise does not make himself so _very_ beautiful just for -nothing. When he shoots up his feather-fountains and sits in a soft, -silky shower-bath, he does it to be looked at, and the person he wants -to look at him most is the hen Great Bird of Paradise, for--do you know -and _can_ you believe it?--the poor hen Great Bird of Paradise is _not_ -beautiful. She has no wonderful plumes--she has no plumes at all--and -out of all those splendid colours I have told you about--orangy-gold -and emerald green and all the rest of them--she has only one, which is -the coffee-brown. Now, of course, a nice rich coffee-brown is a very -good colour, but still, by itself it is not enough to make a bird one -of the most beautiful birds in the world. So when a bird is _only_ -coffee-brown, then, compared to a bird who has all those other colours -and the most wonderful plumes as well, it is quite a plain bird. So a -poor hen Great Bird of Paradise is quite a plain bird compared to her -handsome husband, with his emerald throat and yellow-plush head and his -wonderful orangy-gold plumes. - -But, then, if the poor hen bird has no glorious plumes of her own, she -is always looking at them, always having them spread out on purpose -for her to look at, and that must be very pleasant indeed. When the -male Great Birds of Paradise wish to show their poor plain hens how -handsome they are--just to comfort them and make them not mind being -plain themselves--they come to a particular kind of tree in the forest, -a tree that has a great many wide-spreading branches at the top, with -not so very many leaves upon them, so that it is easy for them to be -seen by the hens, who are sitting in other trees near, all ready to -watch them. Then they raise up their wings above their backs, stretch -out their emerald necks, bow their yellow heads politely to each other, -and shoot up their golden feather-fountains, making each of the long, -plumy tufts tremble and vibrate and quiver, as they droop all over them -and almost cover them up. The plumes begin from under the wings--that -is why they lift their wings up first so that they can shoot straight -up and so that the hen birds may see the little stripes of red, which -I told you about, and which look like little crimson clouds floating -in a little golden sunset. How beautiful they must look! Perhaps there -may be a dozen Great Birds of Paradise, all bowing their heads and -quivering their plumes, on a dozen branches of the tree, whilst a -dozen more will be flying about from one branch to another, so that -the tree and the air are full of beauty. The air never had anything to -float upon her softer or lovelier than those golden floating plumes, -and no tree ever bore blossoms _quite_ so beautiful as those wonderful -golden Paradise-flowers. And both the air and the trees are happy. -Both of them whisper, "Oh thank you, thank you, Birds of Paradise." Of -course the Birds of Paradise are happy too. They are happy to have such -beauty and to be able to show it to the hens, who sit hidden in the -trees and bushes around, and _they_ perhaps--the hens for whom it is -all done--are happiest of all. Then it is all happiness--and beauty. -Beauty and happiness, those are the two things it is made up of. - -There are not so many things that are made up of just those two. Try -and think of some. A party, perhaps you may say (only it must be a -juvenile one), or a pantomime. Well, of course, there is an _enormous_ -amount of beauty and happiness at things of that kind; but is it _all_ -beauty and happiness? Not _quite_ all, I think. Still I am sure you -would think it a very unkind thing if somebody were to break up a party -before it were over, or to stop a pantomime before the last act had -been performed. You would think that cruel, I am sure. And now if you -were looking at those beautiful, happy Birds of Paradise at _their_ -party or pantomime (I _think_ it is as pretty as a transformation -scene), and all at once, when they were just in the middle of it, first -one and then another of them were to fall down dead to the ground, -till at last half of them lay there underneath the tree and the rest -had flown away, would you not think _that_ a most cruel and dreadful -thing? Where would be the beauty and the happiness now? It would all be -gone. Joy would have been changed into sorrow, and beauty _almost_ into -ugliness--for a dead bird is _almost_ ugly compared to a beautiful, -living one. And life would have been changed into death--yes, and -_such_ life, the life of happy, lovely birds, of Birds of Paradise. -And I think that if you were there and saw that happen--saw those -beautiful birds fall down dead--_murdered_--all of a sudden--you would -be sorry and angry too, and you would say that only a demon could have -done so wicked a thing. - -You would be right if you were to say so. It _could_ only be a -demon--that same little demon that I told you about who sang a charm -to send the Goddess of Pity to sleep and then froze the hearts of the -women with his bad, wicked powder. That wretched little demon who wears -the magic suit of clothes, which makes him seem all that he ought to -be, is always killing the poor Birds of Paradise, just when they are -feeling so happy and looking so beautiful. He does not do it himself -(any more than the women), for, as he could not be in more than one -place at a time, he would not be able to kill a sufficient number to -satisfy him, and besides he has a great many other things of the same -kind, but more important, to do. So he makes his servants do it. That -has always been his plan. He has servants all over the world, and you -must not think that they are as bad as himself, for that is not the -case at all. They are not bad, but enchanted, so that they do all -sorts of bad things without having any idea that they are bad. In fact -they generally think that they are the finest things in the world. -The demon has all sorts of little bottles with different kinds of -powders in them, one for every kind of servant that he wants. In his -little private workshop they all stand in rows upon a shelf and every -one has a different label on it, so that he knows which to take up -in a minute. One is labelled "Glory," and has a powder in it of all -sorts of different colours, scarlet, blue, green, white, and a little -of it dirty yellow. The man on whom a grain of this powder falls will -always be wanting to kill people, and the more he kills the better man -he will think himself, and so, too, will other people think him. You -may imagine what a lot of work the demon can get out of a servant like -that. Another one is labelled "Justice," and whoever the powder in that -falls on will go through life always saying what he doesn't believe, -and trying to make other people believe it. Others are labelled -"Patriotism," "Duty," "Culture," "Refinement," "Taste," "Sensibility," -and so on (all which words your mother will explain to you). The demon -chooses them according to the kind of thing he wants done, and all on -whom any of the powders inside the bottles fall become his servants in -different ways--very grand ways, too, they are often thought--and go on -serving him and thinking well of themselves, and being held always in -great honour and respect, all their lives. - -Now you must not, of course, think that these bottles _really_ contain -the things that are written on their labels. No, indeed, they are -_false_ labels, for, you see, _these_ bottles stand in the window where -people can see them, the demon does not keep them in his pocket like -those other two I told you of. So when people see them they think that -they have good powders instead of bad ones inside them, and when the -stoppers are taken out the powders fly into their eyes, and they are -blinded and never know the difference. Almost every one is blinded, -for the demon just stands at the window of his workshop and blows his -powders through the world. It is not necessary for him to walk up and -down in it sprinkling them about. That would be a long, tedious way -of doing things. He just blows them, and he need never be afraid of -blowing too much away, for his bottles are magic bottles and always -full. Outside his window there is always a great crowd looking at the -bottles and admiring them, whilst the demon stands there in his magic -suit of clothes, and seems to every one to be just what he ought to be. - -They say that somewhere else in the world there is a very beautiful -house with a radiant angel inside it, and that there, in vases of -crystal and diamond--or something like crystal and diamond, but very -much more beautiful--are the real things which the demon only pretends -to have in his ugly little bottles. Any one has only to step in and -ask for them, and the angel will open the vase and shed the essence -that is inside it into his very heart. But--is it not funny?--hardly -anybody ever goes into that house, and the few who do cannot persuade -others to follow them. I will tell you why this is. The beautiful house -does not _look_ like a beautiful house at all to most people, and the -angel of light who sits in the open doorway seems to them to be only -a shabbily dressed, unfashionable sort of person. Nobody sees his -wings, or, if they do, they think wings are vulgar and out of date. -It is the demon who is to blame for this. He has had time to blow his -magic powders all about the world, and they have blinded people's eyes -and made what is really beautiful seem mean and ugly to them--for the -demon's powders can blind the eyes as well as freeze the heart. But the -little workshop of the demon, which is really as mean and wretched a -place as you could find, _that_ people think glorious and beautiful, -and his ugly bottles are to them as vases of crystal and diamond. So -they crowd about the demon's workshop, thinking it to be the angel's -house, and into the angel's house they never go, for they think a -demon--or at least an unfashionably dressed person with wings--which -are out of date--lives there. - -Now, it is one of those bottles with the false labels which the demon -takes when he wants one of his servants in that part of the world to -kill the Great Bird of Paradise; for I don't think the men in those -countries would much mind what the women said to them. I cannot tell -you which bottle it is, but it is none of those that I have told you -about. The label upon it is not nearly such a grand one, and the powder -is of a much coarser grain, for the man that the demon is going to blow -it at is only a poor savage, who is black and nearly naked, and who is -not able to serve him in such important ways as are people of a lighter -colour and less scantily dressed. He is only fit to do little odd jobs -now and again, and his wages are very low in consequence. Even what he -gets he is often not allowed to keep, for the demon's upper servants -take them away from him, and he is not strong enough to resist. One -of his odd jobs is killing the poor Great Birds of Paradise, and now -I will tell you how he does it. Only you must not be angry with him, -or even with the other people whose servant he _thinks_ he is, though -they are all of them _really_ the servants of one master, that wretched -little demon in the magic suit of clothes, which makes him seem nice to -everybody, although he is so nasty. It is _he_ you must be angry with, -for it is he who does all the mischief, in the way I have told you. He -gets people into his power; but, if you do as I tell you, perhaps you -will be able to save them from him, and to save the poor, beautiful -Birds of Paradise, as well as other beautiful birds, from being killed -and killed until they are all dead. Think what a lot of good you will -have done, then, to have kept such beauty safe in the world, when it -might have been lost out of it for ever. Yes, and you will have done -more good than that even, for you will have helped to wake up the -Goddess of Pity, and when once she is awake there will be so much for -her to do--for, ah! she has been asleep so long. - -But, now, listen. I have told you that the man who kills the Great Bird -of Paradise is black and naked and a savage. But he is not a negro, -although he is rather like one. His hair is something like a negro's -hair, but there is much more of it. In fact it is quite a mop, and he -is very proud of it. He is a Papuan, and the islands that he lives in -are called the Papuan Islands, and are a very long way from Africa, -which is where the negroes live. He is a tall, fine-looking man, with -a beautiful figure, and he looks very much better naked than he would -do if he were dressed. And when I said that he was black, this was not -_quite_ true, because he is really brown, but it is such a very dark -brown that it looks black, and when a man is such a very dark brown -that he looks black, then people _will_ call him a black man, so that -is what we will call this Papuan. Now, this black man is very quick -and active--which is what most savages are--and he can climb trees -almost as well as a monkey. When he finds one of those trees where the -Great Birds of Paradise have their parties, their "Sacalelies" (that -is what _he_ calls them, it is a word that means a dancing-party), he -climbs up into it early in the morning, before it is daylight, and -waits for them to come. It does not matter how tall the tree is (and -this kind of tree is very tall), or how dark it may be, this naked -Papuan savage climbs up it quite easily and without slipping, just like -a monkey. He takes up with him some leafy branches of another tree, and -with these he makes a little screen to sit under, so that the Birds of -Paradise shall not see him. Besides this, he takes his bow and arrows -to shoot the poor birds with, for he does not use a gun, which would -make too much noise, and, besides, the shot would hurt the beautiful -plumage. The arrows do not hurt the plumage as the shot would, because -at the end of each one there is a piece of wood, shaped something like -an acorn, but as large as a teacup, and the large end of it makes what -would be the point of an ordinary arrow. When the poor birds are hit -with that great, smooth piece of wood they are killed, because it hits -them so hard, but their plumage is not hurt at all, for nothing has -gone into the skin, or torn the feathers. - -[Illustration: PAPUAN SHOOTING BIRDS OF PARADISE] - -So the naked black man waits behind his screen for the Great Birds of -Paradise to come, and as soon as they come and begin to spread their -plumes, he shoots first one and then another of them with his great -wooden arrows, and they fall down dead underneath the tree. And, do you -know, they are so occupied in showing off their beautiful plumes, and -so happy and excited as they spread them out and look through them, or -fly like little feathery cascades from branch to branch, that it is -not till quite a number of them have been killed (for the black savage -does not often miss his aim) that the others take fright and fly away. -Then the black man climbs down from the tree and picks up the poor, -beautiful, dead birds and takes them to another man who is yellow and -not quite so naked as he is, who gives him something for them, but not -so much as he ought to. The yellow man cheats the black man, and, when -he has cheated him, he takes the skins to a white man, who is quite -dressed and civilised, and sells them to him, and the white man cheats -_him_ a good deal more than _he_ has cheated the black man--for, of -course, the white man is the cleverest of the three. (You see there -are yellow men in those countries--called Malays--as well as black -men, and a good many white men go there as well.) Then the white man -puts all the beautiful skins that he has bought from the yellow man, -as well as a great many others which have been brought to him from all -the country and from all the islands round about, into one of those -large kinds of boxes called "crates," that I have told you about, and -it is put on board a ship where there are a great many others of the -same kind, all full of the skins and feathers of beautiful birds that -have been killed. And the ship sails to England, and then up the Thames -to London, where the crates are taken out and put into great vans and -driven away to the great ugly warehouses to be unpacked and laid on the -floor there in a heap, all as I have told you. You know what happens to -them then. - -And now I will tell you something funny that I daresay you would never -have thought of, but which is quite true all the same. That great -heap of brightly coloured feathers lying on the floor, to make which -hundreds of thousands of the most beautiful birds in the world have -been killed, and hundreds of hundreds of thousands of their young ones -that would have grown up beautiful, too, have been starved to death -in the nest--that great big heap of the loveliest plumage is not so -lovely, not nearly so beautiful as one living thrush or one living -blackbird or one living swallow or one living robin-redbreast. That -is the difference between life and death. A live Bird of Paradise is -hundreds of times more beautiful than a live blackbird or thrush or -swallow or robin-redbreast, but when it is dead it is not so beautiful -as they are. Its feathers are more beautiful, still, of course, but -where are the _waving_ feathers, the _floating_ plumes, the bright -eyes, the quick, graceful movements, and the flight--the glorious -flight--of a bird. They are gone, they are gone for ever, and, in their -place, there is only stiffness and deadness and dustiness. Oh never, -never wish to see a dead Bird of Paradise in a hat, when you can see -a living thrush or blackbird on the lawn of your garden, or a living -swallow flying over it. And even if you can never see a living Bird -of Paradise--as I daresay you never will be able to--what then?--what -then? You cannot see everything, but have you not got an imagination -(your mother, who has got one, will tell you what it is), and is it not -better to imagine a beautiful bird flying about in life and loveliness -than to see it dead? And the people who have these hats with the Birds -of Paradise, or with other beautiful birds, sewn into them, how much -do you think they really care about them? Do they ever look at them -after they have once bought them? Oh no, they never do. Sometimes they -look in the glass with the hat on--yes--but then it is only to see -themselves _in_ the hat, not the hat. - -So now you know what kind of birds the Birds of Paradise are, and how -very beautiful they are, and you know how gloriously beautiful the -Great Bird of Paradise is, and how it is killed and not allowed to live -and be happy, just because it is so beautiful. But now these Great -Birds of Paradise live only in some quite small islands and just in one -part of one large one, and although there may be a good many of them -where they do live, yet if they are always being killed in that way, -very soon there will be no more of them left. Then there will be no -more Great Birds of Paradise in the world--for they do not live outside -those islands--and when they are once gone they can never, never come -again. - -But do you not think that it would be a dreadful thing if such a bird -as this--this beautiful Great Bird of Paradise that I have told you -about--were to be killed and killed until it was not in the world -any more? Of course you think it would be a dreadful thing, and I am -sure that you would prevent it if you could. And you _can_ prevent -it--_now_--yes, _now_--and in the easiest way possible. All you have -to do--only you must do it directly--is to put your arms round your -mother's neck and make her promise never, never to wear a hat with the -feathers of a Great Bird of Paradise in it. Of course she will promise, -if you ask her in that way, and keep on, and when she once has promised -you must not let her forget it. You must remind her of it from time -to time ("Remember, mother, you _promised_"), and, especially, when -you hear her talking about getting a new hat. And when you have made -her promise about herself, then you must make her promise never to let -_you_ wear a hat of the sort (of course when you are grown-up and buy -your own hats you never will), or your sisters either. And if you have -a sister very much older than yourself who buys her own hats, then you -can make _her_ promise too. Perhaps _that_ will be less easy, but she -will do it in time if you tease her enough about it and want her to -read the book. And then if you can get any other lady to promise, well, -the more who do, the better chance there will be for the beautiful -Great Bird of Paradise. Only you must make your mother promise -first--that is the chief thing--and, to do it, you must tell her all -about the wicked little demon, with his powders and his charm to send -the Goddess of Pity to sleep. So now go to your mother, go at once, do -not wait, or, if your mother is out anywhere, you must only wait till -she comes home again. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -The Red Bird of Paradise - - -Then there is another very beautiful Bird of Paradise which is called -the Red Bird of Paradise. It is no use trying to find out whether he -or the one I have just been telling you about is the most beautiful, -because if somebody were to think that one were, somebody else would -be sure to have a different opinion. But now I will tell you what this -Red Bird of Paradise is like, and then you will know how beautiful to -think him. You know those lovely plumes that I told you about, that -the Great Bird of Paradise has growing from both his sides, under the -wings, and how he lifts up his wings and shoots them right up into the -air, so that they fall all over him, like two most beautiful fountains -that meet in the air and mingle their waters together. Now the Red -Bird of Paradise has those plumes--those feather-fountains--too, and -he can shoot them up into the air and let them fall all over him, -and look out from amongst them as they bend and wave, and think "How -lovely I am!" just the same as the Great Bird of Paradise can. They -are not so long, it is true, but then they are very thick, and of a -most glorious crimson colour--such a colour as you see, sometimes, in -the western sky, when the sun is flushing it, just before he sinks -down for the night. People talk about a sky like that and call it a -glorious sunset when they see it in Switzerland. One can see it here, -too, if one likes, but it is not usual to talk about it or even to look -at it, unless one is in Switzerland (your mother will tell you the -reason of this). Fancy a bird that looks out of a crimson sunset of -feathers--crimson, but with beautiful white tips to them! Crimson and -white, that is almost more splendid than orange-gold and mauvy-brown; -unless you like orange-gold and mauvy-brown better--it is all a matter -of taste. - -But there is another thing that the Red Bird of Paradise has, which the -Great Bird of Paradise has not got at all. He has two little crests -of feathers--beautiful metallic green feathers--on his forehead. Just -fancy! Not one crest, merely, but two. One talks about a feather in -one's cap (which, of course, a _bird_ may have without its being -wrong); but what is a feather in one's cap compared to two crests of -feathers on one's forehead? And such crests! And, besides his crimson -sunset plumes with their white tips and the two little lovely green -crests on his forehead, this bird has two wonderful feathers in his -tail; they are not feathers at all, really, that is to say, the soft -part of them on each side of the quill, which we call the web, is gone, -and there is only the quill left, but it is such a funny sort of quill -that you would never think it was one. It is flat and smooth and shiny, -and quite a quarter of an inch wide. In fact it looks like a ribbon, a -beautiful, black, glossy ribbon, twenty-two inches (which is almost two -feet) long. - -These two wonderful ribbons--I told you there were two--hang down in -graceful curves as the bird sits on the branch of a tree, first a curve -out and then in and then out again, just at the tips, so that the two -together make quite a pretty figure. Of course, when there is any wind -at all, they float gracefully about and look very pretty indeed, and -when the Red Bird of Paradise flies, his two wonderful ribbons float -in the air behind him, just as if he had been into a linen-draper's -shop and bought something, and flown out again with it, in his tail. -And yet, to make these two pretty ribbons--which are feathers, really, -though they do not look like them--the soft part of the feather, which -is usually the pretty part, has been taken away, and only the quill, -which is usually almost ugly by comparison, has been left. And yet -they are so handsome. That is because Dame Nature is such a wonderful -workwoman. She can make almost anything she tries to, out of any kind -of material. - -Now, I must tell you that the Great Bird of Paradise has two funny -feathers like this in _his_ tail too--feathers, I mean, without webs to -them--only his ones have just a little web at the beginning and, again, -at the very tips; all the part in between has none at all. These funny -feathers of the Great Bird of Paradise are even longer than those of -the red one, for they are from twenty-four to thirty-four inches long, -and thirty-four inches, you know, is almost three feet. But then they -are thin, not broad like ribbons, and the plumes of the Great Bird of -Paradise are so long that they are a good deal hidden by them, and, -sometimes, hardly noticed amongst such a lot of finery. I think that -must be why, when I was describing the Great Bird of Paradise to you, -I forgot all about them, which, of course, I ought not to have done. -But we all of us make mistakes sometimes, people who write books just -as much as people who only read them, although, of course, people who -_write_ books _ought_ to be more careful. - -In fact, a great many of the Birds of Paradise have these funny -feathers, and some of them have more than two. If you look for page -77 you will see a picture of the King Bird of Paradise, who has two -beauties. He is not one of the birds that I talk about in this -book--there was no room for him--but that does not matter. He sent -me his picture, and it will show you what these "funny feathers" are -like. There _is_ a Bird of Paradise that has twelve of them, but now -I must finish talking about the Red Bird of Paradise. I have told you -about the glorious crimson plumes that he has on his sides, and the -two funny feathers, like ribbons, in his tail, and the double crest of -beautiful emerald-green feathers on his forehead, but, of course, there -are other parts of him besides these, and I must tell you what they -are like too. His head and his back and his shoulders are yellow, as -they are in the Great Bird of Paradise, but it is a deeper and richer -yellow, not the light, straw-coloured yellow which _he_ has and which -is very pretty too (I am sure we should never agree as to which is the -prettier of these two birds). His throat, too, is of a deep metallic -green colour--you know what metallic means now--but those lovely -green feathers go farther up, in fact right over the front part of -the head--which is his forehead--so as to make those two sweet little -crests which he has, and which help to make him such a very handsome -bird. The rest of his wings and body, and his tail, except the two -ribbons in it, are brown--a nice, handsome, rich, coffee-brown--his -legs are blue, and his beak is a fine gamboge-yellow. Ah, _there_ is -a beautiful bird indeed! What would you say if you were to see a bird -that was yellow and green with crimson-sunset plumes, and with two long -glossy ribbons in his tail, and two beautiful crests on his forehead, -with blue legs and a gamboge bill, flying from tree to tree in your -garden? - -Ah, yes, if you were to see him like that he would be more beautiful -than any bird that has ever been in your garden or that has ever flown -about in the woods or fields all over England--for he would be alive -then--alive and happy. But if you were to see him dead he would not be -so beautiful as any of the birds in your garden--no, not even as the -sparrows (which is saying a good deal), for the beauty of life would be -gone out of him, and that is the greatest beauty of all. And even if -he were in a cage--unless it were a _very_ large one with a great many -trees in it--he would hardly look as beautiful as a lark does when he -sails and sings in the sky. - -So, however beautiful this bird is, you must only want to see him -flying about in the forests or gardens of his native land, if ever you -go there. If you do not go there, then you must not mind, but you must -try to imagine him, which is almost as good as seeing him, if you do it -properly. But you must never want to see him in a cage that is smaller -than a large garden with trees in it, or dead in a glass case or a -hat. It is better that beautiful birds should be alive and you not see -them, than that they should be killed or made miserable for you to look -at. - -Now you may be sure that if the poor Great Bird of Paradise is killed -because he is so beautiful, so is the poor Red Bird of Paradise because -_he_ is. It is dreadful to _be_ sure of such a thing, and it is all -because of the wicked little demon, and the Goddess of Pity being -asleep. When the wicked little demon has been driven away, and the -Goddess of Pity has been woken up--and it is you who are going to wake -her--then you may be sure that no beautiful birds will be killed, and -that the more beautiful they are the less people will ever think of -killing them. But that time is not come yet. It will not come till you -have read this book right through and finished it. - -Now you remember that the Great Bird of Paradise is shot with arrows -by a naked black man with frizzly hair like a mop--a man that we call -a savage, though, really, he is not nearly so savage as some men who -wear clothes all over them. You see, where he lives it is very warm, so -that he does not want clothes, and he looks very much better without -them, for his black, smooth skin is very handsome indeed, and so is -his frizzly hair. If you saw him you would think him a very nice, -amiable person, for he is always laughing and springing about, and his -white teeth do flash so and his eyes beam, and he looks very pleasant -indeed. I think you would quite like him, so you must not despise him -because he is not civilised like us; never despise people because they -have a different coloured skin to your own and wear no clothes and are -called savages. Perhaps we may be better than people like that, but -remember that the angels are much better compared to us, than we are, -compared to such people. But do you think the angels _despise_ us? Oh -no, you _could_ not think that, so _you_ must not despise the savages. -Never despise any one, that is the best thing. Instead of doing that, -try to find out what is good about them--there is sure to be something, -and, often, it is something which _they_ have and _we_ have not. _Never -despise._ - -Well, it is this same naked, frizzly-haired Papuan who kills the -beautiful Red Bird of Paradise as well as the Great one, but he does -not do it with bows and arrows, but in quite another way, which I will -tell you about. - -The Birds of Paradise are all fond of fruit; they like insects and -things of that sort too, but fruit they are _very_ fond of. They like -a nice ripe fig, and there are so many fig-trees in that country, both -growing wild and in the gardens too, that when the figs are ripe they -do not trouble to finish one before they begin another, but fly about -from tree to tree, making a bite here and another there, out of just -the ripest and nicest. That is a nice, delicate way of eating figs, _I_ -think, just to take a little and leave the rest. We are so greedy that -we always eat the whole fig, but then _we_ are not Birds of Paradise. - -But now there is one particular fruit which the Red Bird of Paradise -likes better than any other, much better, even, than a ripe fig. It is -a fruit which I do not know the name of, in fact I am not quite sure -that it has a name, except in some language which we would neither of -us understand. But you know what an arum lily is, and in those forests -that I told you of there is a kind of arum lily which climbs up trees, -for there are climbing lilies there as well as climbing palm-trees. -This climbing arum lily has a red fruit, and it is this red fruit -which the Red Bird of Paradise thinks so exceedingly nice. It will go -anywhere to get that fruit, and the naked black man with frizzly hair -knows that it will; so he makes a trap for it with the very fruit that -it is so fond of. - -But besides the fruit, two other things are necessary for making this -trap; one of them is a forked stick like the handle of a catapult, and -the other is some string. The Papuan soon cuts the stick, either with a -knife that he has bought of a white man, or with a sharp piece of stone -or flint, and the string he makes from some creeper, or by rolling the -inner bark of a tree between his hands. When he has done this he takes -the fruit and ties it to the forked stick, then he climbs up a tree -that he knows the Red Birds of Paradise come to perch on, and ties the -stick, with the fruit fastened to it, to one of the branches. To do -this he takes a very long piece of string, one end of which hangs right -down to the ground, and he ties it so cleverly that he has only to pull -the string for the stick, with the fruit on it, to come away from the -branch, just as a sash that is tied in a bow will come undone when you -pull one of the ends. Then the black Papuan climbs down from the tree, -again, and sits underneath it with the end of the long string in his -hand, all ready to pull it when the right time comes. - -Sometimes it will not be long before a Red Bird of Paradise comes to -the tree, sometimes the Papuan will have to sit there the whole day or -even for two or three days, for he is very patient and will not go away -till he has done what he came to do. All savages are like that; they -are ever so much more patient than civilised people who wear clothes. -But whenever the poor Red Bird of Paradise does come, he is sure to see -the fruit, and then he is sure to fly to it, to eat it, and _then_ he -is sure to get caught in the string. For the string has a noose in it -which gets round his legs, and the frizzly-haired man underneath, who -is watching the Bird of Paradise all the time, just pulls the cord, -and down he comes as well as the stick. You see he cannot fly very well -with the stick fastened to him, and, however much he tries to, it is no -use, for the black man has only to keep pulling the string. - -That is how the poor Red Bird of Paradise is caught, and as soon as -he has caught him the black frizzly-haired man kills him and skins -him--I need hardly tell you that he does that, for you know in whose -service he is. Then the black man takes the skin to a yellow man, who -buys it of him and cheats him a little, and the yellow man takes it -to a white man who buys it of _him_ and cheats _him_ more, and it all -happens just the same as it did with the Great Bird of Paradise, until -the skin is lying on the floor of the warehouse, with all those other -beautiful skins of poor beautiful birds--all killed to be put into the -hats of women whose hearts the wicked little demon has frozen. Is it -not shocking? But you know how to stop it. You have only to make your -mother promise--yes, _promise_--_never_ to wear a hat that has the -skin or any of the feathers of a Red Bird of Paradise in it. Make her -promise this before reading the next chapter. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -The Lesser, Black, Blue, and Golden Birds of Paradise - - -Now I have told you about two very beautiful Birds of Paradise, and -in this chapter I shall tell you about some others; at least I shall -try to tell you what they are like, because not so very much is known -about their habits, what they do, or how they live. That is because -they live in such wild parts of the world, in such deep, dense forests, -and on such high, steep hills. Not many travellers have been into -these out-of-the-way places, and those that have gone there, instead -of trying to watch them and find out all about them--which would have -been so interesting--have shot at them with their guns whenever they -have seen them, and have either killed them or driven them away. It is -not by killing birds or by driving them away that you can find out much -about their habits. - -It would be much better if these travellers were to take a good pair of -glasses and were to sit down in the forests or on the hills and watch -the birds through the glasses whenever they saw them; for with a good -pair of glasses one can watch birds even when they do not come very -near to one. Then we should know something about them, and the more we -know about a bird or any other living creature the more interesting it -becomes for us. One cannot be _very_ interested in something that one -knows nothing about, but as one begins to know even a little about it, -it begins to get interesting directly. But then, why is it that the -travellers who go out to these countries take guns with them instead -of glasses, and shoot the birds--as well as other animals--instead of -watching them? That is a question which I cannot answer. All I can tell -you is that it is as I say, and I am afraid the wicked little demon has -something to do with it. But now we must get on, and first we come to -the Lesser Bird of Paradise. - -The Lesser Bird of Paradise is something like the Great Bird of -Paradise, only it is not quite so handsome and not nearly so -big--which, of course, is what you would expect from its name. Where -the Great Bird of Paradise is brown the lesser one is brown too, but -it is a lighter brown, not such a nice, rich, coffee-coloured one as -the other, and, on the breast, this brown colour does not change into -a blackish-violet or a browny-purple as you know it does in the -Great Bird of Paradise--it is brown there just the same. On the back, -though, the Lesser Bird of Paradise is all yellow, so that here, if you -remember, it has the advantage; but then the long plumes on each side -under the wings are not _so_ long as in the Great Bird of Paradise, -and they have only just a tinge of orange in them, instead of being of -the beautiful golden-orange colour that _his_ ones are. The tips of -them, too, are white instead of mauvy-brown, and the two funny feathers -in the tail are much shorter than the Great Bird of Paradise's funny -feathers. - -[Illustration: THE LESSER BIRD OF PARADISE] - -But although the Lesser Bird of Paradise is not such a beautiful bird -as the Great Bird of Paradise is, still it is a very beautiful bird -indeed--what Bird of Paradise is not?--and as it is commoner than the -other Birds of Paradise and easier to get, it is the one that is most -often killed and put into the hats that the women with the frozen -hearts wear; which is why I want you to jump up and throw your arms -round your mother's neck and make her promise never, never to wear a -hat that has a Lesser Bird of Paradise in it. - -And now, what would you say to a Black Bird of Paradise? For there is -one--yes, and such a splendid bird. "Oh, but," you will say, "if he -is black he cannot be so _very_ beautiful, for he cannot be of all -sorts of beautiful colours like the other ones." But have you not heard -of a black diamond? That is black, but _in_ its blackness all sorts -of wonderful colours are lying asleep, and sometimes they wake up and -flash out of it, as the sun's rays do out of a dark, stormy cloud, and -then they go back into it again and are lost, as the sun's rays are -lost when the sun goes in. Yes, they are asleep, those colours, and -whilst they are asleep the diamond is really black, but when they wake -up and begin to gleam and flash, and sparkle, and shoot about, then it -is not a _black_ diamond any more, although we may call it so. - -And there may be a dark, deep cavern, so dark and so deep that you -would be quite afraid to go into it, especially at night. But some -gipsies, who were not afraid, have gone into it and have lighted a -fire, and the flames leap up and glimmer through the smoke, and then -sink for a moment and shoot up again, and fall on the sides and roof -of the cavern, and make a deep glow in its mouth, and flicker on the -leaves of the trees outside, and send out long tongues of flame that -make a red light in the air and lick the darkness off everything that -they touch. That cavern _was_ dark and black before the fire was -lighted in it, and when the fire goes out it will be dark and black -again, but it is not dark and black just now, whilst the red fire is -burning. - -Or it may be a dark night, very dark and stormy, so dark that it is -difficult for people who are out in it to find their way, whilst people -who only look out of the window, say that it is a pitch-dark night. But -now the rain is beginning to fall, and it comes down faster and faster, -and there is a muttering in the dull sky, and, all at once, a flash of -lightning leaps out of the darkness, cutting it as though with a red, -jagged knife, and for an instant it is day, and you see the leaves on -the trees, and the rain-drops falling through the air, and the fields -with haystacks standing in them, or rivers winding through them, and -the distant hills, and the line where the earth meets the heavens. -Then, all in a moment--almost before you can say "Oh," and quite before -the great clap of thunder that follows the lightning-flash--it is -night--deep, dark, black night--again. The night in which there is a -storm like that is a dark night, but it is not dark when the lightning -is leaping and flashing. - -It is the same with this Black Bird of Paradise. At first when you -look at him, all his plumage is of a deep, dark, velvety black, a -lovely black, a beautiful, smooth, glossy black, a black that seems -almost to gleam and to sparkle as if it were jewellery--black velvet -jewellery you may call it, very handsome, very beautiful indeed. Still -it is black, but all at once all the colours that have lain asleep in -it--blues and greens, and bluey-greens and greeny-blues, and purples -and indigos, and wonderful bronzy reflections--wake up together, -and flash out of it like the sparkles out of the diamond, like the -tongues of fire out of the black cavern, like the lightning out of the -dark night. There they all are, flashing and leaping about, meeting -and mingling, then shooting apart, playing little games with each -other, till all at once they fall asleep again, and there is only the -smooth, glossy black, the deep, jetty black, the shining, gleaming, -satiny-velvety black, the black velvet, black satin jewellery. That -is what a Black Bird of Paradise is like, like a black diamond, like -a cavern with a fire lighted in it, like a dark night with flashes of -lightning. - -But now I will tell you a little more about his appearance, for this -that I have told you is only just to give you an idea of how that -wonderful material, from which Dame Nature with her scissors cuts out -all her children (for all things that are alive are the children of -Dame Nature), can be black, and yet have all sorts of colours in it at -the same time. - -First, you must know--so as not to make any mistake--that this "Black -Bird of Paradise" has another name--indeed he has two other names, but -one of them is in Latin, so we won't bother about that. There are some -birds that have no English names, and when we come to them we will -have to call them by their Latin ones--but as long as a bird has an -English name we will never trouble our heads about what its Latin name -may be, not we, any more than the bird itself does, and no bird that -has an English name ever thinks about what its name is in Latin--in -fact I really do not believe that it knows. An English name is enough -for _any_ bird, if only it is so _fortunate_ as to have one. Now this -bird is so fortunate as to have two English names--the Black Bird of -Paradise, that you know about--which is what the English people who -live in its own country call it--and the Superb Bird of Paradise, -which is what naturalists at home in England call it. The _Superb_ -Bird of Paradise! Just fancy having a name like that! Supposing a -gentleman--some friend of your father and mother, who calls sometimes -at the house--were to be called the superb Mr. Jones or the superb Mr. -Robinson! Only he would have to be very much more handsome than he is -at all likely to be, before he would deserve a name like _that_. - -Well, the two most wonderful things about the Superb or Black Bird of -Paradise--after his marvellous black plumage, that has all sorts of -colours lying asleep in it--are two wonderful ornaments that he has, -one on his head and one on his breast. The one on his head is the most -wonderful. It is a sort of crest--at least I think that is the best -name for it. Some people, I know, call it a shield, but then that is -what they call the other wonderful thing on the breast too; so, if they -call that a shield, I think they should call this a helmet, for it is -a helmet, and not a shield, that soldiers wear on the head. _I_ shall -call it a crest, but it is one of the most extraordinary crests that -any bird ever had. It is like a pair of black velvet lappets, so long -that they go all down the back and reach half-an-inch beyond the tips -of the wings. But at the back of the head, where this crest begins, -the two lappets meet, and they are joined together for a little way -before they begin to go apart. I tell you what will give you an idea -of the shape of this crest. Have you ever seen a pair of trousers -that have been washed, and are hanging out on a clothes-line to dry, -with the legs very wide apart, so wide they look as if they had been -stretched?--I don't know if they really have. Of course you have seen -such a thing. Well, that will give you an idea--mind, that is _all_ -I can say--of what this wonderful crest that is worn by the Black -Bird of Paradise is like. The legs of the trousers are the two lappets, -from where they are divided from each other, and, farther up, they -join and become all one, just as the legs of a pair of trousers _do_. -Only, of course, I need hardly tell you that a crest of beautiful, -black, velvety feathers, glossed with bronze and purple, has a far more -_elegant_ appearance than a pair of trousers hanging out to dry, though -it may have just a _little_ the same shape. - -[Illustration: KING BIRD OF PARADISE] - -Now I think you will agree with me that this crest is a wonderful -thing, even when it is only lying down along the neck and body of the -bird. But what would you say when you saw the Black Bird of Paradise -lift it right up above its head?--which is what he does, you may be -sure, when he wants to show off before the hen bird, who has no crest -on _her_ head nor shield on her breast, and whose black feathers, I -am afraid, are not nearly so glossy and velvety, and have no colours -lying asleep in them and ready to wake up all of a sudden. Ah, you -would think the Black Bird of Paradise a wonderful, wonderful bird -if you were to see him bowing politely to his hen and lifting up his -wonderful, wonderful crest to her. - -But I told you this bird had a shield too, and when he lifts up his -crest over his head, he shoots out his shield in front of his breast, -at the same time, and this shield is something of the same shape as -the crest or helmet, only smaller, and always of a lovely bluey-green -colour, with a glossy sheen upon it that is just like that upon satin. -Yes, _always_, for the colours that go to sleep in the other parts of -the Black Bird of Paradise's plumage, keep wide awake in the shield on -its breast, or, if you ever do catch them napping, it is only just for -a single instant, and then out they flash again, wider awake than ever. -So now, if you were to say--as I am sure you would say--that the Black -Bird of Paradise was a wonderful, wonderful bird, even if you were to -see him with only his crest lifted up, what, ah, _what_ would you say -if you were to see him with his crest lifted up and his shield shot out -at the same time? Why, I think that then you could not say less than -that he was a wonderful, wonderful, _wonderful_ bird--three wonderfuls -instead of only two. And indeed you would be right. - -Yes, he is a wonder, is the Black Bird of Paradise, though I must -tell you that he has not any of those long, silky feathers that hang -down like cascades and shoot up like fountains, from the sides of -those other Birds of Paradise I have been telling you about. And he -has no long "funny feathers" in his tail either. You see he cannot -have everything, and his crest and shield are instead of those. They -are not quite so beautiful, perhaps, but I think they are still more -wonderful. Even when his crest--his helmet--is laid down and his shield -is not stuck out, the Black Bird of Paradise is a wonder, but when he -raises the one up and shoots the other out, both at the same time, -and says to the hen, "Look at me!" and all the colours that have been -asleep in the helmet, or awake in the shield, gleam and flash and -sparkle together, ah, _then_ he is a wonder of wonders. - -Then, do you think he is a bird that ought to be killed and killed -and killed, only to have those beautiful, bronzy-black crests, and -satiny-green, gleaming shields of his set in hats where they soon get -dull and dusty, and where he can never raise them up or shoot them out -or pay proper attention to them--because he is dead, dead, dead? Is -he to be killed and killed till he is gone for ever, and there is not -one more beautiful Black Bird of Paradise in the whole world? Oh no, -no, no; it ought not to be so--it must not, it _shall_ not--because -you will prevent it--yes, you. You will turn to your mother now, this -minute, if she is there, if she is reading this to you, or, if not, you -will run to her--oh, so quickly, so quickly--and ask her, beg her--keep -on asking and asking, begging and begging her to promise--till she -_has_ promised--never, _never_ to buy a hat that has a beautiful Black -Bird of Paradise in it. - -Now, as I have said that the Black Bird of Paradise is such a -very wonderful bird--as I have even called him a "wonder of -wonders"--perhaps you will think that there is no other Bird of -Paradise quite so wonderful as he is. Well, I do not wonder at your -thinking so; and, do you know, whilst I was describing him to you and -telling you how wonderful he was, I thought so too. But I had forgotten -the Blue Bird of Paradise. - -The Blue Bird of Paradise is quite as wonderful as the Black one. -Perhaps--but mind I only say perhaps--he is even a little more -wonderful. To begin with, blue is a very uncommon colour for a Bird -of Paradise to be of. None of the Birds of Paradise that I have told -you about have feathers that are really blue. There are blue lights, I -know, in some of their feathers, especially on the head, but still they -are not quite blue. You could hardly call them blue feathers, for there -is a green light or a purple light as well as a blue light in them, -which makes them bluey-green or greeny purple, or, at any rate, green -or purple _and_ blue, not just blue by itself. And then, as you know, -sometimes all those lights go to sleep and then the feathers are black. -I do not think there is any Bird of Paradise except the Blue Bird of -Paradise whose feathers are really and truly blue, and I am quite sure -that there is no other one--at least that we know of--which has so much -blue about it, that you would think of it as a blue bird, or that has -blue feather-fountains--those wonderful long silky plumes that grow out -of each side under the wings. - -That is what is most wonderful in the Blue Bird of Paradise. There is -no other Bird of Paradise that can sit under a blue fountain or look -out of a blue sunset. But the plumes of the Blue Bird of Paradise are -not so long as those of the Great or the Lesser Bird of Paradise, and -when he spreads them out they go more on each side of him than up over -his head, and, for this reason, I think, he looks more as if he was -looking out of a sunset than sitting under a fountain. You have seen -a beautiful sunset often; there will be blue in it somewhere, cool, -lovely lakes or bays, or long, stretching inlets, of the loveliest, -purest, most delicate blue. But the clouds that float in those bays -and lakes like islands, or that shut them in and make their shores, -like great burning continents, are not blue, but rosy red or fiery -crimson or molten gold or golden-crimson flame. That, at least, is what -the brightest ones are like, those that are gathered nearest round -the sun. Now, if they could keep all their brightness and glowingness -and be blue instead of rose or crimson or gold, then it would be a -blue sunset; and that is what the sunset is like that the Blue Bird -of Paradise looks out of, when he spreads out his plumes, just as the -sunset that the Red Bird of Paradise looks out of, when _he_ spreads -out _his_ plumes, is like a red sunset--only of feathers, of course. -One is a blue feather-sunset, and the other a red feather-sunset. - -And how soft those feathers are, those wonderful, blue sunset-feathers -of the wonderful Blue Bird of Paradise. Oh, I cannot tell you how -softly they droop down over his breast, or how softly--how _very_ -softly--each feather touches the other one, upon it. How softly, I -wonder--for I know you will want me to say. As softly as a snowflake -falls upon snow? Oh, more softly than that. As softly as two gossamers -are blown together in the air? Still more softly, even. As softly, -then, as your mother kisses you when you are asleep, and she does not -wish to wake you? Yes, I think it is as softly, or almost as softly, as -that. Those are two of the very softest kisses--when your mother kisses -you when you are asleep, so as not to wake you, and when the soft blue -feathers of the plumes on each side of a Blue Bird of Paradise, meet -and kiss each other on its breast. - -Now that is all I am going to tell you about the front part of the -Blue Bird of Paradise--for those wonderful blue feathers that grow on -each side become the front part of him when he spreads them out. You -see, they open out like two fans, with the handles turned towards each -other, and meet together on the breast and above the head, so as to -make one large fan or screen. Of course there is something behind this -screen, and through it peeps the head of the bird, which is very pretty -too. But you don't look at his head, you don't seem to see it. All -you see or look at are those beautiful, beautiful plumes, that lovely -screen, that wonderful soft blue feather-sunset. - -As for the back part of this wonderful Blue Bird of Paradise, well, -that is blue too, most of it--a handsome blue, a lovely blue, a -gleaming, shining, glossy, satiny blue that looks darker when you see -it from one side, and lighter when you see it from another, and which -gleams and glints and is very resplendent (which is a word your mother -will explain to you) however you look at it. Oh, a glorious blue, a -magnificent blue, but not _such_ a blue as the blue of those soft -lovely feathers that spread out on each side and curl over and meet and -kiss each other so softly, on the breast. And the head and neck of the -Blue Bird of Paradise (for sometimes he puts them behind the screen, -and then they are the back part of him) are of a soft velvet brown -that, as you look at it, becomes a soft velvet-claret-magenta colour -(which your mother knows all about and will explain to you), and in his -tail there are two long "funny feathers" that hang down from the bough -he is sitting on, and--and _now_ you must try to imagine him. _When_ -you have imagined him--or before you have, if you are not able to--you -must make your mother promise--now what? You know, of course. You must -make her promise _never_ to wear a hat with a Blue Bird of Paradise's -feathers in it. - -Now we come to the Golden or Six-shafted Bird of Paradise, who lives -just in one part of New Guinea--that long part at the north that goes -out into the sea, and which we call a peninsula; you have only to -look at the map and you will see it. Now I think of it, the Superb -or Black Bird of Paradise--or shall we say the Superb Black Bird of -Paradise?--lives there too, so I daresay they sometimes see each other. -Perhaps they call on each other, for, you see, they are both of them -distinguished. One is superb and the other golden, and when two people -are like that they do not mind calling upon one another. You see, -neither of them can be hurt by it then. A _superb_ person may call -upon even a _golden_ person, and yet feel quite well after it, and it -will not do a _golden_ person any harm at all to call upon a _superb_ -person. So, if birds are like people, I feel sure that sometimes the -Golden and the Superb Bird of Paradise call upon each other. - -Now you will want to know why this Bird of Paradise is called both the -Golden and the Six-shafted Bird of Paradise. Well, he is called the -Golden Bird of Paradise because he has lovely golden feathers on his -throat and breast, and he is called the Six-shafted Bird of Paradise -because six little arrows--for that is what they look like--seem to -have been shot into his head, three on each side--arrows, you know, are -sometimes called shafts. These little shafts or arrows are six inches -long--almost as long as the bird itself--and bend right back over -his body, as far as to the tail. Of course each of them is really a -feather--an arrow that is all feather--but it is a "funny feather" with -only the quill, which is very thin and slender, till quite the end, -where there is just a little oval piece of the soft web--the part that -looks really like a feather--left upon it. That is what makes them look -like arrows. But is it not curious that the "funny feathers" of _this_ -Bird of Paradise are in his head instead of in his tail? I think it -must be because Dame Nature wanted to make him a little different. - -Of course you will see at once that six feathers like that--to say -nothing of his wonderful golden breast--make the Six-shafted (or -Golden) Bird of Paradise quite as remarkable as the Black or the Blue, -or any of the other, Birds of Paradise. Whether it makes him _more_ -remarkable, that I really can't say. _You_ must make up your mind about -that. The fact is, _all_ the Birds of Paradise are remarkable. I am -sure if they were all together in one place, and you were to say out -loud that any one of them was the _most_ remarkable, all the other ones -would be very much offended. - -But now, besides his six little shafts or arrows and the beautiful -golden feathers on his throat and breast--they are very large, I must -tell you, those feathers, and sometimes they look green and blue -as well as golden--this Bird of Paradise has two immense tufts of -beautiful, soft, silky feathers on each side of the breast. So large -each tuft is, that when he lifts them both up--as of course he can -do--they almost hide him altogether. Then on the back of his head he -has a band of feathers, so wonderfully bright that they do not seem -to be feathers at all. They look more like jewels--yes, jewels. It is -as if some magician had taken the sheen and shining light out of the -emerald and topaz, and put them on that bird's head, and told them -to stay there. Then on his forehead, just above the beak--as if all -this were not enough--there is a patch, quite a large patch, of pure -white feathers that shine like satin. Really I think you might -almost say that this Bird of Paradise was _the_ most wonderful of all -the Birds of Paradise. But take care, do not say it out loud or you -will offend _all_ the others. Only I forgot, they are not here. Well, -then, you _may_ say it out loud, if you really think so. I do wish I -could have got this bird's picture, but as he would not give it me, you -must look at the picture of the Golden-winged Bird of Paradise instead. -_He_ is a very handsome bird, too--very much brighter than he looks. - -[Illustration: GOLDEN-WINGED BIRD OF PARADISE] - -Well, this makes the sixth Bird of Paradise which I have been able -to tell you something about--I mean about their appearance, for very -little else is known about them. But, do you know, there are some forty -or fifty different kinds, and, of course, if I were to describe them -all, or anything like all (which, however, I should not be able to do), -this little book would become quite a big book, and there would be no -room in it for any other kinds of beautiful birds. So I won't describe -any more Birds of Paradise, but I will just say something, before -getting on to the other beautiful birds, about Birds of Paradise and -beautiful birds in general. That means about most Birds of Paradise and -most other beautiful birds. When we talk about things in general, or -people in general, we mean most things or most people. But that must be -in another chapter, for this one has been quite long enough, and so -we must end it. Oh, but wait a minute. Really, I was quite forgetting. -First you must get your mother to promise never to buy a hat in which -there are any feathers belonging to the Golden or Six-shafted Bird of -Paradise. Yes, and never to wear it either, even if she did not buy it, -but had it given to her. Of course your father might give your mother a -hat, but if he were to give her one of that sort, he would have to take -it back to the shop and change it for another. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -About all Birds of Paradise, and Some Explanations - - -As I have told you, there are some forty or fifty different kinds of -Birds of Paradise, and they are all of them as beautiful, or nearly as -beautiful, as those that I have described, each one in its own special -way. Of course you must know yourself, or your mother will tell you, -that all this wonderful beauty has not been given to these birds for -nothing, and I have told you that the male Birds of Paradise, who alone -have it, show it off to the poor hen birds, whose plumage is quite -sober in comparison--though you must not think that _they_ are not -pretty birds too--because they are pretty, though in a quieter style. -So they are not _really_ "poor" hen birds, that is only just a way of -speaking. They are happy enough, you may be sure, for they have their -husbands' fine clothes to look at. But what is so interesting, is that -each of these different kinds of Birds of Paradise has some different -way of arranging and showing off his fine clothes--for, of course, a -bird's feathers are his clothes just as much as our coats and dresses -are ours. And, besides that, each one of them puts himself into some -peculiar attitude, which he thinks is the best one to let his plumage -be seen as he would like it to be. We may be quite sure of this, -because it is what all birds do that have beautiful plumage; and many -of them have regular places that they come to, to run or jump about in, -just as soldiers come into a park or common to march about in it, and -show off their nice pretty uniforms. There will always be a great many -hen birds round these places, to look at the beautiful males, and there -are always a great many ladies round the park or common, to look at the -beautiful soldiers. - -Now, would it not be interesting if we knew what all these different -Birds of Paradise did, and how they arranged their plumage, and what -attitudes they went into, and whether they ran or jumped or flew or -did all three, and all the rest of it? If only there was somebody who -knew all that, I think he could write a very interesting book, and if -only some one would go out into those countries, with a pair of glasses -(or even a pair of eyes) instead of with a gun, and whenever he saw a -Bird of Paradise would just look at it through the glasses (or with -his own eyes, if it was near enough) instead of shooting it, I think -_he_ might write an interesting book. I am sure _I_ should find it -interesting, and I _think_ you would too. Depend upon it, if any one -could tell people what a Bird of Paradise did, he would interest them -very much more than by telling them how he shot it. That is not at -all interesting, how he shot it. Do you think it would be so _very_ -interesting for people to know how you broke a very handsome ornament -in your mother's drawing-room? Why, I don't think it would interest -even your mother--much; but she would be very sorry you broke it. And -that is just how _I_ feel (and I think some other people do too) when -a person tells me how he shot a Bird of Paradise. Things of that kind -interest the little demon. If they interest any one else, I am afraid -it is only _because_ of that little demon, because of his wicked -powders and his having sent the Goddess of Pity to sleep. - -But I am sorry to say that there is hardly anybody who knows anything -about all these Birds of Paradise, anything about their habits and how -they live and how they dance and the way they arrange their wonderful -plumage, so as to make it look as beautiful as possible. Perhaps there -are a few people who know just a little--a _very_ little--about some -of the more common kinds, but as for all the rest, if any one knows -anything about them, it must be those black or yellow people that we -call savages, who live in the same countries that they live in. That -is because, when a traveller from Europe goes out to those countries he -always takes a gun--not glasses (or if he does take a pair of glasses -he does not use them, or his eyes either, in the right way), and when -he sees one of these rare Birds of Paradise, he shoots it, or else -frightens it away, as I told you. Then, when he comes back, he writes -his book and tells you how he shot it, or tried to shoot it, and then -he says: "Unfortunately, nothing whatever is known of the habits of -this species." It is not very wonderful that _he_ knows nothing of -them, is it? And yet this traveller, with his gun, almost always calls -himself a _naturalist_. Now a _real_ naturalist is a person who loves -nature. But is not that a funny way to love her--to shoot her children? -Depend upon it, that one of those little bottles that the demon keeps -his powders in, is labelled "Natural History" or "Love of Nature." You -know that _his_ bottles have generally a false label on them. - -So, I am afraid I cannot tell you much about what the Birds of Paradise -do, or how they show off their beautiful feathers. Indeed, it is very -much the same with most other beautiful birds, and for the very same -reason that I have been telling you, because people _will_ shoot, -instead of looking and watching. Just the little that we know about -the Great Bird of Paradise, how he has a special tree that he comes -to, to have those dances that the natives call "Sácalelis," and how he -flies about with his plumes waving, or sits underneath them as if he -were in the spray of a falling fountain, that I have told you; but, -besides this, I can only tell you just a very little about a Bird -of Paradise that I have not said anything about, because, you know, -there are so many of them. The little I can tell you is this. Two -gentlemen--one of them a Mr. Chalmers and the other a Mr. Wyatt--were -once travelling in the part of New Guinea where this Bird of Paradise -lives, and one morning, when they were up early, they saw four of the -cock birds and two of the hens, in a tree close by them. This is what -one of these gentlemen says about them (if there is any word too long -for you, or that you don't understand, you must ask your mother to -explain it):-- - -"The two hens were sitting quietly on a branch, and the four cocks, -dressed in their very best, their ruffs of green and yellow standing -out, giving them a handsome appearance about the head and neck" (yes, -I feel sure of that), "their long flowing plumes so arranged that -every feather seemed combed out, and the long wires" (he means the -"funny feathers") "stretched well out behind, were dancing in a circle -round them." (Just fancy!) "It was an interesting sight." (I should -_think_ so!) "First one and then another would advance a little nearer -to a hen, and she, coquette-like" (you will have to ask your mother -what _that_ means), "would retire a little, pretending not to care -for any advances. A shot was fired, contrary to our expressed wish, -there was a strange commotion, and two of the cocks flew away" (you -see what shooting does), "but the others and the hens remained. Soon -the two returned, and again the dance began, and continued long. As we -had strictly forbidden any more shooting, all fear was gone; and so, -after a rest, the males came a little nearer to the dark brown hens. -Quarrelling ensued, and in the end all six birds flew away." - -Fancy seeing all that! I think it is wonderful that any of the birds -stayed after the shot had been fired, and if another one had been, -no doubt they would all have gone. Those travellers, you see, were a -little better than most travellers are. They did not kill the birds -(perhaps _they_ were _not_ naturalists), and the consequence is they -have had something interesting to tell us about them. Still, I think -if I had been there I should have had a _little_ more to say, and -instead of just saying that the cock birds were dancing, I should have -described _how_ they were dancing, and what sort of attitudes they -put themselves into. And I think I would have waited at that place, -and gone to those trees again very early next morning, all by myself, -to see if those birds came back to dance there. Still, what these -travellers do tell us is very interesting, very much more interesting -than if they had only written, "Here we shot," or "Here we obtained -another specimen of Paradisea Something-elsea"--which, of course, would -be the Latin name. Naturalists like to tell us the Latin name of the -animals they shoot. If they only had an English name I don't think they -would care nearly so much to shoot them. How sorry we ought to be that -animals have Latin names! - -But, now, how is it that it is only the cock bird--the male--of all -these Birds of Paradise who is so beautiful, whilst the poor hen--the -female bird--is quite plain, in comparison? Well, I must tell you, -first, that this is not only the case with Birds of Paradise, but -that it is just the same with other birds as well. In most, if not -all, of the beautiful birds I am going to tell you about, it is the -male bird that is so _very_ beautiful, so that perhaps you will begin -to think that this is the case with _all_ beautiful birds, and that -there is no hen bird that has _very_ splendid or brilliant plumage. -But this is not so at all. You would make a great mistake if you were -to think that. In most of the parrots--those brightly-coloured birds -that you know so well--the male and female are alike, and if you -were to see a kingfisher--the star-bird that I told you about in the -first chapter--gleaming and glancing up a river, you would not know -whether it was the one or the other. The feathers of the female scarlet -flamingo are almost--if not quite--as scarlet as those of the male; the -cock robin's breast is not more red than the breast of the hen robin, -at least you would find it difficult to tell the difference; male and -female pigeons--and some of them are very splendid--are as bright as -each other, and so it is with a very great number of other birds. - -Now does not this seem funny, that some male birds should be so much -handsomer than their wives, whilst some _hen_ birds should be just -as handsome as their husbands? Is there any way of explaining this, -or, rather, do we know how to explain it? for there _is_ a way of -explaining everything--a right way, I mean, of course. The difficult -thing is to find it out. Well, there are some clever people who have -been thinking about this funny thing, and they try to explain it in -this way. - -Of course, when the male Birds of Paradise (and it is the same with -other birds) show off their fine plumage to the hen birds, it is -because they want to marry them, which is just the same as with people; -for, you know, when a gentleman wishes to marry a lady he dresses as -nicely as he can, and sometimes he goes into attitudes as well. Now, -the hen Birds of Paradise--so these clever people say--always choose -for their husbands the birds that have the finest feathers, and the -other ones, whose feathers are not so fine, have to look about for -another wife. Of course, after the Birds of Paradise have married, they -make a nest, and very soon there are eggs in it, and then the eggs are -chipped and little Birds of Paradise come out of them. Some of these -little Birds of Paradise will be males and some females, and the male -ones will grow up with feathers like the cock birds, and the females -with feathers like the hen--just as with us, the boys sometimes grow up -like the father, and the girls sometimes grow up like the mother--only -with Birds of Paradise it is always so. But now, amongst these young -Birds of Paradise, though all will be beautiful, some will be more -beautiful than the others, more beautiful even than their father, -perhaps, and you may be sure that those will be the ones who will -find it most easy to marry, and who will have the greater number of -children. Some of those children will be more beautiful than _their_ -fathers, and then _they_ will marry and have children that are still -more beautiful than themselves, and so it will always be going on. -The young male Birds of Paradise will always have feathers like their -fathers, and gradually they will get more and more beautiful, because -their wives will always choose them for their beauty. But the young -female Birds of Paradise will always be like their mothers, and will -not become more beautiful than they are, because hen Birds of Paradise -are not chosen for their beauty, but only for their good qualities. - -Now, if this is true, it shows how sensible the Birds of Paradise must -be, for all _sensible_ persons would choose their wives for their good -qualities, and not just for their beauty. The worst of it is that there -are so many _persons_ who are not _quite_ sensible. Still, even with -us, there are a good many wives who must, I think, have been chosen, -like the hen Birds of Paradise, for their good qualities--which, of -course, is what they _ought_ to be chosen for. - -That is how some people explain why the male Birds of Paradise, and -other beautiful male birds, are so much more beautiful than the -females. They say that they have gradually got more and more beautiful, -whilst the hens have remained plain, and that once upon a time there -was not so very much difference between them. And if you ask them -why the males and females of other birds are both as beautiful as -each other, they will tell you that the children of _those_ birds -were always like the father, so that, as the father birds became -beautiful--for they were chosen in the same way--all the little -daughter birds became beautiful too, as well as the little sons. - -But I am afraid the people who explain it all in this way must have -forgotten how the Birds of Paradise, at any rate, used once to live -in Paradise, where, of course, they were all as beautiful as each -other, and though their plumage got spoilt when they came out of it -(beautiful though it seems to us) in the way I told you, yet it does -seem funny that the hens should have had it spoilt so much more than -the cock birds. But you know it was spoilt by the glory which streamed -out of the gates of Paradise, and which was so bright and burning that -it burnt off all the most beautiful parts of it, and scorched and -singed the rest. Now, of course, the nearer any bird was to the gate of -Paradise when it opened, the worse he would have got scorched, and so -if the cocks flew faster than the hens--and I am sure they did--they -would have got soonest away, and the hens would have suffered most. -_That_ explanation seems much more simple; but, you see, these _clever_ -people do not believe about the Birds of Paradise having once lived -in Paradise. They have their own explanation of it all (which I have -just told you), and they like to believe in that. Then which of the -two are you to believe in? Well, I think the simpler one--which is -prettier as well--would be the best for you to believe in _now_, but -later on--when _you_ are a clever person--you can try the other. Now, -you know, you are only a little child, and something that is simple and -pretty is the right thing for a little child. But a clever person wants -a different kind of explanation to _that_. _He_ wants a clever one, and -as soon as you feel that _you_ have become a clever person, there will -be a clever explanation all ready for you. - -But now, whilst you are still a little child, I can give you another -explanation of why the males and females of some birds are as beautiful -as each other, whilst the males of some other ones are ever so much the -most beautiful. This other explanation will do in case the one about -the cock Birds of Paradise flying faster than the hens is not the right -one, for, of course, we cannot be quite sure that they flew faster. I -did say I was sure, but that was just a little mistake of mine. One -is not _really_ sure of a thing until one knows it, and I don't quite -_know_ that it happened like that, however much I may think it did. -Besides, this new explanation that I am going to give you will do for -all other birds as well as for the Birds of Paradise, and, of course, -the more anything explains the better explanation it is. So now I will -give it you, and, if you like it better than the other, you can take it -instead, and if you only like it as well, then you will have two nice -explanations instead of only one. Here it is. - -In the old days, a long, long time ago, the males and females of all -the birds were as beautiful as each other, and they were all in love -with each other. Only the question was which of them were the most in -love, and, as to that, they often had disputes. "We love you better -than you love us," said the male birds to the females; "you love us -only for our beauty, you do not love us for ourselves, as we love you." -"If you think so," said the female birds (the beautiful hens), "give us -your beauty, and you shall find that we love you just as well, without -it." But the male birds, who were quite content, _really_, to be loved -for their beauty, and who did not wish to part with it, made haste to -change the conversation. "But _you_ love _us_ for _our_ beauty," said -the hen birds (for they soon got round again to the same subject); -"it is not for ourselves that you love us, but only because we are -beautiful." "If that is your idea," said the male birds, "bestow your -beauty upon us, and you shall soon be undeceived." Then the female -birds, who only wished to be loved for themselves and not for what -they looked like, gave all their beauty to their beautiful husbands, -and remained without any. So now, of course, the male birds were twice -as beautiful as they had been before, whilst the poor hens were not -beautiful at all, and would even have been quite ugly if they had not -been birds, for a bird _cannot_ be ugly. And now it was found that, -whilst some of the male birds had loved their wives so much that they -went on loving them still, in spite of the change in their appearance, -others (and I am afraid they were the greater number) left off loving -them, as soon as they had left off being beautiful, and were not able -to love them again, although they tried ever so hard. You see, they -had only loved them for their beauty, not for themselves, so as soon -as there was no more beauty, there was no more love. So those male -birds who had loved for love only, and not because their wives were -beautiful, kept this beauty and added it to their own. Their wives did -not want it back again, for love was enough for them. But the ones -who had loved their wives, only because of their beauty, had to give -it them back, for otherwise they would not have been able to go on -loving them, and that would have been very awkward indeed. That is why, -in some birds, the males and females are as beautiful as each other, -whilst in others, the males are twice as beautiful as the females. As -I told you, this is an explanation which does as well for any other -bird as it does for the Birds of Paradise, and, if you like it, you can -believe in it till you have grown up from a simple little child into a -complicated clever person. - -So now there are six Birds of Paradise that your mother has promised -not to wear in her hats, not in any hat that she buys or has given to -her, whether it has the whole skin of one in it, or only just a few -feathers, or even one. She will not buy such a hat, and she will not go -into a shop to ask the price of it. She will have nothing to do with it -whatever, because she has promised. - -But now, do you not see that, as your dear mother has only promised -about six kinds of Birds of Paradise, and as there are some forty or -fifty kinds in the world, she might easily buy a hat that had some kind -of Bird of Paradise in it, without its being any of these six? How much -better it would be, then, if your dear, dear mother were to promise -never to wear a hat that had any kind of Bird of Paradise in it. And I -am sure she will, now that you have explained to her about the wicked -little demon, and how much more beautiful these Birds of Paradise are -when they are alive, and how happy they are, too, and how their wives -want them, to look at, and how there will be no more of them left, -soon, if people keep on killing them, just to put into hats. Just talk -to her about it a little, and then throw your arms round her neck and -say: "Oh mother, do _promise_ never to wear a hat that has the feathers -of _any_ Bird of Paradise in it." There! And now she has promised. -Well, you see how easy it is. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -About Humming-Birds, and Some More Explanations - - -Perhaps, when I was telling you about the Birds of Paradise and how -very, very beautiful they are, you thought they were the most beautiful -birds in the whole world. They are nearly, but not quite. There are the -Humming-birds--_they_ are even more beautiful. At least they are more -like jewels, and the Indians who live in the countries where they are -found call them "living sunbeams." - - "By western Indians living sunbeams named." - -You can remember it by that line, which is from a poem by Mrs. Hemans, -a clever lady whom your mother will tell you about. For the Indians, -you know, live in America, that great country--so large that we call it -"the new world"--which Columbus discovered. They do not live in India, -as you might think. At least, when we talk of the Indians, it is the -ones that live in America and not India that we mean. The ones that -live in India we call Hindoos. It seems funny, but the reason of it is -that when Columbus discovered America, he thought it was India; for -it was India he had been trying to find, and he thought he had found -it. But it was America, not India, and it is only in America that the -beautiful Humming-birds live--birds that are so beautiful as they are -want a world to themselves to live in. - -Now the birds that we have been talking about--the Birds of -Paradise--are not such very small birds. The largest of them is nearly -as large as a crow, and even the very smallest is not so much smaller -than a thrush or a starling. But the largest Humming-bird is not so -large as a sparrow or chaffinch, and the smaller ones are the very -smallest birds in the whole world, some of them being not so _very_ -much larger than a large humble-bee, which is quite wonderful to think -of. Then they are wonderful fliers. The Birds of Paradise fly very -well--quite well enough--but still there is nothing extraordinary in -the way they fly. But the little Humming-birds dart about quite like -lightning, and move their wings so fast that, when you look at them, -they do not seem to be wings at all, but only two little hazy patches -in the air, with a bright jewel between them, which is the gleaming -breast of the Humming-bird. All the time their wings are moving so -quickly, they make a humming sound, just as a top does when it is -spinning very fast, which is why we call them Humming-birds, just as we -call tops that hum very much, humming-tops. - -We have named the Humming-birds from the sound they make when they fly, -and the Indians from their bright radiance and the speed at which they -dart about. It is from flower to flower that they dart, and whilst you -are looking at one sunbeam that is dancing about one flower, all at -once there is a ray of light through the air, and another sunbeam is -dancing about another flower. That is what it looks like, only, really, -it is the same sunbeam that has flown from one flower to another. - -Sometimes when you are walking in the garden in England and looking -at the geraniums in your flowerbeds, you will see a little brown moth -hovering over one of them, and putting a long, slender thread-like -thing that we call a proboscis (though we call an elephant's trunk a -proboscis too) right down into the centre of the flower. _His_ wings -move so fast that you can hardly see them, and in a second or two _he_ -will dart away too, so quickly that you only know he is gone, and then, -all of a sudden, you will see him again, hovering over another geranium -and probing it with his wonderful, long, thin proboscis. It is a tube, -that proboscis, and through it, the moth is sucking up the nectar of -the flower, which is what it lives on. That moth is the humming-bird -hawk-moth, and, if you have seen it, you have seen what looks more like -a Humming-bird than anything else in England. It hovers over or under -or in front of a flower, as the Humming-birds do, it keeps moving its -wings in the same rapid way as they move theirs, and making the same -humming noise with them, and it puts a long, slender, little brown -thing, that looks _something_ like the beak of a Humming-bird, right -down into the flower, and sucks up the nectar that is in it, which is -just what a Humming-bird does. So if the humming-bird moth were bright -and gleaming, as Humming-birds--sunbeams--are, it would seem to be a -Humming-bird and not a moth at all. But you must not think that it -really would be one. Oh no, it never could be, because it is an insect, -and an insect is a very different thing to a bird. - -The humming-bird moth and the Humming-bird look like each other because -they live in the same way and do the same things. They both fly, so -they both have wings; and they both sip nectar, so they both have a -long thing to stick into the flowers and suck it up with: so they look -like each other, but they are not a bit the same. A petticoat, you -know, looks a little like an upper skirt, for they both have to be worn -round the waist, which makes them the same kind of shape, and when the -skirt is part of a white dress then they are of the same colour. But -think how different they really are! Why, one is a petticoat and the -other is an upper skirt. So you must always remember that, though two -animals look the same, they may really be very different. - -Now although the Humming-birds, or living sunbeams, are all of them -small birds, yet they are not all of the same size, and some are -quite big compared to others, just as a peacock butterfly is quite -big, compared to a tiny blue one, whilst even the tiny little blue -one may be big compared to some very small moths. Then, again, their -beaks are of all kinds of different shapes and lengths. Some are quite -straight, whilst others are bent like a sabre or even a sickle, and one -Humming-bird has his so very much bent indeed, that it looks like half -of a black ring or bracelet or something else that is quite round. As -for length, some are shorter than a quite short pin, whilst others are -longer than a very long darning-needle. - -[Illustration: RACQUET-TAILED HUMMING-BIRD] - -Of course there is a reason for the beaks of Humming-birds being so -different, and the reason is that they have to go into different -flowers, and must fit into them as a finger fits into a fingerstall or -a periwinkle into its shell. If the part of the flower that holds the -nectar is straight, then the beak of the Humming-bird that feeds on -the nectar of that flower must be straight too, but if it is curved, -then, of course, the beak must be curved, or else how could it be -pushed into it? - -And if the nectary of any flower (for that is what the place that the -nectar is in is called) were shaped like a corkscrew, then the beak of -the Humming-bird that sucked out the nectar from _that_ flower would -have to be shaped like a corkscrew too. But there are no flowers shaped -like that, and so there are no Humming-birds with corkscrew beaks, like -the tail of a periwinkle. But there _is_ a flower that has its nectary, -or honey-tube, bent round into almost a half circle, and it is just -that one Humming-bird that has its beak bent in the same way, that sips -the nectar from that flower. No other one is able to do it, and there -is no other flower that that Humming-bird can sip the nectar from. - -And there are more than 400 different kinds of Humming-birds, and -the beak of every one of them must fit into some flower or another, -and often into a great many more than one. Oh then, what a lot of -different kinds of flowers there must be, for all these beaks to fit -into! Ah, there are indeed, for it is in the great forests or plains -of America--the largest in the whole world--or on the slopes of the -great mountain ranges there--the highest in the world except the -Himalayas--that the Humming-birds live, and everywhere there are -wonderful trees and wonderful flowers. As for the trees, I have told -you what some of them are like in the forests of the Malay Archipelago, -and in the great forests of Brazil; I think they are still larger and -more wonderful. And as for the flowers that grow in those wonderful -forests or on the great plains or the slopes and sides of those great, -high mountains, how could I ever give you an idea of what they are -like, or how should I know where to begin, when there are so many? For -there are some that are like great scarlet trumpets on the outside of -their petals, but when you look inside them they are like the open -mouths of fierce dragons shooting out a lot of fiery-orange tongues, -all forked and cloven ever so many times over, each tongue looking -as if it were the tongues of twenty little hissing snakes, all tied -together in a bundle and ready to dart at you. And there are some that -are in bunches, and each bunch looks as if a lot of oxen had put their -heads against each other and begun to grow smaller and smaller and -smaller till their horns were no longer than honeysuckles, and then -had disappeared altogether, _except_ their horns, which had turned -pink and stayed there. Bunches of little pink ox-horns are what those -flowers look like. Then there are flowers that look as if they had -almost changed into very beautiful butterflies, and others that seem -to be very beautiful butterflies just changing into flowers. There are -flowers that are all the colours that there are, and others that have -tried all the colours that there are, and then found out new ones to be -of. And there are some, too, that are only white, but so lovely that -all the flowers of all the colours that there are, gaze at them and -envy them. Some are so soft and delicate that, although you see them, -you only seem to be dreaming of them. They make you think of heaven, -and it is as if angels were kissing you. Others are like golden stars, -with a stem that is like a long, long, very long piece of red string -that goes tying itself round and round a great many trees, and climbing -up and up them, and all the way up there are bright green leaves and -the beautiful golden stars. Other strings are golden or green, and -have pink or crimson stars upon them, and some of these hang down, -like glowing lamps from a soft, cool, emerald ceiling. Some flowers -are like little bunches of red counters that you play games with, and -there is one that is like a wonderful, scarlet, shining leaf, with a -thick little tail at the tip of it, twisted round in a coil. This tail -is orange with cream-white spots upon it, but just at its _own_ tip it -is scarlet again, like the rest of the leaf. Such a wonderful-looking -flower! There are creeping crimson nasturtiums that make the air -blush in spots, azaleas with scarlet that has swooned into pink, and -pink that has blushed into scarlet, and calceolarias that look like -yellow flower-bubbles that fairies have blown into the air and that -have come down, softly, upon delicate little stalks, and stayed there -without bursting. Not all of these wonderful flowers have a scent, for -scented flowers are commoner here in England than in far-off tropical -countries. But a few of them have, and _their_ scent is so exquisite -that you would think it was sent from heaven. - -Some of the flowers have leaves that are even more beautiful than -themselves, and sometimes it is the leaves that you look at and not -the flowers at all. Some of these leaves seem to be made of velvet, -or something even softer and more velvety _than_ velvet, whilst the -colours in them are like the pattern of a very beautiful Turkey carpet. -Others look like wonderful spear-heads or the tops of very ornamental -park railings, green and red and orange, and all striped and spotted -and speckled like the skin of newts or lizards. There are some leaves -so large, too, that they would almost make a carpet for a _very_ small -room, and so handsome that you might go into all the haberdashers' -shops in the world without finding any carpet that would look nearly so -well. Some are still larger, and those are the leaves of palm-trees -that bend down from high in the air, at the end of long, bending -stalks that spring from the top of the small slender stem. They are of -such a soft, lovely green that it makes you cool even to look up at -them, and so graceful and delicate that you think of the fairies, but -so big and strong that a giant might lie upon them and go to sleep, -without breaking them or crushing them down. And there are wonderful -cactuses--so large that they are called trees--with trunks like great, -prickly, green caterpillars, and branches like smaller, prickly, green -caterpillars stuck on to them by the tail. But on these ugly branches -there are flowers like beautiful purple stars, whilst in the pools or -the rivers, water-lilies are floating that look like large, purple -flakes of snow. It is amongst flowers and leaves and trees like these -that the Humming-birds fly about. Those are the wonderful goblets out -of which they sip their nectar. - -But now, about this sipping of nectar I have something to tell you, and -when I have told it you, you will know more than a good many people do, -who think they know something about Humming-birds and natural history. -Well, it is this: the Humming-birds do not live _only_ on the nectar -in the flowers, as most people think they do, but on the insects that -have been drowned in it, and which they suck up at the same time. You -see the insects--of course I mean little insects--flies or gnats, not -large moths and butterflies--get into the tubes of the flowers, to sip -the nectar themselves, and they often fall into it, and are not able to -get out again, but drown there; for to them it is like a little lake or -pond--a pond of nectar, and, of course, very nice, but still, for all -that, it drowns them. There is hardly any flower-cup that has not these -drowned insects in it, and when the Humming-birds drink the nectar, -they swallow the little insects at the same time. They could not live -upon nectar only--they want animal food (as it is called) as well, and -that is the way in which they get it. That is why when people have -caught Humming-birds, and given them only nectar--or sugar and water, -which is something like it--to live on, they have always died. There -are no insects in it, no animal food. They had gravy, you see, but no -meat, and they wanted meat as well as gravy. So they died, the poor -Humming-birds. But I think it is almost better for a living sunbeam to -die than to be kept living in a cage. - -But now, why do the Indians call the Humming-birds living sunbeams? -Oh, but you will say I have told you that, and, besides, anybody could -guess. It is because they are so bright and gleaming, and hover in the -air as a sunbeam dances in it, or shoot through it as quickly and as -brightly as a sunbeam shoots down from the sun. Well, yes, that is one -explanation; but why should there not be two (as there were about the -Birds of Paradise), so that you can choose the one you like best?--for -you know you are not a clever person _yet_. Well, there _are_ two, -for the Indians say that the Humming-birds are called living sunbeams -because they really _are_ living sunbeams, just as you are called a -little girl because you are a little girl; and how could there be a -simpler explanation of a thing than that? - -And this is how it happened, only you must remember that it was a very, -very long time ago. In those old days the sun had not long sent his -beams to earth, and it was only after they came there that the things -upon the earth began to live. There had been no life at all before, -it had all been dark and cold; it was only when the sun's beams began -to shine upon the cold, dark earth, that they warmed it into life and -love. Now as first one beautiful thing and then another began to live -upon the earth, the sunbeams admired them all very much, but they did -not envy them, for there was nothing there _quite_ so beautiful as a -sunbeam. But one day, as they were dancing upon the waters of the sea, -they heard the fishes saying to each other: "How beautiful are the -sunbeams! Is there anything so beautiful as they? Our scales flash out -brightly, but compared to them they are dull, even on the sunniest day. -We should envy them, were they alive like us, but of course, as it is, -it is different." "Are we not alive?" said the sunbeams, and they felt -sad and did not dance on the waves any more that day. Then, another -day, they were dancing on the leaves, and falling through them on to -the shady ground underneath, chequering it with gold. "How glorious are -the sunbeams!" said the leaves to each other, "more glorious even than -the birds or the butterflies that perch amongst us. Would that we were -as beautiful!" "Do you envy them?" said a butterfly, who had overheard -and felt annoyed; "they have neither sense nor breath, are neither born -nor die. Envy us, if you will, who have all these advantages, and are -so beautiful as well--much more so than yourselves--but do not, however -plain you may be, envy what is not alive." "Are we not alive?" said -the sunbeams, and they were discontented and the clouds hid them, so -that neither the trees nor the birds and butterflies within them seemed -to be alive any more. And, again, the sunbeams were shining through -a small window, where, in a wretched garret, on a still more wretched -bed, lay a man who had care and sorrow--yes, and worse even than -those--in his heart. "Would that I were dead!" he cried, as he clasped -his hands on his forehead. "Ah, how I envy the sunbeams! But no, I will -not envy _them_, for _they_ are not alive, they are inanimate merely." -"Are we not alive?" said the sunbeams; "and does nobody envy us on that -account?" And the wretched room that had seemed quite cheerful whilst -they were there, became dark and dismal again, as they withdrew. - -And now it was the sunbeams who envied everything--bird or beast, or -plant or leaf or flower (even the man in the garret)--because they -were alive. "It is hard that we alone should be without life," thought -they, and they complained to the sun. "Give us life," they cried; "we -are more beautiful than anything here on earth, but nothing envies us -because we are not alive. It is dreadful not to be envied." "And do you -really think," said the sun, "that you, who have given life to others, -have no life yourselves? Before I sent you to the earth, it was dark -and cold and lifeless. It needed you, to give it that for which you now -ask. Do not, then, be discontented any more, but be assured that you -have life, as much as anything that lives and grows upon the earth, -though, to be sure, it is of another kind. Be satisfied, therefore, and -rejoice in your loveliness." This answer of the sun's satisfied most -of the sunbeams, but there were some who were foolish and whom it did -not satisfy. "Give us such life as the children of the earth enjoy!" -cried these; "the life that breathes and grows, that has a shape, that -is born and dies. That is the life that we would have. Be good to us, -and give us that." Then the sun said to the foolish sunbeams: "I can -give you such life as you ask for, and, if you persist in asking it, -I must; for you are my children and I cannot bear to see you unhappy. -But remember, if I once grant you this wish, and give you the life that -earth's children enjoy, you can nevermore be as you now are, or enter -into my palace--my golden palace--again. Now you fly from me to the -earth and from the earth back to me, but when once you have earth's -life, on earth you must remain and on earth you must die. You are -immortal now: when you become children of the earth you will be mortal -as they are." - -[Illustration: PLOVER CREST HUMMING-BIRD] - -But the foolish sunbeams, who could not understand what death should -be, persisted, and the sun, who loved them because they were his -children, had to do what they asked. So one night, when all the -other sunbeams had flown back to him, he sent these foolish ones to -sleep on the earth (which had never happened to them before), and there -they lay all night--some in the flower-cups, some under the leaves of -the trees--without giving any light at all, for when a sunbeam _is_ -asleep it can give no light. But in the morning, when their brother and -sister sunbeams flew back to earth, they woke up, but the two did not -know each other again, for the foolish sunbeams were not sunbeams any -more--not real ones, that is to say. They flew about, still, in the -forests, and glanced through the trees, and hovered over the flowers, -in almost the same way as they had done before; but now they had a -shape and wings, and they sipped the nectar out of the flower-cups, -which was a thing that they had never even dreamed about. They were -Humming-birds, and though their feathers were as bright as _they_ had -ever been, and though they had all of them long Latin names and a -scientific description in books, still it was not quite the same, for -it would take a lot of Latin and a lot of scientific description, to -make up for not being a sunbeam. But when the Indians came to know of -the occurrence, they called them "living sunbeams," and it is easy to -understand what they meant. And now you know (until you are a clever -person) how Humming-birds came into the world. But you must not think -that the other sunbeams--the real ones that have never changed into -anything--are dead. Oh no, indeed! How could they dance and play about -as they do, if they were? - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -Some very Bright Humming-Birds - - -One of the most beautiful of all the Humming-birds (but we can say -that of so many) is the Rainbow Humming-bird. It is very large for a -Humming-bird, so what _will_ you think when I say that its body is -about the size of a little wren's, a bird which, perhaps, you had been -thinking was the smallest bird there is. Why, a Humming-bird that is as -big, or almost as big, as a wren is a very big Humming-bird indeed--in -fact quite a gigantic one. But now, the tail of this Humming-bird is -very different to a wren's, and makes it look still bigger because -it is so long--three to three and a half inches, I should think--and -such a wonderful shape. It is forked, so you must think of a swallow -first if you want to imagine it; but then you must imagine that the two -feathers which make the fork of a swallow's tail are curved outwards -like two little scimitars, so that their tips are six inches apart -from each other. Indeed they gleam as brightly as any scimitar does -in the sun, but it is not like steel that they gleam, for they are of -the most lovely deep, rich, violet-blue that you can imagine, such a -colour as was never seen anywhere else out of the rainbow; and now I -come to think of it, what these lovely feathers are most like is two -little violet rainbows set back to back. You can think how lovely they -look as they go darting through the air, and I must tell you that the -beautiful violet-blue sends out gleams of other kinds of blues--lighter -ones--which are just as beautiful as the violet itself. On the opposite -page you see the picture of a Humming-bird that is a good deal like -this one. But it is not the same, so the tail is not _quite_ the same -either. - -Now of course you will think--and you will be quite right to think -so--that a bird that has a tail like two little violet rainbows will -have the other parts of him beautiful as well. Well, the back of this -bird is all green--a beautiful, shining, gleaming green, and his head -is green too--at least it seems to be when you see it first; but, as -you look at it, all at once the green changes into a heavenly violet -blue, to match the heavenly violet blue of its lovely rainbow tail. -Under the throat it is green like the rest, but just in the centre of -it there is a tiny little drop--just one or two little feathers--of the -very loveliest amethyst. Ah, fancy seeing a bird like that flying about -and hovering over the flowers. Only you would not _see_ him, for you -would not be able to see his wings--at least not properly--they would -move so fast. What you would see, would be a little circle of hazy -brown mist, and, right in the middle of it, a little sparkling sun, and -on the other side, gleaming through the mist, two sweet little violet -rainbows. Then all at once there would be a trail of light in the air, -and it would all be somewhere else--another sun and rainbows over -another flower. Of course, really, a Humming-bird would have flown from -one flower to another, but what it would look like would be a gleam of -light--a sunbeam--with a jewel-flash at each end of it. - -[Illustration: TRAIN-BEARER HUMMING-BIRD] - -Another Humming-bird--the Sappho Comet--is about the same size as the -last one, and he is a lovely gleaming green, too--an emerald green, -I think--on his head and neck and shoulders, but his throat is light -blue--the colour of a most beautiful turquoise. But _such_ a turquoise! -There is no other one in the world that ever gleamed and flashed and -sparkled in that way, because, you know, turquoises do not sparkle at -all--at least nowhere else--it is not their habit. But I think that -some of the very finest of them--at least the lovely colours that were -in them--must have flown into that Humming-bird's throat and begun to -gleam and flash and sparkle there. Perhaps they begged to be allowed -to as a very special favour. Then the tail of this Humming-bird is -forked too, like the other one's, but not in quite the same way. It is -more like the fork of an arrow than two little rainbows turned back -to back, and instead of being violet it is all ruby and copper and -topaz, with a broad band of velvet black at each tip. I cannot tell -you how brilliant those colours are--the ruby and the copper and the -topaz. They are so brilliant that, if you were to take them into a dark -room, I really almost think they would light it up like a lamp or a -candle. Oh, it is a wonderful tail. You might think and think for quite -a long time and yet you would never be able to think how bright--how -wonderfully bright--it is. - -But listen to what the Indians say. They say that once that -Humming-bird was out in a thunderstorm, and the lightning got angry -with him because he flew so fast, and tried to strike him. It was -jealous of him, that was the reason, for the lightning likes to think -itself faster than anything else. But although the lightning chased -that Humming-bird for a very long time, it could only just touch his -tail, and there it has stayed--a little flash of it which was not -enough to hurt--ever since. You know how bright the lightning is; that -will help you to think what that Humming-bird's tail is like. And you -know, now, what his throat is like. Fancy seeing them both together, -flashing, sparkling, gleaming, beaming, glancing, dancing in the -glorious, glowing sunshine of South America. - -But now in the Splendid-breasted Humming-bird all the glory is upon -his breast, his throat. Once, I think (at least the Indians say so), -he must have flown very high--yes, right up to heaven, and the door -was open and he tried to fly in. But he could not, they turned him -away; but the glory of heaven had just fallen upon his breast and he -flew back with it there, to earth. It is green--that glory--the most -marvellous, light, gleaming green, but all at once, as you look at it, -it has changed to blue, an exquisite light, turquoise blue, and then, -just as you are going to cry out, "Oh, but it is blue, not green," -it is green again, and then blue again before you can say that it is -green, and then, all at once, it is both at the same time, for each has -changed into the other. - -It is the throat-gorget (you know I explained to you) on which this -glorious colour falls, but this bird has such a large one that it -covers the breast as well as the throat, and goes up quite high on -each side, till it meets the deep, rich, velvety black of the head. Of -course this deep, velvet black makes the wonderful green and blue look -all the more wonderful, for it is a dark background for them to shine -out against, and your mother will explain to you what a background is. -Then, on the back this Humming-bird is green too--in fact you might -call him the emerald Humming-bird--but it is darker than that other -green (if anything so bright _can_ be darker) and without the lovely -turquoise-blue in it. It is a glory, but not _such_ a glory as the -one on his breast; not the glory of heaven that fell upon him at its -gates--perhaps it is his memory of it as he flew away. - -But now I feel sure you will ask why the same brightness which streamed -out of heaven, and spoilt the plumage of the Birds of Paradise, should -have made the plumage of this Humming-bird so beautiful. Well, it is -a difficult question, but perhaps it is because the Humming-bird was -thinking of heaven, and wishing to get into it, whilst the Birds of -Paradise had got tired of being in heaven and were only thinking of -earth. That might have made a very great difference. And _perhaps_ you -will say, "If the Humming-birds are sunbeams that have been changed -into birds, why should some of them have been made more beautiful -afterwards in other ways?" Well, as to that, there are a great many -different kinds of Humming-birds (more than four hundred, as I told -you), so perhaps they were not quite all of them sunbeams first, and -besides, even when a bird has been a sunbeam first, something else -might happen to it when it had become a bird. At any rate, if one -explanation does not seem satisfactory, there is always the other, and -one of them must be the right one--until you are a clever person, which -will not be yet awhile. So now we will go on, for there are some other -Humming-birds with other explanations waiting. - -The Glow-glow Humming-bird (I do like that name) is smaller than any -of the other three we have talked about, for it is less than half the -size of a little wren. Its head and its back are shining green (you -will be thinking all the Humming-birds are green, but wait a little!), -its breast is white, but its throat--oh, its throat!--what is it? What -can it be called? It is a rose that has burst into flame. No, it is a -flame trying to look like a rose. No, it is neither of these. It is -one of those stars that are of all colours, and change from one to the -other as you look at them--from green to gold, from gold to topaz, -from topaz to rosy red. Only _this_ star changed into every colour at -once, which was wonderful, and as he did that (and this was still more -wonderful) he flew all to pieces, and little bits of him were scattered -through the whole air, and when the sun rose and shone upon them, they -were all Humming-birds, flying about with wings and feathers, and with -long Latin names, so that there should be no doubt about it. It was -wonderful, wonderful; but yet it was not quite so wonderful as the -colours upon this Humming-bird's throat. - -The Little Flame-bearer (there is a name for you!) is a still smaller -Humming-bird than the last one--indeed his body, without the feathers, -would not be _very_ much larger than a _very_ large humble-bee. Here, -again, all the wonder is on its throat, which is topaz and green and -copper, all glowing and sparkling together, as if they were all married -to one another and each of them was trying to get the upper hand. Ah, -was there ever such a sweet little gem-bird? He is a jewel mounted -on wings and set in the air. Only sometimes, when he hovers just -underneath a flower, he seems hanging from its tip like a pendant. - -Costa's Coquette (that means that some one named Costa--some Portuguese -gentleman--was the first to write about it) is larger than the Little -Flame-bearer (though not half so big as a wren), and he _tries_ to -be brighter. Whether he _is_ brighter I am sure I can't say. To tell -properly, one ought to see them both hovering under the same flower, -or, at least, very close together, and even then one would only feel -bewildered. But this one's head and throat are all one splendour, one -marvellous gleam of rosy, pinky, rosy-pink, pinky-rose magenta. Only -if you _say_ that that is what it is, it will change into violet and -contradict you, and then, if you say it is violet, it will change into -topaz and contradict you again. So you had better say nothing--for one -does not want to be contradicted--but just hold your breath and watch -it. It will change quite soon enough, even then, long before you are -tired of its rosy, pinky, rosy-pink, pinky-rose magenta, which is a -colour you have not seen, and which I have not told you about before. -Only if you _must_ say something about it whilst you are looking at -it--something besides "Oh!" I mean--say it is a Humming-bird. That -will be quite sufficient, and not one of its colours can be offended -with you then for not mentioning them and mentioning the others. Now, -I must tell you that the feathers of this little bird's throat--of -that wonderful, gleaming throat-gorget--grow out on each side into two -little peaks, two little pointed tongues of rose-pink magenta flame -(but hush!), and he can spread them out and shoot them forward, as well -as the whole of the gorget, in quite a wonderful way. When he does -that, what he _seems_ to do is to strike a great number of matches at -the same time, and from each one, as he strikes it, there bursts out -hundreds and hundreds of bright, sparkling jewels of flame. Ah, you -should see him strike his jewel-matches--all together, all the jewels -that there are, all struck in one second, as he whizzes about in the -air. His back is all green, and _so_ bright, if only you cover up his -head and throat. If you don't cover them--or as soon as you uncover -them again--you hardly seem to see it. It is no brighter then than a -glow-worm is when a very bright star is shooting through the air. - -Now we come to the Splendid Coquette, a little bird not half the size -of a golden-crested wren, which is the smallest bird that we, in this -country, know anything about, smaller, even, than the common wren. -_He_ has a crest, too--this little Humming-bird--a very fine one of -chestnut feathers, not sticking up on the top of the head, as so many -crests do, but going backwards after the head has come to an end, so -that it makes a little chestnut feather-awning for the neck to be -under. But just where they spring from the head each of these chestnut -feathers is black, and at their tips, too, they have all a little black -spot, and this makes them look still prettier than if they were all -chestnut. When the little bird spreads out this fine crest of his, like -a fan--for he can do that--all the feathers in it stand out separately -from each other, and then he looks like a little sun in the centre of -his own rays. - -Yes, a sun, because he is so very bright. He has a gorget (or perhaps -you would prefer to call it a lappet) of feathers on his throat and -breast, of the most glorious, radiant green colour, and from it there -shoot out--one on each side--a pair of the very loveliest and most -delicate little fairy-wings that ever you _never_ saw--for I feel sure -that you never _have_ seen anything at all like them. I do not mean, of -course, that they are real wings, to fly with, no--it would be funny -if a bird had _two_ pairs of _that_ kind--but ornamental ones, wings -for the little hen Humming-bird, who has none, to look at and say, -"How beautiful! How _extraordinarily_ becoming!" Each of these dear -little wings is made by a few delicate, long, slender feathers of a -light chestnut colour, the same as the feathers of the crest, only, -instead of being tipped with black, these ones are tipped with a spot -of the same lovely green that there is on the throat and breast. The -longest of them, which is in the middle, is nearly an inch long--which -is very long indeed when you think how small the little birdie is--and -it stands out a quarter of an inch beyond the two next longest ones on -each side of it, and these are almost a quarter of an inch longer than -the ones that come next. If you hold out your hand with the fingers -spread out, and imagine the middle one a good deal longer and the -little finger and thumb much shorter, then you will know the shape -of these dear little fairy-wings; only, of course, feathers are much -more elegant than fingers--even than pretty little fingers. Think -how pretty something in muslin or puff-lace, like that, on a dress -would be!--but it is ever, oh, _ever_ so much prettier on a little -Humming-bird, in little chestnut feathers with little green spangles at -their tips. And that is why I call them "fairy-wings," for I think if -any pair of wings that are _not_ a fairy's could be pretty enough _for_ -a fairy, those would be the ones. - -And I think if you saw this sweet little Humming-bird hanging in the -air, with his breast all flashing and sparkling, and with his chestnut -crest spread out above it, and his little chestnut and star-spangled -wings flying out on each side of it, you would think him almost as -pretty as a fairy could be. You would think his fairy-wings the real -ones that he was flying with, because you would see them, whilst the -other ones would be moving so quickly that they would be only like a -mist or haze--a little night that he had made for himself for the star -of his beauty to shine in. - -Now just try to imagine how lovely that little Humming-bird must be. -Can you understand any one _wanting_ to kill him? But now that I have -told you about that wretched little demon with his charms to send -people to sleep, and those two bad bottles of his, or, rather, the -powders inside them--apathy and vanity--I daresay you can understand -it. If I had not told you about _him_ I don't think you would have -been able to. - -Princess Helen's Coquette (how proud he ought to be of a name like -that!) is a little Humming-bird something like the last one. He is a -little smaller, I think, but whether he is a little prettier, too, or -not _quite_ so pretty, or only _as_ pretty, all that I shall leave to -you; it is you who will have to decide. His back is all of a golden -green, and his head, which has a forked crest at the back of it like -a swallow's tail, is a beautiful, rich, dark, velvety green, so that -would make a pretty little bird--would it not?--even without anything -else. But he _has_ something else--two or three other things in -fact--which are so--oh, so _very_ pretty. First, on each side of the -back of the head--just under each fork of the little swallow-tailed -crest--there is a little delicate tuft of feathers, which rise up and -spread out upon each side in such a graceful little curve. But these -feathers are not like other feathers. They are _something_ like the -"funny feathers" that the Birds of Paradise have, for they are quite -thin, like threads, and an inch long, which (although it is not quite -so long as those) is yet a good length when you think of what a little -thing this little Humming-bird is. These pretty little feathers are of -a deep velvety green colour--the same colour as his swallow-tailed -crest--and there are three on each side, three little velvet green -feather-threads, floating out on each side behind his head. On his -throat there is a gorget of gleaming, jewelly green, much lighter -than the other greens--more like emerald, but with a goldeny, bronzy -wash in it, as well. Just think how beautiful that must be! And then, -lower down on his throat, underneath the green gorget--as if all that -were not enough for him--this Humming-bird has something else--we will -call it a tippet--which flies out all round his neck, and, especially, -on each side of it. A tippet or a ruffle--perhaps that is rather a -better word--a ruffle of velvet black feathers in front, and of light -chestnut feathers with velvet black stripes--like a tiger--on each -side. As for his tail, it spreads out into a dear little fan, and the -fan is chestnut and black too, broad stripes of chestnut and narrow -stripes of black, with a broad patch of black where it begins, which -looks like the handle of the fan. What a pretty, pretty bird! Fancy -a little birdie that is only about two inches long, and has a crest -like a swallow-tail on his head, a gorget--or lappet--on his throat, a -tippet--or ruffle--just underneath the gorget, and a little spray of -feather-threads on each side of his head, just underneath the crest! -Fancy killing such a little fairy-bird as that! Fancy _wanting_ to kill -him! But it is all the little demon. It is he who has blown about -his nasty powders and frozen the hearts of the _poor_ women, who are -_really_ so kind--at any rate they _would_ be if only he would let them. - -Did I say, "Such a little fairy-bird"? I think I did, and I was quite -right, for it is just this very little Humming-bird that the fairies -are so fond of riding on. They go two at a time, sometimes. One sits on -his back, and another lies on the broad fan of his tail, and the one on -the back uses the little feather-threads as reins. It is so grand! The -Humming-bird dashes up at the fairy's own flower-door, and hovers there -till she is ready to come out, and then dashes away with her to another -flower, where another fairy lives. And that is how the fairies call -upon each other in countries where there are Humming-birds. Perhaps you -will think that a Humming-bird--even quite a little Humming-bird (and -they are none of them big)--is _rather_ a large gee-gee for a _fairy_ -to ride on. But you must remember that in tropical countries fairies -grow to quite a remarkable size. - -Well, that is eight Humming-birds that I have tried to describe to -you (though it is very like trying to describe a sunset to some one -who has never seen one), and perhaps you think I have chosen all the -most beautiful ones first, and that there are no more left which are -_quite_ so pretty. But I think I can find just one more that is not -such a _very_ plain bird, not a bird you would call ugly if you were -to see it hovering about over a bed of geraniums or under a cluster of -honeysuckle, some bright spring or summer morning when you happened to -go out into your garden. So we will take that one, and, if he is not -pretty enough, you must just try to put up with him. - -He is called the Sun Beauty. Perhaps you would think him dark at first, -for his head and back and shoulders are of such a rich, deep, velvety -green that it almost goes into black velvet--all except one little -spot on the forehead, just above the beak, and that never can look -_quite_ black. Sometimes it does _almost_, just for one second, but -the next second it flashes into green again, and oh, how it gleams and -sparkles and throws out little jewels, little splashes of sun-fire all -round it! What a wonderful green it is!--at first, and then--oh, what -a wonderful--but really there is no proper name for _that_ colour. I -was going to say "blue," and perhaps it is more like blue than anything -else, but nothing else is quite like it. Then, just at the beginning -of this Humming-bird's throat--just under the chin--there are a few -feathers that are like a kind of dusky-smoked-magenta-bronze-jewelry, -and a little farther down they gleam into ruddy bronze and coppery -topaz, and then--oh, what _is_ that? The very sun himself has flashed -out from his throat, from his gorget--yes, a little flake of the sun, -a sunflake instead of a snowflake. Oh, it is _such_ a gorget, a gorget -of golden topaz, of coppery gold, of green gold, of silver gold, of -silver, of gleaming white, of all these together, and it spreads out -on each side like a wonderful fan, and shoots out in front of all the -other feathers. Such a gorget! The feathers in it are not feathers at -all--I do not think they _can_ be feathers--they are sunflakes, as I -have told you. - -That is what this Humming-bird is like on the throat. Underneath the -throat, on the breast, he becomes green again, not the dark velvet -green of the back, but a still more glorious green, gleaming and -brilliant, but soft and rich at the same time. It is a green that -changes, too--changes almost into blue. I will tell you how that is. -Once this green--this wonderful, lovely green--did not think itself -lovely enough (which was funny), so it said to the blue of the violet -and the turquoise and the amethyst and the sapphire: "Come and make -part of me, but I must be the greater part." "That is not fair," cried -the blues of all those lovely things; "we will come, since you have -invited us, but we intend to have the upper hand." "Come then," said -the green, "and let us fight for the mastery. Whichever wins, the -other will be improved by it. We will struggle together, and we will -see which is the strongest." So they came, those blues of wonder, -from the violet, the turquoise, the sapphire, and the amethyst--yes, -and from the sky, the stars, and the sea as well--and they fell in -a glory on that glorious green that had been there before them, and -fought with it to possess the breast of that Humming-bird. And they -are fighting to possess it now. They gleam and flash and sparkle and -glow, and try to out-glory each other; but I think that that wonderful -green is the strongest, although he has such a lot of blues to fight -against. But stronger than any and than all of them is the sun on that -Humming-bird's gorget, that gorget of gold and topaz, and copper and -bronze, and silver and gleaming white. - -That is what that Humming-bird is like, and that is how he got some of -his wonderful colours; so, at least, the Indians say, only some of them -say that it was the blues who were there first, and asked the green to -come. But always, in history, you will find that there are different -opinions about the same thing. People are not _all_ agreed, even about -the battle of Waterloo. - -So, you see, we have been able to find one other handsome -Humming-bird, at any rate. And then there is the Hermit Humming-bird. -I must just describe him. His head and neck are--brown, the whole of -his back is--brown, his wings, his throat, and his breast are--brown, -and all the rest of him is--brown. Why, then, he is all brown, without -any colours at all, unless there are some lying asleep, and ready to -wake up and dart out all of a sudden, in the way I have explained to -you. No, there are no colours, either asleep or awake, or, at any -rate, hardly any. Compared to the Humming-birds I have been telling -you about, this one is just a plain, dull bird, as plain and as -dull, almost, as his wife, for that, you know, is what the wives of -Humming-birds are like. Then is he a Humming-bird at all? Surely he -is not one; he must be some other bird. Oh no, he is not. He is a -Humming-bird, but he is a Hermit Humming-bird. I have not told you -before--but now I will tell you--that there are some Humming-birds--in -fact a good many--that have no bright colours at all, and _they_ are -called hermits. A hermit, you know, is a person who lives in a cell or -cave, and wears a long, brown gown, with a hood at one end of it for -his head, and never dresses gaily or goes out to see things, but has -what _we_ should consider a very dull life; only as _he_ likes it that -makes it all right--for _him_. So these dull-coloured Humming-birds -are called hermits, not because they live in cells, because, of -course, they do not, but because they have no bright things to wear, -but only brown gowns, like hermits. But now as Humming-birds used -once to be sunbeams, and are still _living_ sunbeams that have been -changed into birds, how does it happen that any of them have become -hermits, with nothing showy about them? That is a thing which requires -an explanation, so it is lucky that there is one all ready for it in -the next chapter. Not all the things that require an explanation are so -lucky as that. Some of them go on requiring one all their lives, and -yet never get what they require. I have known several of that sort. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -Hermit Humming-Birds and Two Other Ones - - -I told you that as soon as the sun's light fell upon the earth all the -sunbeams that had been asleep there woke up, and were changed into -Humming-birds. But there was just one sunbeam who had gone to sleep -in a cave, and when _he_ woke up it was quite dark, and so _he_ was -changed into a Humming-bird without any colours, and when his brother -Humming-birds saw him they laughed at him, and called him a hermit. -It was very wrong of them to do so, for it was not his fault that he -was brown. There is nothing wrong in going to sleep in a cave, and, of -course, he could not tell what would happen. But they thought he looked -ridiculous, coming out of it all brown, like a hermit. I don't think -that made him ridiculous, really, but, even if it did, they should not -have laughed at him. We should not laugh at people because they are -ridiculous. It makes them unhappy, and, besides, we may be sure that -in some way or other we are just as ridiculous as they are, _We_ may -not know in what way. _That_ only shows how ignorant we are. It is best -not to laugh at other people. If we _want_ to laugh at any one, we can -always laugh at ourselves. - -Now, this poor Hermit Humming-bird was unhappy because he alone had -no colours, and because all the other Humming-birds laughed at him. -He complained of it to the sun, who was his father, and explained -how it had happened. "It is unfortunate," said the sun; "but since I -was unable to shine upon you, when you awoke, I cannot give you my -own livery to wear now. But do not be unhappy. The world is full of -brightness and beauty, and if you go about asking for some of it from -those who have it, none of them will refuse you, when they know that -you are one of my children. They will grant it you for the love of me, -for I am loved of all that live upon the earth. In this way, though I -cannot clothe you directly from myself, it will come to the same thing -in the end, for it is through me that all things have their beauty, so -that in having what was theirs you will have what is mine, and still -you will be a living sunbeam. Only do not ask any of your brother -Humming-birds to give you anything, because then you will not be under -an obligation to them." (Your mother will explain to you what being -under an obligation is, and how very many _you_ are under to _her_.) - -So the poor Hermit Humming-bird went about through the world, asking -all the beautiful things in it for some of their beauty, and not one -that he asked refused him, for the love of his father the sun. He -begged of the clouds at sunset, when they were all crimson lake, and -at sunrise, when they were all topaz and amber, and all three of these -lovely colours fell upon his throat and struggled for the mastery, like -the green and blue on the breast of that other Humming-bird that I have -told you about. Then he begged of the bluest stars in the sky, and just -on the outer edge of his now lovely throat, on the edge of that shining -gorget, there fell such a blue as made one feel in heaven only to look -at it. After that he begged of the sea that the sun was shining on in -the morning, and now his head was of the loveliest pale sea-green, and -then, again, he begged of it a little later in the day, and his back -became a darker green, almost, if not quite, as lovely as the lovely -one on his head. Thus he went about the world, begging and asking, and -he did not forget either the jewels, or the flowers, or the colours -that live in the rainbow. And at the end of the day this Humming-bird -that had been all brown, and that his brothers had called a hermit, -was one of the loveliest of all the Humming-birds, and his English -name (we won't trouble about the Latin one) was the All-glorious -Humming-Bird. He was not called a hermit any more, after that, but -those Humming-birds that had called him one, and laughed at him when he -was brown, were changed into hermits themselves. That is how there came -to be Hermit Humming-birds in the world, and one of them is the one -that surprised you so much when I described him to you, because he was -all brown. They are all of them brown, but you must not laugh at them, -for all that, even though they did at their brother. They have their -punishment, and it is bad enough to be punished and made all brown, -without being laughed at about it as well. - -Now, of course, as all the Hermit Humming-birds are brown, it would -be no use to describe them to you, one at a time, like the others. -Instead of that I will tell you about some more Humming-birds who are -pretty, and who came to be what they are like now in some curious -way or other, which had nothing to do with their having once been -sunbeams. One of these is the Snow-cap. He is very small, almost as -small as the smallest of the Humming-birds--and you know how small -that is--and although he is not exactly brown, still he is not at all -a brilliant bird for a Humming-bird. What makes him so pretty is this. -First, all the whole crown of his head is of a beautiful, pure, silky -white, which makes it look as if a large, soft snowflake had fallen -upon it, and then, when he spreads out his tail like a fan--which -you may be sure he knows how to do--there are two white patches upon -it as well, which look like two smaller snowflakes. It is not many -Humming-birds who are ornamented in _that_ way. How did this one get -those white patches, and are they really snowflakes that fell upon -him? You shall hear. Once they were not white at all, those patches, -but coloured with all the colours of the rainbow, and more brilliant -than anything you could possibly think of, more brilliant even than -any other colour that is upon any other Humming-bird. Indeed they -were _so_ brilliant that no one could look at them, and that made the -Humming-bird very proud indeed. "Could my rivals have looked at me," he -said, "they would never have confessed my superiority, however plainly -they must have seen it. Not to be able to look at me is, in itself, -a confession. They are dazzled, and well they may be, for to look at -me is like looking at the sun himself. Surely there is no earthly -brightness that I do not outshine." And as the proud bird said this, -he looked up, and there, far above him in the blue dome of the sky, -were the snows of the mighty mountain Chimborazo, and in their white, -dazzling purity they seemed even brighter than himself. But instead of -being humbled, the Humming-bird only felt insulted, and resolved to do -something decisive. "I will thaw those white robes of his," he said; -"my brightness shall burn them away, and there shall be no more snow in -the world." He was just a little larger than a humble-bee. - -So up this Humming-bird flew, right on to the top of Chimborazo, the -great high mountain, where there was snow everywhere. "Have you come to -thaw me?" said the snow, as it fell around him. "That is ridiculous. -We shall see which of us is best able to extinguish the other." With -that one snowflake fell upon his head and two more upon his tail, just -over those three patches that had been so marvellously bright. He tried -to shake them off, but he could not. They stayed there, and instead -of having been able to thaw them, it was _they_ who had put _his_ -brightness quite out. All those wonderful colours were gone now, and -there was only the snow-white. "Fly back," said the snow, "or I will -quite cover you. You have lost that of which you were so proud, but you -have me in exchange. Fly back, and be a wiser bird for the future." So -the Humming-bird flew back, ashamed and crestfallen, and fearing to -show himself. "What will the others say when they see me?" he thought. -But when the other Humming-birds saw him, they all cried out, "Oh, -look! What beautiful bird is this that has come to dwell amongst us? -What an exquisite white! Surely he has been to the top of Chimborazo -and brought down some of its snow upon him. How pure and how lovely!" -Yes, they could look at him now, and they thought him more beautiful -than when they were blinded and dazzled. That is how that Humming-bird -got his snow-white patches. He had no colours now with which to -outrival the other Humming-birds, but he could put up with that, for -the white snow was lovelier than them all. - -And then there is the Humming-bird that the Indians call the -Jewel-flower-sunrise-and-sunset-Humming-bird (only they have one word -for it, which makes it sound better). I have forgotten what his English -name is--I am not quite sure if he has one. This Humming-bird was very -beautiful to begin with, so beautiful, indeed, that the flowers, as he -hovered over them, fell in love with him and wished to give him their -colours to wear, for their sakes. But the Humming-bird did not want -their colours, for he thought his own were much more beautiful. "If -you sparkled like jewels," he said, "as well as being soft and bright, -then it would be different. But your beauty is too homely. You are not -sufficiently refulgent." (That was a word he was fond of, for he had -heard it applied to himself. Your mother will tell you what it means). - -So the flowers prayed to the sun from whom they have their beautiful -colours, and the sun made them like jewels--jewels of the rose and -the violet, of the lily and the daffodil, the sunflower, the pink and -carnation. Perhaps they were not just the same flowers as those, for -they grew in America, but they had all their colours and many more. -"That is an improvement certainly," said the Humming-bird, when he had -looked at them. "You are much more beautiful now, but you remain the -same all day long. It is very different with the sky. Every morning and -evening when the sun rises and sets, she has quite a special beauty, -and it is only then that she can be said to be refulgent. If it were -so with you, then I might take you, but I do not care for flowers who -have no sunrise or sunset." So the flowers prayed to the sun again, and -he made them as much more beautiful when he rose and set at morning -and evening as the sky is then in the east and west. And when the -Humming-bird saw that they were really refulgent, he took all their -colours, and, for a little while, the flowers were quite pale, and only -got bright again by degrees. But they never flashed and sparkled like -jewels any more, and there was never another flower sunrise or another -flower sunset. The Humming-bird kept all that for himself; he never -gave any of it back to the flowers. It was not very generous of him. -I _think_ he was going to be punished for it, but, somehow or other, -it was forgotten. Punishments do get forgotten, sometimes--almost as -often, perhaps, as rewards. - -Those are just a few of the beautiful Humming-birds that there are in -the world--in that new world that Columbus discovered--but, as you -know, there are more than four hundred different kinds, and numbers -of them are just as beautiful--some perhaps even more beautiful--than -those I have told you about. And you may be sure that they know exactly -what to do with their beauty, how to raise up their crests and fan -out their tails and ruffle out their gorgets and tippets in the way -to make them look most magnificent, and give the greatest possible -pleasure to their wives, who are all of them hermits--poor plain -Humming-birds--just as the Birds of Paradise do for _their_ wives, who -are hermits too. - -And do you know that when two gentlemen Humming-birds are both trying -to please the same lady--but that, of course, is before she has married -either of them--they very often fight, and it is then that they gleam -and flash and sparkle, more brilliantly than at any other time. Ah, -what a wonderful sight that must be to see--those fights between little -fiery, winged meteors, those jewel-combats in the air--diamond and ruby -and sapphire and topaz and emerald and amethyst, all angry with each -other, shooting out sparks at each other, trying to blind each other, -to flash each other down! Ah, those are fiery battles indeed, and yet -when they are over--you will think it wonderful--not one Humming-bird -has been burnt up by another one. No, Humming-birds do not kill each -other, they do not even hurt each other very much, they are only angry, -and even that does not last very long. _We_ are not very angry with the -poor Humming-birds, I even think we must be fond of them, for there is -really hardly one that we have not called by some pretty name, though -not nearly so pretty as itself. And yet we kill them, we take away -those bright little gem-like lives that are so lovely and so happy. The -people who live in those countries make very fine nets--as fine and -delicate as those that ladies use for their hair--and put them over the -flowers or the shrubs that the Humming-birds come to, so that they get -entangled in them and cannot fly away. Then, when they come and find -them, they kill them (could _you_ kill a living sunbeam?), and send -their skins over here to be put into the hats of women whose hearts -the wicked little demon has frozen. - -Into hats! Ah, I think if one of those poor, frozen-hearted women could -see a Humming-bird, sitting alive in its own little fairy nest, she -would blush--yes, _blush_--to think of it in her hat, even though she -wore a pretty one and was pretty, herself, too. For I must tell you -that the nests that Humming-birds make are so pretty and graceful and -delicate that one might almost think they had been made by the fairies, -and, indeed, the Indians say that the fairies do make them, and give -them to the Humming-birds. But that is not really true. Humming-birds -make their own nests, like other birds, though I cannot help thinking -that, sometimes, the fairies must sit in them. Yes, they sit and swing -in them sometimes, I feel sure, in the warm, tropical nights, when the -stars are set thick in the sky and the fire-flies make stars in the -air. For they hang like little cradles from the tips of the leaves of -palm-trees, or from the ends of long, dangling creepers or tendrils, -or even from the drooping petal of a flower. They are made of the fine -webs of spiders, all plaited and woven, or of down that is like our -thistle-down, but thicker and softer and silkier. And you may think -of everything that is soft and delicate and graceful and fragile and -fairy-like, but when you see a Humming-bird's nest, you will think -them all coarse--yes, _coarse_--by comparison. And to think of that -bright little glittering thing, sitting there alive and warm, in its -warm little soft fairy nest, and then to think of it in a _hat_--and -_dead_! Oh, dear!--dusty too, I feel sure. _Oh_, dear! But it is all -the fault of that most wicked little demon, and _you_ are going to set -it right. - -Now perhaps you will wonder why there has been nothing about promising -yet, for there have been thirteen Humming-birds in the two last -chapters, and not a single promise about any of them. But then, what -would be the use of promising about thirteen when there are four -hundred and more? It would be ever so much better, _I_ think, to -promise about all the four hundred and more together, and that is what -I want you to ask your mother to do. Then all those little glittering, -jewelly, fairy-like things will go on living and being happy--will -go on glittering and gleaming, flashing through the air, sparkling -amongst the flowers, sitting and shining in dear little soft swinging -cradles, on the tips of broad, green palm leaves, or the petals of -fair, drooping flowers. They will go on being _living_ sunbeams then, -not poor, dead, dusty ones in hats. And it will be you who will have -done this, you who will have kept sunbeams alive in the world, instead -of letting them be killed and go out of it for ever. Yes, it will be -you--and your dear mother. So now you must say to your dear mother, -"Oh, mother, do promise never to wear a hat that has a Humming-bird in -it." Say it quickly, and with _ever_ so many kisses. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -The Cock-of-the-Rock and the Lyre-Bird - - -Well, I have told you about the Humming-birds and the Birds of -Paradise, which are the _most_ beautiful birds that there are in the -world. Now I will tell you about just a few other ones which are very -beautiful, although they are not quite so beautiful as those are. One -of them is the Cock-of-the-Rock, a bird which lives in South America, -where the Humming-birds live. There are three kinds and they are all -handsome, but the handsomest, _I_ think, is the one that is called the -Blood-red Cock-of-the-Rock. It is about the size of a small pigeon, -and of the most wonderful blood-red colour you can imagine. You would -think, when you saw it first, that it had not one feather on the -whole of its body that was not of this brilliant crimson, but, after -a little, when your eyes are not so dazzled, you see that its wings -and tail are not red but brown. Only, when the wings are shut they are -almost quite covered up by the flaming feathers of the back, and just -on one part--that part which we should call the shoulders--they are -red too. "A scarlet bird! A crimson bird!" that is what you would say -first, if you were to see this wonderful Cock-of-the-Rock, and then, -all at once, you would cry out, "Oh, but where is his beak? Why, he -has no beak!" Yes, and you might almost say, "Where is his head?" for -you don't see that either--at least, you only see the back of it, all -the rest, and the beak too, is hidden in a wonderful crest of crimson -feathers that almost looks like the head itself, only it is a little -too big for that. This crest is just the shape of a tea-cosy, so that -it looks as if some one had put a little tea-cosy made of the most -splendid blood-red, fiery, crimson-sunset feathers right over the -bird's head and covered it quite up. You see no beak at all, and it -_does_ look so funny to see a bird without a beak--_almost_ as funny as -it would to see a beak without a bird. - -The two other kinds of Cock-of-the-Rock are very handsome birds, too. -One of them has all its plumage orange-coloured, instead of crimson, -and the other is of a colour between orange and crimson. So, if you -were travelling from one part of South America to another, it would -seem as if the same bird was getting brighter and brighter or darker -and darker all the way, for the three different kinds do not live in -the same parts of the country, but in different parts that join each -other. Only, of course, you would have to go in the right direction, -which would be, first, through the forests of British Guiana, then -along the banks of the great river Amazon--which is the largest river -in the world--then up the mountains of Peru, and then, still higher, up -those of Ecuador. Or, you might start from Ecuador and go all the way -to British Guiana. If you get an atlas and look for the map of South -America, your mother will soon show you where all these places are. - -Now after what you know about the Humming-birds and the Birds of -Paradise, you will not be surprised to hear that this brilliant crimson -or orange-coloured bird has quite a sober-coloured wife, and that he -is as careful to please her, as they are, by showing her his beautiful -bright plumage in all the ways in which it looks best; in fact he is -so very careful about it that I feel quite sure he pleases himself by -doing so, at the same time. You know now that male birds dance, when -they show their fine feathers to their wives and sweethearts, for I -have told you about the "sácalelis" of the Great Bird of Paradise, and -the way in which those other Birds of Paradise danced whilst the two -travellers were watching them. But some birds have still more wonderful -dances than these; at least they behave in a way that is even more like -real dancing. Now the Cock-of-the-Rock is a very fine dancer indeed, -and he has a regular place to dance and play in, which we may call his -ball-room, or his drawing-room, or his play-ground--whichever name -we like best. He chooses it in some part of the forest where it is a -little open, and where the ground is soft and mossy, and here, every -day, a number of birds assemble, some males and some females; for of -course the hen-birds come too, there would be nothing to dance for -without them. Then first one of the cocks walks out into the middle of -the open space and begins to dance. He flutters and waves his wings, -moves his head, with its wonderful crimson tea-cosy, from side to side, -and hops about with the queerest little jumpy steps you ever saw. As -he goes on he gets more and more excited, springs higher and higher -into the air, waves his wings more and more violently, and shakes his -head as if he were trying to shake off the tea-cosy, so as to have a -cup of tea to refresh himself. All the other birds stand and look at -him, criticise his performance, turn their heads towards each other, -and make remarks, you may be sure. "How elegant!" exclaims a young hen -Cock-of-the-Rock. "What spring! What elasticity! Really he is a very -fine performer." "I have seen finer ones in my time," says an older -hen--in fact quite an elderly bird. "One could judge better, however, -if there were some one else to compare him with. He seems to be having -it all his own way. In _my_ time there was more emulation amongst male -birds." And you may be sure that, as soon as she says that, ever so -many other Cocks-of-the-Rock step out into the ring, and there they -are, all dancing together, all springing and jumping, all waving their -wings, and all trying to shake the tea-cosies off their heads, so as to -have a cup of tea for refreshment after all that exercise. Perhaps you -will say that that is nonsense, because there is no teapot under the -tea-cosy; but remember that no one has ever taken that tea-cosy off. -How can you tell what is under a tea-cosy until you take it off. (Your -mother will tell you that this is only _fun_.) - -[Illustration: COCK-OF-THE-ROCK] - -But what a strange, curious dance it is, this wonderful bird dance, -all in the wild, lonely forest. Oh, how interesting it would be to see -it--to find out one of those little, open places where the moss is all -pressed smooth and firm, and then to hide somewhere near, and wait -there quietly, quietly, without making a sound, all alone in the great, -wild, lonely forest, until at last--at last--there is a crimson flash -amongst the tree-trunks, and then another and another and another, as -bird after bird comes flying or walking to the ball-room, and the dance -begins. And sometimes you would see them chasing each other through -the forest, all very excited, and often clinging to the trunks of the -trees, and spreading and ruffling out their lovely plumage, so as to -show it to each other, each one seeming to say, "I _think_ mine is -finer than yours; _perhaps_ I may be mistaken, but I _think_ so." What -beautiful birds! and what funny birds, and what interesting things they -do whilst they are alive! As soon as they are dead they are not funny -or interesting any more, and they are only beautiful as a shawl or a -piece of embroidery is beautiful. It is dead beauty then; the beauty -of life--which is the highest beauty of all--is gone out of them. - -Now you can see many and many beautiful things that never had life in -them, though some, such as beautiful statues and pictures, imitate -life so marvellously that you would almost think they were alive. And -you can admire these beautiful things, and take pleasure in looking at -them, without having to feel sorry that they once were alive and happy, -but have been killed for you to look at. Surely you would not wish a -beautiful, happy bird to be killed, just for you to look at. You would -not even wish it to be put in a cage and kept alive, in a way in which -it could not be happy. No, you would rather know that it was alive and -happy in its own country, and only imagine what it was like, and how -beautiful it was. That is much the best way of seeing creatures, if we -have no other way without killing them or putting them in prison--to -imagine them; and there is ever so much more pleasure in imagining -creatures alive and happy than in seeing them dead or wretched. It is a -very fine thing, I can tell you, to _imagine_, and some people can do -it a great deal better than others. There _are_ people who cannot do it -at all, but we do not want birds killed for _stupid_ persons. People -who cannot imagine can do capitally without seeing, either--just as -well as people who _can_ imagine, only in another way. Now, just ask -your mother to promise not to wear any hat that has the feathers of a -beautiful Cock-of-the-Rock in it. - -In Australia--oh, but perhaps you want to know why this handsome bird -is called the Cock-of-the-Rock, such a very funny name. Well, although -it lives in forests and flies about amongst the trees, yet some of -these forests are on the sides of mountains, so, of course, there -are rocks all about. The Cock-of-the-Rock likes to perch upon a very -high one; so, when the old travellers first saw it perched up there, -and looking such a fine bird, they called it a Cock-of-the-Rock, and -almost expected to hear it crow. At least, if this is not the right -explanation, it is the only one I can think of. The Indians _may_ have -another one, but if they have I cannot tell it you, because I do not -know what it is. Perhaps if I were to think a little, I should know--or -else I could imagine it--but I have no time to think or imagine just at -present. I want to get on. - -In Australia, the great island-continent--the island that is so large -that we call it a continent--there is a wonderful bird called the -Lyre-bird. It is one of the most wonderful and the most beautiful birds -that there is in the world, and all its wonder and all its beauty lies -in its tail. This wonderful tail--as I am sure you will guess from -the name of the bird--is shaped like a lyre, though it is much more -beautiful than any lyre ever was, even the one that Apollo played -on. You know, I dare say, what a lyre is, a kind of harp with a very -graceful shape, curving first out and then in, and then out again on -each side, and with the strings in the centre. Now the Lyre-bird has, -on each side of its tail, two beautiful, broad feathers that curve in -this way, and are of a pretty chestnut colour, with transparent spaces -all the way down. These are the two outer tail feathers, and they are -like the two sides of the lyre--the solid part of it which is held -in the hand, and which we call the framework. Then, for the strings, -which, as you know, are stretched across the hollow space within the -framework, not from side to side, but lengthways from one end to the -other, the Lyre-bird has a number of most beautiful, thin, graceful -feathers, more graceful and delicate than the strings of any harp. -Only, instead of being straight, like harp strings, these feathers are -curved, and droop over to each side in a most graceful way, and instead -of keeping inside the two broad feathers--the sides of the lyre--they -come a long way past them, and instead of being only four, which is the -number of strings that a lyre has, there are ever so many of them--more -than a dozen, I feel sure. And if you could see these feathers, and -the way they are made, oh, you would think them wonderful. You know -that on each side of the quill of most feathers there is what is called -the web--which we have talked about--and this web is made of a number -of little, light, delicate sprays, like miniature feathers, which -we call barbs, and these are kept close together by having a lot of -little, tiddy-tiny hooks (though such soft little things don't look -like hooks a bit), which are called barbules, with which they catch -hold of each other, and won't let each other go. That is why the web -of a feather--on each side of the quill--is so smooth and even. But, -now, in these wonderful feathers of the Lyre-bird, the little delicate -things (the barbs) which make the webs are much fewer than in ordinary -feathers, and they have no little hooks to catch hold of each other -with, and instead of being all together, they are a quarter of an inch -apart, and wave about, each by itself, looking like very delicate -threads floating from the long slender quill of the feather. And that, -too, is how those beautiful plume-feathers of the Birds of Paradise are -formed, and you have seen something like it in the long ones of the -peacock's tail. The tail of the Lyre-bird is not so grand, perhaps, as -that of the peacock, but it is more graceful and delicate, and on the -whole, I _think_ (for on such points one can never be sure) it is still -more wonderful. - -But now is it not very strange that any bird should have a tail like -that--a tail that is shaped like Apollo's lyre? Well, I will tell -you how it happened, for it is one of those things that requires an -explanation--and is lucky. Once the great god Apollo (who is the god -of music and song) was walking in Australia and playing upon his lyre. -Now, I must tell you, at that time--it was a very long time ago--the -Lyre-bird had not a tail like it has now, but quite an ordinary one; -so, as it is only its tail that is _extra_ordinary, it was quite an -ordinary bird. But although it was ordinary in appearance, it was -extremely musical, as it is now--I must tell you that--and also a -wonderful imitator of every sound that can be made. The Lyre-bird can -imitate all the different notes of other birds, as well as the barking -of dogs, the mewing of cats, and the conversation of people. - -So, when it heard Apollo playing so sweetly on his lyre, it was quite -enraptured, and began to imitate it so cleverly that you would have -thought there were two Apollos playing on two lyres. All the other -birds and creatures were delighted at this--for, of course, two good -things are better than only one--but, for some reason or other which -I cannot quite explain, Apollo was not nearly so pleased. In fact, he -became angry, and _so_ angry that he threw his lyre at the poor bird -who had so appreciated his music, and the lyre hit it on the tail as -it ran away and cut it right off. Of course, when the Lyre-bird found -that it had no tail it was in a terrible state, and it came to Apollo -and said: "It was because I loved your music that I tried to imitate -it. I failed, no doubt--for who can sing as Apollo?--but still it is -a hard price to have to pay for my admiration." And when Apollo heard -that, he was so sorry for what he had done, and so pleased with the way -in which the Lyre-bird had explained things, that he said to it: "Well, -I will make amends, and what I give shall be better than what I took -away. The lyre which I threw at you, you shall keep, but it shall be of -feathers, and even more beautiful than my own. You shall not play on -it, for none but myself must do that, but you shall always be a most -musical bird, as you are now, and able to imitate any sound that you -hear, even my own playing. That power I will not take away from you, I -will even increase it, and from this time forth you shall be called the -Lyre-bird, in honour of your piety and good taste." - -That is how the Lyre-bird got its tail, and why it is, now, a very -beautiful, as well as a very musical, bird. But what its tail was like -before Apollo gave it the one it has now, that I cannot tell you, -for it has never been known to allude to the subject, and it would -hardly do to ask it. We only know that it was quite ordinary. But, -do you know, Apollo never quite liked the Lyre-bird's imitating him, -even though he had told it that it might, and so, not so very long -afterwards, he left the country. He went to Greece--it was a very long -time ago--and he has not gone back to Australia yet. - -Now you may be sure that a bird with a tail like that has his playing -ground, where he may come and show it to his wife or sweetheart; for it -is only the male bird who has it--like the others--though, really, I -cannot think what Apollo was about, not to give it to the hen as well, -for he was always a very polite god. The Lyre-bird's playground is a -small, round hillock--which he makes all himself--and there he will -come and walk about, raising his magnificent tail right up into the -air, and spreading it out in the most beautiful and graceful way. And, -as he does this, he will sing so beautifully, sometimes his own notes, -which are very pretty ones, and sometimes those of other birds, all of -which he can imitate quite well. But, of course, as Apollo has left -Australia, he cannot imitate him any more now, and after such a long -time he has forgotten what he learnt, unless, indeed, his own notes are -what Apollo used to play. But, if that is the case, he must have left -off singing his old song, and I do not think he would have done that. - -This wonderful bird builds a wonderful nest with a roof to it, so -that he can get right inside it and be quite hidden from sight, tail -and all, although he is so large--almost as large as a pheasant, even -without counting his tail. As a rule it is only little birds that make -nests like that, and not big ones. The Lyre-bird's nest is something -like the one that our little wren makes--which perhaps you have -seen--only of course ever so much bigger. Only one egg is laid in it, -and out of it comes one of the queerest little birds you can imagine, -all covered with white, fluffy down, and with no tail at all that you -can see, so that you would never think he was going to grow into a -Lyre-bird. It takes him four years to get that wonderful tail. Apollo -did not mean him to have it, until he was quite grown up--it was not a -thing to be entrusted to children. - -Now you must not think that the Lyre-bird always holds his tail up in -the air, for when he walks through the thick bushes he has to carry it -as a pheasant does, and I think you know how that is. As soon as he -wants to show it to his wife or his sweetheart, up it goes, and oh, it -_does_ look so beautiful! - -But now, if it were not for that promise which your mother is going to -make you, there would very soon be no more of these wonderful birds, -with their wonderful and beautiful tails, left in Australia, which -would mean that there would be none in the whole world, for Australia -is the only country in the world where they are found. People like much -better to see that beautiful tail in their rooms, where it will soon -get spoilt and dusty, or to put some feathers of it in their hats, -than to know that the bird is running about with it, alive and happy, -holding it down like a pheasant's when he walks through the bushes, but -raising it in the air when he stands on his little hillock, for the -hen Lyre-bird to see, and singing her a song as well. People who live -in Australia--and there are a great many people who live there--might -often see it doing that if they were to take a little trouble (they -take a great deal of trouble to kill it), and, even if they could not -see it, they would hear its beautiful song. But they like much better -to kill it, so that there may be a little less song and beauty and -happiness in the world, and all because of the wicked little demon with -the correct suit of clothes. But all this is going to be altered, and -you are going to alter it. Just run to your mother, wherever she is--if -she is not with you now--and ask her to promise, _ever_ so faithfully, -never to have anything whatever to do with a hat that has so much as -one single feather of a Lyre-bird in it. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -The Resplendent Trogon and the Argus Pheasant - - -One of the most beautiful birds in the whole world--more beautiful, -even, than _some_ of the Birds of Paradise and than _some_ of the -Humming-birds, even those that are not hermits--is the lovely Trogon -of Mexico. But first I must tell you that there are a great many -birds called Trogons that live in other parts of America as well as -in Mexico, and in other parts of the world as well as in America. But -the most beautiful of all of them--which is the only one I shall have -time to tell you about--is the Resplendent Trogon or Quezal--for that -is what the Indians call it--and it is only found in Mexico, which, -you know, is in North America, only right down at the southern end of -it, where there are a good many Humming-birds too. There are many more -Humming-birds in South America than in North America. It is the hot, -tropical countries they are so fond of. You see they like to be with -their brothers the sunbeams. - -This Mexico is such an interesting country. It belongs, now, to the -Spaniards, whom I dare say you have heard about, but once it belonged -to a quite different people, an old people who had been there for -hundreds and hundreds of years, long before Columbus discovered -America. These people were civilised, only in a different way to -ourselves. They did not wear the kind of clothes that we do, but only -light linen things, dyed all sorts of colours, which were prettier -and suited the climate. They had many cities, as we have, though they -were built in a different way, and the largest was built all over a -great lake, with bridges going from one side of it to another. One can -build houses in the water, you know, for there is Venice in Italy, and -Rotterdam in Holland, which are both built in the sea, and which your -mother will tell you about. - -These people, who were called Aztecs, were very clever workmen, and -such wonderful goldsmiths and silversmiths, especially, that they used -to make imitation gardens, with all sorts of flowers beaten out of -gold and silver. Then they used feathers as we do a paint-box, to make -pictures of things with. They would paint houses and ships and men and -boats and landscapes with them, putting the right-coloured feathers -just where they were wanted, blue ones for the sky, green ones for the -grass, and so on. For the wicked little demon knew of those people -just as well as he knows of us, and he had taught them to kill birds, -too. Only as they had no guns they could not kill nearly so many of -them as we can, so that there was no danger, then, of a beautiful bird -getting rarer and rarer, until, at last, it is not to be found in the -world any more, which is what happens now with us--at least it will if -_you_ do not stop it. But though it would have been much better to let -these birds--which were often Humming-birds--go on living and flying -about, and though no picture made with their feathers was nearly so -beautiful as the feathers themselves were, growing upon them, yet these -feather-pictures of the old Aztecs were very wonderful things, and it -is a great pity that there are none of them left now, for us to look -at. Nothing could bring the poor birds back to life, so we might just -as well have had the pictures that they had helped to make. - -And we might have had some other pictures, too, that these people made, -for they used to draw things, just as we do, and when they wanted to -describe a thing they would often draw a picture of it, instead of only -_saying_ what it was like. Even their writing was all in pictures, for -when they wanted to write--say the word "sun" or the word "house"--they -would draw a little picture of the sun or of a house, only so quickly -and with such a few strokes of the pen or the paint-brush (I don't -quite know which it was), that it was quite like proper writing. Of -course there are some words that are not so easy to make a picture -of--as you can try for yourself--but, wherever it could be done, these -old Aztecs would do it. And if only we had some more of this writing -(for we have very little of it), we should be able to know a great deal -more about this old people, who were in America before Columbus came -there, and what they did and what they thought about, and the remarks -they made to each other, and just think how interesting that would be. -It is always interesting to know something about people quite different -to ourselves who lived a long time ago. - -Unfortunately, when the Spaniards had conquered these people, instead -of keeping the things which they had made, they burnt them. They burnt -their houses, their temples, their cities, their picture-writings, -their feather-pictures, their wonderful flowers--until the gold -and silver they were made of were quite melted--their clothes, -everything--even the people themselves--and, to save time, they -often burnt the two last together. It is a great pity they did this, -but, you see, everybody has a plan of doing things, and the plan of -the Spaniards was to burn the people they conquered, and everything -belonging to them. But was it not horribly cruel? Oh! most horribly; -but so it is to shoot sea-gulls, and then to cut off their wings, -before they are dead, and throw them back into the sea, to drown there -or bleed to death. That is what _we_ do, and _it_ is horribly cruel, -too. So do not let us think about the cruel things the Spaniards -did--yet. Let us think, first, about the cruel things that are done -by people in our own country, and try to stop _them_. _When_ we have -stopped them--_all_ of them--then we can think about the Spaniards--and -some other nations. - -You know there is a proverb which says, "Those who live in glass houses -should not throw stones;" that is generally one of the first proverbs -we learn, and _always_ the very first one we forget. I am afraid that -those old Aztecs lived in _rather_ a glass house, for _they_ had a plan -of cutting people open, whilst they were still alive, and tearing their -hearts out. Horrible! was it not? But they did not _burn_ people; so, -when they saw the Spaniards doing so, they were shocked at them. As -for the Spaniards, _they_ were shocked at the Aztecs doing this other -thing, for _that_ had never been _their_ custom. So the Aztecs and the -Spaniards were shocked at each other. People are very easily shocked at -each other, but they are not nearly so easily shocked at themselves. -Now I come to think of it, I never remember hearing any one say, "I -am _shocked_ at myself!" And yet it would often be a quite sensible -remark. - -But what I wanted to tell you about these old Aztecs, who lived in -Mexico all that time ago, was that, when the Spaniards came there, they -were ruled over by a great king named Montezuma, and this king, amongst -many other wonderful things, had a great place, where he kept all the -different kinds of birds that were found in his country. A place like -that is called an aviary, and you may be quite sure that the beautiful -Trogon or Quezal was one of the birds in King Montezuma's aviary, for -it was more highly thought of than any other bird in the country. Let -us hope that all the birds in this aviary had nice, large places to be -in, with trees, and flowers, and everything that they wanted; and, as -it was a king's aviary, I daresay they had. - -Well, now, I will tell you what this beautiful bird, the Quezal or -Resplendent Trogon, that used to be in King Montezuma's aviary, -is like. It is about the size of a turtle-dove, but with the most -beautiful, long, curling feathers in its tail, and these beautiful -feathers, and all the feathers on its back and breast and on its head, -too, are of the most lovely, rich, golden-green colour. Really I don't -know whether there is more of gold or of green in them, but there -is just the right quantity of each to make them the most beautiful, -beautiful feathers you can possibly imagine. It is the tail-feathers -that are the most beautiful, for they are so very long--the two longest -are much longer than those in a pheasant's tail--but there are some -feathers which begin on the back and lap softly round the sides, one -a little way off from the other, so that you see their pretty shapes, -and these are almost as beautiful, although they are ever so much -shorter. But now there is something funny about those long feathers, -which I have called the tail-feathers, and that is, that they are not -_really_ tail-feathers at all. They look as if they were, but _really_ -they are feathers which go _over_ the tail and cover it up, so that -the _real_ tail is underneath them. It is like that--though I am sure -you never knew it--with the peacock; those beautiful, long feathers -which we _call_ the tail are not _really_ the tail, and you will see -that, directly, if you watch a peacock when he spreads them out, for, -as soon as he does, you will see the real tail underneath, which is -nothing very particular to look at. Still, in both these birds the long -feathers look so like the real tail that we may very well call them the -tail-feathers, and we can always explain about it afterwards, to show -how much we know. And, do you know, these beautiful, long, golden-green -feathers of the Quezal, which we are going to call the tail-feathers, -although we know very well they are not, were so highly valued by -these people who used to live in Mexico, that no one was ever allowed -to kill the bird, but only to catch it and cut them off and let it go -again, so that new ones might grow on it. And only the chiefs were -allowed to wear its feathers. And, indeed, there would be no great harm -in wearing feathers in hats, if we got them only in that way. Only -I cannot think what the little demon could have been about in that -country. A law like that must have made him very angry indeed. - -Then, besides his splendid tail-feathers, this beautiful bird has a -crest on his head, which is something like the one the Cock-of-the-Rock -has on his, for it is of the same tea-cosy shape, only it is green -instead of crimson, and it does not quite cover up the beak. So perhaps -you will think that, as the Cock-of-the-Rock is all blood-red, with a -tea-cosy crest on his head, this beautiful golden-green Trogon, with -the tea-cosy crest on _his_ head, is all golden-green. But no, all the -lower part of him--that part which is hidden when he sits down--instead -of being golden-green, is the most splendid vermilion, as bright a -colour--although it is not quite the same--as the Cock-of-the-Rock's -himself. Just think, golden-green and splendidly bright vermilion! and -you cannot think how beautiful the one looks against the other. Whether -they would look quite so well together in a dress _I_ am not quite -sure, but your mother would know all about that. Only you must remember -that _such_ a golden-green and _such_ a vermilion as this Trogon has -were never seen together--no, or separately either--in any dress yet. - -[Illustration: THE RESPLENDENT TROGON] - -These beautiful Quezals live in the forests of Mexico, and they like -to sit lazily on the branch of a tree, and let their beautiful long -tails (which we know are not _really_ tails) hang down underneath -it, like the "funny feathers" of the Birds of Paradise. At least the -male birds like to do that, because the female Quezals have not got -those beautiful, long feathers, although they are very fine birds even -without them. They are not so handsome as the males, but they are not -plain like the female Humming-birds or Birds of Paradise. Perhaps the -male Quezals show off their fine feathers to the females by letting -them hang down like that, because, of course, long, soft, drooping -feathers, such as they have, would not stand up in the air, like those -of the peacock or of the Lyre-bird. But very likely they have some -other nice way of showing them. - -Now, although the Quezal or Resplendent Trogon is such a magnificent -bird, he is not so very often seen. It is difficult to find him in the -dense forest, and I wish it was still more difficult than it is, for -when he _is_ found, he is always shot for those beautiful feathers of -his. When the Indian who is looking for him sees him sitting in the way -I have told you, he hides somewhere near and imitates the cry of the -bird. When the poor Trogon hears it, he thinks it is another Trogon--a -friend of his, perhaps--and so he comes flying to where the sound -came from. Then this deceitful man--and I really think it is _very_ -contemptible to deceive a bird in that way--shoots him, and there is -one beautiful, happy bird less in the world. Is it not dreadful to -think of, that in almost every part of the world there are some _very_ -beautiful birds to be found, and everywhere they are being killed and -killed and killed, so that they are getting scarcer and scarcer every -year? If it were not for what your mother has promised you about the -Lyre-bird, and what she is going to promise you about this Trogon, -there would soon be no more beautiful Lyre-birds in Australia, and no -more beautiful Trogons in Mexico. How terrible that would be! But we -have saved the beautiful Lyre-bird, and now we are going to save the -beautiful Trogon. Ask your mother--oh, _do_ ask her--to promise, most -_faithfully_, never to have anything whatever to do with a hat that has -any of the feathers--short or long, golden-green or vermilion--of a -Quezal--a Resplendent Trogon--in it. Ah, now she has promised, and we -have saved that beautiful bird as well as a great many others. - -Now I will tell you about a very beautiful pheasant--the Argus -Pheasant. Some people may think him the most beautiful one of all. -And yet he is not the most showy pheasant--for the pheasants, you -know, are very showy birds indeed. There is the Golden Pheasant, who -is dressed in the sun's own livery; and the Silver Pheasant, who has -a silver white one which is more like the moon's, but who looks gaudy -and smart all the same; and the Amherst Pheasant, who manages to be -handsomer than both the sun and moon--which is very clever of him; and -the Fire-back, who is all in a blaze without minding it at all; and -the Impeyan or Monal, who looks as if he was made of beaten metal, and -had just been polished up with a piece of wash-leather. There is the -Peacock, too--for he is really nothing but a large pheasant--so, you -see, the pheasants are a handsome family, and you may be sure that -they know how to appreciate themselves. The pheasant that we are going -to talk about is quite a large bird, not so large as the peacock, it -is true, but with still longer tail-feathers, and oh, such wonderful -wings! One may say, indeed, that this bird is all wings and tail, but -he is principally wings, at least when he spreads them out. But, even -when they are folded, they are so very large that he looks quite -wrapped up in them; and I think he is, too, partly because of that, but -still more because they are so very handsome. - -So, first, I will tell you what these large, handsome wings of his are -like. Well, in each one there are twenty-five or twenty-six very fine -long feathers, but these feathers are not all so fine or so long as -each other. Ten of them are about a foot long, and these are prettily -marked and mottled with all sorts of pretty brown colours, whilst, down -the centre of each one, there is a pretty blue stripe. It is the quill -of the feather that makes that stripe, for it is blue, and looks as if -it had been painted. So you see even these are pretty feathers, but -it is the fifteen or sixteen other ones that are so very beautiful. -They are much broader and longer than the other ten--the longest are -more than twice as long--and down each of them, just on one side of -the great quill in the centre, there is a row of such wonderful spots. -They are as large as horse-chestnuts (big ones I mean), and what they -look like is a cup and ball, the ball just lying in the cup ready to -be sent up; only, of course, the cup has no handle to it--you must not -think that--for the spots are round. And, do you know, the balls look -as if they were _really_ balls, so that you would think you could take -them in your hand, and throw them up into the air, and catch them -again as they came down. They do not look flat at all. You know, when -you try to draw an orange or an apple, how difficult it is not to make -it look flat like a penny. _You would_ make it look flat, I know, but -these wonderful balls on the Argus Pheasant's feathers look as if -they had all been drawn by a very clever artist (as indeed they have -been--a _very_ clever one), who had shaded them properly; you know how -difficult shading is. There are eighteen or twenty--sometimes as many -as twenty-two--of these wonderful spots on each feather, but I have not -told you, yet, of what colour they are. Perhaps you will think they are -very bright and dazzling. No, they are not like that at all. They are -soft, not bright, and their softness is their beauty. All round them, -at the edge, there is a ring of deep, soft brown, and, just inside the -ring, there is a lighter brown, and it goes on getting lighter and -lighter, until, in the centre, it is a pretty, soft amber, and, at -the edge of the soft amber, there is a pretty, white, silvery light, -as if the moon was just coming out from behind an amber cloud. _So_ -pretty! And when the Argus Pheasant spreads his wonderful wings out, -you can see more than a hundred of these wonderful spots on each wing, -which is more than two hundred altogether. Such a sight! so soft and -so pretty they look. Shall I tell you what such wings are like? They -are like skies where the stars are all moons, that float softly among -soft brown and amber clouds, tipping them all with soft silver. For the -Argus Pheasant is not one of the very brilliant birds of the world. No, -he is not brilliant at all. His colours are only soft browns and soft -ambers and soft, silver whites, and yet he is so pretty, so beautiful. -I think he is as pretty as the peacock, and, when one sees him after -the peacock, it is a rest for the eye. Some people might prefer him to -the peacock. Do you wonder at that? It is not so very wonderful. There -may be a little girl reading this, with soft brown hair and soft brown -eyes, and with nothing golden or gleaming about her, and some people, -besides her father and mother, may think her prettier than the little -girl who is all golden and gleaming. It is all a matter of taste. Some -like a broad sheet of water dancing in the sunlight, and some like -quiet streams running under cool, mossy banks, with trees arching above -them, where the shadows are cool and deep, and where even the sun's -peepings are only like brighter shadows. People who like that better -than the other, will like the quiet little girl with the brown hair -better than the one who gleams and dazzles; and they will like the -Argus Pheasant better than the peacock, and think them both a rest for -the eye. It is not at all a bad thing to be a rest for the eye. - -[Illustration: THE ARGUS PHEASANT] - -I have told you how large the wings of the Argus Pheasant are; when -he spreads them out to show to the hen bird (who has nothing like -them), they look like two banners or two beautiful feather-fans, the -kind of fans that you see Eastern queens being fanned with, in the -pictures. Then he has a very fine tail as well, as I told you. Two -of the feathers in it are very long indeed--quite four feet long, I -should think--and as broad as a man's hand, if not broader, near the -base (which means where they begin), but getting gradually narrower -towards the tips. On one side, these feathers are a soft, rich brown, -with silver-white spots, and, on the other, a soft, silver grey, with -silver-white spots. When the Argus Pheasant spreads out his two great -wings, he takes care to lift up his fine handsome tail, as well, so -that the two long feathers of it are quite high in the air. So there is -his tail going up like a rocket, whilst his wings spread out on each -side of it, like feather-fans, and his head comes out between them, -just in the middle, and makes a polite bow to the hen. That is the -right way to do it, and the Argus Pheasant would rather not do it at -all than not do it properly. Oh, he takes a great deal of trouble about -it, and all for the hen--which is unselfish. - -This beautiful Argus Pheasant lives in Sumatra--which is a large island -of the Malay Archipelago--and also in the Malay Peninsula and Siam, -which are, both, part of the great Asiatic continent--as perhaps you -know. Yes, that is where he lives, but you might walk about there for -a very long time, without ever once seeing him, for the Argus Pheasant -is a very difficult bird to find. He lives in the great, thick forests, -and keeps out of everybody's way. One hardly ever does find _him_, -but, sometimes, one finds his drawing-room (for he has one, like the -Cock-of-the-Rock and the Lyre-bird), and if one waits there long enough -(_I_ would wait a week if it were necessary) one may see him come into -it. He spends almost all his time in looking after this drawing-room, -and he only sees the hen Argus Pheasant when she comes there too, to -look at him. Of course he dances in it, and it is there that he spreads -out his wonderful wings and lifts up his tail, in the way that I have -told you. The Argus Pheasant is very proud of his drawing-room, and he -_will_ have it nice and clean, with nothing lying about in it. So, if -he finds anything there that has no business to be there, he picks it -up with his beak, and throws it outside. He has not to open a door to -do that; his drawing-room is only an open space which he keeps nice -and smooth, so, as it is always open, it does not want a door to it. -Now I think you will say--and I am _sure_ your mother will agree with -you--that the Argus Pheasant does quite right to act in this way, and -that to keep one's drawing-room clean and tidy is a very proper thing -to do. Your mother may be surprised, perhaps, that it is the male Argus -Pheasant, and not the hen bird, that does it, but I am sure she will -not blame _him_ on that account. But I am sorry to say that the wicked -little demon has found out a way of making this habit of the poor -bird's--which is such a good one--a means of killing him. - -The people who live in that part of the world--those yellow people -called Malays that I have told you of--know all about the ways of the -Argus Pheasant, and how he will _not_ have things lying about in his -drawing-room. Now there is a great tall reed that grows there, called -the bamboo, which I am sure you have heard of, and which your mother -will tell you all about. The Malays cut off a piece of this bamboo, -about two feet long, and then they shave it down--all except about six -inches at one end of it--till it is almost as thin as writing paper. It -looks like a piece of ribbon then, only, as it is very hard, as well -as thin, its edges are quite sharp, and able to cut like a razor. But -the piece at the end, which has been left and not shaved down, they cut -into a point, so that it makes a peg, and this peg, that has a ribbon -at the end of it, they stick into the ground, right in the middle of -the Argus Pheasant's drawing-room. So, when the poor Argus Pheasant -comes into his drawing-room, he sees something lying on the floor, -which has no business to be there. It may be only a ribbon, but that -is not the right place for it, so he tries to pick it up and throw it -outside. But it won't come, however much he pulls it, for the peg at -the end is fixed in the ground, and he is not strong enough to pull -it out. At last he gets angry and thinks he will make a great effort. -He twists the long ribbon round and round his neck--just as you would -twist a piece of string round and round your hand if you were going -to pull it hard--then takes hold of it with his beak, just above the -ground, and gives quite a tremendous spring backwards. You may guess -what happens. The long peg does not come out of the ground, but the -ribbon is drawn quite tight round the poor bird's own neck, and the -sharp edges almost cut his head off. - -Now is not _that_ a most cruel trick to play upon a bird who only wants -to keep his drawing-room in proper order? How would your dear mother -like to be treated in such a way for being _neat_ and _tidy_, which I -am sure she is? But we are going to stop it--this cruel trick of the -wicked little demon--for it was he who thought of it and taught it to -the Malays. It is not _their_ fault, you must not be angry with them, -any more than with the poor women whose hearts the same demon has -frozen. We are going to stop it, and you know how. The Malay only kills -the poor Argus Pheasant to sell his feathers. If _they_ were not wanted -he would leave him alone, to be happy and beautiful, and to dance in -a nice tidy drawing-room. So just ask your mother to promise never to -wear a hat--or anything else--that has a feather, or even a little -piece of a feather, of an Argus Pheasant in it. - -That was going to be the end of the chapter, but there is just -something which I have forgotten. I am sure you will have been -wondering why this beautiful pheasant is called the Argus Pheasant, -and what the word Argus means. Well, I will give you an explanation. -Argus was the name of a wonderful being--a kind of monster--who had a -hundred eyes, and who lived a long time ago. But he offended the great -god Jupiter, who had him killed, and then Jupiter's wife--the goddess -Juno--whose servant he was, put all his eyes into the tail of the -peacock--for the peacock was her favourite bird. That is one story; but -another one says that she did _not_ put them _all_ there, but only the -bright ones. The soft ones--those pretty ones that I have been telling -you about--she put into the wings of another bird, that she liked -quite as well, if not better, and that bird became, at once, the Argus -Pheasant. But now if Argus had only a hundred eyes, how is it that -there are two hundred, or more, in the wings of the Argus Pheasant, to -say nothing of those in the tail of the peacock? That shows, _I_ think, -quite clearly that he must, really, have had a great many more; and so, -now, when people talk to you of Argus and his hundred eyes, you can -say, "A hundred, indeed! Why, he must have had _three_ hundred at the -very least." And then you can tell them why. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -White Egrets, "Ospreys," and Ostrich-Feathers - - -The last bird I am going to tell you about is the White Egret. But, do -you know, I am not quite sure if he is beautiful enough to be put in a -book of beautiful birds, because, of course, a book of beautiful birds -means a book of _the_ most beautiful birds that there are, and I am not -_quite_ sure if the White Egret is so beautiful as all that. At any -rate he is not so beautiful as the birds I have been telling you about, -and there are many other birds in the world that I have _not_ told you -about, that are more beautiful than he is. So, perhaps, you will wonder -why I put him into the book at all, but I will soon give you a proper -explanation of it. In the first place, if the White Egret is not one of -the most beautiful birds in the world, yet, at any rate, he has some of -the most beautiful feathers that any bird has, and that alone, I think, -gives him a right to be here, because, you know, "fine feathers make -fine birds." And, in the second place, this poor bird is so shot and -killed and persecuted for these beautiful feathers of his, that, unless -you were to get your mother to make that promise about him, there would -soon be no such thing as a White Egret left in the world. He and his -feathers would both be gone. - -But now, perhaps, you will say that if "fine feathers make fine birds," -then beautiful feathers must make beautiful birds, too, and so the -White Egret must be a beautiful bird. Oh, yes, he is. You are quite -right. I did not mean that he was not a beautiful bird at all. All I -meant was that he was not quite so beautiful as the Birds of Paradise -and the Humming-birds, and birds like that--birds that look as if they -had flown into a jeweller's shop, and then flown out again with all the -best part of the jewellery upon them. Whether he is not as beautiful as -some of the other birds we have talked about--but I will not say which, -for fear of offending them--that I am not quite so sure of; but, at any -rate, he is beautiful. - -[Illustration: THE WHITE EGRET] - -Oh, yes, he is quite a beautiful bird, is the White Egret; and now I -will describe him to you. I shall not have any colours to tell you -about, because he is all white--which of course you will have guessed -from his name--but you know how beautiful white can be. You will not -have forgotten the little Humming-bird who was made still more -beautiful than he had been before, by three snowflakes falling upon -him. But, with this bird, it is as if the snow had fallen all over -him and covered him up, for he is white all over, a beautiful, soft, -silky white, as pure and delicate as the snow itself. Only his shape, -perhaps, is a little funny--at least you might think so--for he has a -pair of long, thin, stilty legs, and a long, thin, snaky neck, and a -long, sharp, pointed beak, so that all three of these together make him -a tall, thin, stilty bird. "Something like a stork, that is," you will -say, for you will have seen pictures of storks, even if you have not -seen one alive in the Zoological Gardens--which is a very bad place for -him, _I_ think. Well, this bird _is_ something like a stork, but he is -a great deal more like a heron, that long-legged, long-necked bird that -stands for hours in the water, waiting for a fish to come near it, so -that it may catch it and swallow it; for the heron, you know, lives on -fish and frogs, and things of that sort. - -Yes, he is very like a heron, and, do you know, there is a very -good reason for that, because the White Egret _is_ a heron. Some -birds, I must tell you, have names which are like our surnames, and -show the family they belong to. As long as you only know a boy's or -girl's Christian name--Reginald or Bertram or Dorothy or Norah or -Wilhelmina--you don't know a bit what family they belong to; but as -soon as you know their _surnames_--Smith or Brown or Jones or Thompson -or Robinson--why then you do--and it is just the same with birds. Heron -is really a surname, only the bird that has it, here in England, has -not a Christian name as well--unless "common" is one, for he is called -the Common Heron. But White Egret is a Christian name and the surname -to it is Heron--for the White Egret belongs to the Heron family. That -is why he is so tall and gaunt and stilty, for a heron is always like -that--it is the family figure--and so now, when I tell you that _he_ -stands in the water and catches fish, you will know why he does that, -too; fish is the family dish, and no heron would think of going without -it, for long. - -But now, let me tell you about those beautiful feathers which the -poor White Egret has. They grow only on his back--about the middle of -it--and droop down to a little way over his tail, so that they are -a foot or more long. You remember what I explained to you about the -feathers in the tail of the Lyre-bird, and those that make the plumes -in the beautiful Birds of Paradise--how the barbs of the feather on -each side of the quill have no barbules to hold them together, so that -they fall apart and wave about like beautiful, soft, silky threads. If -you have forgotten, then you must look back for it, because I should -not explain it better here than I do there, and, besides, it would -be twice over. Well, these feathers are made in the same way, only -they are of a pure, shining white--like all the rest of this birds -plumage--and although they are as soft as silk they are stiff at the -same time, and so smooth that they look like the delicate flakings from -a piece of beautiful, pure, polished ivory. Imagine a little fountain -of ivory threads all shooting up together into the air, quite straight -at first, and then bending over and drooping down in the most delicate, -graceful way imaginable. That is what a plume of those feathers looks -like, when they have been taken out and tied together, but I wish, -myself, that they did not look nearly so beautiful, for it is because -of those beautiful plumes, that the poor bird is being killed and -killed and becoming scarcer and scarcer, every day. For the women whose -hearts the little demon has frozen, wear these plumes in their hats and -in their hair, and they are called "ospreys," and are very fashionable -indeed. - -Soldiers, too, used to wear them in their caps, but _they_ have -given up doing so. It is only the frozen-hearted women who are -killing the poor White Egrets now--but ah, there are so many of them -(the women I mean, not the Egrets). I have sat at the entrance of -a large concert-hall, and counted the faces that had these lovely -egret-plumes--these beautiful, fashionable "ospreys," so white and -yet so blood-stained--nodding above them--counted them as they -came in and as they went out, young faces, old faces, soft faces, -hard faces, shrivelled faces, puckered faces, painted faces, plain -faces, ugly faces, quite dreadful faces--ah, what numbers of them -there were! It was quite difficult to count them all. Every now and -again there would be a pretty face, and I used to count _those_ -separately--one--two--three--four--five--sometimes up to half-a-dozen. -That was not so tiring, but, you see, I had to count them all. - -Oh, wise but wicked little demon, who blew his bad powders into the -hearts of _all_ the women! There were two kinds, you know, and one of -them was "Vanity." Now if it had been a man--however wicked a one--I -feel sure that he would have looked about for the women with the -_pretty_ faces, and who were rather young, to blow _that_ powder into. -But the little demon was wiser, in his own wicked way. He did not go -about, looking and looking. He blew it into _all_ their hearts, and -that gave him no trouble at all. - -Now, I must tell you that there are two different kinds of White -Egrets, with these beautiful feathers that the women with the frozen -hearts wear. One is much larger than the other, and is called the -Great White Egret. He is quite a big bird, larger even than our common -heron--and you know what a big bird _he_ is. The other one, which is -called the Small White Egret, is not more than half the size of the -great one, but his feathers are the most beautiful, so that, though -he has not nearly so many of them, he is worth nearly twice as much -money. That means, of course, that the servants of the wicked little -demon, who shoot him and sell his feathers, can get nearly twice as -much money for them as they can for the feathers of the other one. So, -of course, they like shooting him best, but they are very glad to shoot -the other one--the Great White Egret--too, for even _his_ feathers -are worth a good deal. Now, if the wicked little demon had not frozen -the hearts of women, they would never want to wear feathers that cost -the lives of the poor birds to whom they belong--because, you know, -women are, _really_, so kind. Then, of course, those feathers that are -so beautiful would not be worth anything (as it is called), and so -men would not shoot the White Egrets, because they would not be able -to sell their feathers. I am afraid they would have no better reason -for not doing so than that, because men, you know, are not kind and -pitiful--as women are, if only their hearts are not frozen. But, at any -rate, the White Egrets would be left alive. - -And you must not think that their feathers would _really_ not be worth -anything, then. When we talk of a thing not being worth anything, what -we really mean is that we cannot sell it for money. Now what are things -that you cannot sell for money? I will tell you three. There is the -sky, and the air, and the sunlight. You cannot buy or sell them, but -do you think they are not worth anything! _I_ think they are worth a -good deal. Then there is a good temper; nobody can buy that, but yet -what a lot it is worth! Now if the beautiful feathers of the White -Egret could not be sold, because the world was better and there were no -frozen-hearted women to buy them, yet they would be worth something, -although it would not be money. They would be worth love and pity -and sympathy and interest and real admiration (which never wants to -kill), for all those things would be given to the beautiful bird with -its beautiful feathers, and it would be just because of those things -that no one would think of killing him. His feathers, then, would be -like the smiles on a face. You cannot take those _out_ of the face, -and put them in a hat. If you could, then some one would soon say to -you: "Will you part with a few of your smiles? They are fashionable -in hats just now; I will give you, for a nice, bright one--let me -see--half-a-crown." Then you might say that a nice, bright smile was -worth half-a-crown. But I think it is worth much more where it is, in -your face, though you cannot take it out and get half-a-crown for it. - -Smiles are not bought for money in _that_ way, but you must remember -that what is not worth money is often worth much better things. That is -why I wish the feathers of the poor White Egrets were not worth even -a penny. If they were not, then, if you were to go to the countries -where they live, you would see those feathers on the birds themselves, -where they look most beautiful, and you could watch the birds (with -the feathers on them) flying through the air, or perched in trees, or -walking about in the water and catching fish in it, or building their -nests, or feeding their young, or doing all sorts of other interesting -and amusing things. And they would not be so rare then; in fact they -would be quite common, so that you would not have to go into such -out-of-the-way places--yes, and such unhealthy places too--in order to -see them. No, they would be all about, so that they would often come -to see _you_, instead of your going to see _them_; sometimes, even, -they might come into your garden--for why should you not have a garden -in another country?--and walk about on the lawn. Think how interesting -that would be, and how pretty it would look!--and all because those -beautiful white feathers would not be worth anything. - -But, because they are worth a good deal, men who would kill every bird -in the world for money go out with guns, and shoot these poor White -Egrets whenever and wherever they see them. And, because of this, -they are only to be found, now, in swamps and places where you, and -most other sensible people, do not like to go; so that, now, the only -people who ever see these beautiful birds are just the servants of the -demon, who murder them as soon as they see them. You and I, and others -like us, who would like to look at them, and admire them, and watch -their ways, and learn all about them, cannot do so, cannot see them -at all, cannot even imagine them, unless in swamps, and being shot. -Yet once they were quite common, so that everybody might look at them. -Now they are getting rarer and rarer, so that very soon, if we do not -do something about it quickly, there will be no more of them left in -the world. How dreadful that is to think of! If you were to see a very -beautiful picture, or statue, and then, afterwards, you were to hear -that it had been destroyed, you would feel sorry, would you not? And -not only you, but all the world would. I feel perfectly sure that if -Sir Edwin Landseer, who (as your mother will tell you) was a great -animal artist, had painted a White Egret, everybody would think it -quite shocking if it were to be burnt or torn up. You would hear people -say (and they would be quite right to say so): "Oh, it is dreadful, it -is quite dreadful to think of! It can never be replaced! There is no -such other artist! To think of such a masterpiece being destroyed!" -Now, when all the White Egrets (and let me tell you they are _all_ -masterpieces) have been destroyed, it will be quite impossible to -replace any one of them; so that that kind of bird--or any other kind -of bird or animal that has been shot and shot till there are no more -of it left--will have gone in just the same way that a picture goes, -when you burn it or tear it to pieces. But is there any picture of a -bird or animal, that is so beautiful or so wonderful as that bird or -animal itself? And is there any artist so great as the artist who made -it, who made that bird or animal, that picture with a life inside it? -You know who _that_ artist is, you know _His_ name--or if you do not, -your mother will tell you. I have called Him Dame Nature, but that is -only just a way of talking. He has another name, greater than that. He -is a much greater artist than Sir Edwin Landseer (or even Raphael or -Phidias), but I am afraid there are not many people who really know -that He is. Perhaps He is too great to be appreciated. That sometimes -happens, even amongst ourselves. - -Well, these poor White Egrets--these masterpieces that are always -being destroyed--are birds that live, mostly, in America--in Mexico, -and California, and Florida, and, I think, all over South and Central -America. They live in the swamps and lagunes--as they are called--of -the great forests, where trees grow all about in the water--such dark, -gloomy, wonderful places--and the servants of the little demon, whose -business it is to kill them, have to follow them to those places, and -live there, too. Of course it is very unhealthy for them, and they -often die there; but the women with the frozen hearts do not mind that, -any more than they mind the Egrets being shot. They want the feathers, -and when they pay for the feathers they pay for the lives as well--for -they are honest, although their hearts have been frozen. - -Perhaps you will wonder how men can live at all, in such places as -those. Of course, as it is all water, they have to live in boats or -canoes, and as soon as they have found out a pool or creek, where the -White Egrets come to catch fish, or some trees where they have built -their nests, they cover their boats over with reeds or rushes or ferns -or the branches of trees, so that, even though you were to come quite -close to them, you would not think they were boats at all, but only -part of the forest. That is what the poor White Egrets think, for the -men sit in their covered-up boats, quite silently--without speaking a -word--and, as soon as they come near enough to them, fire at them and -kill them. - -And now I will tell you another dreadful thing, which makes the killing -of these poor birds more cruel even than you will have thought it was, -though I am sure you will have thought it cruel enough. I have spoken -of their having nests, so, of course, there will often be young ones -in those nests, who cannot feed themselves, but have to be fed by the -parent birds. What do the young ones do when the parent birds--their -own fathers and mothers--have been shot? I will tell you. They starve. -That is what they do, and that is what the women with the frozen -hearts, who wear these feathers, know that they do--for they have been -told so, now, often enough. Is it not terrible? For those pure, white, -beautiful feathers, not only have the grown birds been killed, but the -young ones--their children--have starved--starved slowly--in the nest -where they were born. Day after day they had looked out from it, to -see their father or mother come flying to them, with something to eat; -day after day they had not seen them, and when the night came--oh, -they were so hungry! Before, how glad they used to be when they saw -the great, white wings come floating to them, slowly, through the -air, like a silver sun, like a broad, white, silken sail. Nearer and -nearer they came, and then there was a cry of greeting, and such _good_ -appetites for breakfast or dinner. Their appetites were just as good -now--indeed better, for they were starving--but where was father or -mother, where were the broad, white wings, the silken sail, the great -silver sun? Oh, how they strained their eyes and stretched their poor, -little, long necks over the side of the nest, to try to see them, to -see if they were not coming, if there was only a speck of white in the -distance! But they saw nothing, for father and mother had both been -shot. And, now, they grew so weak with hunger that they could not hold -their heads up, any more. They laid them down in the nest, and their -eyes closed, and their poor little voices only came in whispers, "Feed -us! feed us!"--they had been screams before. Then even the whispers -ceased, the beaks could not be opened, and slowly, slowly they starved. - -And those are the feathers--feathers that have been got in that -way--which the poor women whose hearts the little demon has frozen, -wear in their hats. In those hats they go out to concerts, and hear -songs that are all of love and tenderness, and music that seems to have -been made by the angels in heaven; in those hats they go to meetings -that are held, perhaps, for some good and just thing--to save people -from being killed, or children from being starved--some of them may -even speak at such meetings--and in those hats, those very hats; in -those hats, too, they go to church, they kneel down in them, and they -pray--yes, _pray_. - -Oh, it is wonderful--wonderful! In Africa, where the people believe in -witchcraft, one man will throw a spell upon another man that he hates, -so that wherever that man goes and whatever he does, he always sees his -face, his enemy's face. There it is, always before him, and, at last, -he gets so tired of seeing it that he dies, or even kills himself. -Of course, he does not _really_ see the face, and his enemy does not -_really_ cast a spell upon him, because there is no such thing as -witchcraft, _really_; it is all superstition, as I think you know. But -as the one man _thinks_ he sees the face, and the other man _thinks_ he -is casting a spell upon him, and making him see it, it comes to very -nearly--if not quite--the same thing as if it were real, especially as -the one man does _really_ die. Ah, if those hats could cast a spell -(not quite the same one as that, but something like it), if, wherever -the women who wore them went--whether it was to concerts where they -heard beautiful music, or to meetings where good things were talked -about, or to church where they kneeled down and prayed--they always -saw a picture of a nest, with young birds in it, starving--slowly -starving! if it was always there, always before them--that pitiful -picture--and if the voices came, too--the screams, and then the -whispers--"Feed us! feed us!" then, I think, they would take off those -hats, and they would not wear them any more. They need not die or kill -themselves, they would only have to take off those hats. - -And they will do that now, because you and every little child in the -world will have asked them to. Yes, they will do it now. They will -take off those hats--those hats of starvation and murder, of terrible -and shameful cruelty--they will leave off wearing them, they will -never put them on, again. Those plumes called "ospreys," that one sees -everywhere--in streets and in shop-windows, at concerts, at meetings, -and in churches--that bend above fine sentiments, that wave over -charities and goodnesses, and tremble, softly, in the breath that -prayers are made of--they will tear them out of their hats and out of -their hair--yes, and out of their hearts too. They will hate them, -they will loathe them, and when they say, next time, in church, upon -their knees, "Give us this day our daily bread," they will try not to -remember them, or only to think that they are unfashionable. - -Oh, make them unfashionable! for you have not yet, you have not said -"promise" yet. Oh, then, at once, at once! Break the spell of the -demon, that spell that is so real and so cruel, that spell that kills -the soul. Thaw the poor frozen heart, thaw it with your own warm one, -with your lips, with your soft hands and arms. Thaw it with the tears -in your eyes, as they look up, thaw it with the words that you say, -"Mother, do not kill parents, and make children starve! Mother, do not -wear 'ospreys!' Oh, mother, promise, promise!" - -So, now, we have saved the White Egrets, as well as all those other -birds that I have been telling you of, and that your mother has -promised about. But does that save all the beautiful birds in the -world? Oh no, for there are ever so many more than I have been able -to say anything about, in a little book like this, more--oh, a great -many more--than all the Birds of Paradise, and all the Humming-birds, -and all the other ones in the other chapters--for, you know, there are -not many--put together. And though the Humming-birds and the Birds of -Paradise and the White Egrets and the others are, now, quite safe, -yet, if your mother does not promise about the rest, people will go on -killing them, till there are no more of them left in the world. Think -what that would mean! Why, besides hundreds and hundreds of beautiful -foreign birds, it would mean all the kingfishers--the star-birds (for -there has been no promise about them)--and all the chaffinches and -bullfinches and goldfinches and greenfinches--yes, and all the little -robin-redbreasts too--being shot and shot, killed and killed, till -there were no more of them left, either in England or anywhere else. -For, of course, when all the beautiful foreign birds were gone, then -the frozen-hearted women would begin to wear our own little birds, -here at home, in their hats. You would hear one lady say to another: -"I wanted to have a redbreast tippet this winter, but, my _dear_ they -are so expensive. You see, hundreds go to one, because there's only the -breast, so I'm afraid I must fall back on greenfinch. They're less, of -course; you see, there's a greater surface, and they're not quite so -rare. But I _did_ so want redbreast!" And, then, the other lady would -say: "Well, I think I should manage it if I were you, dear, for, you -know, they say there'll soon be no more real redbreast--only imitation. -So it's best to get one, whilst there's time." And you may be sure that -it would be managed somehow--things like that always are. - -Well, then, but what is to be done? Do you think your mother would -make a promise about all the birds? I think she would if _you_ were -to ask her. But then, perhaps, she might think it a _little_ hard not -to wear any feathers--just at first, at any rate--although flowers -and all sorts of other things look ever so much nicer in hats. Oh, -but wait. Are there _no_ feathers that can be worn in hats without -its doing any harm at all--without any bird being killed to get -them? Why, yes, of course there are--and the very handsomest of them -all--ostrich-feathers. Ostriches are kept on farms, and twice a year, -their beautiful white and black feathers are clipped and sent to -the market. So, as they are not killed, but kept alive and fed and -taken care of, and have a very good time of it--as I can tell you -that they do, for I have lived on an ostrich-farm--I do not see any -reason why one should not wear their feathers--if one wants to. And -how beautiful their feathers are! I think, myself, that they are the -only feathers that really look nice in a hat--at any rate they are -the only ones that ever looked nice in a portrait. A portrait of a -lady in a beautiful, broad-brimmed hat, with beautiful, broad, soft -ostrich-feathers curling all round it, looks lovely; but a portrait of -a lady in a stiff little pork-pie sort of thing, with a lot of heads -and wings and tails, sticking bolt upright in it, looks _horrid_. -People, you know, always look like their portraits, as long as their -portraits are good ones--and, of course, we are not talking about bad -portraits. So I think that any _sensible_ woman, even though her heart -were frozen and she were determined to wear feathers, would only wear -ostrich-feathers. Of course, no woman whose heart the wicked little -demon had _not_ frozen would ever wear any other kind. - -But there are not going to be frozen-hearted women in the world any -more, now, because their little children will soon have thawed all -their hearts, and the Goddess of pity is just beginning to wake up -again. So now, ask your dear, dear mother to make just one more -promise, just one more which will be better than all the others she has -made. Of course she could not be expected to make it quite at first, -but now, after all that you have told her, I think she will. Just go to -her and throw your arms round her neck, and whisper: "Mother, promise -not to wear _any_ feathers, except the beautiful ostrich-feathers that -you look so _lovely_ in." As soon as she has promised, then all the -beautiful birds in the world (and that means all the birds, for all -birds are beautiful) will be saved, and it is you and the other little -children who will have saved them. So, of course, you must keep on -saying "Promise" till she does. - - - Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. - Edinburgh & London - - - - -TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE - - -Archaic, obsolete, unusual and inconsistent spellings have been -maintained as in the original book. Obvious errors have been fixed as -noted below. - - Page 119: spring from the top of the small - Originally: spring from the the top of the small - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Beautiful Birds, by Edmund Selous - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEAUTIFUL BIRDS *** - -***** This file should be named 50777-8.txt or 50777-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/7/7/50777/ - -Produced by Emmanuel Ackerman and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Beautiful Birds - -Author: Edmund Selous - -Illustrator: Hubert D. Astley - -Release Date: December 28, 2015 [EBook #50777] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEAUTIFUL BIRDS *** - - - - -Produced by Emmanuel Ackerman and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<div class="chap"> -<p class="ph2">BEAUTIFUL BIRDS</p> -<hr /> -</div> -<div class="chap"> -<div class="figcenter"><a name="FRONTISPIECE" id="FRONTISPIECE"></a> -<img src="images/illo_frontispiece.jpg" width="600" height="755" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><p class="center">LYRE-BIRD</p></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -</div> -<div class="chap"> - -<h1>BEAUTIFUL BIRDS</h1> - -<p class="center">BY</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="size15">EDMUND SELOUS</span><br /> -<span class="size75">AUTHOR OF “TOMMY SMITH'S ANIMALS”</span></p> - -<p class="p2 center"><span class="size75">WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS BY</span><br /> -<span class="size125">HUBERT D. ASTLEY</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/illo_title_page.png" width="150" height="120" alt="Dead bird" /> -</div> - -<p class="center">1901<br /> -LONDON: J. M. DENT & CO.<br /> -29 & 30 BEDFORD STREET, W.C. -</p> - - - - -<p class="center"> -Printed by <span class="smcap">Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.</span><br /> -At the Ballantyne Press<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> -</div> -<div class="chap"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii"></a>[Pg vii]</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table id="ToC" summary="Table of Contents"> -<tr> - <th class="tdl" colspan="2">CHAP.</th><th class="tdr">PAGE</th> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr">I.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Why Beautiful Birds are Killed</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr">II.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Birds of Paradise</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr">III.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Great Bird of Paradise</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr">IV.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Red Bird of Paradise</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr">V.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Lesser, Black, Blue, and Golden Birds of Paradise</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr">VI.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">About all Birds of Paradise, and some Explanations</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr">VII.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">About Humming-Birds, and some more Explanations</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr">VIII.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Some very Bright Humming-Birds</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr">IX.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Hermit Humming-Birds and Two Other Ones</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr">X.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Cock-of-the-Rock and the Lyre-Bird</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr">XI.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Resplendent Trogon and the Argus Pheasant</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr">XII.</td> - <td><span class="smcap">White Egrets, “Ospreys,” and Ostrich-Feathers</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_203">203</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - -<hr /> -</div> -<div class="chap"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix"></a>[Pg ix]</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> - -<table id="LoI" summary="List of Illustrations."> -<tr> - <td><i>Lyre-Bird</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#FRONTISPIECE"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdr"><i>Page</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td><i>Papuan shooting Birds of Paradise</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Illo_49">49</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td><i>Lesser Bird of Paradise</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Illo_69">69</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td><i>King Bird of Paradise</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Illo_77">77</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td><i>Golden-winged Bird of Paradise</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Illo_89">89</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td><i>Racquet-tailed Humming-Bird</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Illo_113">113</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td><i>Plover-crest Humming-Bird</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Illo_125">125</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td><i>Train-bearer Humming-Bird</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Illo_131">131</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td><i>Cock-of-the-Rock</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Illo_168">168</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td><i>Resplendent Trogon</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Illo_187">187</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td><i>Argus Pheasant</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Illo_195">195</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td><i>White Egret</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Illo_205">205</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td><i>End Piece</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Illo_225">225</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - -<hr /> -</div> -<div class="chap"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"></a>[Pg 1]</span></p> - - - - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/illo_001.png" width="600" height="782" alt="" /> -</div> - - - -<hr /> -<h2><a name="BEAUTIFUL" id="BEAUTIFUL">BEAUTIFUL -BIRDS.</a></h2> - - - -<hr /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I<br />Why Beautiful Birds -are Killed</h2> - -<p>What beautiful things birds are! Can you think -of any other creatures that are quite so beautiful? -I know you will say “Butterflies,” and perhaps it <i>is</i> -a race between the birds and the butterflies, but I -think the birds win it even here in England. Just -think of the Kingfisher, that bird that is like a little -live chip of the blue sky, flying about all by itself, -and doing just what it likes. The Sky-blue Butterfly -is like that too, I know, but then it is a much -smaller chip, and does not shine in the sun in such a -wonderful way as the Kingfisher does. Neither, I -think, does the Peacock-Butterfly, or the Red Admiral, -or the Painted Lady, or the Greater or Lesser Tortoise-shell; -and, besides, they none of them go so fast. -Yes, all those butterflies are beautiful, very, very -beautiful. But now, supposing they were all flying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2"></a>[Pg 2]</span> -about in a field that a river was winding through, -and, supposing you were sitting there too, amongst -the daisies and buttercups in the bright summer sunshine, -and looking at them, and supposing all at once -there was a little dancing dot of light far away down -the river, and that it came gleaming and gleaming -along, getting nearer and nearer and keeping just in -the middle all the time, till it passed you like a -sapphire sunbeam, like a star upon a bird's wings, -then I am sure you would look and look at it all the -time it was coming, and look and look after it all -the time it was going away, and when at last it was -quite gone you would sit wondering, forgetting -about the butterflies, and thinking only of that star-bird, -that little jewelly gem. But, perhaps, if you -were to see a <i>Purple Emperor</i> sweeping along—ah, -<i>he</i> is a <i>very</i> magnificent butterfly, is the purple emperor. -You can tell that from his name, but whether -he is <i>quite</i> so magnificent as a star-bird (for that is -what we will call the Kingfisher)—well, it is not so -easy to decide. The birds and the butterflies are -both beautiful, there is no doubt about that, only -this little book is about beautiful birds, and perhaps -afterwards there will be another one about beautiful -butterflies. That will be quite fair to both.</p> - -<p>The birds, then! We will talk about them. -I am going to tell you about some of the most beau<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"></a>[Pg 3]</span>tiful -ones that there are, and to describe them to -you, so that you will know something about what -they are like. But perhaps you think that you -know that already because you have seen them, so -that <i>you</i> could tell <i>me</i> what they are like. There is -the star-bird that we have been talking about, and -then there is the Thrush and the Blackbird. What -two more beautiful birds could you see than they, as -they hop about over the lawn of your garden in the -early dewy morning? The Blackbird is all over of -such a dark, glossy, velvety black, and his bill is -such a lovely, deep, orangy gold. It would be difficult, -surely, to find a handsomer bird, but the Thrush, -with his lovely speckled breast, is just as handsome. -Then the Robin with <i>his</i> crimson breast, and his little -round ball of a body—what bird could be prettier? -Or the Chaffinch, or Greenfinch, or Linnet? Or the -Bullfinch, surely <i>he</i> is handsomer than all of them -(except the star-bird), with his beautiful mauve-peach-cherry-crimson -breast, and his coal-black head -and nice fat beak, and that pleasant, saucy look that -he has. Yes, <i>he</i> is the handsomest, unless—oh, just -fancy! we were actually leaving out the Goldfinch. -<i>He</i> has crimson on each side of his face, and a black -velvet cap on his head, whilst on both his wings he -has feathers of a beautiful, bright, golden yellow. -I think <i>he must</i> be the handsomest, unless it is the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4"></a>[Pg 4]</span> -Brambling, who is dressed all in russet and gold. -And then there is the Yellow-Wagtail! Could one -think of a prettier little bird than he is—unless one -tried a good deal? To be a wagtail at all is something, -but to be not only a Wagtail but yellow all -over as well, <i>that does</i> make a pretty little bird! -And I daresay you have seen him running about on -your lawn, too, at the same time as the thrush and the -blackbird. And there is <i>another</i> bird, one that you -do not see running or hopping over your lawn, but -flying over it, sometimes far above it, when the sky -is blue and the insects are high in the air, sometimes -just skimming it when it is dull and cloudy and the -insects are flying low. You know what bird it is -I mean, now—the Swallow. I need not <i>say</i> how -beautiful <i>he</i> is.</p> - -<p>So, as you have seen all these pretty birds, and a -good many others too—at least if you live in the -country and not in London—perhaps you think that -there cannot be many, or perhaps any, that are so -<i>very</i> much prettier. Ah, but do not be too sure -about that. You must never think that because -something is very beautiful there can be nothing -still more beautiful. <i>You</i> may not be able to imagine -anything more beautiful, but that may be only -because your imagination is not strong enough to do -it. It may be a very good imagination in its way,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a>[Pg 5]</span> -better than mine perhaps, or a great many other -people's, but still it is not good enough. In fact -there is not one of us who has an imagination which -<i>is</i> good enough to do things like that. <i>We</i> could -never have imagined birds which are still more -beautiful than those we have been talking about. -Indeed we could never have imagined those that -we <i>have</i> been talking about. Only Dame Nature has -been able to imagine them both.</p> - -<p><i>She</i> can imagine anything, and the funny thing is -that as she imagines it, there it is—just as if she had -cut it out with a pair of scissors. Perhaps she does -do that. She is a lady—<i>Dame</i> Nature, you know—so -she would know how to use a pair of scissors. -But what <i>her</i> scissors are like and how she uses them -and what sort of stuff it is that she cuts things out -of, those are things which nobody knows. Only, there -are the birds, not only the beautiful ones that you -have seen, but a very great many others which you -have never seen, and which are so very much more -beautiful than the ones you have, that if you were to -see those beside them, they would look quite—well -no, not ugly—thrushes and blackbirds and swallows -and robin-redbreasts could not look <i>that</i>—but insignificant—in -comparison.</p> - -<p>Now it is about some of those birds—the very -beautiful birds of all, the most beautiful ones in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></a>[Pg 6]</span> -whole world—that I am going to tell you; but all -the while I am telling you, you must remember that -they—these very beautiful birds—do not sing, whilst -<i>our</i> birds—the insignificant-looking ones—do. So -you must not think poorly of our birds because their -colours are plain or even dingy—I mean in comparison -with these other ones—for if they have not the great -beauty of plumage, they have the great beauty of song. -And perhaps you would not so very much mind growing -up plain, like a lark or a nightingale (which would -not be so very, very plain), if you could <i>sing</i> like a -lark or a nightingale—as perhaps one day you will.</p> - -<p>Indeed, I sometimes wish that those very beautiful -birds were not quite so beautiful as they are. You -will think that a funny wish to have, but there is a -sensible reason for it, which I will explain to you. -Perhaps if they were not quite so beautiful, not quite -so many of them would be killed. For, strange as it -may seem to you—and I know it <i>will</i> seem strange—it -is just because the birds <i>are</i> beautiful that hundreds -and hundreds, yes, and thousands and thousands, of -them are being killed every day. Yes, it is quite true. -I wish it were not, but I am sorry to say it is. -People kill the birds <i>because</i> they are beautiful. But -is not that cruel? Yes, indeed it is, very, very cruel. -It is cruel for two reasons: first, because to kill them -gives them pain; and secondly, because their life is so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a>[Pg 7]</span> -happy. Can anything be happier than the life of -a bird? Surely not. Only to fly, just think how -delightful that must be, and then to be always living -in green, leafy palaces under the bright, warm sun -and the blue sky. For I must tell you that these -birds we are going to talk about live where the trees -are always leafy, where the sun is always bright and -the sky always blue. So they are always happy. -Even if a bird <i>could</i> be unhappy in winter—which I -am not at all sure about—there is no winter there. -Now the happier any creature is the more cruel it is -to kill it and take that happiness away from it. I -am sure you will understand that. If you were -carrying a very heavy weight, which tired you and -made you stoop and gave you no pleasure at all, and -some one were to come and take it away from you, -you would not think that so very cruel. You would -have nothing now, it is true, but then all you <i>had</i> had -was that weight, which was so heavy and made you -stoop. But, now, if you were carrying a beautiful -bunch of flowers which smelt sweetly and weighed -just nothing at all, and some one were to take <i>that</i> -away, you would think <i>that</i> cruel, I am sure. A bird's -life is like that bunch of flowers. How cruel, then, it -must be to take it away from any bird. We should -think it very wrong if some one were to kill <i>us</i>. Yet it -is not <i>always</i> a bunch of flowers that <i>we</i> are carrying.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a>[Pg 8]</span></p> - -<p>So, as it is cruel to kill the birds, and as they are -not nearly so beautiful when they are dead as they are -when they are alive, and as the world is full of -tender-hearted women to love them and plead for -them and to say, “Do not kill them,” perhaps you will -wonder why it is that they are killed. I will tell you -how it has come about. When Dame Nature had imagined -all her beautiful birds, and then cut them out of -that wonderful stuff of hers—the stuff of life—with -her marvellous pair of scissors, she said to her eldest -daughter—whose name is Truth—“Now I will leave -them and go away for a little, for there are other -places where I must imagine things and cut them out -with my scissors.” Truth said, “Do not leave the -birds, for there are men in the world with hard hearts -and a film over their eyes. They will see the birds, -but not their beauty, because of the film, and they -will kill them because of their hearts, which are like -marble or rock or stone.” “They are, it is true,” -said Dame Nature,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a>[Pg 9]</span> “and indeed it was of some such -material that I cut them out. I had my reasons, but -you would never understand them, so I shall not tell -you what they were. But there are not only my -men in the world; there are my women too. I cut -<i>them</i> out of something very different. It was soft and -yielding, and that part that went to make the heart -was like water—like soft water. I made them, too, -to have influence over the men, and I put no film over -<i>their</i> eyes. <i>They</i> will see how beautiful my birds are, -and they will know that they are more beautiful alive -than dead. And because of this and their soft hearts -they will not kill them, and to the men they will say, -‘Do not kill them,’ and my beautiful birds will live. -Women will spare them because they have pity, and -men because women ask them to. And to make it -still more certain, see yonder on that hill sits the -Goddess of Pity. She has come from heaven to help -me, and has promised to stay till I return. It is from -her that pity goes into all those hearts that have it, -and because she is a goddess, she sends most of it -into the hearts of women. Have no fear, then, for -until the Goddess of Pity falls asleep my birds are -safe.” “But <i>may</i> she not fall asleep?” said Truth. -But Dame Nature had hurried away with her scissors, -and was out of hearing.</p> - -<p>As soon as she was gone, there crept out of a -dark cave, where he had been hiding, an ugly little -mannikin, who hated Dame Nature and her daughter -Truth, and did everything he could to spite them -both. Their very names made him angry. He was -a demon, really, and ugly, as I say. But he did not -<i>look</i> ugly, because nobody saw him. All that people -saw when they looked at him was a suit of clothes, -and this suit of clothes was so well made and so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></a>[Pg 10]</span> -fashionable, and fitted him so well, that they always -thought the ugly demon inside it was just what he -ought to be. So, of course, as every one had different -ideas as to what he ought to be, he seemed different -to different people. One person looked at the -clothes, and thought him quite remarkable, another -one looked at them and thought him ordinary and -commonplace, and so on. Only every one was -pleased, because, whatever else he seemed, he always -seemed just what he ought to be. So, when two -people both found that he was that, they each of -them thought that he looked the same to the other. -Of course the clothes were enchanted, really, only nobody -knew it, and if any one had been told that it was -the clothes and not the demon inside them they were -looking at, he would not have believed it. It was -only Dame Nature and her daughter Truth who -could look at those clothes and see the little demon -inside them, just as he really was. That was why -he hated them, and never liked to hear their names.</p> - -<p>This ugly little demon crept up to the Goddess of -Pity, who looked at the clothes and was not even -able to pity him; and, when he saw that he had her -good opinion, he began to repeat a sort of charm to -send her to sleep, for he knew that when once the -Goddess of Pity was asleep he might do whatever he -liked.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a>[Pg 11]</span></p> - -<p>These were the words of the charm:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Fashion, fashion, fashion!</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Give a little sneer.</div> -<div class="verse">Fashion, fashion, fashion!</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Science makes it clear.</div> -<div class="verse">Fashion, fashion, fashion!</div> -<div class="verse indent2">A bird is not a bat.</div> -<div class="verse">Fashion, fashion, fashion!</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Such a pretty hat!</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Under the influence of this drowsy charm—which, -of course, had no meaning in it whatever—the Goddess -of Pity began to nod, and nodded and nodded -till, on the last line, she went fast asleep, with a pleased -smile on her face.</p> - -<p>Then the wicked little demon took from one of -the pockets in the suit of clothes that charmed -everybody two little bottles that contained two -different sorts of powders, one hot like pepper, -and the other cold like ice, but both of them so -fine that they were quite invisible. He took a -pinch of the hot powder which was labelled “Vanity,” -and blew it upon the heads of all the women, and -the instant it touched them they all looked pleased, -and you could see that they were thinking only -of how they looked, though they <i>talked</i> in a <i>very</i> -different way. It was funny that they <i>all</i> looked -pleased, because a great many—in fact, most of -them—were plain, not pretty, and yet they looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></a>[Pg 12]</span> -pleased too, as well as the others. But, you see, -it was all done by magic. Then from the other -little bottle, which was labelled “Apathy,” the -demon took a pinch of the cold powder and blew -it on the women's hearts, and as soon as it fell -on them they became frozen, so that all the pity -that had been in them before was frozen, too. -Frozen pity, you know, is of no good whatever. -You can no more be kind with it in that state -than you can bathe in frozen water. So now there -was nothing but vanity in the women's heads, and -no pity in their hearts, and as the Goddess of Pity -was fast asleep, it was not possible for any more to -be put into them until she woke up. Nobody could -tell when that would be. Gods and goddesses sometimes -sleep for a long time, and very soundly. Besides, -you know, this was a charmed sleep.</p> - -<p>So, now, what happened after the wicked little -demon had behaved in this wicked way? Why, -the women whose hearts he had frozen began to -kill the poor, beautiful birds, those birds that Dame -Nature loved so, and had taken such pains to keep -alive. I do not mean that they killed them themselves -with their own hands. No, they did not do -that, for they had not enough time to go to the -countries where the beautiful birds lived, which -were often a long way off as well as being very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"></a>[Pg 13]</span> -unhealthy. You see they were wanted at home, -and so to have gone away from home into unhealthy -countries to kill birds would have been -<i>selfish</i>, and one should never be that. So instead -of killing them themselves the women sent -men to kill them for them, for <i>they</i> could be spared -much better, and if they should not come back they -would not be nearly so much missed. And the -women said to the men, “Kill the birds and tear off -their wings, their tails, their bright breasts and -heads to sew into our hats or onto the sleeves and -collars of our gowns and mantles. Kill them and -bring them to us, that you may think us even more -lovely than you have done before, when you compare -our beauty with theirs and find that ours is the -greater. Let us shine down the birds, for they are -conceited and think themselves our rivals. Then -kill them. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill them.” Then -the men, whose hearts had always been hard, and over -whose eyes there was a film, went forth into the -world and began to kill the poor, beautiful birds -wherever they could find them. Everywhere the -earth was stained with their blood, and the air thick -with floating feathers that had been torn from their -poor, wounded bodies. It was full, too, of their -frightened cries, and of the wails of their starving young -ones for the parents who were dead and could not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></a>[Pg 14]</span> -feed them any more. For it is just at the time -when the birds lay their eggs and rear their young -ones that their plumage is most beautiful—most -exquisitely beautiful—and it was just this most -<i>exquisitely</i> beautiful plumage that the women, whose -hearts the wicked little demon had frozen, wanted -to put into their hats. They knew that to get it -the young fledgling birds must starve in their nests. -But they did not mind that now, their hearts were -frozen and the Goddess of Pity was asleep.</p> - -<p>So the birds were killed, and the lovely, painted -feathers that had lighted up whole forests or made a -country beautiful, were pressed close together into dark -ugly boxes—or things like boxes—called “crates” (large -it is true, but not <i>quite</i> so large as a forest or a country), -and then brought over the seas in ships, to dark, ugly -houses, where they were taken out and flung in a -great heap on the floor. Soon they were sewn into -hats which were set out in the windows of milliners' -shops for the women with the frozen hearts to buy. -You may see such hats now, any time you walk about -the streets of London—or of Paris or Vienna, if you -go there—for the Goddess of Pity is still sleeping, -she has not woken up yet. There you will see -them, and outside the window, looking at them—sometimes -in a great crowd—you will see those poor -women that the demon has treated so badly. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a>[Pg 15]</span> -they stand, looking and looking, ravenous, hungry—you -would almost say they were—longing to buy -them, even though they have new ones of the same -sort on their head. Ah, if they could see those -birds as they looked when they were shot, before -they were dressed and cleaned and made to look so -smart and fashionable! If they could see them -with the blood-stains upon them, the wet, warm -drops running down over the bright breasts—perhaps -onto the little ones underneath them—the -poor, broken wings dragging over the ground and -trying to rise into the air, through which they had -once flown so easily, the flapping, the struggling! -If they could see all this, and much more that had -been done—that <i>had</i> to be done—before there was -that nice, gay, elegant shop-window for them to -look into, would it not be different then, would -not the vain heads begin to think a little and the -frozen hearts to melt? No, I do not think so, -because of the ugly little demon in the correct suit -of clothes. They would look in at the window and -go in at the door still, and—shall I tell you something?—it -would be the same, just the same, if all -those bright feathers in every one of the hats had -been stripped, not from the birds' but from the -<i>angels'</i> wings. Those who could wear the one could -wear the other, and if angels were to come down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a>[Pg 16]</span> -here I should not wonder if angel-hats were to get -to be quite the fashion. Only first, of course, angels -would <i>have</i> to come down here. I do not think -they are so <i>very</i> likely to.</p> - -<p>And the worst of it is that not only the <i>pretty</i> -women wear the beautiful birds in their hats, but the -plain ones do too, which makes so many more of -them to be killed. If it was <i>only</i> the pretty women -who wore them it would not be quite so bad, but -the wicked little demon was much too clever to -arrange it like that. He did not wish any of the -birds to escape, and I cannot tell you how many -<i>millions</i> of them <i>would</i> escape if only the pretty -women were to wear their feathers.</p> - -<p>But now, how are the birds to be saved—for <i>we</i> -want them <i>all</i> to escape—and how are the women to -be saved? That is another thing. You know it is -not <i>their</i> fault. They were kind and pitiful till the -wicked little demon blew his powder into their -hearts. It is <i>his</i> fault. You may be angry with -<i>him</i> as much as you like, but you must not think of -being angry with the women. Indeed, you should -be sorry for them, more even than for the birds, for -it is much worse to be a woman with a frozen heart -than to be a bird and be shot. Oh, poor, frozen-hearted -women, who <i>would</i> be so kind and so pitiful -if only they were allowed to be, if only the wicked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a>[Pg 17]</span> -little demon would go away, and the Goddess of -Pity would wake up!</p> - -<p>Then is there no way of saving them both, the -poor birds and the poor women? Yes, there is a way, -and it is you—the children—who are to find it out. -Listen. It is so simple. All you have to do is to ask -these women (these <i>poor</i> women) <i>not</i> to wear the hats -that have feathers, that have birds' lives in them, and -they will not do so any more. They will listen to -you. There is nobody else they would listen to, but -they will to you—the children. Perhaps you think -that funny. Listen and I will explain it. When -the wicked little demon blew his powder called -“Apathy” into the hearts of the women, it froze -them all up, as I have told you, but there was just -one little spot in every one of their hearts that it -was not able to freeze. That was the spot called -Motherly Love, which every woman has in her heart, -and which is the softest spot of all, if only a little -child presses it—and especially if it is her own little -child. So I want you—the little children who read -this little book—to press that spot and to save the -birds from being killed. Nobody can do it but you, -nobody even can find that spot except you, but -you will find it directly. And you are to press it in -this way. Throw, each one of you, your arms -round your mother's neck, kiss her and ask her not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a>[Pg 18]</span> -to kill the birds, not to wear the hats that make the -birds be killed. And if you do that and really mean -what you say, if you are really sorry for the birds and -have real tears in your eyes (or at least in your hearts), -then your mother will do as you have asked her, for -you will have pressed that spot, that soft spot, that spot -that even the wicked little demon, try as he might, -could not freeze, could not make hard. And as you -press it, the whole heart that has been frozen will become -warm again, and the powder of the demon will -go out of it, and the Goddess of Pity will wake up. -You will do this, will you not? It is only asking, -and what can be easier than to ask something of your -mother? But you must make her promise. Never, -never leave off asking her till you have got her to -promise.</p> - -<p>And if some of you have mothers who do not kill -the birds, who do not wear the hats that have birds' -lives sewn into them, well it will do them no harm to -promise too. Then they never <i>will</i> wear them, and -if they should never mean to wear them, they will be -all the more ready to promise not to. Only in that -case you might put your arms round the neck of -some other woman that you have seen wearing those -hats and kiss <i>her</i> and ask <i>her</i> to promise. And she -will, you will have touched that spot because you are -a little child, even though you are not her own little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a>[Pg 19]</span> -child. Perhaps you will remind her of a little child -that was hers once.</p> - -<p>Now I am going to tell you about some of the -most beautiful birds that there are in the world, but -you must remember that they are being killed so -fast every day that, unless you get that promise from -your mother very quickly, there will soon be no more -of them left; as soon as she promises it will be all -right, for of course it will not be only <i>your</i> mother -who will have promised, but the mother of every -other little girl all over the country, and as the birds -were only being killed to put into their hats, they will -be let alone now, for now no more hats like that will -be wanted. No one will wear hats that have birds' -lives sewn into them, any more.</p> - -<p>So the beautiful birds will go on living and flying -about in the world and making <i>it</i> beautiful, too. -You will have saved them—<i>you</i> the children will have -saved them—and no grown-up person will have done -<i>anything</i> to be more proud about. I daresay a grown-up -person <i>would</i> be more proud about what he had -done, even if it was nothing very particular; but <i>that</i> -is another matter.</p> - -<p>Now we will begin, and as we come to one bird -after another, you shall make your mother promise -not to wear it in her hat.</p> - -<hr /> -</div> -<div class="chap"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></a>[Pg 20]</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II<br /> -Birds of Paradise</h2> - - -<p>First I will tell you about the Birds of Paradise. -You have heard of them perhaps, and how beautiful -they are, but you may have thought that birds with -a name like that did not live here at all. For the -Emperor of China lives in China, and if the Emperor -of China lives in China, the Birds of Paradise ought, -one would think, to live in Paradise. But that is -not the case—not now at any rate. They live a very -long way off, it is true, right over at the other side -of the world, but it is not quite so far off as Paradise is. -No, it cannot be there that they live, because if -you were to leave England in a ship and sail always -in the right direction, you would come at last to the -very place, instead of coming right round to England -again, which is what you would do if you were to sail -for Paradise—for you know, of course, that the earth -is round. But why, then, are they called Birds of -Paradise if they live here on the earth? Well, there -are two ways of explaining it. I will tell you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></a>[Pg 21]</span> -first one and then the other, and you can choose -the way you like best. The first way is this.</p> - -<p>A long time ago—but long after the little demon -had crept out of his cave—the early Portuguese -voyagers (whom your mother will tell you about), -when they came to the Moluccas to get spices, were -shown the dried skins of beautiful birds which were -called by the natives “Manuk dewata,” which means -“God's birds.” There were no wings or feet to the -skins, and the natives told the Portuguese that these -birds had never had any, but that they lived always in -the air, never coming down to settle on the earth, and -keeping themselves all the while turned towards the sun. -One would have thought they must have wanted -wings, at any rate, to be always in the air, but that is -what the natives said. So the Portuguese, who did -not quite know what to make of it, called them -“Passaros de Sol,” which means “Sun-birds” or -“Birds-of-the-Sun,” because of their always turning -towards him. Some time after that, a learned Dutchman -who wrote in Latin (just think!), called these -birds “Aves Paradisei”—Paradise Birds or Birds of -Paradise—and he told every one that they had never -been seen alive by anybody, but only after they had -fallen down dead out of the clouds, when they were -picked up without wings or feet, and still lying with -their heads towards the sun in the way they had fallen.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></a>[Pg 22]</span> -So, after that these wonderful birds were always -called “Birds of Paradise.” That is one way of explaining -how they got their names, but the other -way, and perhaps you will think it a <i>little</i> more -probable, is this.</p> - -<p>Once the Birds of Paradise were really Birds of -Paradise, for they lived there and were ever so much -more beautiful than they are now, though perhaps, -if you were to see them flying about in their native -forests, you would hardly believe that possible. That -is because you cannot imagine <i>how</i> beautiful <i>real</i> Birds -of Paradise are, for these Birds of Paradise were not -more beautiful than the other ones that lived there. -All were as beautiful as each other though in different -ways, and it was just that which made these Birds of -Paradise discontented. “If we go down to earth,” -said they, “the birds of all the world will do homage -to us on account of our superior beauty, for there will -be none to equal us. So we shall reign over them -and be their King. Here we are only like all the -others. None of them fly to the tree on which we -are sitting to do us homage.” “Do not be foolish,” -said the tree (for in Paradise trees and all can speak).<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a>[Pg 23]</span> -“The homage which you desire you would soon -weary of, and the beauty which you enjoy here would, -on earth, be only a pain to you, for it would remind -you of the Paradise you had left but could -never enter again. For those who once leave Paradise -can never more return to it. Therefore be wise and -stay, for if you go you will repent, but then it will be -too late.” And all the birds around said, “Stay,” and -then they raised their voices, which were lovelier than -you can imagine, in a song of joy—of joy that they -were in Paradise and not on earth. And the Birds of -Paradise sang too, their voices were as sweet as any, -but they had envy and discontent in their hearts. -“Our singing cannot be surpassed, it is true,” thought -they, “but it is equalled by that of every other bird. -We sing in a chorus merely. It would not be so -on earth. We should be ‘prima donnas’ there.” -(Your mother will tell you what a prima donna is as -well as what doing homage means.)</p> - -<p>So, when the song was over, they flew to the -Phenix, who was the most important and powerful -bird of all the birds that were in Paradise. I have -told you that all the birds there were equal, and -so they were, only, you see, the Phenix was a little -<i>more</i> equal than the others. One cannot be a Phenix -for nothing. Now it was only the Phenix who could -open the gate of Paradise, and let any bird in or out -of it. He was not obliged to let them in, and there -were very few birds (who were not there already) -that he ever did let in. Many and many a bird -fluttered and fluttered outside the door, that had to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></a>[Pg 24]</span> -fly away again. But if a bird that was in Paradise -wanted to go out of it, then the Phenix had to open -the door and let it out, because if it had stayed it -would have been discontented, and birds that are -discontented cannot stay in Paradise. It would not -be Paradise for long if they could. So when the -Birds of Paradise said to the Phenix, “Let us out, for -we are tired of being here, where all are equal, and -wish to be kings and ‘prima donnas’ on earth,” he had -to do it, only he warned them as the tree had done, -that if they once left Paradise they could never come -back to it again. “The door of Paradise,” said he, -“may be passed through twice, but only entered -once. When you pass through it the second time, -it is to go out of it, and when you are once out of it, -out of it you must remain. You can never come in -again; you can only flutter at the gate.”</p> - -<p>“We shall never do that,” said the proud Birds -of Paradise. “We shall stay down on earth and be -kings and ‘prima donnas’ amongst the other birds.” -So the Phenix let them out, and they flew down -through the warm summer sky, looking like soft -suns or trembling stars or colours out of the sunrise -or sunset, they were so beautiful.</p> - -<p>Then the birds of earth flew around them and did -them homage, and, when they sang, the nightingale -stood silent and hid her head for shame, and would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a>[Pg 25]</span> -never sing in the daytime any more, but only at -night when the beautiful strangers were asleep. That -is why the nightingale sings by night and not by -day—only since the Birds of Paradise have lost their -voice (which I am going to tell you about) she does -sing in the daytime sometimes, just a little.</p> - -<p>So the Birds of Paradise were kings and “prima -donnas” amongst the birds of earth, and they were -happy—for a time. They were not quite so happy -after a little while, for they got tired of hearing the -birds praise them, and, wherever they looked, they -saw nothing to give them pleasure. The earth, -indeed, was beautiful, but they remembered Paradise, -and that made it seem ugly. There was nothing -for them to see that was worth the seeing, or to hear -that was worth the listening to, except their own -beauty and their own song. But that reminded them -of Paradise, and they could not bear to be reminded -of it now that they had lost it for ever. In fact they -were miserable, and it was not long before they -were all fluttering outside the gates of Paradise, and -begging the Phenix to let them in. But the Phenix -said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a>[Pg 26]</span> “No, I cannot. I warned you that the gates of -Paradise could only be passed twice, once in and once -out, and then no more. I tried to keep you from -going, but you chose to go, and now you must -stay outside. You can never enter Paradise again.” -“If we cannot enter it,” said the poor Birds of -Paradise, “let us at least forget it. Take away our -beautiful voices, so that, when we sing, we shall not -think of all the joys we have lost. Let our song be -no more than the lark's or the nightingale's, or make -us only able to twitter, and not sing at all. Then we -can listen to the lark and the nightingale, and -perhaps, in time, we may grow to admire them. As -it is, we must either sing or be silent. We do not -like to sit silent, and when we sing we think only of -Paradise.” “Yes,” said the Phenix, “I will take -your voice, your beautiful voice of song.” So he -took it, and that is why the Birds of Paradise never -sing at all now, not even as the lark and the nightingale -sing.</p> - -<p>After that they were happier, but still they had their -great beauty, their glorious, glorious plumage, and -when they looked at each other they felt sad and hung -their heads, for still they thought of Paradise. “You -have taken our song from us,” they said (for they were -soon there at the gate again), “but still our beauty -remains. Take that also, that, when we look at each -other, we may not think of the Paradise we have lost, -and be wretched.” “Fly back to earth,” said the -Phenix,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a>[Pg 27]</span> “and when you are a little way off I will -open the gates of Paradise wide, and the brightness -that is in it will stream out and scorch your feathers, -and you will be beautiful no more. Only you must -fly fast, and you must not turn to look, for if you do, -the brightness will blind you. You could bear it -once when you lived in it and had known nothing -else, but now that you have lived on earth you cannot. -It would only blind you now.” So the Birds -of Paradise flew towards the earth, and, when they -had got a little way, the Phenix opened the gates -(he had only been speaking to them through the -keyhole), and, as the splendour of Paradise streamed -forth and fell upon them, their feathers were scorched -in its excessive brightness, all except a few tufts and -plumes which were not quite destroyed, because, you -see, they were getting farther away every second. A -little of their beauty was left, and that was enough -to make them the most beautiful birds on earth -(till we come to the Humming-birds), but they are -very ugly compared to what they once were when -they lived in Paradise. Think then, what the real -Birds of Paradise must be like when those that have -left it, and have had their plumage scorched and -spoilt, are so very beautiful. That is the other way -of explaining how there come to be Birds of Paradise -living on the earth, and I think you will say that it is -the more sensible way of the two. For as for people -having ever believed that there were birds who had -no feet or wings, and that lived always in the air with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a>[Pg 28]</span> -their heads turned towards the sun, why, <i>that</i> does -not seem possible. Nobody could have believed in -a thing like that, but <i>here</i> is a <i>natural</i> explanation.</p> - -<p>But now you must not think that the Birds of -Paradise which are in the world to-day, are the very -same ones that used to live in Paradise, and that had -their feathers scorched. Oh no, you must not think -that. Those old Birds of Paradise died (for, of -course, as soon as they came to earth they became -mortal, they had been immortal before), but before -they died they had laid a great many eggs, and -reared a great many young ones, and these young -ones, as soon as they were grown up, laid other eggs, -and the birds that came out of those eggs laid others, -and so it has been going on for hundreds of thousands -of years, right up to now. And <i>now</i>, if you -were to ask a Bird of Paradise where it was he used -to live, and why he had lost his voice and got his -feathers scorched, he would not know one bit what -you were talking about. In hundreds of thousands -of years a great many things are forgotten, and the -Birds of Paradise of to-day are quite happy. The -earth is quite good enough for them, and if they -were not shot and put into hats for the women with -the frozen hearts to wear, they would have nothing -to complain of. They have something to complain -of now, but you must remember your promise,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a>[Pg 29]</span> -and then, perhaps, they will not be shot any -more.</p> - -<p>Now, the Birds of Paradise that live on the earth -to-day do not live all over it, as they used to do in -those old days when they could hear the lark and -the nightingale. It is only a very small part of the -world that they live in now—small, I mean, compared -to the rest of it—and there are no larks or nightingales -there. I will tell you where it is. Far away -over the deep sea, farther than Africa, farther than -India, farther even than Burma or Siam, there are -a number of great islands and small islands and -middling-sized islands, which lie between Asia and -Australia, and all of these together are called the -Malay Archipelago. The largest of all these islands, -and the one that is farthest away too, is called New -Guinea, and it is a very large island indeed, the -largest, in fact, in the world after Australia, which, -as you know, is so large that we call it a continent. -Round about this great island of New Guinea, and -not very far from its shores, there are some other -islands which are quite tiny in comparison, and it is -here, just in this one great island and in these few -small islands near it, that the Birds of Paradise live. -They do not live in any of the other islands of the -Malay Archipelago, but only just here in the ones -that are farthest away of all.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a>[Pg 30]</span></p> - -<p>It would take you weeks to go in a steamer to -where the Birds of Paradise live, and if you were to -go, not in a steamer but in a ship with sails, it would -take you longer still. But when you got there you -would not see the Birds of Paradise flying all about, -as soon as you went ashore out of the ship or the -steamer, as you would see sparrows here. Oh no, -Birds of Paradise are not so common as that, even -in their own country. They do not come into the -towns, like sparrows, either, but live in the great -forests where people do not often go, and even when -one does go into them, it is difficult to see them -amongst the great tall trees and the broad-fronded -ferns and the long, hanging creepers that make a -tangle from one tree to another.</p> - -<p>Ah, those are wonderful forests, those forests far -away over the seas! Some of the trees have trunks so -thick that a dozen men—or perhaps twenty—would -not be able to circle them round by joining their -hands together, and so tall that when you looked up -you would not be able to see their tops. They -would go shooting up and up like the spires of great -cathedrals, till at last they would be lost in a green -sky, not the real sky, the blue one—that would be -higher up still—but a green sky of leaves made by -all the trees themselves, and in this sky of leaves -there would be flower-stars almost as bright and as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a>[Pg 31]</span> -beautiful as the real stars of the real sky. Then -there are other trees that have their roots growing -right out of the ground, and going up more -than a hundred feet high into the air. At the top -of them is the tree itself, going up another hundred -feet, or perhaps more, so that the real tree—the -trunk at any rate—begins in the air, and before you -could climb it, you would have to climb its roots, -which <i>does</i> seem funny. And there are palm-trees -with long, tall, slender trunks, smooth and shining, -crowned with leaves that are like large green fans; -and rattan-palms, which are quite different, for -instead of being straight, their trunks twist round -and round the trunks of other trees, going right up -to their very tops, and raising their own most beautiful -feathery ones above theirs. Sometimes they will -climb first up one tree and then down it again, and -up another, and then down that, till they have climbed -up and down several trees, all of them very, very -tall. How tall—or rather how <i>long</i>—<i>they</i> must be -you may think. We say that a snake is so many -feet long, not tall, and these rattan-palms are palm-creepers, -great vegetable serpents, that twist and coil -as they grow, and hug the forest in their great coils, -which are larger and more powerful than those of -any python or boa-constrictor. A python or a boa-constrictor -could not kill a <i>very</i> large animal, but the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a>[Pg 32]</span> -great palm-snakes will crawl up the largest tree, and -crush it and squeeze it till at last it dies and comes -thundering down in the forest, and then they will -crawl along the ground to another, and hug that to -death, too. Then there are tree-ferns, which are ferns -that have trunks like trees, which are sometimes thirty -feet high, with fronds growing from their tops, so -broad and tall that a number of people could sit -underneath them in their cool, deep shade, as if they -were a tent. And there are wonderful flowers in -these forests, such as you only see here in botanical -gardens or in the conservatories of rich people, orchids -and pitcher-plants, and others with Latin names that -one forgets. Some of them are flower-trees, or tree-flowers, -as high as the trees are, and with hundreds -of large, crimson blossoms glowing out like stars from -their trunks. When you come upon them all at once -in the gloom of the forest, it almost looks as if some -of the trees were on fire.</p> - -<p>Other flowers are golden like the sun and grow -all together in clusters, whilst others, again, grow on -the branches of trees and hang down from them by -long stalks which are like threads, each thread-stalk -strung with flowers, as a thread is strung with -beads. Only these flower-beads are as large as sunflowers, -with colours varying from orange to red, and -with beautiful, deep, purple-red spots upon them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a>[Pg 33]</span></p> - -<p>But if you had wings like the Birds of Paradise, -and could fly over the tops of the trees that make -the forest, and look down into a leafy meadow -instead of up into a leafy sky, then you would -see the most gloriously beautiful flowers growing -in that meadow, just as the daisies and buttercups -grow in the meadows that you run over, -here. For flowers love the light of the sun, and -they struggle up into it through the leaves that -keep it out. To them the leaves are not as the -sky, but as the clouds that shut the sky out, and as -they are clouds that will never roll away (even -though they may fall sometimes in a rain of leaves), -the only thing for them to do is to climb up to -them and pierce them, and see the sky, with the -sun shining in it, on the other side. So whilst a -few flowers stay in the shade below, most of them -grow and struggle up into the light and air above, -and they are all in such a hurry to get there that -every one tries to grow faster than all the others. -Ah! what a race it is, a race to reach the sun. -You have heard of all sorts of races, and some, -perhaps, you have seen; running-races, races in sacks, -boat-races, horse-races (though those, I hope, you -never have and never will see), but you never either -saw or heard of a fairer, lovelier, more delicate -race than a race of flowers to reach the sun. Think<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a>[Pg 34]</span> -of it, all over those great, wide, far-stretching -forests, forests stretching away like the sea, and -only bounded by the sea! Think of all the millions -of flowers there must be in them, with all their -delicate shapes, and rich, fragrant scents and glorious -colours, and then think of them all growing up -together, each trying to be the first to see the sun. -So eager they all are, but so gentle. There is no -pushing, nothing rude or rough. But as the leaves -grow thinner, and the light shines more and more -through them, they tremble and sigh with joy, and -one says to another, “We are getting nearer—nearer. -I can see him almost; we shall soon be -bathed in his light.” And so they all grow and -grow till at last they gleam softly through the soft -leaves, and see the beautiful deep blue sky and the -glorious, golden sun. Yes, that is a lovely race -indeed—as anything to do with flowers is lovely—and -it is a race upwards, to the sky and to the -sun. Not all races are of that kind.</p> - -<p>It is in forests like those that the Birds of Paradise -live; and now that we know something about where -they live, we will find out something about them.</p> - -<hr /> -</div> -<div class="chap"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a>[Pg 35]</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III<br /> -The Great Bird of Paradise</h2> - -<p>The Great Bird of Paradise lives in the middle -of the great island called New Guinea, and all over -some quite little islands close to it which are called -the Aru Islands. He is the largest of the Birds -of Paradise, and perhaps he is the most beautiful, -but it is not so easy to be sure about <i>that</i>. However, -we shall see what you think of him. His -body and wings and tail are brown. “What, only -brown?” you cry. “That is like a sparrow.” Ah, -but wait. It is not <i>quite</i> like a sparrow. It is a -beautiful, rich, <i>coffee</i>-brown, and on the breast it -deepens into a most lovely, dark, <i>purple-violet</i> brown. -There! That is different to being just brown like -a sparrow, is it not? Then the head and neck are -yellow, not a common yellow, but a very pretty, -light, delicate yellow, like straw. Sometimes ladies -have hair of that colour, and when they have, then -people look at them and say, “What beautiful -hair!” which is just what they themselves say,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a>[Pg 36]</span> -sometimes, when they look in the glass. These -feathers are very short and set closely together, -which makes them look like plush or velvet, so you -can think how handsome they must be. What -would you think if you were to go out for a walk -and see a bird flying about with a yellow plush or -yellow velvet head? But the throat is handsomer -still. <i>That</i> is a glorious, gleaming, metallic green. -Some feathers are called “metallic,” because when -the light shines on them they flash it back again -just as a bright piece of metal does; a helmet or a -breastplate, for instance. You know how <i>they</i> flash -and gleam in the sunshine when the Horse-Guards -ride by. At least, if you have seen the Horse-Guards, -you do, and if you have not, well, I daresay you have -seen it in a dish-cover or a bright coal-scuttle. But -fancy feathers as soft as velvet, gleaming as if they -were polished metal, but gleaming all emerald green -as if they were jewels—emeralds—too! Then on -the forehead and the chin of this bird—by which -I mean just under the beak—there are glossy velvety -plumes of a deeper green colour. The other is -emerald. These are like the deep, lovely greens that -one sees sometimes in the fiery opal or the mother-of-pearl. -What jewellery! and out of it all flash two -other jewels—the bird's two eyes—which are of a -beautiful bright yellow colour to match with the yellow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></a>[Pg 37]</span> -plush of its head. Then this bird has a pale blue beak -and pale pink legs, and I am sure if he thinks himself -very handsome, you can <i>hardly</i> call him conceited. -For he would be handsome only with this that I have -told you about; that would be quite enough to make -him a beautiful bird without anything else.</p> - -<p>But <i>has</i> he anything else—any other kind of -beauty <i>besides</i> what I have told you about? Listen. -The emerald throat and the yellow velvet-plush -head and the blue beak and the pink legs are as -nothing, nothing whatever, compared to the glorious -plumes which this Bird of Paradise has on each side -of his body. Oh, you never saw such plumes, and -you cannot think how lovely they are. There are -two of them—one on each side—and each one is -made up of a number of very long, soft, delicate -silky feathers, which are of an orange-gold or -golden-orange colour, and so bright and glossy that -they shine in the sun like floss-silk. Just where they -spring from the body each one of them has a stripe -of deep crimson-red, and, towards the top, they soften -into a pretty pale, mauvy brown. Even one feather -like that on each side would be beautiful—or one all -by itself in the middle—but fancy a <i>plume</i> of them -on each side, a thick plume too, though each feather -is so slender and delicate—there are so many of them. -They look lovely enough when they stream out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></a>[Pg 38]</span> -behind as the bird flies, for they are twice as long as -its whole body, so, of course, the two plumes come -together and make one lovely large one that lies as -softly on the air as the feather of a swan does on the -water. The body, then, is almost covered up in all -these soft feathers, so that it is just like looking at -a flying plume with wings and a head to it.</p> - -<p>Yes, they look lovely enough then, these glorious -plumes; but sometimes they look lovelier still, and -that is when the Great Bird of Paradise raises them -both up above its back so that they shoot into the air -like two golden feather-fountains that mingle together -and bend over and fall in spray all around, only it is a -spray of feathers—not a real spray—and, instead of -falling, they only wave and dance. Such a glorious, -plumy cascade! The bird himself is almost hidden -in his own shower-bath, but the emerald throat and -the yellow-plush head look out of it and gleam like -jewels as he peeps and peers about from side to side -to see if any one is looking at him. For, of course, -the Great Bird of Paradise does not make himself so -<i>very</i> beautiful just for nothing. When he shoots up -his feather-fountains and sits in a soft, silky shower-bath, -he does it to be looked at, and the person he -wants to look at him most is the hen Great Bird of -Paradise, for—do you know and <i>can</i> you believe it?—the -poor hen Great Bird of Paradise is <i>not</i> beautiful.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a>[Pg 39]</span> -She has no wonderful plumes—she has no plumes at -all—and out of all those splendid colours I have told -you about—orangy-gold and emerald green and all -the rest of them—she has only one, which is the -coffee-brown. Now, of course, a nice rich coffee-brown -is a very good colour, but still, by itself it is -not enough to make a bird one of the most beautiful -birds in the world. So when a bird is <i>only</i> coffee-brown, -then, compared to a bird who has all those -other colours and the most wonderful plumes as well, -it is quite a plain bird. So a poor hen Great Bird of -Paradise is quite a plain bird compared to her handsome -husband, with his emerald throat and yellow-plush -head and his wonderful orangy-gold plumes.</p> - -<p>But, then, if the poor hen bird has no glorious -plumes of her own, she is always looking at them, -always having them spread out on purpose for her -to look at, and that must be very pleasant indeed. -When the male Great Birds of Paradise wish to show -their poor plain hens how handsome they are—just -to comfort them and make them not mind being -plain themselves—they come to a particular kind of -tree in the forest, a tree that has a great many wide-spreading -branches at the top, with not so very many -leaves upon them, so that it is easy for them to be -seen by the hens, who are sitting in other trees near, -all ready to watch them. Then they raise up their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></a>[Pg 40]</span> -wings above their backs, stretch out their emerald -necks, bow their yellow heads politely to each other, -and shoot up their golden feather-fountains, making -each of the long, plumy tufts tremble and vibrate and -quiver, as they droop all over them and almost cover -them up. The plumes begin from under the wings—that -is why they lift their wings up first so that they -can shoot straight up and so that the hen birds may -see the little stripes of red, which I told you about, -and which look like little crimson clouds floating in -a little golden sunset. How beautiful they must -look! Perhaps there may be a dozen Great Birds of -Paradise, all bowing their heads and quivering their -plumes, on a dozen branches of the tree, whilst a -dozen more will be flying about from one branch to -another, so that the tree and the air are full of beauty. -The air never had anything to float upon her softer -or lovelier than those golden floating plumes, and no -tree ever bore blossoms <i>quite</i> so beautiful as those -wonderful golden Paradise-flowers. And both the -air and the trees are happy. Both of them whisper, -“Oh thank you, thank you, Birds of Paradise.” Of -course the Birds of Paradise are happy too. They -are happy to have such beauty and to be able to -show it to the hens, who sit hidden in the trees and -bushes around, and <i>they</i> perhaps—the hens for whom -it is all done—are happiest of all. Then it is all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></a>[Pg 41]</span> -happiness—and beauty. Beauty and happiness, those -are the two things it is made up of.</p> - -<p>There are not so many things that are made up of -just those two. Try and think of some. A party, -perhaps you may say (only it must be a juvenile one), -or a pantomime. Well, of course, there is an <i>enormous</i> -amount of beauty and happiness at things of that -kind; but is it <i>all</i> beauty and happiness? Not <i>quite</i> -all, I think. Still I am sure you would think it a very -unkind thing if somebody were to break up a party -before it were over, or to stop a pantomime before -the last act had been performed. You would think -that cruel, I am sure. And now if you were looking -at those beautiful, happy Birds of Paradise at <i>their</i> -party or pantomime (I <i>think</i> it is as pretty as a -transformation scene), and all at once, when they were -just in the middle of it, first one and then another of -them were to fall down dead to the ground, till at -last half of them lay there underneath the tree and -the rest had flown away, would you not think <i>that</i> -a most cruel and dreadful thing? Where would be -the beauty and the happiness now? It would all be -gone. Joy would have been changed into sorrow, -and beauty <i>almost</i> into ugliness—for a dead bird is -<i>almost</i> ugly compared to a beautiful, living one. -And life would have been changed into death—yes, -and <i>such</i> life, the life of happy, lovely birds, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></a>[Pg 42]</span> -Birds of Paradise. And I think that if you were there -and saw that happen—saw those beautiful birds fall -down dead—<i>murdered</i>—all of a sudden—you would -be sorry and angry too, and you would say that only -a demon could have done so wicked a thing.</p> - -<p>You would be right if you were to say so. It -<i>could</i> only be a demon—that same little demon -that I told you about who sang a charm to send -the Goddess of Pity to sleep and then froze -the hearts of the women with his bad, wicked -powder. That wretched little demon who wears the -magic suit of clothes, which makes him seem all that -he ought to be, is always killing the poor Birds of -Paradise, just when they are feeling so happy and -looking so beautiful. He does not do it himself -(any more than the women), for, as he could not be -in more than one place at a time, he would not be -able to kill a sufficient number to satisfy him, and -besides he has a great many other things of the same -kind, but more important, to do. So he makes his -servants do it. That has always been his plan. He has -servants all over the world, and you must not think that -they are as bad as himself, for that is not the case at all. -They are not bad, but enchanted, so that they do all -sorts of bad things without having any idea that they are -bad. In fact they generally think that they are the -finest things in the world. The demon has all sorts of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></a>[Pg 43]</span> -little bottles with different kinds of powders in them, -one for every kind of servant that he wants. In his -little private workshop they all stand in rows upon a -shelf and every one has a different label on it, so that -he knows which to take up in a minute. One is -labelled “Glory,” and has a powder in it of all sorts -of different colours, scarlet, blue, green, white, and a -little of it dirty yellow. The man on whom a grain -of this powder falls will always be wanting to kill -people, and the more he kills the better man he will -think himself, and so, too, will other people think -him. You may imagine what a lot of work the -demon can get out of a servant like that. Another -one is labelled “Justice,” and whoever the powder -in that falls on will go through life always saying what -he doesn't believe, and trying to make other people -believe it. Others are labelled “Patriotism,” “Duty,” -“Culture,” “Refinement,” “Taste,” “Sensibility,” and -so on (all which words your mother will explain to -you). The demon chooses them according to the -kind of thing he wants done, and all on whom any -of the powders inside the bottles fall become his -servants in different ways—very grand ways, too, -they are often thought—and go on serving him and -thinking well of themselves, and being held always -in great honour and respect, all their lives.</p> - -<p>Now you must not, of course, think that these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></a>[Pg 44]</span> -bottles <i>really</i> contain the things that are written on -their labels. No, indeed, they are <i>false</i> labels, for, you -see, <i>these</i> bottles stand in the window where people can -see them, the demon does not keep them in his pocket -like those other two I told you of. So when people -see them they think that they have good powders -instead of bad ones inside them, and when the -stoppers are taken out the powders fly into their eyes, -and they are blinded and never know the difference. -Almost every one is blinded, for the demon just -stands at the window of his workshop and blows his -powders through the world. It is not necessary for -him to walk up and down in it sprinkling them -about. That would be a long, tedious way of doing -things. He just blows them, and he need never be -afraid of blowing too much away, for his bottles are -magic bottles and always full. Outside his window -there is always a great crowd looking at the bottles -and admiring them, whilst the demon stands there in -his magic suit of clothes, and seems to every one to be -just what he ought to be.</p> - -<p>They say that somewhere else in the world there -is a very beautiful house with a radiant angel inside it, -and that there, in vases of crystal and diamond—or -something like crystal and diamond, but very much -more beautiful—are the real things which the demon -only pretends to have in his ugly little bottles. Any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></a>[Pg 45]</span> -one has only to step in and ask for them, and the angel -will open the vase and shed the essence that is inside -it into his very heart. But—is it not funny?—hardly -anybody ever goes into that house, and the few who do -cannot persuade others to follow them. I will tell you -why this is. The beautiful house does not <i>look</i> like a -beautiful house at all to most people, and the angel -of light who sits in the open doorway seems to them -to be only a shabbily dressed, unfashionable sort of -person. Nobody sees his wings, or, if they do, they -think wings are vulgar and out of date. It is the -demon who is to blame for this. He has had time -to blow his magic powders all about the world, and -they have blinded people's eyes and made what is -really beautiful seem mean and ugly to them—for -the demon's powders can blind the eyes as well as -freeze the heart. But the little workshop of the -demon, which is really as mean and wretched a place -as you could find, <i>that</i> people think glorious and beautiful, -and his ugly bottles are to them as vases of crystal -and diamond. So they crowd about the demon's -workshop, thinking it to be the angel's house, and -into the angel's house they never go, for they think a -demon—or at least an unfashionably dressed person -with wings—which are out of date—lives there.</p> - -<p>Now, it is one of those bottles with the false labels -which the demon takes when he wants one of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"></a>[Pg 46]</span> -servants in that part of the world to kill the Great -Bird of Paradise; for I don't think the men in those -countries would much mind what the women said to -them. I cannot tell you which bottle it is, but it -is none of those that I have told you about. The -label upon it is not nearly such a grand one, and -the powder is of a much coarser grain, for the man -that the demon is going to blow it at is only a poor -savage, who is black and nearly naked, and who is -not able to serve him in such important ways as are -people of a lighter colour and less scantily dressed. -He is only fit to do little odd jobs now and again, -and his wages are very low in consequence. Even -what he gets he is often not allowed to keep, for the -demon's upper servants take them away from him, -and he is not strong enough to resist. One of his -odd jobs is killing the poor Great Birds of Paradise, -and now I will tell you how he does it. Only you must -not be angry with him, or even with the other people -whose servant he <i>thinks</i> he is, though they are all of -them <i>really</i> the servants of one master, that wretched -little demon in the magic suit of clothes, which makes -him seem nice to everybody, although he is so nasty. -It is <i>he</i> you must be angry with, for it is he who does -all the mischief, in the way I have told you. He -gets people into his power; but, if you do as I tell -you, perhaps you will be able to save them from him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"></a>[Pg 47]</span> -and to save the poor, beautiful Birds of Paradise, as -well as other beautiful birds, from being killed and -killed until they are all dead. Think what a lot of -good you will have done, then, to have kept such -beauty safe in the world, when it might have been -lost out of it for ever. Yes, and you will have -done more good than that even, for you will have -helped to wake up the Goddess of Pity, and when -once she is awake there will be so much for her to -do—for, ah! she has been asleep so long.</p> - -<p>But, now, listen. I have told you that the man -who kills the Great Bird of Paradise is black and -naked and a savage. But he is not a negro, although -he is rather like one. His hair is something like a -negro's hair, but there is much more of it. In fact -it is quite a mop, and he is very proud of it. He is -a Papuan, and the islands that he lives in are called -the Papuan Islands, and are a very long way from -Africa, which is where the negroes live. He is a tall, -fine-looking man, with a beautiful figure, and he -looks very much better naked than he would do if -he were dressed. And when I said that he was black, -this was not <i>quite</i> true, because he is really brown, -but it is such a very dark brown that it looks black, -and when a man is such a very dark brown that he -looks black, then people <i>will</i> call him a black man, so -that is what we will call this Papuan. Now, this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"></a>[Pg 48]</span> -black man is very quick and active—which is what -most savages are—and he can climb trees almost as -well as a monkey. When he finds one of those trees -where the Great Birds of Paradise have their parties, -their “Sacalelies” (that is what <i>he</i> calls them, it is a -word that means a dancing-party), he climbs up into -it early in the morning, before it is daylight, and -waits for them to come. It does not matter how tall -the tree is (and this kind of tree is very tall), or how -dark it may be, this naked Papuan savage climbs -up it quite easily and without slipping, just like a -monkey. He takes up with him some leafy branches -of another tree, and with these he makes a little -screen to sit under, so that the Birds of Paradise shall -not see him. Besides this, he takes his bow and -arrows to shoot the poor birds with, for he does not -use a gun, which would make too much noise, and, -besides, the shot would hurt the beautiful plumage. -The arrows do not hurt the plumage as the shot -would, because at the end of each one there is a piece -of wood, shaped something like an acorn, but as large -as a teacup, and the large end of it makes what -would be the point of an ordinary arrow. When the -poor birds are hit with that great, smooth piece of -wood they are killed, because it hits them so hard, -but their plumage is not hurt at all, for nothing has -gone into the skin, or torn the feathers.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="Illo_49" id="Illo_49"></a> -<img src="images/illo_049.jpg" width="500" height="776" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><p class="center">PAPUAN SHOOTING BIRDS OF PARADISE</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"></a>[Pg 51]</span></p> - -<p>So the naked black man waits behind his screen -for the Great Birds of Paradise to come, and as soon -as they come and begin to spread their plumes, he -shoots first one and then another of them with -his great wooden arrows, and they fall down dead -underneath the tree. And, do you know, they are -so occupied in showing off their beautiful plumes, and -so happy and excited as they spread them out and -look through them, or fly like little feathery cascades -from branch to branch, that it is not till quite a -number of them have been killed (for the black -savage does not often miss his aim) that the others -take fright and fly away. Then the black man -climbs down from the tree and picks up the poor, -beautiful, dead birds and takes them to another man -who is yellow and not quite so naked as he is, who -gives him something for them, but not so much as he -ought to. The yellow man cheats the black man, -and, when he has cheated him, he takes the skins to a -white man, who is quite dressed and civilised, and sells -them to him, and the white man cheats <i>him</i> a good -deal more than <i>he</i> has cheated the black man—for, of -course, the white man is the cleverest of the three. -(You see there are yellow men in those countries—called -Malays—as well as black men, and a good -many white men go there as well.) Then the white -man puts all the beautiful skins that he has bought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"></a>[Pg 52]</span> -from the yellow man, as well as a great many others -which have been brought to him from all the country -and from all the islands round about, into one of -those large kinds of boxes called “crates,” that I -have told you about, and it is put on board a ship -where there are a great many others of the same kind, -all full of the skins and feathers of beautiful birds -that have been killed. And the ship sails to England, -and then up the Thames to London, where the crates -are taken out and put into great vans and driven -away to the great ugly warehouses to be unpacked -and laid on the floor there in a heap, all -as I have told you. You know what happens to -them then.</p> - -<p>And now I will tell you something funny that I -daresay you would never have thought of, but which is -quite true all the same. That great heap of brightly -coloured feathers lying on the floor, to make which -hundreds of thousands of the most beautiful birds in -the world have been killed, and hundreds of hundreds -of thousands of their young ones that would have grown -up beautiful, too, have been starved to death in the nest—that -great big heap of the loveliest plumage is not -so lovely, not nearly so beautiful as one living thrush -or one living blackbird or one living swallow or one -living robin-redbreast. That is the difference between -life and death. A live Bird of Paradise is hundreds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></a>[Pg 53]</span> -of times more beautiful than a live blackbird or thrush -or swallow or robin-redbreast, but when it is dead it -is not so beautiful as they are. Its feathers are more -beautiful, still, of course, but where are the <i>waving</i> -feathers, the <i>floating</i> plumes, the bright eyes, the quick, -graceful movements, and the flight—the glorious flight—of -a bird. They are gone, they are gone for ever, -and, in their place, there is only stiffness and deadness -and dustiness. Oh never, never wish to see a dead -Bird of Paradise in a hat, when you can see a living -thrush or blackbird on the lawn of your garden, or a -living swallow flying over it. And even if you can -never see a living Bird of Paradise—as I daresay you -never will be able to—what then?—what then? You -cannot see everything, but have you not got an imagination -(your mother, who has got one, will tell you -what it is), and is it not better to imagine a beautiful -bird flying about in life and loveliness than to see it -dead? And the people who have these hats with the -Birds of Paradise, or with other beautiful birds, sewn -into them, how much do you think they really care -about them? Do they ever look at them after they -have once bought them? Oh no, they never do. -Sometimes they look in the glass with the hat on—yes—but -then it is only to see themselves <i>in</i> the -hat, not the hat.</p> - -<p>So now you know what kind of birds the Birds of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></a>[Pg 54]</span> -Paradise are, and how very beautiful they are, and you -know how gloriously beautiful the Great Bird of Paradise -is, and how it is killed and not allowed to live and -be happy, just because it is so beautiful. But now these -Great Birds of Paradise live only in some quite small -islands and just in one part of one large one, and -although there may be a good many of them where -they do live, yet if they are always being killed in -that way, very soon there will be no more of them -left. Then there will be no more Great Birds of -Paradise in the world—for they do not live outside -those islands—and when they are once gone they can -never, never come again.</p> - -<p>But do you not think that it would be a dreadful -thing if such a bird as this—this beautiful Great Bird -of Paradise that I have told you about—were to be -killed and killed until it was not in the world any -more? Of course you think it would be a dreadful -thing, and I am sure that you would prevent it if you -could. And you <i>can</i> prevent it—<i>now</i>—yes, <i>now</i>—and -in the easiest way possible. All you have to do—only -you must do it directly—is to put your arms -round your mother's neck and make her promise -never, never to wear a hat with the feathers of a -Great Bird of Paradise in it. Of course she will -promise, if you ask her in that way, and keep on, and -when she once has promised you must not let her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></a>[Pg 55]</span> -forget it. You must remind her of it from time to -time (“Remember, mother, you <i>promised</i>”), and, -especially, when you hear her talking about getting a -new hat. And when you have made her promise -about herself, then you must make her promise never -to let <i>you</i> wear a hat of the sort (of course when you -are grown-up and buy your own hats you never will), -or your sisters either. And if you have a sister very -much older than yourself who buys her own hats, -then you can make <i>her</i> promise too. Perhaps <i>that</i> -will be less easy, but she will do it in time if you tease -her enough about it and want her to read the book. -And then if you can get any other lady to promise, -well, the more who do, the better chance there will be -for the beautiful Great Bird of Paradise. Only you -must make your mother promise first—that is the -chief thing—and, to do it, you must tell her all about -the wicked little demon, with his powders and his -charm to send the Goddess of Pity to sleep. So now -go to your mother, go at once, do not wait, or, if -your mother is out anywhere, you must only wait till -she comes home again.</p> - -<hr /> -</div> -<div class="chap"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></a>[Pg 56]</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /> -The Red Bird of Paradise</h2> - - -<p>Then there is another very beautiful Bird of -Paradise which is called the Red Bird of Paradise. -It is no use trying to find out whether he or the -one I have just been telling you about is the most -beautiful, because if somebody were to think that one -were, somebody else would be sure to have a different -opinion. But now I will tell you what this Red Bird -of Paradise is like, and then you will know how beautiful -to think him. You know those lovely plumes -that I told you about, that the Great Bird of Paradise -has growing from both his sides, under the -wings, and how he lifts up his wings and shoots them -right up into the air, so that they fall all over him, -like two most beautiful fountains that meet in the air -and mingle their waters together. Now the Red Bird of -Paradise has those plumes—those feather-fountains—too, -and he can shoot them up into the air and let -them fall all over him, and look out from amongst -them as they bend and wave, and think<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></a>[Pg 57]</span> “How lovely -I am!” just the same as the Great Bird of Paradise -can. They are not so long, it is true, but then they -are very thick, and of a most glorious crimson colour—such -a colour as you see, sometimes, in the western -sky, when the sun is flushing it, just before he sinks -down for the night. People talk about a sky like -that and call it a glorious sunset when they see it in -Switzerland. One can see it here, too, if one likes, -but it is not usual to talk about it or even to -look at it, unless one is in Switzerland (your mother -will tell you the reason of this). Fancy a bird that -looks out of a crimson sunset of feathers—crimson, -but with beautiful white tips to them! Crimson and -white, that is almost more splendid than orange-gold -and mauvy-brown; unless you like orange-gold and -mauvy-brown better—it is all a matter of taste.</p> - -<p>But there is another thing that the Red Bird of Paradise -has, which the Great Bird of Paradise has not got -at all. He has two little crests of feathers—beautiful -metallic green feathers—on his forehead. Just fancy! -Not one crest, merely, but two. One talks about a -feather in one's cap (which, of course, a <i>bird</i> may have -without its being wrong); but what is a feather in one's -cap compared to two crests of feathers on one's forehead? -And such crests! And, besides his crimson -sunset plumes with their white tips and the two little -lovely green crests on his forehead, this bird has two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></a>[Pg 58]</span> -wonderful feathers in his tail; they are not feathers -at all, really, that is to say, the soft part of them on -each side of the quill, which we call the web, is gone, -and there is only the quill left, but it is such a funny -sort of quill that you would never think it was one. -It is flat and smooth and shiny, and quite a quarter of -an inch wide. In fact it looks like a ribbon, a beautiful, -black, glossy ribbon, twenty-two inches (which is -almost two feet) long.</p> - -<p>These two wonderful ribbons—I told you there -were two—hang down in graceful curves as the bird sits -on the branch of a tree, first a curve out and then in -and then out again, just at the tips, so that the two -together make quite a pretty figure. Of course, when -there is any wind at all, they float gracefully about -and look very pretty indeed, and when the Red Bird -of Paradise flies, his two wonderful ribbons float in the -air behind him, just as if he had been into a linen-draper's -shop and bought something, and flown out -again with it, in his tail. And yet, to make these two -pretty ribbons—which are feathers, really, though -they do not look like them—the soft part of -the feather, which is usually the pretty part, has -been taken away, and only the quill, which is usually -almost ugly by comparison, has been left. And -yet they are so handsome. That is because Dame -Nature is such a wonderful workwoman. She can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a>[Pg 59]</span> -make almost anything she tries to, out of any kind -of material.</p> - -<p>Now, I must tell you that the Great Bird of -Paradise has two funny feathers like this in <i>his</i> tail -too—feathers, I mean, without webs to them—only -his ones have just a little web at the beginning and, -again, at the very tips; all the part in between has -none at all. These funny feathers of the Great Bird -of Paradise are even longer than those of the red one, -for they are from twenty-four to thirty-four inches -long, and thirty-four inches, you know, is almost -three feet. But then they are thin, not broad like -ribbons, and the plumes of the Great Bird of Paradise -are so long that they are a good deal hidden by them, -and, sometimes, hardly noticed amongst such a lot of -finery. I think that must be why, when I was describing -the Great Bird of Paradise to you, I forgot all about -them, which, of course, I ought not to have done. But -we all of us make mistakes sometimes, people who -write books just as much as people who only read -them, although, of course, people who <i>write</i> books -<i>ought</i> to be more careful.</p> - -<p>In fact, a great many of the Birds of Paradise have -these funny feathers, and some of them have more -than two. If you look for page 77 you will see a -picture of the King Bird of Paradise, who has two -beauties. He is not one of the birds that I talk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></a>[Pg 60]</span> -about in this book—there was no room for him—but -that does not matter. He sent me his picture, -and it will show you what these “funny feathers” -are like. There <i>is</i> a Bird of Paradise that has twelve -of them, but now I must finish talking about the -Red Bird of Paradise. I have told you about -the glorious crimson plumes that he has on his -sides, and the two funny feathers, like ribbons, in -his tail, and the double crest of beautiful emerald-green -feathers on his forehead, but, of course, there -are other parts of him besides these, and I must -tell you what they are like too. His head and -his back and his shoulders are yellow, as they are -in the Great Bird of Paradise, but it is a deeper -and richer yellow, not the light, straw-coloured -yellow which <i>he</i> has and which is very pretty too (I -am sure we should never agree as to which is the -prettier of these two birds). His throat, too, is of a -deep metallic green colour—you know what metallic -means now—but those lovely green feathers go -farther up, in fact right over the front part of the -head—which is his forehead—so as to make those -two sweet little crests which he has, and which help -to make him such a very handsome bird. The rest -of his wings and body, and his tail, except the two -ribbons in it, are brown—a nice, handsome, rich, -coffee-brown—his legs are blue, and his beak is a fine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></a>[Pg 61]</span> -gamboge-yellow. Ah, <i>there</i> is a beautiful bird indeed! -What would you say if you were to see a bird that was -yellow and green with crimson-sunset plumes, and with -two long glossy ribbons in his tail, and two beautiful -crests on his forehead, with blue legs and a gamboge -bill, flying from tree to tree in your garden?</p> - -<p>Ah, yes, if you were to see him like that he would -be more beautiful than any bird that has ever been -in your garden or that has ever flown about in the -woods or fields all over England—for he would be -alive then—alive and happy. But if you were to see -him dead he would not be so beautiful as any of the -birds in your garden—no, not even as the sparrows -(which is saying a good deal), for the beauty of life -would be gone out of him, and that is the greatest -beauty of all. And even if he were in a cage—unless -it were a <i>very</i> large one with a great many trees in -it—he would hardly look as beautiful as a lark does -when he sails and sings in the sky.</p> - -<p>So, however beautiful this bird is, you must only -want to see him flying about in the forests or gardens -of his native land, if ever you go there. If you do -not go there, then you must not mind, but you must -try to imagine him, which is almost as good as seeing -him, if you do it properly. But you must never want -to see him in a cage that is smaller than a large -garden with trees in it, or dead in a glass case or a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></a>[Pg 62]</span> -hat. It is better that beautiful birds should be alive -and you not see them, than that they should be -killed or made miserable for you to look at.</p> - -<p>Now you may be sure that if the poor Great Bird -of Paradise is killed because he is so beautiful, so is -the poor Red Bird of Paradise because <i>he</i> is. It is -dreadful to <i>be</i> sure of such a thing, and it is all because -of the wicked little demon, and the Goddess of Pity -being asleep. When the wicked little demon has -been driven away, and the Goddess of Pity has been -woken up—and it is you who are going to wake -her—then you may be sure that no beautiful birds -will be killed, and that the more beautiful they are -the less people will ever think of killing them. But -that time is not come yet. It will not come till you -have read this book right through and finished it.</p> - -<p>Now you remember that the Great Bird of Paradise -is shot with arrows by a naked black man with -frizzly hair like a mop—a man that we call a savage, -though, really, he is not nearly so savage as some -men who wear clothes all over them. You see, where -he lives it is very warm, so that he does not want -clothes, and he looks very much better without them, -for his black, smooth skin is very handsome indeed, -and so is his frizzly hair. If you saw him you would -think him a very nice, amiable person, for he is always -laughing and springing about, and his white teeth do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a>[Pg 63]</span> -flash so and his eyes beam, and he looks very pleasant -indeed. I think you would quite like him, so you -must not despise him because he is not civilised like -us; never despise people because they have a different -coloured skin to your own and wear no clothes and -are called savages. Perhaps we may be better than -people like that, but remember that the angels are much -better compared to us, than we are, compared to such -people. But do you think the angels <i>despise</i> us? Oh -no, you <i>could</i> not think that, so <i>you</i> must not despise -the savages. Never despise any one, that is the best -thing. Instead of doing that, try to find out what is -good about them—there is sure to be something, and, -often, it is something which <i>they</i> have and <i>we</i> have -not. <i>Never despise.</i></p> - -<p>Well, it is this same naked, frizzly-haired Papuan -who kills the beautiful Red Bird of Paradise as well -as the Great one, but he does not do it with bows and -arrows, but in quite another way, which I will tell you -about.</p> - -<p>The Birds of Paradise are all fond of fruit; they -like insects and things of that sort too, but fruit they -are <i>very</i> fond of. They like a nice ripe fig, and there -are so many fig-trees in that country, both growing -wild and in the gardens too, that when the figs are -ripe they do not trouble to finish one before they -begin another, but fly about from tree to tree, making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></a>[Pg 64]</span> -a bite here and another there, out of just the ripest -and nicest. That is a nice, delicate way of eating figs, -<i>I</i> think, just to take a little and leave the rest. We -are so greedy that we always eat the whole fig, but -then <i>we</i> are not Birds of Paradise.</p> - -<p>But now there is one particular fruit which the Red -Bird of Paradise likes better than any other, much -better, even, than a ripe fig. It is a fruit which I do -not know the name of, in fact I am not quite sure -that it has a name, except in some language which we -would neither of us understand. But you know what -an arum lily is, and in those forests that I told you of -there is a kind of arum lily which climbs up trees, for -there are climbing lilies there as well as climbing -palm-trees. This climbing arum lily has a red fruit, -and it is this red fruit which the Red Bird of Paradise -thinks so exceedingly nice. It will go anywhere to -get that fruit, and the naked black man with frizzly -hair knows that it will; so he makes a trap for it with -the very fruit that it is so fond of.</p> - -<p>But besides the fruit, two other things are necessary -for making this trap; one of them is a forked -stick like the handle of a catapult, and the other is -some string. The Papuan soon cuts the stick, either -with a knife that he has bought of a white man, or -with a sharp piece of stone or flint, and the string he -makes from some creeper, or by rolling the inner<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></a>[Pg 65]</span> -bark of a tree between his hands. When he has -done this he takes the fruit and ties it to the forked -stick, then he climbs up a tree that he knows the Red -Birds of Paradise come to perch on, and ties the stick, -with the fruit fastened to it, to one of the branches. -To do this he takes a very long piece of string, one -end of which hangs right down to the ground, and -he ties it so cleverly that he has only to pull the -string for the stick, with the fruit on it, to come -away from the branch, just as a sash that is tied in a -bow will come undone when you pull one of the -ends. Then the black Papuan climbs down from the -tree, again, and sits underneath it with the end of the -long string in his hand, all ready to pull it when -the right time comes.</p> - -<p>Sometimes it will not be long before a Red Bird of -Paradise comes to the tree, sometimes the Papuan will -have to sit there the whole day or even for two or three -days, for he is very patient and will not go away till -he has done what he came to do. All savages are -like that; they are ever so much more patient than -civilised people who wear clothes. But whenever the -poor Red Bird of Paradise does come, he is sure to see -the fruit, and then he is sure to fly to it, to eat it, -and <i>then</i> he is sure to get caught in the string. For -the string has a noose in it which gets round his -legs, and the frizzly-haired man underneath, who is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></a>[Pg 66]</span> -watching the Bird of Paradise all the time, just pulls -the cord, and down he comes as well as the stick. -You see he cannot fly very well with the stick -fastened to him, and, however much he tries to, it is -no use, for the black man has only to keep pulling -the string.</p> - -<p>That is how the poor Red Bird of Paradise is caught, -and as soon as he has caught him the black frizzly-haired -man kills him and skins him—I need hardly -tell you that he does that, for you know in whose service -he is. Then the black man takes the skin to -a yellow man, who buys it of him and cheats him -a little, and the yellow man takes it to a white man -who buys it of <i>him</i> and cheats <i>him</i> more, and it all -happens just the same as it did with the Great Bird of -Paradise, until the skin is lying on the floor of the -warehouse, with all those other beautiful skins of poor -beautiful birds—all killed to be put into the hats of -women whose hearts the wicked little demon has -frozen. Is it not shocking? But you know how to -stop it. You have only to make your mother -promise—yes, <i>promise</i>—<i>never</i> to wear a hat that has -the skin or any of the feathers of a Red Bird of -Paradise in it. Make her promise this before reading -the next chapter.</p> - -<hr /> -</div> -<div class="chap"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></a>[Pg 67]</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V<br /> -The Lesser, Black, Blue, and Golden -Birds of Paradise</h2> - - -<p>Now I have told you about two very beautiful -Birds of Paradise, and in this chapter I shall tell you -about some others; at least I shall try to tell you -what they are like, because not so very much is -known about their habits, what they do, or how -they live. That is because they live in such wild -parts of the world, in such deep, dense forests, and -on such high, steep hills. Not many travellers have -been into these out-of-the-way places, and those that -have gone there, instead of trying to watch them -and find out all about them—which would have been -so interesting—have shot at them with their guns -whenever they have seen them, and have either killed -them or driven them away. It is not by killing -birds or by driving them away that you can find out -much about their habits.</p> - -<p>It would be much better if these travellers were -to take a good pair of glasses and were to sit down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></a>[Pg 68]</span> -in the forests or on the hills and watch the birds -through the glasses whenever they saw them; for -with a good pair of glasses one can watch birds -even when they do not come very near to one. -Then we should know something about them, and -the more we know about a bird or any other living -creature the more interesting it becomes for us. -One cannot be <i>very</i> interested in something that -one knows nothing about, but as one begins to -know even a little about it, it begins to get interesting -directly. But then, why is it that the -travellers who go out to these countries take guns -with them instead of glasses, and shoot the birds—as -well as other animals—instead of watching -them? That is a question which I cannot answer. -All I can tell you is that it is as I say, and I am -afraid the wicked little demon has something to do -with it. But now we must get on, and first we come -to the Lesser Bird of Paradise.</p> - -<p>The Lesser Bird of Paradise is something like the -Great Bird of Paradise, only it is not quite so handsome -and not nearly so big—which, of course, is -what you would expect from its name. Where the -Great Bird of Paradise is brown the lesser one is -brown too, but it is a lighter brown, not such a nice, -rich, coffee-coloured one as the other, and, on the -breast, this brown colour does not change into a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></a>[Pg 71]</span> -blackish-violet or a browny-purple as you know it -does in the Great Bird of Paradise—it is brown there -just the same. On the back, though, the Lesser Bird -of Paradise is all yellow, so that here, if you remember, -it has the advantage; but then the long -plumes on each side under the wings are not <i>so</i> long -as in the Great Bird of Paradise, and they have only -just a tinge of orange in them, instead of being of -the beautiful golden-orange colour that <i>his</i> ones are. -The tips of them, too, are white instead of mauvy-brown, -and the two funny feathers in the tail are -much shorter than the Great Bird of Paradise's funny -feathers.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="Illo_69" id="Illo_69"></a> -<img src="images/illo_069.jpg" width="600" height="609" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><p class="center">THE LESSER BIRD OF PARADISE</p></div> -</div> - -<p>But although the Lesser Bird of Paradise is not -such a beautiful bird as the Great Bird of Paradise is, -still it is a very beautiful bird indeed—what Bird of -Paradise is not?—and as it is commoner than the -other Birds of Paradise and easier to get, it is the one -that is most often killed and put into the hats that -the women with the frozen hearts wear; which is -why I want you to jump up and throw your arms -round your mother's neck and make her promise -never, never to wear a hat that has a Lesser Bird of -Paradise in it.</p> - -<p>And now, what would you say to a Black Bird -of Paradise? For there is one—yes, and such a -splendid bird. “Oh, but,” you will say,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></a>[Pg 72]</span> “if he is -black he cannot be so <i>very</i> beautiful, for he cannot -be of all sorts of beautiful colours like the other -ones.” But have you not heard of a black diamond? -That is black, but <i>in</i> its blackness all sorts of -wonderful colours are lying asleep, and sometimes -they wake up and flash out of it, as the sun's rays -do out of a dark, stormy cloud, and then they go -back into it again and are lost, as the sun's rays are -lost when the sun goes in. Yes, they are asleep, -those colours, and whilst they are asleep the diamond -is really black, but when they wake up and begin -to gleam and flash, and sparkle, and shoot about, -then it is not a <i>black</i> diamond any more, although -we may call it so.</p> - -<p>And there may be a dark, deep cavern, so dark -and so deep that you would be quite afraid to go -into it, especially at night. But some gipsies, who -were not afraid, have gone into it and have lighted -a fire, and the flames leap up and glimmer through -the smoke, and then sink for a moment and shoot -up again, and fall on the sides and roof of the -cavern, and make a deep glow in its mouth, and -flicker on the leaves of the trees outside, and send -out long tongues of flame that make a red light -in the air and lick the darkness off everything that -they touch. That cavern <i>was</i> dark and black before -the fire was lighted in it, and when the fire goes out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"></a>[Pg 73]</span> -it will be dark and black again, but it is not dark -and black just now, whilst the red fire is burning.</p> - -<p>Or it may be a dark night, very dark and stormy, -so dark that it is difficult for people who are out in -it to find their way, whilst people who only look -out of the window, say that it is a pitch-dark night. -But now the rain is beginning to fall, and it comes -down faster and faster, and there is a muttering in -the dull sky, and, all at once, a flash of lightning -leaps out of the darkness, cutting it as though with -a red, jagged knife, and for an instant it is day, -and you see the leaves on the trees, and the rain-drops -falling through the air, and the fields with -haystacks standing in them, or rivers winding through -them, and the distant hills, and the line where the -earth meets the heavens. Then, all in a moment—almost -before you can say “Oh,” and quite -before the great clap of thunder that follows the -lightning-flash—it is night—deep, dark, black night—again. -The night in which there is a storm like -that is a dark night, but it is not dark when the -lightning is leaping and flashing.</p> - -<p>It is the same with this Black Bird of Paradise. -At first when you look at him, all his plumage is -of a deep, dark, velvety black, a lovely black, a -beautiful, smooth, glossy black, a black that seems -almost to gleam and to sparkle as if it were jewellery<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"></a>[Pg 74]</span>—black -velvet jewellery you may call it, very -handsome, very beautiful indeed. Still it is black, -but all at once all the colours that have lain asleep -in it—blues and greens, and bluey-greens and greeny-blues, -and purples and indigos, and wonderful bronzy -reflections—wake up together, and flash out of it -like the sparkles out of the diamond, like the -tongues of fire out of the black cavern, like the -lightning out of the dark night. There they all -are, flashing and leaping about, meeting and mingling, -then shooting apart, playing little games with -each other, till all at once they fall asleep again, and -there is only the smooth, glossy black, the deep, -jetty black, the shining, gleaming, satiny-velvety -black, the black velvet, black satin jewellery. That -is what a Black Bird of Paradise is like, like a black -diamond, like a cavern with a fire lighted in it, like -a dark night with flashes of lightning.</p> - -<p>But now I will tell you a little more about his -appearance, for this that I have told you is only -just to give you an idea of how that wonderful -material, from which Dame Nature with her scissors -cuts out all her children (for all things that are -alive are the children of Dame Nature), can be -black, and yet have all sorts of colours in it at the -same time.</p> - -<p>First, you must know—so as not to make any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"></a>[Pg 75]</span> -mistake—that this “Black Bird of Paradise” has -another name—indeed he has two other names, but -one of them is in Latin, so we won't bother about -that. There are some birds that have no English -names, and when we come to them we will have to -call them by their Latin ones—but as long as a bird -has an English name we will never trouble our heads -about what its Latin name may be, not we, any -more than the bird itself does, and no bird that has -an English name ever thinks about what its name -is in Latin—in fact I really do not believe that it -knows. An English name is enough for <i>any</i> bird, -if only it is so <i>fortunate</i> as to have one. Now this -bird is so fortunate as to have two English names—the -Black Bird of Paradise, that you know about—which -is what the English people who live in its -own country call it—and the Superb Bird of Paradise, -which is what naturalists at home in England call it. -The <i>Superb</i> Bird of Paradise! Just fancy having -a name like that! Supposing a gentleman—some -friend of your father and mother, who calls sometimes -at the house—were to be called the superb -Mr. Jones or the superb Mr. Robinson! Only he -would have to be very much more handsome than -he is at all likely to be, before he would deserve a -name like <i>that</i>.</p> - -<p>Well, the two most wonderful things about the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"></a>[Pg 76]</span> -Superb or Black Bird of Paradise—after his marvellous -black plumage, that has all sorts of colours -lying asleep in it—are two wonderful ornaments -that he has, one on his head and one on his breast. -The one on his head is the most wonderful. It is -a sort of crest—at least I think that is the best -name for it. Some people, I know, call it a shield, -but then that is what they call the other wonderful -thing on the breast too; so, if they call that a shield, -I think they should call this a helmet, for it is a -helmet, and not a shield, that soldiers wear on the -head. <i>I</i> shall call it a crest, but it is one of the -most extraordinary crests that any bird ever had. -It is like a pair of black velvet lappets, so long -that they go all down the back and reach half-an-inch -beyond the tips of the wings. But at the back -of the head, where this crest begins, the two lappets -meet, and they are joined together for a little way -before they begin to go apart. I tell you what -will give you an idea of the shape of this crest. -Have you ever seen a pair of trousers that have -been washed, and are hanging out on a clothes-line -to dry, with the legs very wide apart, so wide they -look as if they had been stretched?—I don't know -if they really have. Of course you have seen such -a thing. Well, that will give you an idea—mind, -that is <i>all</i> I can say—of what this wonderful crest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"></a>[Pg 79]</span> -that is worn by the Black Bird of Paradise is like. -The legs of the trousers are the two lappets, from -where they are divided from each other, and, farther -up, they join and become all one, just as the legs -of a pair of trousers <i>do</i>. Only, of course, I need -hardly tell you that a crest of beautiful, black, -velvety feathers, glossed with bronze and purple, -has a far more <i>elegant</i> appearance than a pair of -trousers hanging out to dry, though it may have -just a <i>little</i> the same shape.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="Illo_77" id="Illo_77"></a> -<img src="images/illo_077.jpg" width="581" height="800" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><p class="center">KING BIRD OF PARADISE</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Now I think you will agree with me that this crest -is a wonderful thing, even when it is only lying down -along the neck and body of the bird. But what -would you say when you saw the Black Bird of -Paradise lift it right up above its head?—which is -what he does, you may be sure, when he wants to -show off before the hen bird, who has no crest on -<i>her</i> head nor shield on her breast, and whose black -feathers, I am afraid, are not nearly so glossy and -velvety, and have no colours lying asleep in them -and ready to wake up all of a sudden. Ah, you -would think the Black Bird of Paradise a wonderful, -wonderful bird if you were to see him bowing politely -to his hen and lifting up his wonderful, wonderful -crest to her.</p> - -<p>But I told you this bird had a shield too, and when -he lifts up his crest over his head, he shoots out his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"></a>[Pg 80]</span> -shield in front of his breast, at the same time, and -this shield is something of the same shape as the -crest or helmet, only smaller, and always of a lovely -bluey-green colour, with a glossy sheen upon it that -is just like that upon satin. Yes, <i>always</i>, for the -colours that go to sleep in the other parts of the -Black Bird of Paradise's plumage, keep wide awake in -the shield on its breast, or, if you ever do catch them -napping, it is only just for a single instant, and then -out they flash again, wider awake than ever. So -now, if you were to say—as I am sure you would -say—that the Black Bird of Paradise was a wonderful, -wonderful bird, even if you were to see him with only -his crest lifted up, what, ah, <i>what</i> would you say if -you were to see him with his crest lifted up and his -shield shot out at the same time? Why, I think -that then you could not say less than that he was a -wonderful, wonderful, <i>wonderful</i> bird—three wonderfuls -instead of only two. And indeed you would be -right.</p> - -<p>Yes, he is a wonder, is the Black Bird of Paradise, -though I must tell you that he has not any of those -long, silky feathers that hang down like cascades and -shoot up like fountains, from the sides of those other -Birds of Paradise I have been telling you about. -And he has no long “funny feathers” in his tail -either. You see he cannot have everything, and his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"></a>[Pg 81]</span> -crest and shield are instead of those. They are not -quite so beautiful, perhaps, but I think they are -still more wonderful. Even when his crest—his -helmet—is laid down and his shield is not stuck out, -the Black Bird of Paradise is a wonder, but when he -raises the one up and shoots the other out, both at the -same time, and says to the hen, “Look at me!” and -all the colours that have been asleep in the helmet, -or awake in the shield, gleam and flash and -sparkle together, ah, <i>then</i> he is a wonder of -wonders.</p> - -<p>Then, do you think he is a bird that ought to be -killed and killed and killed, only to have those beautiful, -bronzy-black crests, and satiny-green, gleaming -shields of his set in hats where they soon get dull -and dusty, and where he can never raise them up or -shoot them out or pay proper attention to them—because -he is dead, dead, dead? Is he to be killed -and killed till he is gone for ever, and there is not -one more beautiful Black Bird of Paradise in the -whole world? Oh no, no, no; it ought not to be so—it -must not, it <i>shall</i> not—because you will prevent -it—yes, you. You will turn to your mother now, -this minute, if she is there, if she is reading this to -you, or, if not, you will run to her—oh, so quickly, -so quickly—and ask her, beg her—keep on asking and -asking, begging and begging her to promise—till she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"></a>[Pg 82]</span> -<i>has</i> promised—never, <i>never</i> to buy a hat that has a -beautiful Black Bird of Paradise in it.</p> - -<p>Now, as I have said that the Black Bird of Paradise -is such a very wonderful bird—as I have even called -him a “wonder of wonders”—perhaps you will think -that there is no other Bird of Paradise quite so -wonderful as he is. Well, I do not wonder at your -thinking so; and, do you know, whilst I was describing -him to you and telling you how wonderful he -was, I thought so too. But I had forgotten the Blue -Bird of Paradise.</p> - -<p>The Blue Bird of Paradise is quite as wonderful -as the Black one. Perhaps—but mind I only say -perhaps—he is even a little more wonderful. To -begin with, blue is a very uncommon colour for a -Bird of Paradise to be of. None of the Birds of -Paradise that I have told you about have feathers -that are really blue. There are blue lights, I know, in -some of their feathers, especially on the head, but still -they are not quite blue. You could hardly call them -blue feathers, for there is a green light or a purple -light as well as a blue light in them, which makes -them bluey-green or greeny purple, or, at any rate, -green or purple <i>and</i> blue, not just blue by itself. -And then, as you know, sometimes all those lights -go to sleep and then the feathers are black. I do -not think there is any Bird of Paradise except the Blue<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a>[Pg 83]</span> -Bird of Paradise whose feathers are really and truly -blue, and I am quite sure that there is no other one—at -least that we know of—which has so much blue -about it, that you would think of it as a blue bird, or -that has blue feather-fountains—those wonderful long -silky plumes that grow out of each side under the -wings.</p> - -<p>That is what is most wonderful in the Blue Bird -of Paradise. There is no other Bird of Paradise that -can sit under a blue fountain or look out of a blue -sunset. But the plumes of the Blue Bird of Paradise -are not so long as those of the Great or the Lesser -Bird of Paradise, and when he spreads them out they -go more on each side of him than up over his head, -and, for this reason, I think, he looks more as if he -was looking out of a sunset than sitting under a -fountain. You have seen a beautiful sunset often; -there will be blue in it somewhere, cool, lovely lakes -or bays, or long, stretching inlets, of the loveliest, -purest, most delicate blue. But the clouds that float -in those bays and lakes like islands, or that shut them -in and make their shores, like great burning continents, -are not blue, but rosy red or fiery crimson or -molten gold or golden-crimson flame. That, at -least, is what the brightest ones are like, those that -are gathered nearest round the sun. Now, if they -could keep all their brightness and glowingness and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"></a>[Pg 84]</span> -be blue instead of rose or crimson or gold, then it -would be a blue sunset; and that is what the sunset -is like that the Blue Bird of Paradise looks out of, -when he spreads out his plumes, just as the sunset -that the Red Bird of Paradise looks out of, when <i>he</i> -spreads out <i>his</i> plumes, is like a red sunset—only of -feathers, of course. One is a blue feather-sunset, -and the other a red feather-sunset.</p> - -<p>And how soft those feathers are, those wonderful, -blue sunset-feathers of the wonderful Blue Bird of -Paradise. Oh, I cannot tell you how softly they -droop down over his breast, or how softly—how <i>very</i> -softly—each feather touches the other one, upon it. -How softly, I wonder—for I know you will want me -to say. As softly as a snowflake falls upon snow? -Oh, more softly than that. As softly as two -gossamers are blown together in the air? Still more -softly, even. As softly, then, as your mother kisses -you when you are asleep, and she does not wish to -wake you? Yes, I think it is as softly, or almost as -softly, as that. Those are two of the very softest -kisses—when your mother kisses you when you are -asleep, so as not to wake you, and when the soft blue -feathers of the plumes on each side of a Blue Bird of -Paradise, meet and kiss each other on its breast.</p> - -<p>Now that is all I am going to tell you about the -front part of the Blue Bird of Paradise—for those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"></a>[Pg 85]</span> -wonderful blue feathers that grow on each side -become the front part of him when he spreads them -out. You see, they open out like two fans, with the -handles turned towards each other, and meet together -on the breast and above the head, so as to -make one large fan or screen. Of course there is -something behind this screen, and through it peeps -the head of the bird, which is very pretty too. But -you don't look at his head, you don't seem to see it. -All you see or look at are those beautiful, beautiful -plumes, that lovely screen, that wonderful soft -blue feather-sunset.</p> - -<p>As for the back part of this wonderful Blue Bird -of Paradise, well, that is blue too, most of it—a -handsome blue, a lovely blue, a gleaming, shining, -glossy, satiny blue that looks darker when you see it -from one side, and lighter when you see it from -another, and which gleams and glints and is very -resplendent (which is a word your mother will -explain to you) however you look at it. Oh, a -glorious blue, a magnificent blue, but not <i>such</i> a blue -as the blue of those soft lovely feathers that spread -out on each side and curl over and meet and kiss -each other so softly, on the breast. And the head -and neck of the Blue Bird of Paradise (for sometimes -he puts them behind the screen, and then they -are the back part of him) are of a soft velvet brown<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"></a>[Pg 86]</span> -that, as you look at it, becomes a soft velvet-claret-magenta -colour (which your mother knows all about -and will explain to you), and in his tail there are two -long “funny feathers” that hang down from the -bough he is sitting on, and—and <i>now</i> you must try -to imagine him. <i>When</i> you have imagined him—or -before you have, if you are not able to—you must -make your mother promise—now what? You know, -of course. You must make her promise <i>never</i> to -wear a hat with a Blue Bird of Paradise's feathers -in it.</p> - -<p>Now we come to the Golden or Six-shafted Bird -of Paradise, who lives just in one part of New Guinea—that -long part at the north that goes out into the -sea, and which we call a peninsula; you have only to -look at the map and you will see it. Now I think -of it, the Superb or Black Bird of Paradise—or shall -we say the Superb Black Bird of Paradise?—lives -there too, so I daresay they sometimes see each other. -Perhaps they call on each other, for, you see, they -are both of them distinguished. One is superb and -the other golden, and when two people are like that -they do not mind calling upon one another. You -see, neither of them can be hurt by it then. A <i>superb</i> -person may call upon even a <i>golden</i> person, and yet feel -quite well after it, and it will not do a <i>golden</i> person -any harm at all to call upon a <i>superb</i> person. So, if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"></a>[Pg 87]</span> -birds are like people, I feel sure that sometimes the -Golden and the Superb Bird of Paradise call upon -each other.</p> - -<p>Now you will want to know why this Bird of -Paradise is called both the Golden and the Six-shafted -Bird of Paradise. Well, he is called the -Golden Bird of Paradise because he has lovely golden -feathers on his throat and breast, and he is called the -Six-shafted Bird of Paradise because six little arrows—for -that is what they look like—seem to have been -shot into his head, three on each side—arrows, you -know, are sometimes called shafts. These little -shafts or arrows are six inches long—almost as long -as the bird itself—and bend right back over his body, -as far as to the tail. Of course each of them is -really a feather—an arrow that is all feather—but it -is a “funny feather” with only the quill, which is -very thin and slender, till quite the end, where there -is just a little oval piece of the soft web—the part -that looks really like a feather—left upon it. That -is what makes them look like arrows. But is it not -curious that the “funny feathers” of <i>this</i> Bird of -Paradise are in his head instead of in his tail? -I think it must be because Dame Nature wanted to -make him a little different.</p> - -<p>Of course you will see at once that six feathers -like that—to say nothing of his wonderful golden<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"></a>[Pg 88]</span> -breast—make the Six-shafted (or Golden) Bird of -Paradise quite as remarkable as the Black or the -Blue, or any of the other, Birds of Paradise. Whether -it makes him <i>more</i> remarkable, that I really can't -say. <i>You</i> must make up your mind about that. -The fact is, <i>all</i> the Birds of Paradise are remarkable. -I am sure if they were all together in one place, and -you were to say out loud that any one of them was -the <i>most</i> remarkable, all the other ones would be very -much offended.</p> - -<p>But now, besides his six little shafts or arrows and -the beautiful golden feathers on his throat and breast—they -are very large, I must tell you, those feathers, -and sometimes they look green and blue as well as -golden—this Bird of Paradise has two immense tufts -of beautiful, soft, silky feathers on each side of the -breast. So large each tuft is, that when he lifts -them both up—as of course he can do—they almost -hide him altogether. Then on the back of his head -he has a band of feathers, so wonderfully bright that -they do not seem to be feathers at all. They look -more like jewels—yes, jewels. It is as if some magician -had taken the sheen and shining light out of the -emerald and topaz, and put them on that bird's head, -and told them to stay there. Then on his forehead, -just above the beak—as if all this were not enough—there -is a patch, quite a large patch, of pure white<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></a>[Pg 91]</span> -feathers that shine like satin. Really I think you -might almost say that this Bird of Paradise was <i>the</i> -most wonderful of all the Birds of Paradise. But -take care, do not say it out loud or you will offend -<i>all</i> the others. Only I forgot, they are not here. -Well, then, you <i>may</i> say it out loud, if you really -think so. I do wish I could have got this bird's -picture, but as he would not give it me, you must -look at the picture of the Golden-winged Bird of -Paradise instead. <i>He</i> is a very handsome bird, too—very -much brighter than he looks.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="Illo_89" id="Illo_89"></a> -<img src="images/illo_089.jpg" width="600" height="586" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><p class="center">GOLDEN-WINGED BIRD OF PARADISE</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Well, this makes the sixth Bird of Paradise which -I have been able to tell you something about—I mean -about their appearance, for very little else is known -about them. But, do you know, there are some forty -or fifty different kinds, and, of course, if I were to -describe them all, or anything like all (which, however, I -should not be able to do), this little book would become -quite a big book, and there would be no room in it for -any other kinds of beautiful birds. So I won't describe -any more Birds of Paradise, but I will just say something, -before getting on to the other beautiful birds, -about Birds of Paradise and beautiful birds in general. -That means about most Birds of Paradise and most -other beautiful birds. When we talk about things -in general, or people in general, we mean most things -or most people. But that must be in another chapter,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></a>[Pg 92]</span> -for this one has been quite long enough, and so we -must end it. Oh, but wait a minute. Really, I was -quite forgetting. First you must get your mother -to promise never to buy a hat in which there are any -feathers belonging to the Golden or Six-shafted Bird -of Paradise. Yes, and never to wear it either, even -if she did not buy it, but had it given to her. Of -course your father might give your mother a hat, -but if he were to give her one of that sort, he would -have to take it back to the shop and change it for -another.</p> - -<hr /> -</div> -<div class="chap"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"></a>[Pg 93]</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI<br /> -About all Birds of Paradise, and Some -Explanations</h2> - - -<p>As I have told you, there are some forty or fifty -different kinds of Birds of Paradise, and they are all -of them as beautiful, or nearly as beautiful, as those -that I have described, each one in its own special -way. Of course you must know yourself, or your -mother will tell you, that all this wonderful beauty -has not been given to these birds for nothing, and I -have told you that the male Birds of Paradise, who -alone have it, show it off to the poor hen birds, whose -plumage is quite sober in comparison—though you -must not think that <i>they</i> are not pretty birds too—because -they are pretty, though in a quieter style. So -they are not <i>really</i> “poor” hen birds, that is only -just a way of speaking. They are happy enough, -you may be sure, for they have their husbands' fine -clothes to look at. But what is so interesting, is -that each of these different kinds of Birds of Paradise -has some different way of arranging and showing off<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></a>[Pg 94]</span> -his fine clothes—for, of course, a bird's feathers are his -clothes just as much as our coats and dresses are ours. -And, besides that, each one of them puts himself into -some peculiar attitude, which he thinks is the best one -to let his plumage be seen as he would like it to be. -We may be quite sure of this, because it is what all -birds do that have beautiful plumage; and many of -them have regular places that they come to, to run -or jump about in, just as soldiers come into a park -or common to march about in it, and show off their -nice pretty uniforms. There will always be a great -many hen birds round these places, to look at the -beautiful males, and there are always a great many -ladies round the park or common, to look at the -beautiful soldiers.</p> - -<p>Now, would it not be interesting if we knew what -all these different Birds of Paradise did, and how they -arranged their plumage, and what attitudes they went -into, and whether they ran or jumped or flew or did -all three, and all the rest of it? If only there was -somebody who knew all that, I think he could write a -very interesting book, and if only some one would go -out into those countries, with a pair of glasses (or even -a pair of eyes) instead of with a gun, and whenever he -saw a Bird of Paradise would just look at it through -the glasses (or with his own eyes, if it was near enough) -instead of shooting it, I think <i>he</i> might write an inte<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></a>[Pg 95]</span>resting -book. I am sure <i>I</i> should find it interesting, -and I <i>think</i> you would too. Depend upon it, if any one -could tell people what a Bird of Paradise did, he would -interest them very much more than by telling them -how he shot it. That is not at all interesting, how -he shot it. Do you think it would be so <i>very</i> interesting -for people to know how you broke a very -handsome ornament in your mother's drawing-room? -Why, I don't think it would interest even your -mother—much; but she would be very sorry you -broke it. And that is just how <i>I</i> feel (and I think -some other people do too) when a person tells me -how he shot a Bird of Paradise. Things of that -kind interest the little demon. If they interest any -one else, I am afraid it is only <i>because</i> of that little -demon, because of his wicked powders and his having -sent the Goddess of Pity to sleep.</p> - -<p>But I am sorry to say that there is hardly anybody -who knows anything about all these Birds of Paradise, -anything about their habits and how they live and -how they dance and the way they arrange their -wonderful plumage, so as to make it look as beautiful -as possible. Perhaps there are a few people who -know just a little—a <i>very</i> little—about some of the -more common kinds, but as for all the rest, if any -one knows anything about them, it must be those -black or yellow people that we call savages, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></a>[Pg 96]</span> -live in the same countries that they live in. That -is because, when a traveller from Europe goes out -to those countries he always takes a gun—not glasses -(or if he does take a pair of glasses he does not use -them, or his eyes either, in the right way), and when -he sees one of these rare Birds of Paradise, he shoots -it, or else frightens it away, as I told you. Then, -when he comes back, he writes his book and tells -you how he shot it, or tried to shoot it, and then -he says: “Unfortunately, nothing whatever is known -of the habits of this species.” It is not very wonderful -that <i>he</i> knows nothing of them, is it? And yet -this traveller, with his gun, almost always calls himself -a <i>naturalist</i>. Now a <i>real</i> naturalist is a person who -loves nature. But is not that a funny way to love -her—to shoot her children? Depend upon it, that -one of those little bottles that the demon keeps his -powders in, is labelled “Natural History” or “Love -of Nature.” You know that <i>his</i> bottles have generally -a false label on them.</p> - -<p>So, I am afraid I cannot tell you much about -what the Birds of Paradise do, or how they show off -their beautiful feathers. Indeed, it is very much -the same with most other beautiful birds, and for -the very same reason that I have been telling you, -because people <i>will</i> shoot, instead of looking and -watching. Just the little that we know about the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></a>[Pg 97]</span> -Great Bird of Paradise, how he has a special tree -that he comes to, to have those dances that the -natives call “Sácalelis,” and how he flies about with -his plumes waving, or sits underneath them as if he -were in the spray of a falling fountain, that I have -told you; but, besides this, I can only tell you just -a very little about a Bird of Paradise that I have -not said anything about, because, you know, there -are so many of them. The little I can tell you is -this. Two gentlemen—one of them a Mr. Chalmers -and the other a Mr. Wyatt—were once travelling -in the part of New Guinea where this Bird of -Paradise lives, and one morning, when they were -up early, they saw four of the cock birds and two -of the hens, in a tree close by them. This is what -one of these gentlemen says about them (if there -is any word too long for you, or that you don't -understand, you must ask your mother to explain -it):—</p> - -<p>“The two hens were sitting quietly on a branch, -and the four cocks, dressed in their very best, their -ruffs of green and yellow standing out, giving them a -handsome appearance about the head and neck” (yes, -I feel sure of that), “their long flowing plumes so -arranged that every feather seemed combed out, and -the long wires” (he means the “funny feathers”)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></a>[Pg 98]</span> -“stretched well out behind, were dancing in a circle -round them.” (Just fancy!) “It was an interesting -sight.” (I should <i>think</i> so!) “First one and then -another would advance a little nearer to a hen, and -she, coquette-like” (you will have to ask your mother -what <i>that</i> means), “would retire a little, pretending -not to care for any advances. A shot was fired, contrary -to our expressed wish, there was a strange -commotion, and two of the cocks flew away” (you -see what shooting does), “but the others and the hens -remained. Soon the two returned, and again the -dance began, and continued long. As we had strictly -forbidden any more shooting, all fear was gone; and -so, after a rest, the males came a little nearer to the -dark brown hens. Quarrelling ensued, and in the end -all six birds flew away.”</p> - -<p>Fancy seeing all that! I think it is wonderful that -any of the birds stayed after the shot had been fired, -and if another one had been, no doubt they would -all have gone. Those travellers, you see, were a little -better than most travellers are. They did not kill -the birds (perhaps <i>they</i> were <i>not</i> naturalists), and the -consequence is they have had something interesting -to tell us about them. Still, I think if I had been -there I should have had a <i>little</i> more to say, and -instead of just saying that the cock birds were dancing, -I should have described <i>how</i> they were dancing, -and what sort of attitudes they put themselves into.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></a>[Pg 99]</span> -And I think I would have waited at that place, and -gone to those trees again very early next morning, all -by myself, to see if those birds came back to dance -there. Still, what these travellers do tell us is very -interesting, very much more interesting than if they -had only written, “Here we shot,” or “Here we -obtained another specimen of Paradisea Something-elsea”—which, -of course, would be the Latin name. -Naturalists like to tell us the Latin name of the -animals they shoot. If they only had an English -name I don't think they would care nearly so much -to shoot them. How sorry we ought to be that -animals have Latin names!</p> - -<p>But, now, how is it that it is only the cock bird—the -male—of all these Birds of Paradise who is so -beautiful, whilst the poor hen—the female bird—is -quite plain, in comparison? Well, I must tell you, -first, that this is not only the case with Birds of Paradise, -but that it is just the same with other birds as -well. In most, if not all, of the beautiful birds I -am going to tell you about, it is the male bird that -is so <i>very</i> beautiful, so that perhaps you will begin to -think that this is the case with <i>all</i> beautiful birds, -and that there is no hen bird that has <i>very</i> splendid -or brilliant plumage. But this is not so at all. You -would make a great mistake if you were to think -that. In most of the parrots—those brightly-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></a>[Pg 100]</span>coloured -birds that you know so well—the male and -female are alike, and if you were to see a kingfisher—the -star-bird that I told you about in the first -chapter—gleaming and glancing up a river, you would -not know whether it was the one or the other. The -feathers of the female scarlet flamingo are almost—if -not quite—as scarlet as those of the male; the cock -robin's breast is not more red than the breast of the -hen robin, at least you would find it difficult to tell -the difference; male and female pigeons—and some of -them are very splendid—are as bright as each other, -and so it is with a very great number of other birds.</p> - -<p>Now does not this seem funny, that some male -birds should be so much handsomer than their wives, -whilst some <i>hen</i> birds should be just as handsome as -their husbands? Is there any way of explaining this, -or, rather, do we know how to explain it? for there -<i>is</i> a way of explaining everything—a right way, I -mean, of course. The difficult thing is to find it -out. Well, there are some clever people who have -been thinking about this funny thing, and they try to -explain it in this way.</p> - -<p>Of course, when the male Birds of Paradise (and -it is the same with other birds) show off their fine -plumage to the hen birds, it is because they want to -marry them, which is just the same as with people; -for, you know, when a gentleman wishes to marry a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></a>[Pg 101]</span> -lady he dresses as nicely as he can, and sometimes he -goes into attitudes as well. Now, the hen Birds of -Paradise—so these clever people say—always choose -for their husbands the birds that have the finest -feathers, and the other ones, whose feathers are not -so fine, have to look about for another wife. Of -course, after the Birds of Paradise have married, they -make a nest, and very soon there are eggs in it, and -then the eggs are chipped and little Birds of Paradise -come out of them. Some of these little Birds of -Paradise will be males and some females, and the -male ones will grow up with feathers like the cock -birds, and the females with feathers like the hen—just -as with us, the boys sometimes grow up like the -father, and the girls sometimes grow up like the -mother—only with Birds of Paradise it is always so. -But now, amongst these young Birds of Paradise, -though all will be beautiful, some will be more beautiful -than the others, more beautiful even than their -father, perhaps, and you may be sure that those will -be the ones who will find it most easy to marry, and -who will have the greater number of children. Some -of those children will be more beautiful than <i>their</i> -fathers, and then <i>they</i> will marry and have children -that are still more beautiful than themselves, and so it -will always be going on. The young male Birds of -Paradise will always have feathers like their fathers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></a>[Pg 102]</span> -and gradually they will get more and more beautiful, -because their wives will always choose them for their -beauty. But the young female Birds of Paradise -will always be like their mothers, and will not become -more beautiful than they are, because hen Birds -of Paradise are not chosen for their beauty, but only -for their good qualities.</p> - -<p>Now, if this is true, it shows how sensible the Birds -of Paradise must be, for all <i>sensible</i> persons would -choose their wives for their good qualities, and not -just for their beauty. The worst of it is that there -are so many <i>persons</i> who are not <i>quite</i> sensible. Still, -even with us, there are a good many wives who must, -I think, have been chosen, like the hen Birds of Paradise, -for their good qualities—which, of course, is what -they <i>ought</i> to be chosen for.</p> - -<p>That is how some people explain why the male -Birds of Paradise, and other beautiful male birds, are -so much more beautiful than the females. They say -that they have gradually got more and more beautiful, -whilst the hens have remained plain, and that once -upon a time there was not so very much difference -between them. And if you ask them why the males -and females of other birds are both as beautiful as -each other, they will tell you that the children of -<i>those</i> birds were always like the father, so that, as the -father birds became beautiful—for they were chosen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></a>[Pg 103]</span> -in the same way—all the little daughter birds became -beautiful too, as well as the little sons.</p> - -<p>But I am afraid the people who explain it all -in this way must have forgotten how the Birds of -Paradise, at any rate, used once to live in Paradise, -where, of course, they were all as beautiful as each -other, and though their plumage got spoilt when they -came out of it (beautiful though it seems to us) in -the way I told you, yet it does seem funny that the -hens should have had it spoilt so much more than the -cock birds. But you know it was spoilt by the glory -which streamed out of the gates of Paradise, and -which was so bright and burning that it burnt off all -the most beautiful parts of it, and scorched and -singed the rest. Now, of course, the nearer any bird -was to the gate of Paradise when it opened, the worse -he would have got scorched, and so if the cocks flew -faster than the hens—and I am sure they did—they -would have got soonest away, and the hens would -have suffered most. <i>That</i> explanation seems much -more simple; but, you see, these <i>clever</i> people do not -believe about the Birds of Paradise having once lived -in Paradise. They have their own explanation of it -all (which I have just told you), and they like to -believe in that. Then which of the two are you to -believe in? Well, I think the simpler one—which is -prettier as well—would be the best for you to believe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></a>[Pg 104]</span> -in <i>now</i>, but later on—when <i>you</i> are a clever person—you -can try the other. Now, you know, you are -only a little child, and something that is simple and -pretty is the right thing for a little child. But a -clever person wants a different kind of explanation to -<i>that</i>. <i>He</i> wants a clever one, and as soon as you feel -that <i>you</i> have become a clever person, there will be a -clever explanation all ready for you.</p> - -<p>But now, whilst you are still a little child, I can -give you another explanation of why the males and -females of some birds are as beautiful as each other, -whilst the males of some other ones are ever so much -the most beautiful. This other explanation will do -in case the one about the cock Birds of Paradise flying -faster than the hens is not the right one, for, of course, -we cannot be quite sure that they flew faster. I did say -I was sure, but that was just a little mistake of mine. -One is not <i>really</i> sure of a thing until one knows it, -and I don't quite <i>know</i> that it happened like that, -however much I may think it did. Besides, this new -explanation that I am going to give you will do for -all other birds as well as for the Birds of Paradise, -and, of course, the more anything explains the better -explanation it is. So now I will give it you, and, if -you like it better than the other, you can take it instead, -and if you only like it as well, then you will have two -nice explanations instead of only one. Here it is.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></a>[Pg 105]</span></p> - -<p>In the old days, a long, long time ago, the males -and females of all the birds were as beautiful as each -other, and they were all in love with each other. -Only the question was which of them were the most -in love, and, as to that, they often had disputes. “We -love you better than you love us,” said the male birds -to the females; “you love us only for our beauty, -you do not love us for ourselves, as we love you.” -“If you think so,” said the female birds (the beautiful -hens), “give us your beauty, and you shall find -that we love you just as well, without it.” But the -male birds, who were quite content, <i>really</i>, to be loved -for their beauty, and who did not wish to part with it, -made haste to change the conversation. “But <i>you</i> -love <i>us</i> for <i>our</i> beauty,” said the hen birds (for they -soon got round again to the same subject); “it is not -for ourselves that you love us, but only because we -are beautiful.” “If that is your idea,” said the male -birds, “bestow your beauty upon us, and you shall -soon be undeceived.” Then the female birds, who only -wished to be loved for themselves and not for what -they looked like, gave all their beauty to their beautiful -husbands, and remained without any. So now, of -course, the male birds were twice as beautiful as they -had been before, whilst the poor hens were not -beautiful at all, and would even have been quite ugly -if they had not been birds, for a bird <i>cannot</i> be ugly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></a>[Pg 106]</span> -And now it was found that, whilst some of the male -birds had loved their wives so much that they went -on loving them still, in spite of the change in their -appearance, others (and I am afraid they were the -greater number) left off loving them, as soon as they -had left off being beautiful, and were not able to love -them again, although they tried ever so hard. You -see, they had only loved them for their beauty, not -for themselves, so as soon as there was no more -beauty, there was no more love. So those male birds -who had loved for love only, and not because their -wives were beautiful, kept this beauty and added it -to their own. Their wives did not want it back -again, for love was enough for them. But the ones -who had loved their wives, only because of their -beauty, had to give it them back, for otherwise they -would not have been able to go on loving them, and -that would have been very awkward indeed. That -is why, in some birds, the males and females are as -beautiful as each other, whilst in others, the males are -twice as beautiful as the females. As I told you, -this is an explanation which does as well for any other -bird as it does for the Birds of Paradise, and, if you -like it, you can believe in it till you have grown up -from a simple little child into a complicated clever -person.</p> - -<p>So now there are six Birds of Paradise that your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></a>[Pg 107]</span> -mother has promised not to wear in her hats, not in -any hat that she buys or has given to her, whether -it has the whole skin of one in it, or only just a few -feathers, or even one. She will not buy such a hat, -and she will not go into a shop to ask the price of it. -She will have nothing to do with it whatever, because -she has promised.</p> - -<p>But now, do you not see that, as your dear mother -has only promised about six kinds of Birds of Paradise, -and as there are some forty or fifty kinds in the -world, she might easily buy a hat that had some -kind of Bird of Paradise in it, without its being any of -these six? How much better it would be, then, if -your dear, dear mother were to promise never to wear -a hat that had any kind of Bird of Paradise in it. -And I am sure she will, now that you have explained -to her about the wicked little demon, and how much -more beautiful these Birds of Paradise are when they -are alive, and how happy they are, too, and how their -wives want them, to look at, and how there will be -no more of them left, soon, if people keep on killing -them, just to put into hats. Just talk to her about -it a little, and then throw your arms round her neck -and say: “Oh mother, do <i>promise</i> never to wear a -hat that has the feathers of <i>any</i> Bird of Paradise in it.” -There! And now she has promised. Well, you see -how easy it is.</p> - -<hr /> -</div> -<div class="chap"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></a>[Pg 108]</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII<br /> -About Humming-Birds, and Some More -Explanations</h2> - - -<p>Perhaps, when I was telling you about the Birds -of Paradise and how very, very beautiful they are, you -thought they were the most beautiful birds in the -whole world. They are nearly, but not quite. There -are the Humming-birds—<i>they</i> are even more beautiful. -At least they are more like jewels, and the Indians -who live in the countries where they are found call -them “living sunbeams.”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“By western Indians living sunbeams named.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>You can remember it by that line, which is from -a poem by Mrs. Hemans, a clever lady whom your -mother will tell you about. For the Indians, you -know, live in America, that great country—so large -that we call it “the new world”—which Columbus -discovered. They do not live in India, as you might -think. At least, when we talk of the Indians, it is -the ones that live in America and not India that we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></a>[Pg 109]</span> -mean. The ones that live in India we call Hindoos. -It seems funny, but the reason of it is that when -Columbus discovered America, he thought it was -India; for it was India he had been trying to find, -and he thought he had found it. But it was -America, not India, and it is only in America that -the beautiful Humming-birds live—birds that are -so beautiful as they are want a world to themselves -to live in.</p> - -<p>Now the birds that we have been talking about—the -Birds of Paradise—are not such very small birds. -The largest of them is nearly as large as a crow, and -even the very smallest is not so much smaller than a -thrush or a starling. But the largest Humming-bird -is not so large as a sparrow or chaffinch, and the -smaller ones are the very smallest birds in the -whole world, some of them being not so <i>very</i> much -larger than a large humble-bee, which is quite wonderful -to think of. Then they are wonderful fliers. The -Birds of Paradise fly very well—quite well enough—but -still there is nothing extraordinary in the way they -fly. But the little Humming-birds dart about quite -like lightning, and move their wings so fast that, -when you look at them, they do not seem to be wings -at all, but only two little hazy patches in the air, with -a bright jewel between them, which is the gleaming -breast of the Humming-bird. All the time their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></a>[Pg 110]</span> -wings are moving so quickly, they make a humming -sound, just as a top does when it is spinning very fast, -which is why we call them Humming-birds, just -as we call tops that hum very much, humming-tops.</p> - -<p>We have named the Humming-birds from the -sound they make when they fly, and the Indians from -their bright radiance and the speed at which they dart -about. It is from flower to flower that they dart, and -whilst you are looking at one sunbeam that is dancing -about one flower, all at once there is a ray of light -through the air, and another sunbeam is dancing about -another flower. That is what it looks like, only, -really, it is the same sunbeam that has flown from -one flower to another.</p> - -<p>Sometimes when you are walking in the garden in -England and looking at the geraniums in your flowerbeds, -you will see a little brown moth hovering over -one of them, and putting a long, slender thread-like -thing that we call a proboscis (though we call an -elephant's trunk a proboscis too) right down into the -centre of the flower. <i>His</i> wings move so fast that -you can hardly see them, and in a second or two <i>he</i> -will dart away too, so quickly that you only know he -is gone, and then, all of a sudden, you will see him -again, hovering over another geranium and probing it -with his wonderful, long, thin proboscis. It is a -tube, that proboscis, and through it, the moth is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></a>[Pg 111]</span> -sucking up the nectar of the flower, which is what it -lives on. That moth is the humming-bird hawk-moth, -and, if you have seen it, you have seen what -looks more like a Humming-bird than anything else -in England. It hovers over or under or in front of a -flower, as the Humming-birds do, it keeps moving -its wings in the same rapid way as they move theirs, -and making the same humming noise with them, and -it puts a long, slender, little brown thing, that looks -<i>something</i> like the beak of a Humming-bird, right -down into the flower, and sucks up the nectar that is -in it, which is just what a Humming-bird does. So -if the humming-bird moth were bright and gleaming, -as Humming-birds—sunbeams—are, it would seem to -be a Humming-bird and not a moth at all. But you -must not think that it really would be one. Oh no, -it never could be, because it is an insect, and an insect -is a very different thing to a bird.</p> - -<p>The humming-bird moth and the Humming-bird -look like each other because they live in the -same way and do the same things. They both -fly, so they both have wings; and they both sip nectar, -so they both have a long thing to stick into the -flowers and suck it up with: so they look like each -other, but they are not a bit the same. A petticoat, -you know, looks a little like an upper skirt, -for they both have to be worn round the waist,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></a>[Pg 112]</span> -which makes them the same kind of shape, and when -the skirt is part of a white dress then they are of the -same colour. But think how different they really are! -Why, one is a petticoat and the other is an upper skirt. -So you must always remember that, though two -animals look the same, they may really be very -different.</p> - -<p>Now although the Humming-birds, or living sunbeams, -are all of them small birds, yet they are not all -of the same size, and some are quite big compared to -others, just as a peacock butterfly is quite big, compared -to a tiny blue one, whilst even the tiny little -blue one may be big compared to some very small -moths. Then, again, their beaks are of all kinds of -different shapes and lengths. Some are quite straight, -whilst others are bent like a sabre or even a sickle, and -one Humming-bird has his so very much bent indeed, -that it looks like half of a black ring or bracelet or -something else that is quite round. As for length, -some are shorter than a quite short pin, whilst others -are longer than a very long darning-needle.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="Illo_113" id="Illo_113"></a> -<img src="images/illo_113.jpg" width="507" height="800" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><p class="center">RACQUET-TAILED HUMMING-BIRD</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Of course there is a reason for the beaks of -Humming-birds being so different, and the reason -is that they have to go into different flowers, and -must fit into them as a finger fits into a fingerstall -or a periwinkle into its shell. If the part of -the flower that holds the nectar is straight, then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></a>[Pg 115]</span> -the beak of the Humming-bird that feeds on the -nectar of that flower must be straight too, but if it -is curved, then, of course, the beak must be curved, -or else how could it be pushed into it?</p> - -<p>And if the nectary of any flower (for that is what -the place that the nectar is in is called) were shaped -like a corkscrew, then the beak of the Humming-bird -that sucked out the nectar from <i>that</i> flower would -have to be shaped like a corkscrew too. But there -are no flowers shaped like that, and so there are no -Humming-birds with corkscrew beaks, like the tail of -a periwinkle. But there <i>is</i> a flower that has its -nectary, or honey-tube, bent round into almost a half -circle, and it is just that one Humming-bird that has -its beak bent in the same way, that sips the nectar from -that flower. No other one is able to do it, and -there is no other flower that that Humming-bird can -sip the nectar from.</p> - -<p>And there are more than 400 different kinds of -Humming-birds, and the beak of every one of them -must fit into some flower or another, and often into a -great many more than one. Oh then, what a lot -of different kinds of flowers there must be, for all -these beaks to fit into! Ah, there are indeed, for it -is in the great forests or plains of America—the -largest in the whole world—or on the slopes of the -great mountain ranges there—the highest in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></a>[Pg 116]</span> -world except the Himalayas—that the Humming-birds -live, and everywhere there are wonderful trees -and wonderful flowers. As for the trees, I have told -you what some of them are like in the forests of the -Malay Archipelago, and in the great forests of Brazil; -I think they are still larger and more wonderful. -And as for the flowers that grow in those wonderful -forests or on the great plains or the slopes and sides -of those great, high mountains, how could I ever -give you an idea of what they are like, or how should -I know where to begin, when there are so many? -For there are some that are like great scarlet trumpets -on the outside of their petals, but when you look inside -them they are like the open mouths of fierce dragons -shooting out a lot of fiery-orange tongues, all forked -and cloven ever so many times over, each tongue -looking as if it were the tongues of twenty little -hissing snakes, all tied together in a bundle and ready -to dart at you. And there are some that are in -bunches, and each bunch looks as if a lot of oxen had -put their heads against each other and begun to grow -smaller and smaller and smaller till their horns were -no longer than honeysuckles, and then had disappeared -altogether, <i>except</i> their horns, which had turned pink -and stayed there. Bunches of little pink ox-horns -are what those flowers look like. Then there are -flowers that look as if they had almost changed into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></a>[Pg 117]</span> -very beautiful butterflies, and others that seem to be -very beautiful butterflies just changing into flowers. -There are flowers that are all the colours that there -are, and others that have tried all the colours that -there are, and then found out new ones to be of. -And there are some, too, that are only white, but so -lovely that all the flowers of all the colours that there -are, gaze at them and envy them. Some are so soft -and delicate that, although you see them, you only -seem to be dreaming of them. They make you -think of heaven, and it is as if angels were kissing you. -Others are like golden stars, with a stem that is like -a long, long, very long piece of red string that goes -tying itself round and round a great many trees, and -climbing up and up them, and all the way up there -are bright green leaves and the beautiful golden stars. -Other strings are golden or green, and have pink or -crimson stars upon them, and some of these hang -down, like glowing lamps from a soft, cool, emerald -ceiling. Some flowers are like little bunches of -red counters that you play games with, and there is -one that is like a wonderful, scarlet, shining leaf, -with a thick little tail at the tip of it, twisted round -in a coil. This tail is orange with cream-white -spots upon it, but just at its <i>own</i> tip it is scarlet -again, like the rest of the leaf. Such a wonderful-looking -flower! There are creeping crimson nastur<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></a>[Pg 118]</span>tiums -that make the air blush in spots, azaleas -with scarlet that has swooned into pink, and pink -that has blushed into scarlet, and calceolarias that -look like yellow flower-bubbles that fairies have -blown into the air and that have come down, softly, -upon delicate little stalks, and stayed there without -bursting. Not all of these wonderful flowers have -a scent, for scented flowers are commoner here in -England than in far-off tropical countries. But a -few of them have, and <i>their</i> scent is so exquisite -that you would think it was sent from heaven.</p> - -<p>Some of the flowers have leaves that are even -more beautiful than themselves, and sometimes it is -the leaves that you look at and not the flowers at -all. Some of these leaves seem to be made of -velvet, or something even softer and more velvety <i>than</i> -velvet, whilst the colours in them are like the pattern -of a very beautiful Turkey carpet. Others look like -wonderful spear-heads or the tops of very ornamental -park railings, green and red and orange, and all -striped and spotted and speckled like the skin of -newts or lizards. There are some leaves so large, -too, that they would almost make a carpet for a -<i>very</i> small room, and so handsome that you might -go into all the haberdashers' shops in the world -without finding any carpet that would look nearly -so well. Some are still larger, and those are the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></a>[Pg 119]</span> -leaves of palm-trees that bend down from high in -the air, at the end of long, bending stalks that -spring from the top of the small slender stem. -They are of such a soft, lovely green that it makes -you cool even to look up at them, and so graceful -and delicate that you think of the fairies, but so -big and strong that a giant might lie upon them -and go to sleep, without breaking them or crushing -them down. And there are wonderful cactuses—so -large that they are called trees—with trunks like -great, prickly, green caterpillars, and branches like -smaller, prickly, green caterpillars stuck on to them -by the tail. But on these ugly branches there are -flowers like beautiful purple stars, whilst in the pools -or the rivers, water-lilies are floating that look like -large, purple flakes of snow. It is amongst flowers -and leaves and trees like these that the Humming-birds -fly about. Those are the wonderful goblets -out of which they sip their nectar.</p> - -<p>But now, about this sipping of nectar I have -something to tell you, and when I have told it you, -you will know more than a good many people do, -who think they know something about Humming-birds -and natural history. Well, it is this: the -Humming-birds do not live <i>only</i> on the nectar in -the flowers, as most people think they do, but on -the insects that have been drowned in it, and which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></a>[Pg 120]</span> -they suck up at the same time. You see the -insects—of course I mean little insects—flies or -gnats, not large moths and butterflies—get into the -tubes of the flowers, to sip the nectar themselves, -and they often fall into it, and are not able to get -out again, but drown there; for to them it is like -a little lake or pond—a pond of nectar, and, of -course, very nice, but still, for all that, it drowns -them. There is hardly any flower-cup that has -not these drowned insects in it, and when the -Humming-birds drink the nectar, they swallow the -little insects at the same time. They could not -live upon nectar only—they want animal food (as -it is called) as well, and that is the way in which -they get it. That is why when people have caught -Humming-birds, and given them only nectar—or -sugar and water, which is something like it—to -live on, they have always died. There are no -insects in it, no animal food. They had gravy, -you see, but no meat, and they wanted meat as -well as gravy. So they died, the poor Humming-birds. -But I think it is almost better for a living -sunbeam to die than to be kept living in a -cage.</p> - -<p>But now, why do the Indians call the Humming-birds -living sunbeams? Oh, but you will say I -have told you that, and, besides, anybody could guess.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></a>[Pg 121]</span> -It is because they are so bright and gleaming, and -hover in the air as a sunbeam dances in it, or shoot -through it as quickly and as brightly as a sunbeam -shoots down from the sun. Well, yes, that is one -explanation; but why should there not be two (as -there were about the Birds of Paradise), so that you -can choose the one you like best?—for you know -you are not a clever person <i>yet</i>. Well, there <i>are</i> -two, for the Indians say that the Humming-birds -are called living sunbeams because they really <i>are</i> -living sunbeams, just as you are called a little -girl because you are a little girl; and how could -there be a simpler explanation of a thing than -that?</p> - -<p>And this is how it happened, only you must -remember that it was a very, very long time ago. -In those old days the sun had not long sent his -beams to earth, and it was only after they came -there that the things upon the earth began to live. -There had been no life at all before, it had all -been dark and cold; it was only when the sun's -beams began to shine upon the cold, dark earth, -that they warmed it into life and love. Now as -first one beautiful thing and then another began -to live upon the earth, the sunbeams admired them -all very much, but they did not envy them, for -there was nothing there <i>quite</i> so beautiful as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></a>[Pg 122]</span> -sunbeam. But one day, as they were dancing upon -the waters of the sea, they heard the fishes saying -to each other: “How beautiful are the sunbeams! -Is there anything so beautiful as they? Our scales -flash out brightly, but compared to them they are -dull, even on the sunniest day. We should envy -them, were they alive like us, but of course, as it is, -it is different.” “Are we not alive?” said the -sunbeams, and they felt sad and did not dance on -the waves any more that day. Then, another day, -they were dancing on the leaves, and falling through -them on to the shady ground underneath, chequering -it with gold. “How glorious are the sunbeams!” -said the leaves to each other, “more -glorious even than the birds or the butterflies that -perch amongst us. Would that we were as -beautiful!” “Do you envy them?” said a butterfly, -who had overheard and felt annoyed; “they -have neither sense nor breath, are neither born nor -die. Envy us, if you will, who have all these -advantages, and are so beautiful as well—much more -so than yourselves—but do not, however plain you -may be, envy what is not alive.” “Are we not -alive?” said the sunbeams, and they were discontented -and the clouds hid them, so that neither -the trees nor the birds and butterflies within them -seemed to be alive any more. And, again, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></a>[Pg 123]</span> -sunbeams were shining through a small window, -where, in a wretched garret, on a still more wretched -bed, lay a man who had care and sorrow—yes, and -worse even than those—in his heart. “Would that -I were dead!” he cried, as he clasped his hands on -his forehead. “Ah, how I envy the sunbeams! But -no, I will not envy <i>them</i>, for <i>they</i> are not alive, -they are inanimate merely.” “Are we not alive?” -said the sunbeams; “and does nobody envy us -on that account?” And the wretched room that -had seemed quite cheerful whilst they were there, -became dark and dismal again, as they withdrew.</p> - -<p>And now it was the sunbeams who envied everything—bird -or beast, or plant or leaf or flower -(even the man in the garret)—because they were -alive. “It is hard that we alone should be without -life,” thought they, and they complained to the -sun. “Give us life,” they cried; “we are more -beautiful than anything here on earth, but nothing -envies us because we are not alive. It is dreadful -not to be envied.” “And do you really think,” -said the sun,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></a>[Pg 124]</span> “that you, who have given life to -others, have no life yourselves? Before I sent you -to the earth, it was dark and cold and lifeless. It -needed you, to give it that for which you now ask. -Do not, then, be discontented any more, but be -assured that you have life, as much as anything that -lives and grows upon the earth, though, to be sure, -it is of another kind. Be satisfied, therefore, and rejoice -in your loveliness.” This answer of the sun's -satisfied most of the sunbeams, but there were some -who were foolish and whom it did not satisfy. -“Give us such life as the children of the earth -enjoy!” cried these; “the life that breathes and -grows, that has a shape, that is born and dies. -That is the life that we would have. Be good to -us, and give us that.” Then the sun said to the -foolish sunbeams: “I can give you such life as -you ask for, and, if you persist in asking it, I must; -for you are my children and I cannot bear to see -you unhappy. But remember, if I once grant you -this wish, and give you the life that earth's children -enjoy, you can nevermore be as you now are, or -enter into my palace—my golden palace—again. -Now you fly from me to the earth and from the -earth back to me, but when once you have earth's -life, on earth you must remain and on earth you -must die. You are immortal now: when you -become children of the earth you will be mortal as -they are.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="Illo_125" id="Illo_125"></a> -<img src="images/illo_125.jpg" width="571" height="800" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><p class="center">PLOVER CREST HUMMING-BIRD</p></div> -</div> - -<p>But the foolish sunbeams, who could not understand -what death should be, persisted, and the sun, -who loved them because they were his children, had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></a>[Pg 127]</span> -to do what they asked. So one night, when all the -other sunbeams had flown back to him, he sent these -foolish ones to sleep on the earth (which had never -happened to them before), and there they lay all night—some -in the flower-cups, some under the leaves of -the trees—without giving any light at all, for when a -sunbeam <i>is</i> asleep it can give no light. But in the -morning, when their brother and sister sunbeams flew -back to earth, they woke up, but the two did not -know each other again, for the foolish sunbeams were -not sunbeams any more—not real ones, that is to say. -They flew about, still, in the forests, and glanced -through the trees, and hovered over the flowers, in -almost the same way as they had done before; but -now they had a shape and wings, and they sipped -the nectar out of the flower-cups, which was a thing -that they had never even dreamed about. They -were Humming-birds, and though their feathers were -as bright as <i>they</i> had ever been, and though they had -all of them long Latin names and a scientific description -in books, still it was not quite the same, for it -would take a lot of Latin and a lot of scientific -description, to make up for not being a sunbeam. -But when the Indians came to know of the occurrence, -they called them “living sunbeams,” and it is -easy to understand what they meant. And now you -know (until you are a clever person) how Humming-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></a>[Pg 128]</span>birds -came into the world. But you must not think -that the other sunbeams—the real ones that have -never changed into anything—are dead. Oh no, -indeed! How could they dance and play about as -they do, if they were?</p> - -<hr /> -</div> -<div class="chap"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129"></a>[Pg 129]</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br /> -Some very Bright Humming-Birds</h2> - - -<p>One of the most beautiful of all the Humming-birds -(but we can say that of so many) is the -Rainbow Humming-bird. It is very large for a -Humming-bird, so what <i>will</i> you think when I say -that its body is about the size of a little wren's, a -bird which, perhaps, you had been thinking was the -smallest bird there is. Why, a Humming-bird that -is as big, or almost as big, as a wren is a very big -Humming-bird indeed—in fact quite a gigantic one. -But now, the tail of this Humming-bird is very different -to a wren's, and makes it look still bigger because -it is so long—three to three and a half inches, I -should think—and such a wonderful shape. It is -forked, so you must think of a swallow first if you -want to imagine it; but then you must imagine that -the two feathers which make the fork of a swallow's -tail are curved outwards like two little scimitars, so -that their tips are six inches apart from each other. -Indeed they gleam as brightly as any scimitar does in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></a>[Pg 130]</span> -the sun, but it is not like steel that they gleam, for -they are of the most lovely deep, rich, violet-blue that -you can imagine, such a colour as was never seen -anywhere else out of the rainbow; and now I come -to think of it, what these lovely feathers are most -like is two little violet rainbows set back to back. -You can think how lovely they look as they go darting -through the air, and I must tell you that the -beautiful violet-blue sends out gleams of other kinds -of blues—lighter ones—which are just as beautiful -as the violet itself. On the opposite page you see -the picture of a Humming-bird that is a good deal -like this one. But it is not the same, so the tail is -not <i>quite</i> the same either.</p> - -<p>Now of course you will think—and you will be -quite right to think so—that a bird that has a tail like -two little violet rainbows will have the other parts of -him beautiful as well. Well, the back of this bird is -all green—a beautiful, shining, gleaming green, and -his head is green too—at least it seems to be when -you see it first; but, as you look at it, all at once the -green changes into a heavenly violet blue, to match -the heavenly violet blue of its lovely rainbow tail. -Under the throat it is green like the rest, but just in -the centre of it there is a tiny little drop—just one -or two little feathers—of the very loveliest amethyst. -Ah, fancy seeing a bird like that flying about and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></a>[Pg 133]</span> -hovering over the flowers. Only you would not <i>see</i> -him, for you would not be able to see his wings—at -least not properly—they would move so fast. What -you would see, would be a little circle of hazy brown -mist, and, right in the middle of it, a little sparkling -sun, and on the other side, gleaming through the -mist, two sweet little violet rainbows. Then all at -once there would be a trail of light in the air, and it -would all be somewhere else—another sun and rainbows -over another flower. Of course, really, a -Humming-bird would have flown from one flower -to another, but what it would look like would be a -gleam of light—a sunbeam—with a jewel-flash at -each end of it.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="Illo_131" id="Illo_131"></a> -<img src="images/illo_131.jpg" width="600" height="619" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><p class="center">TRAIN-BEARER HUMMING-BIRD</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Another Humming-bird—the Sappho Comet—is -about the same size as the last one, and -he is a lovely gleaming green, too—an emerald -green, I think—on his head and neck and shoulders, -but his throat is light blue—the colour of a most -beautiful turquoise. But <i>such</i> a turquoise! There -is no other one in the world that ever gleamed and -flashed and sparkled in that way, because, you know, -turquoises do not sparkle at all—at least nowhere -else—it is not their habit. But I think that some of -the very finest of them—at least the lovely colours -that were in them—must have flown into that -Humming-bird's throat and begun to gleam and flash<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></a>[Pg 134]</span> -and sparkle there. Perhaps they begged to be -allowed to as a very special favour. Then the tail -of this Humming-bird is forked too, like the other -one's, but not in quite the same way. It is more -like the fork of an arrow than two little rainbows -turned back to back, and instead of being violet it is -all ruby and copper and topaz, with a broad band -of velvet black at each tip. I cannot tell you how -brilliant those colours are—the ruby and the copper -and the topaz. They are so brilliant that, if you -were to take them into a dark room, I really almost -think they would light it up like a lamp or a candle. -Oh, it is a wonderful tail. You might think and think -for quite a long time and yet you would never be able -to think how bright—how wonderfully bright—it is.</p> - -<p>But listen to what the Indians say. They say -that once that Humming-bird was out in a thunderstorm, -and the lightning got angry with him because -he flew so fast, and tried to strike him. It was -jealous of him, that was the reason, for the lightning -likes to think itself faster than anything else. But -although the lightning chased that Humming-bird for -a very long time, it could only just touch his tail, -and there it has stayed—a little flash of it which was -not enough to hurt—ever since. You know how -bright the lightning is; that will help you to think -what that Humming-bird's tail is like. And you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135"></a>[Pg 135]</span> -know, now, what his throat is like. Fancy seeing -them both together, flashing, sparkling, gleaming, -beaming, glancing, dancing in the glorious, glowing -sunshine of South America.</p> - -<p>But now in the Splendid-breasted Humming-bird -all the glory is upon his breast, his throat. Once, I -think (at least the Indians say so), he must have -flown very high—yes, right up to heaven, and the -door was open and he tried to fly in. But he could -not, they turned him away; but the glory of heaven -had just fallen upon his breast and he flew back with -it there, to earth. It is green—that glory—the most -marvellous, light, gleaming green, but all at once, as -you look at it, it has changed to blue, an exquisite -light, turquoise blue, and then, just as you are going -to cry out, “Oh, but it is blue, not green,” it is -green again, and then blue again before you can say -that it is green, and then, all at once, it is both at the -same time, for each has changed into the other.</p> - -<p>It is the throat-gorget (you know I explained -to you) on which this glorious colour falls, but this -bird has such a large one that it covers the breast as -well as the throat, and goes up quite high on each -side, till it meets the deep, rich, velvety black of the -head. Of course this deep, velvet black makes the -wonderful green and blue look all the more wonderful, -for it is a dark background for them to shine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></a>[Pg 136]</span> -out against, and your mother will explain to you -what a background is. Then, on the back this -Humming-bird is green too—in fact you might call -him the emerald Humming-bird—but it is darker -than that other green (if anything so bright <i>can</i> be -darker) and without the lovely turquoise-blue in it. -It is a glory, but not <i>such</i> a glory as the one on his -breast; not the glory of heaven that fell upon him at -its gates—perhaps it is his memory of it as he flew -away.</p> - -<p>But now I feel sure you will ask why the same -brightness which streamed out of heaven, and spoilt -the plumage of the Birds of Paradise, should have -made the plumage of this Humming-bird so beautiful. -Well, it is a difficult question, but perhaps it is because -the Humming-bird was thinking of heaven, and wishing -to get into it, whilst the Birds of Paradise had got -tired of being in heaven and were only thinking of -earth. That might have made a very great difference. -And <i>perhaps</i> you will say, “If the Humming-birds -are sunbeams that have been changed into birds, -why should some of them have been made more -beautiful afterwards in other ways?” Well, as to -that, there are a great many different kinds of Humming-birds -(more than four hundred, as I told you), -so perhaps they were not quite all of them sunbeams -first, and besides, even when a bird has been a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></a>[Pg 137]</span> -sunbeam first, something else might happen to it -when it had become a bird. At any rate, if one explanation -does not seem satisfactory, there is always -the other, and one of them must be the right one—until -you are a clever person, which will not be yet -awhile. So now we will go on, for there are some -other Humming-birds with other explanations waiting.</p> - -<p>The Glow-glow Humming-bird (I do like that -name) is smaller than any of the other three we have -talked about, for it is less than half the size of a little -wren. Its head and its back are shining green (you will -be thinking all the Humming-birds are green, but wait -a little!), its breast is white, but its throat—oh, its -throat!—what is it? What can it be called? It is -a rose that has burst into flame. No, it is a flame -trying to look like a rose. No, it is neither of these. -It is one of those stars that are of all colours, and -change from one to the other as you look at them—from -green to gold, from gold to topaz, from topaz -to rosy red. Only <i>this</i> star changed into every -colour at once, which was wonderful, and as he did -that (and this was still more wonderful) he flew all -to pieces, and little bits of him were scattered -through the whole air, and when the sun rose and -shone upon them, they were all Humming-birds, -flying about with wings and feathers, and with long -Latin names, so that there should be no doubt about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></a>[Pg 138]</span> -it. It was wonderful, wonderful; but yet it was not -quite so wonderful as the colours upon this Humming-bird's -throat.</p> - -<p>The Little Flame-bearer (there is a name for -you!) is a still smaller Humming-bird than the last -one—indeed his body, without the feathers, would not -be <i>very</i> much larger than a <i>very</i> large humble-bee. -Here, again, all the wonder is on its throat, which is -topaz and green and copper, all glowing and sparkling -together, as if they were all married to one another -and each of them was trying to get the upper hand. -Ah, was there ever such a sweet little gem-bird? -He is a jewel mounted on wings and set in the air. -Only sometimes, when he hovers just underneath a -flower, he seems hanging from its tip like a pendant.</p> - -<p>Costa's Coquette (that means that some one -named Costa—some Portuguese gentleman—was -the first to write about it) is larger than the Little -Flame-bearer (though not half so big as a wren), -and he <i>tries</i> to be brighter. Whether he <i>is</i> brighter -I am sure I can't say. To tell properly, one ought -to see them both hovering under the same flower, -or, at least, very close together, and even then -one would only feel bewildered. But this one's head -and throat are all one splendour, one marvellous -gleam of rosy, pinky, rosy-pink, pinky-rose magenta. -Only if you <i>say</i> that that is what it is, it will change<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></a>[Pg 139]</span> -into violet and contradict you, and then, if you say -it is violet, it will change into topaz and contradict -you again. So you had better say nothing—for one -does not want to be contradicted—but just hold -your breath and watch it. It will change quite soon -enough, even then, long before you are tired of its -rosy, pinky, rosy-pink, pinky-rose magenta, which is -a colour you have not seen, and which I have not -told you about before. Only if you <i>must</i> say something -about it whilst you are looking at it—something -besides “Oh!” I mean—say it is a Humming-bird. -That will be quite sufficient, and not one of its -colours can be offended with you then for not mentioning -them and mentioning the others. Now, I -must tell you that the feathers of this little bird's -throat—of that wonderful, gleaming throat-gorget—grow -out on each side into two little peaks, two -little pointed tongues of rose-pink magenta flame (but -hush!), and he can spread them out and shoot them -forward, as well as the whole of the gorget, in quite -a wonderful way. When he does that, what he <i>seems</i> -to do is to strike a great number of matches at the -same time, and from each one, as he strikes it, there -bursts out hundreds and hundreds of bright, sparkling -jewels of flame. Ah, you should see him strike his -jewel-matches—all together, all the jewels that there -are, all struck in one second, as he whizzes about in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></a>[Pg 140]</span> -the air. His back is all green, and <i>so</i> bright, if only -you cover up his head and throat. If you don't cover -them—or as soon as you uncover them again—you -hardly seem to see it. It is no brighter then than a -glow-worm is when a very bright star is shooting -through the air.</p> - -<p>Now we come to the Splendid Coquette, a little -bird not half the size of a golden-crested wren, which -is the smallest bird that we, in this country, know -anything about, smaller, even, than the common wren. -<i>He</i> has a crest, too—this little Humming-bird—a -very fine one of chestnut feathers, not sticking up on -the top of the head, as so many crests do, but going -backwards after the head has come to an end, so that -it makes a little chestnut feather-awning for the neck -to be under. But just where they spring from the -head each of these chestnut feathers is black, and at -their tips, too, they have all a little black spot, and -this makes them look still prettier than if they were -all chestnut. When the little bird spreads out this -fine crest of his, like a fan—for he can do that—all -the feathers in it stand out separately from each other, -and then he looks like a little sun in the centre of -his own rays.</p> - -<p>Yes, a sun, because he is so very bright. He has -a gorget (or perhaps you would prefer to call it a -lappet) of feathers on his throat and breast, of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></a>[Pg 141]</span> -most glorious, radiant green colour, and from it there -shoot out—one on each side—a pair of the very -loveliest and most delicate little fairy-wings that ever -you <i>never</i> saw—for I feel sure that you never <i>have</i> -seen anything at all like them. I do not mean, of -course, that they are real wings, to fly with, no—it -would be funny if a bird had <i>two</i> pairs of <i>that</i> -kind—but ornamental ones, wings for the little hen -Humming-bird, who has none, to look at and say, -“How beautiful! How <i>extraordinarily</i> becoming!” -Each of these dear little wings is made by a few -delicate, long, slender feathers of a light chestnut -colour, the same as the feathers of the crest, only, -instead of being tipped with black, these ones are -tipped with a spot of the same lovely green that -there is on the throat and breast. The longest of -them, which is in the middle, is nearly an inch long—which -is very long indeed when you think how small -the little birdie is—and it stands out a quarter of an -inch beyond the two next longest ones on each side -of it, and these are almost a quarter of an inch longer -than the ones that come next. If you hold out your -hand with the fingers spread out, and imagine the -middle one a good deal longer and the little finger -and thumb much shorter, then you will know the -shape of these dear little fairy-wings; only, of course, -feathers are much more elegant than fingers—even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></a>[Pg 142]</span> -than pretty little fingers. Think how pretty something -in muslin or puff-lace, like that, on a dress -would be!—but it is ever, oh, <i>ever</i> so much prettier -on a little Humming-bird, in little chestnut feathers -with little green spangles at their tips. And that is -why I call them “fairy-wings,” for I think if any -pair of wings that are <i>not</i> a fairy's could be pretty -enough <i>for</i> a fairy, those would be the ones.</p> - -<p>And I think if you saw this sweet little Humming-bird -hanging in the air, with his breast all -flashing and sparkling, and with his chestnut crest -spread out above it, and his little chestnut and star-spangled -wings flying out on each side of it, you -would think him almost as pretty as a fairy could be. -You would think his fairy-wings the real ones that he -was flying with, because you would see them, whilst -the other ones would be moving so quickly that they -would be only like a mist or haze—a little night that -he had made for himself for the star of his beauty to -shine in.</p> - -<p>Now just try to imagine how lovely that little -Humming-bird must be. Can you understand any -one <i>wanting</i> to kill him? But now that I have told -you about that wretched little demon with his charms -to send people to sleep, and those two bad bottles of -his, or, rather, the powders inside them—apathy and -vanity—I daresay you can understand it. If I had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143"></a>[Pg 143]</span> -not told you about <i>him</i> I don't think you would have -been able to.</p> - -<p>Princess Helen's Coquette (how proud he ought -to be of a name like that!) is a little Humming-bird -something like the last one. He is a -little smaller, I think, but whether he is a little -prettier, too, or not <i>quite</i> so pretty, or only <i>as</i> -pretty, all that I shall leave to you; it is you who -will have to decide. His back is all of a golden -green, and his head, which has a forked crest at the -back of it like a swallow's tail, is a beautiful, rich, -dark, velvety green, so that would make a pretty -little bird—would it not?—even without anything -else. But he <i>has</i> something else—two or three other -things in fact—which are so—oh, so <i>very</i> pretty. First, -on each side of the back of the head—just under -each fork of the little swallow-tailed crest—there -is a little delicate tuft of feathers, which rise up and -spread out upon each side in such a graceful little -curve. But these feathers are not like other feathers. -They are <i>something</i> like the “funny feathers” that -the Birds of Paradise have, for they are quite thin, -like threads, and an inch long, which (although it is -not quite so long as those) is yet a good length when -you think of what a little thing this little Humming-bird -is. These pretty little feathers are of a deep -velvety green colour—the same colour as his swallow-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144"></a>[Pg 144]</span>tailed -crest—and there are three on each side, three -little velvet green feather-threads, floating out on -each side behind his head. On his throat there is a -gorget of gleaming, jewelly green, much lighter than -the other greens—more like emerald, but with a -goldeny, bronzy wash in it, as well. Just think how -beautiful that must be! And then, lower down on -his throat, underneath the green gorget—as if all that -were not enough for him—this Humming-bird has -something else—we will call it a tippet—which flies out -all round his neck, and, especially, on each side of it. -A tippet or a ruffle—perhaps that is rather a better -word—a ruffle of velvet black feathers in front, and -of light chestnut feathers with velvet black stripes—like -a tiger—on each side. As for his tail, it spreads -out into a dear little fan, and the fan is chestnut -and black too, broad stripes of chestnut and narrow -stripes of black, with a broad patch of black where it -begins, which looks like the handle of the fan. What -a pretty, pretty bird! Fancy a little birdie that is -only about two inches long, and has a crest like a -swallow-tail on his head, a gorget—or lappet—on his -throat, a tippet—or ruffle—just underneath the gorget, -and a little spray of feather-threads on each side of -his head, just underneath the crest! Fancy killing -such a little fairy-bird as that! Fancy <i>wanting</i> to -kill him! But it is all the little demon. It is he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145"></a>[Pg 145]</span> -who has blown about his nasty powders and frozen -the hearts of the <i>poor</i> women, who are <i>really</i> so kind—at -any rate they <i>would</i> be if only he would let -them.</p> - -<p>Did I say, “Such a little fairy-bird”? I think I -did, and I was quite right, for it is just this very -little Humming-bird that the fairies are so fond of -riding on. They go two at a time, sometimes. One -sits on his back, and another lies on the broad fan -of his tail, and the one on the back uses the little -feather-threads as reins. It is so grand! The -Humming-bird dashes up at the fairy's own flower-door, -and hovers there till she is ready to come out, -and then dashes away with her to another flower, -where another fairy lives. And that is how the -fairies call upon each other in countries where there -are Humming-birds. Perhaps you will think that a -Humming-bird—even quite a little Humming-bird -(and they are none of them big)—is <i>rather</i> a large -gee-gee for a <i>fairy</i> to ride on. But you must remember -that in tropical countries fairies grow to quite a -remarkable size.</p> - -<p>Well, that is eight Humming-birds that I have -tried to describe to you (though it is very like trying -to describe a sunset to some one who has never seen -one), and perhaps you think I have chosen all the -most beautiful ones first, and that there are no more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146"></a>[Pg 146]</span> -left which are <i>quite</i> so pretty. But I think I can find -just one more that is not such a <i>very</i> plain bird, not -a bird you would call ugly if you were to see it -hovering about over a bed of geraniums or under a -cluster of honeysuckle, some bright spring or summer -morning when you happened to go out into your -garden. So we will take that one, and, if he is not -pretty enough, you must just try to put up with -him.</p> - -<p>He is called the Sun Beauty. Perhaps you -would think him dark at first, for his head and -back and shoulders are of such a rich, deep, velvety -green that it almost goes into black velvet—all -except one little spot on the forehead, just above -the beak, and that never can look <i>quite</i> black. -Sometimes it does <i>almost</i>, just for one second, but -the next second it flashes into green again, and -oh, how it gleams and sparkles and throws out little -jewels, little splashes of sun-fire all round it! -What a wonderful green it is!—at first, and then—oh, -what a wonderful—but really there is no -proper name for <i>that</i> colour. I was going to say -“blue,” and perhaps it is more like blue than anything -else, but nothing else is quite like it. Then, just -at the beginning of this Humming-bird's throat—just -under the chin—there are a few feathers that -are like a kind of dusky-smoked-magenta-bronze-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147"></a>[Pg 147]</span>jewelry, -and a little farther down they gleam into -ruddy bronze and coppery topaz, and then—oh, what -<i>is</i> that? The very sun himself has flashed out from -his throat, from his gorget—yes, a little flake of the -sun, a sunflake instead of a snowflake. Oh, it is -<i>such</i> a gorget, a gorget of golden topaz, of coppery -gold, of green gold, of silver gold, of silver, of -gleaming white, of all these together, and it spreads -out on each side like a wonderful fan, and shoots out in -front of all the other feathers. Such a gorget! The -feathers in it are not feathers at all—I do not think -they <i>can</i> be feathers—they are sunflakes, as I have -told you.</p> - -<p>That is what this Humming-bird is like on the -throat. Underneath the throat, on the breast, he -becomes green again, not the dark velvet green of -the back, but a still more glorious green, gleaming -and brilliant, but soft and rich at the same time. It -is a green that changes, too—changes almost into blue. -I will tell you how that is. Once this green—this -wonderful, lovely green—did not think itself lovely -enough (which was funny), so it said to the blue of the -violet and the turquoise and the amethyst and the -sapphire: “Come and make part of me, but I must -be the greater part.” “That is not fair,” cried the -blues of all those lovely things;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148"></a>[Pg 148]</span> “we will come, since -you have invited us, but we intend to have the upper -hand.” “Come then,” said the green, “and let us fight -for the mastery. Whichever wins, the other will be -improved by it. We will struggle together, and we -will see which is the strongest.” So they came, those -blues of wonder, from the violet, the turquoise, the -sapphire, and the amethyst—yes, and from the sky, -the stars, and the sea as well—and they fell in a -glory on that glorious green that had been there -before them, and fought with it to possess the breast -of that Humming-bird. And they are fighting to -possess it now. They gleam and flash and sparkle -and glow, and try to out-glory each other; but -I think that that wonderful green is the strongest, -although he has such a lot of blues to fight against. -But stronger than any and than all of them is the -sun on that Humming-bird's gorget, that gorget of -gold and topaz, and copper and bronze, and silver and -gleaming white.</p> - -<p>That is what that Humming-bird is like, and that -is how he got some of his wonderful colours; so, at -least, the Indians say, only some of them say that it -was the blues who were there first, and asked the -green to come. But always, in history, you will find -that there are different opinions about the same thing. -People are not <i>all</i> agreed, even about the battle of -Waterloo.</p> - -<p>So, you see, we have been able to find one other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149"></a>[Pg 149]</span> -handsome Humming-bird, at any rate. And then there -is the Hermit Humming-bird. I must just describe -him. His head and neck are—brown, the whole of -his back is—brown, his wings, his throat, and his -breast are—brown, and all the rest of him is—brown. -Why, then, he is all brown, without any colours at -all, unless there are some lying asleep, and ready to -wake up and dart out all of a sudden, in the way I -have explained to you. No, there are no colours, either -asleep or awake, or, at any rate, hardly any. Compared -to the Humming-birds I have been telling you -about, this one is just a plain, dull bird, as plain and -as dull, almost, as his wife, for that, you know, is what -the wives of Humming-birds are like. Then is he a -Humming-bird at all? Surely he is not one; he -must be some other bird. Oh no, he is not. He is -a Humming-bird, but he is a Hermit Humming-bird. -I have not told you before—but now I will tell -you—that there are some Humming-birds—in fact a -good many—that have no bright colours at all, and -<i>they</i> are called hermits. A hermit, you know, is a -person who lives in a cell or cave, and wears a long, -brown gown, with a hood at one end of it for his -head, and never dresses gaily or goes out to see -things, but has what <i>we</i> should consider a very dull -life; only as <i>he</i> likes it that makes it all right—for -<i>him</i>. So these dull-coloured Humming-birds are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150"></a>[Pg 150]</span> -called hermits, not because they live in cells, because, -of course, they do not, but because they have no -bright things to wear, but only brown gowns, like -hermits. But now as Humming-birds used once to -be sunbeams, and are still <i>living</i> sunbeams that have -been changed into birds, how does it happen that any -of them have become hermits, with nothing showy -about them? That is a thing which requires an -explanation, so it is lucky that there is one all ready -for it in the next chapter. Not all the things that -require an explanation are so lucky as that. Some of -them go on requiring one all their lives, and yet -never get what they require. I have known several -of that sort.</p> - -<hr /> -</div> -<div class="chap"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151"></a>[Pg 151]</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX<br /> -Hermit Humming-Birds and Two Other Ones</h2> - - -<p>I told you that as soon as the sun's light fell upon -the earth all the sunbeams that had been asleep there -woke up, and were changed into Humming-birds. -But there was just one sunbeam who had gone to -sleep in a cave, and when <i>he</i> woke up it was quite -dark, and so <i>he</i> was changed into a Humming-bird -without any colours, and when his brother Humming-birds -saw him they laughed at him, and called him a -hermit. It was very wrong of them to do so, for it -was not his fault that he was brown. There is -nothing wrong in going to sleep in a cave, and, of -course, he could not tell what would happen. But -they thought he looked ridiculous, coming out of it -all brown, like a hermit. I don't think that made -him ridiculous, really, but, even if it did, they should -not have laughed at him. We should not laugh at -people because they are ridiculous. It makes them -unhappy, and, besides, we may be sure that in some -way or other we are just as ridiculous as they are,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152"></a>[Pg 152]</span> -<i>We</i> may not know in what way. <i>That</i> only shows -how ignorant we are. It is best not to laugh at other -people. If we <i>want</i> to laugh at any one, we can -always laugh at ourselves.</p> - -<p>Now, this poor Hermit Humming-bird was unhappy -because he alone had no colours, and because -all the other Humming-birds laughed at him. He -complained of it to the sun, who was his father, and -explained how it had happened. “It is unfortunate,” -said the sun; “but since I was unable to shine upon -you, when you awoke, I cannot give you my own -livery to wear now. But do not be unhappy. The -world is full of brightness and beauty, and if you go -about asking for some of it from those who have it, -none of them will refuse you, when they know that -you are one of my children. They will grant it you -for the love of me, for I am loved of all that live -upon the earth. In this way, though I cannot clothe you -directly from myself, it will come to the same thing -in the end, for it is through me that all things have -their beauty, so that in having what was theirs you -will have what is mine, and still you will be a living -sunbeam. Only do not ask any of your brother -Humming-birds to give you anything, because then -you will not be under an obligation to them.” (Your -mother will explain to you what being under an obligation -is, and how very many <i>you</i> are under to <i>her</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"></a>[Pg 153]</span></p> - -<p>So the poor Hermit Humming-bird went about -through the world, asking all the beautiful things in -it for some of their beauty, and not one that he asked -refused him, for the love of his father the sun. He -begged of the clouds at sunset, when they were all -crimson lake, and at sunrise, when they were all topaz -and amber, and all three of these lovely colours fell -upon his throat and struggled for the mastery, like -the green and blue on the breast of that other Humming-bird -that I have told you about. Then he -begged of the bluest stars in the sky, and just on the -outer edge of his now lovely throat, on the edge of -that shining gorget, there fell such a blue as made -one feel in heaven only to look at it. After that he -begged of the sea that the sun was shining on in the -morning, and now his head was of the loveliest pale -sea-green, and then, again, he begged of it a little -later in the day, and his back became a darker green, -almost, if not quite, as lovely as the lovely one on his -head. Thus he went about the world, begging and -asking, and he did not forget either the jewels, or the -flowers, or the colours that live in the rainbow. And -at the end of the day this Humming-bird that had -been all brown, and that his brothers had called a -hermit, was one of the loveliest of all the Humming-birds, -and his English name (we won't trouble about -the Latin one) was the All-glorious Humming-Bird.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154"></a>[Pg 154]</span> -He was not called a hermit any more, after that, but -those Humming-birds that had called him one, and -laughed at him when he was brown, were changed -into hermits themselves. That is how there came to -be Hermit Humming-birds in the world, and one of -them is the one that surprised you so much when I -described him to you, because he was all brown. -They are all of them brown, but you must not laugh -at them, for all that, even though they did at their -brother. They have their punishment, and it is bad -enough to be punished and made all brown, without -being laughed at about it as well.</p> - -<p>Now, of course, as all the Hermit Humming-birds -are brown, it would be no use to describe them to -you, one at a time, like the others. Instead of that -I will tell you about some more Humming-birds -who are pretty, and who came to be what they are -like now in some curious way or other, which had -nothing to do with their having once been sunbeams. -One of these is the Snow-cap. He is very small, -almost as small as the smallest of the Humming-birds—and -you know how small that is—and although -he is not exactly brown, still he is not at all a brilliant -bird for a Humming-bird. What makes him -so pretty is this. First, all the whole crown of his -head is of a beautiful, pure, silky white, which makes -it look as if a large, soft snowflake had fallen upon it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155"></a>[Pg 155]</span> -and then, when he spreads out his tail like a fan—which -you may be sure he knows how to do—there -are two white patches upon it as well, which look -like two smaller snowflakes. It is not many Humming-birds -who are ornamented in <i>that</i> way. How -did this one get those white patches, and are they -really snowflakes that fell upon him? You shall -hear. Once they were not white at all, those patches, -but coloured with all the colours of the rainbow, -and more brilliant than anything you could possibly -think of, more brilliant even than any other colour -that is upon any other Humming-bird. Indeed they -were <i>so</i> brilliant that no one could look at them, and -that made the Humming-bird very proud indeed. -“Could my rivals have looked at me,” he said, “they -would never have confessed my superiority, however -plainly they must have seen it. Not to be able to -look at me is, in itself, a confession. They are -dazzled, and well they may be, for to look at me is -like looking at the sun himself. Surely there is no -earthly brightness that I do not outshine.” And as -the proud bird said this, he looked up, and there, far -above him in the blue dome of the sky, were the -snows of the mighty mountain Chimborazo, and -in their white, dazzling purity they seemed even -brighter than himself. But instead of being humbled, -the Humming-bird only felt insulted, and resolved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156"></a>[Pg 156]</span> -to do something decisive. “I will thaw those white -robes of his,” he said; “my brightness shall burn -them away, and there shall be no more snow in -the world.” He was just a little larger than a -humble-bee.</p> - -<p>So up this Humming-bird flew, right on to the -top of Chimborazo, the great high mountain, where -there was snow everywhere. “Have you come to -thaw me?” said the snow, as it fell around him. -“That is ridiculous. We shall see which of us is best -able to extinguish the other.” With that one snowflake -fell upon his head and two more upon his tail, -just over those three patches that had been so marvellously -bright. He tried to shake them off, but -he could not. They stayed there, and instead of -having been able to thaw them, it was <i>they</i> who had -put <i>his</i> brightness quite out. All those wonderful -colours were gone now, and there was only the snow-white. -“Fly back,” said the snow, “or I will quite -cover you. You have lost that of which you were -so proud, but you have me in exchange. Fly back, -and be a wiser bird for the future.” So the Humming-bird -flew back, ashamed and crestfallen, and -fearing to show himself. “What will the others say -when they see me?” he thought. But when the -other Humming-birds saw him, they all cried out,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"></a>[Pg 157]</span> -“Oh, look! What beautiful bird is this that has -come to dwell amongst us? What an exquisite -white! Surely he has been to the top of Chimborazo -and brought down some of its snow upon him. -How pure and how lovely!” Yes, they could look -at him now, and they thought him more beautiful -than when they were blinded and dazzled. That is -how that Humming-bird got his snow-white patches. -He had no colours now with which to outrival -the other Humming-birds, but he could put up -with that, for the white snow was lovelier than -them all.</p> - -<p>And then there is the Humming-bird that the -Indians call the Jewel-flower-sunrise-and-sunset-Humming-bird -(only they have one word for it, which -makes it sound better). I have forgotten what his -English name is—I am not quite sure if he has -one. This Humming-bird was very beautiful to -begin with, so beautiful, indeed, that the flowers, -as he hovered over them, fell in love with him and -wished to give him their colours to wear, for -their sakes. But the Humming-bird did not -want their colours, for he thought his own were -much more beautiful. “If you sparkled like -jewels,” he said, “as well as being soft and bright, -then it would be different. But your beauty is -too homely. You are not sufficiently refulgent.” -(That was a word he was fond of, for he had heard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158"></a>[Pg 158]</span> -it applied to himself. Your mother will tell you -what it means).</p> - -<p>So the flowers prayed to the sun from whom -they have their beautiful colours, and the sun made -them like jewels—jewels of the rose and the -violet, of the lily and the daffodil, the sunflower, -the pink and carnation. Perhaps they were not -just the same flowers as those, for they grew -in America, but they had all their colours and -many more. “That is an improvement certainly,” -said the Humming-bird, when he had looked at -them. “You are much more beautiful now, but -you remain the same all day long. It is very -different with the sky. Every morning and evening -when the sun rises and sets, she has quite a -special beauty, and it is only then that she can be -said to be refulgent. If it were so with you, then -I might take you, but I do not care for flowers -who have no sunrise or sunset.” So the flowers -prayed to the sun again, and he made them as -much more beautiful when he rose and set at -morning and evening as the sky is then in the east -and west. And when the Humming-bird saw that -they were really refulgent, he took all their colours, -and, for a little while, the flowers were quite pale, -and only got bright again by degrees. But they -never flashed and sparkled like jewels any more,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159"></a>[Pg 159]</span> -and there was never another flower sunrise or another -flower sunset. The Humming-bird kept all -that for himself; he never gave any of it back to -the flowers. It was not very generous of him. I -<i>think</i> he was going to be punished for it, but, somehow -or other, it was forgotten. Punishments do -get forgotten, sometimes—almost as often, perhaps, -as rewards.</p> - -<p>Those are just a few of the beautiful Humming-birds -that there are in the world—in that new world -that Columbus discovered—but, as you know, there -are more than four hundred different kinds, and -numbers of them are just as beautiful—some perhaps -even more beautiful—than those I have told you -about. And you may be sure that they know -exactly what to do with their beauty, how to raise -up their crests and fan out their tails and ruffle out -their gorgets and tippets in the way to make them -look most magnificent, and give the greatest possible -pleasure to their wives, who are all of them hermits—poor -plain Humming-birds—just as the Birds of -Paradise do for <i>their</i> wives, who are hermits too.</p> - -<p>And do you know that when two gentlemen -Humming-birds are both trying to please the same -lady—but that, of course, is before she has married -either of them—they very often fight, and it is then -that they gleam and flash and sparkle, more brilliantly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160"></a>[Pg 160]</span> -than at any other time. Ah, what a wonderful -sight that must be to see—those fights between -little fiery, winged meteors, those jewel-combats in -the air—diamond and ruby and sapphire and topaz -and emerald and amethyst, all angry with each other, -shooting out sparks at each other, trying to blind -each other, to flash each other down! Ah, those are -fiery battles indeed, and yet when they are over—you -will think it wonderful—not one Humming-bird -has been burnt up by another one. No, Humming-birds -do not kill each other, they do not even -hurt each other very much, they are only angry, -and even that does not last very long. <i>We</i> are -not very angry with the poor Humming-birds, I -even think we must be fond of them, for there is -really hardly one that we have not called by some -pretty name, though not nearly so pretty as itself. -And yet we kill them, we take away those bright -little gem-like lives that are so lovely and so happy. -The people who live in those countries make very -fine nets—as fine and delicate as those that ladies -use for their hair—and put them over the flowers -or the shrubs that the Humming-birds come to, so -that they get entangled in them and cannot fly -away. Then, when they come and find them, they -kill them (could <i>you</i> kill a living sunbeam?), and -send their skins over here to be put into the hats of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161"></a>[Pg 161]</span> -women whose hearts the wicked little demon has -frozen.</p> - -<p>Into hats! Ah, I think if one of those poor, -frozen-hearted women could see a Humming-bird, -sitting alive in its own little fairy nest, she would -blush—yes, <i>blush</i>—to think of it in her hat, even -though she wore a pretty one and was pretty, herself, -too. For I must tell you that the nests that -Humming-birds make are so pretty and graceful and -delicate that one might almost think they had been -made by the fairies, and, indeed, the Indians say that -the fairies do make them, and give them to the -Humming-birds. But that is not really true. Humming-birds -make their own nests, like other birds, -though I cannot help thinking that, sometimes, the -fairies must sit in them. Yes, they sit and swing in -them sometimes, I feel sure, in the warm, tropical -nights, when the stars are set thick in the sky and -the fire-flies make stars in the air. For they hang -like little cradles from the tips of the leaves of palm-trees, -or from the ends of long, dangling creepers or -tendrils, or even from the drooping petal of a flower. -They are made of the fine webs of spiders, all plaited -and woven, or of down that is like our thistle-down, -but thicker and softer and silkier. And you may -think of everything that is soft and delicate and -graceful and fragile and fairy-like, but when you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162"></a>[Pg 162]</span> -see a Humming-bird's nest, you will think them all -coarse—yes, <i>coarse</i>—by comparison. And to think -of that bright little glittering thing, sitting there alive -and warm, in its warm little soft fairy nest, and then -to think of it in a <i>hat</i>—and <i>dead</i>! Oh, dear!—dusty -too, I feel sure. <i>Oh</i>, dear! But it is all the fault of -that most wicked little demon, and <i>you</i> are going to -set it right.</p> - -<p>Now perhaps you will wonder why there has been -nothing about promising yet, for there have been -thirteen Humming-birds in the two last chapters, and -not a single promise about any of them. But then, -what would be the use of promising about thirteen -when there are four hundred and more? It would be -ever so much better, <i>I</i> think, to promise about all the -four hundred and more together, and that is what I want -you to ask your mother to do. Then all those little -glittering, jewelly, fairy-like things will go on living -and being happy—will go on glittering and gleaming, -flashing through the air, sparkling amongst the -flowers, sitting and shining in dear little soft swinging -cradles, on the tips of broad, green palm leaves, or -the petals of fair, drooping flowers. They will go on -being <i>living</i> sunbeams then, not poor, dead, dusty -ones in hats. And it will be you who will have done -this, you who will have kept sunbeams alive in the -world, instead of letting them be killed and go out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163"></a>[Pg 163]</span> -it for ever. Yes, it will be you—and your dear -mother. So now you must say to your dear mother, -“Oh, mother, do promise never to wear a hat that -has a Humming-bird in it.” Say it quickly, and with -<i>ever</i> so many kisses.</p> - -<hr /> -</div> -<div class="chap"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164"></a>[Pg 164]</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X<br /> -The Cock-of-the-Rock and the Lyre-Bird</h2> - - -<p>Well, I have told you about the Humming-birds -and the Birds of Paradise, which are the <i>most</i> -beautiful birds that there are in the world. Now I -will tell you about just a few other ones which are -very beautiful, although they are not quite so beautiful -as those are. One of them is the Cock-of-the-Rock, -a bird which lives in South America, where the -Humming-birds live. There are three kinds and -they are all handsome, but the handsomest, <i>I</i> think, -is the one that is called the Blood-red Cock-of-the-Rock. -It is about the size of a small pigeon, and of -the most wonderful blood-red colour you can imagine. -You would think, when you saw it first, that it had -not one feather on the whole of its body that was not -of this brilliant crimson, but, after a little, when your -eyes are not so dazzled, you see that its wings and -tail are not red but brown. Only, when the wings -are shut they are almost quite covered up by the -flaming feathers of the back, and just on one part—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165"></a>[Pg 165]</span>that -part which we should call the shoulders—they -are red too. “A scarlet bird! A crimson bird!” -that is what you would say first, if you were to see -this wonderful Cock-of-the-Rock, and then, all at -once, you would cry out, “Oh, but where is his -beak? Why, he has no beak!” Yes, and you might -almost say, “Where is his head?” for you don't see -that either—at least, you only see the back of it, all -the rest, and the beak too, is hidden in a wonderful -crest of crimson feathers that almost looks like the -head itself, only it is a little too big for that. This -crest is just the shape of a tea-cosy, so that it looks -as if some one had put a little tea-cosy made of the -most splendid blood-red, fiery, crimson-sunset feathers -right over the bird's head and covered it quite up. -You see no beak at all, and it <i>does</i> look so funny to -see a bird without a beak—<i>almost</i> as funny as it would -to see a beak without a bird.</p> - -<p>The two other kinds of Cock-of-the-Rock are -very handsome birds, too. One of them has all its -plumage orange-coloured, instead of crimson, and -the other is of a colour between orange and crimson. -So, if you were travelling from one part of South -America to another, it would seem as if the same -bird was getting brighter and brighter or darker -and darker all the way, for the three different kinds -do not live in the same parts of the country, but in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166"></a>[Pg 166]</span> -different parts that join each other. Only, of course, -you would have to go in the right direction, which -would be, first, through the forests of British Guiana, -then along the banks of the great river Amazon—which -is the largest river in the world—then up the -mountains of Peru, and then, still higher, up those of -Ecuador. Or, you might start from Ecuador and go -all the way to British Guiana. If you get an atlas -and look for the map of South America, your mother -will soon show you where all these places are.</p> - -<p>Now after what you know about the Humming-birds -and the Birds of Paradise, you will not be -surprised to hear that this brilliant crimson or -orange-coloured bird has quite a sober-coloured -wife, and that he is as careful to please her, as they -are, by showing her his beautiful bright plumage in -all the ways in which it looks best; in fact he is so -very careful about it that I feel quite sure he pleases -himself by doing so, at the same time. You know -now that male birds dance, when they show their -fine feathers to their wives and sweethearts, for I -have told you about the “sácalelis” of the Great -Bird of Paradise, and the way in which those other -Birds of Paradise danced whilst the two travellers -were watching them. But some birds have still -more wonderful dances than these; at least they -behave in a way that is even more like real dancing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167"></a>[Pg 167]</span> -Now the Cock-of-the-Rock is a very fine dancer -indeed, and he has a regular place to dance and -play in, which we may call his ball-room, or his -drawing-room, or his play-ground—whichever name -we like best. He chooses it in some part of the -forest where it is a little open, and where the ground -is soft and mossy, and here, every day, a number -of birds assemble, some males and some females; -for of course the hen-birds come too, there would -be nothing to dance for without them. Then first -one of the cocks walks out into the middle of the -open space and begins to dance. He flutters and -waves his wings, moves his head, with its wonderful -crimson tea-cosy, from side to side, and hops about -with the queerest little jumpy steps you ever saw. -As he goes on he gets more and more excited, -springs higher and higher into the air, waves his -wings more and more violently, and shakes his head -as if he were trying to shake off the tea-cosy, so -as to have a cup of tea to refresh himself. All the -other birds stand and look at him, criticise his -performance, turn their heads towards each other, -and make remarks, you may be sure. “How -elegant!” exclaims a young hen Cock-of-the-Rock. -“What spring! What elasticity! Really he is a -very fine performer.” “I have seen finer ones in -my time,” says an older hen—in fact quite an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168"></a>[Pg 168]</span> -elderly bird. “One could judge better, however, -if there were some one else to compare him with. -He seems to be having it all his own way. In <i>my</i> -time there was more emulation amongst male birds.” -And you may be sure that, as soon as she says that, -ever so many other Cocks-of-the-Rock step out into -the ring, and there they are, all dancing together, -all springing and jumping, all waving their wings, -and all trying to shake the tea-cosies off their heads, -so as to have a cup of tea for refreshment after all -that exercise. Perhaps you will say that that is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169"></a>[Pg 169]</span> -nonsense, because there is no teapot under the tea-cosy; -but remember that no one has ever taken -that tea-cosy off. How can you tell what is under -a tea-cosy until you take it off. (Your mother -will tell you that this is only <i>fun</i>.)</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="Illo_168" id="Illo_168"></a> -<img src="images/illo_168.jpg" width="600" height="415" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><p class="center">COCK-OF-THE-ROCK</p></div> -</div> - -<p>But what a strange, curious dance it is, this -wonderful bird dance, all in the wild, lonely forest. -Oh, how interesting it would be to see it—to find out -one of those little, open places where the moss is all -pressed smooth and firm, and then to hide somewhere -near, and wait there quietly, quietly, without -making a sound, all alone in the great, wild, lonely -forest, until at last—at last—there is a crimson flash -amongst the tree-trunks, and then another and another -and another, as bird after bird comes flying or -walking to the ball-room, and the dance begins. -And sometimes you would see them chasing each -other through the forest, all very excited, and often -clinging to the trunks of the trees, and spreading and -ruffling out their lovely plumage, so as to show it to -each other, each one seeming to say, “I <i>think</i> mine -is finer than yours; <i>perhaps</i> I may be mistaken, but I -<i>think</i> so.” What beautiful birds! and what funny -birds, and what interesting things they do whilst -they are alive! As soon as they are dead they are -not funny or interesting any more, and they are -only beautiful as a shawl or a piece of embroidery is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170"></a>[Pg 170]</span> -beautiful. It is dead beauty then; the beauty of -life—which is the highest beauty of all—is gone -out of them.</p> - -<p>Now you can see many and many beautiful things -that never had life in them, though some, such as beautiful -statues and pictures, imitate life so marvellously -that you would almost think they were alive. And -you can admire these beautiful things, and take pleasure -in looking at them, without having to feel sorry -that they once were alive and happy, but have been -killed for you to look at. Surely you would not wish a -beautiful, happy bird to be killed, just for you to look -at. You would not even wish it to be put in a cage and -kept alive, in a way in which it could not be happy. -No, you would rather know that it was alive and -happy in its own country, and only imagine what it -was like, and how beautiful it was. That is much -the best way of seeing creatures, if we have no other -way without killing them or putting them in prison—to -imagine them; and there is ever so much more -pleasure in imagining creatures alive and happy than -in seeing them dead or wretched. It is a very fine -thing, I can tell you, to <i>imagine</i>, and some people can -do it a great deal better than others. There <i>are</i> -people who cannot do it at all, but we do not want -birds killed for <i>stupid</i> persons. People who cannot -imagine can do capitally without seeing, either—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171"></a>[Pg 171]</span>just -as well as people who <i>can</i> imagine, only in -another way. Now, just ask your mother to promise -not to wear any hat that has the feathers of a -beautiful Cock-of-the-Rock in it.</p> - -<p>In Australia—oh, but perhaps you want to know -why this handsome bird is called the Cock-of-the-Rock, -such a very funny name. Well, although it -lives in forests and flies about amongst the trees, yet -some of these forests are on the sides of mountains, -so, of course, there are rocks all about. The Cock-of-the-Rock -likes to perch upon a very high one; so, -when the old travellers first saw it perched up there, -and looking such a fine bird, they called it a Cock-of-the-Rock, -and almost expected to hear it crow. At -least, if this is not the right explanation, it is the only -one I can think of. The Indians <i>may</i> have another -one, but if they have I cannot tell it you, because I -do not know what it is. Perhaps if I were to think a -little, I should know—or else I could imagine it—but -I have no time to think or imagine just at present. -I want to get on.</p> - -<p>In Australia, the great island-continent—the island -that is so large that we call it a continent—there is a -wonderful bird called the Lyre-bird. It is one of the -most wonderful and the most beautiful birds that -there is in the world, and all its wonder and all its -beauty lies in its tail. This wonderful tail—as I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172"></a>[Pg 172]</span> -sure you will guess from the name of the bird—is -shaped like a lyre, though it is much more beautiful -than any lyre ever was, even the one that Apollo -played on. You know, I dare say, what a lyre is, a -kind of harp with a very graceful shape, curving first -out and then in, and then out again on each side, and -with the strings in the centre. Now the Lyre-bird -has, on each side of its tail, two beautiful, broad -feathers that curve in this way, and are of a pretty -chestnut colour, with transparent spaces all the way -down. These are the two outer tail feathers, and they -are like the two sides of the lyre—the solid part of -it which is held in the hand, and which we call the -framework. Then, for the strings, which, as you -know, are stretched across the hollow space within -the framework, not from side to side, but lengthways -from one end to the other, the Lyre-bird has a number -of most beautiful, thin, graceful feathers, more -graceful and delicate than the strings of any harp. -Only, instead of being straight, like harp strings, these -feathers are curved, and droop over to each side in a -most graceful way, and instead of keeping inside the -two broad feathers—the sides of the lyre—they come -a long way past them, and instead of being only -four, which is the number of strings that a lyre has, -there are ever so many of them—more than a dozen, -I feel sure. And if you could see these feathers, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173"></a>[Pg 173]</span> -the way they are made, oh, you would think them -wonderful. You know that on each side of the quill of -most feathers there is what is called the web—which we -have talked about—and this web is made of a number -of little, light, delicate sprays, like miniature -feathers, which we call barbs, and these are kept -close together by having a lot of little, tiddy-tiny -hooks (though such soft little things don't look like -hooks a bit), which are called barbules, with which -they catch hold of each other, and won't let each -other go. That is why the web of a feather—on -each side of the quill—is so smooth and even. But, -now, in these wonderful feathers of the Lyre-bird, -the little delicate things (the barbs) which make the -webs are much fewer than in ordinary feathers, and -they have no little hooks to catch hold of each other -with, and instead of being all together, they are a -quarter of an inch apart, and wave about, each by -itself, looking like very delicate threads floating from -the long slender quill of the feather. And that, too, -is how those beautiful plume-feathers of the Birds of -Paradise are formed, and you have seen something -like it in the long ones of the peacock's tail. The -tail of the Lyre-bird is not so grand, perhaps, as that -of the peacock, but it is more graceful and delicate, -and on the whole, I <i>think</i> (for on such points one can -never be sure) it is still more wonderful.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174"></a>[Pg 174]</span></p> - -<p>But now is it not very strange that any bird -should have a tail like that—a tail that is shaped like -Apollo's lyre? Well, I will tell you how it happened, -for it is one of those things that requires an explanation—and -is lucky. Once the great god Apollo (who -is the god of music and song) was walking in Australia -and playing upon his lyre. Now, I must tell -you, at that time—it was a very long time ago—the -Lyre-bird had not a tail like it has now, but quite an -ordinary one; so, as it is only its tail that is <i>extra</i>ordinary, -it was quite an ordinary bird. But although -it was ordinary in appearance, it was extremely -musical, as it is now—I must tell you that—and also -a wonderful imitator of every sound that can be -made. The Lyre-bird can imitate all the different -notes of other birds, as well as the barking of dogs, -the mewing of cats, and the conversation of people.</p> - -<p>So, when it heard Apollo playing so sweetly on -his lyre, it was quite enraptured, and began to imitate -it so cleverly that you would have thought there were -two Apollos playing on two lyres. All the other -birds and creatures were delighted at this—for, of -course, two good things are better than only one—but, -for some reason or other which I cannot quite explain, -Apollo was not nearly so pleased. In fact, he became -angry, and <i>so</i> angry that he threw his lyre at the poor -bird who had so appreciated his music, and the lyre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175"></a>[Pg 175]</span> -hit it on the tail as it ran away and cut it right off. -Of course, when the Lyre-bird found that it had no -tail it was in a terrible state, and it came to Apollo -and said: “It was because I loved your music that I -tried to imitate it. I failed, no doubt—for who can -sing as Apollo?—but still it is a hard price to have -to pay for my admiration.” And when Apollo heard -that, he was so sorry for what he had done, and so -pleased with the way in which the Lyre-bird had -explained things, that he said to it: “Well, I will -make amends, and what I give shall be better than -what I took away. The lyre which I threw at you, you -shall keep, but it shall be of feathers, and even more -beautiful than my own. You shall not play on it, -for none but myself must do that, but you shall -always be a most musical bird, as you are now, and -able to imitate any sound that you hear, even my -own playing. That power I will not take away from -you, I will even increase it, and from this time forth -you shall be called the Lyre-bird, in honour of your -piety and good taste.”</p> - -<p>That is how the Lyre-bird got its tail, and -why it is, now, a very beautiful, as well as a very -musical, bird. But what its tail was like before -Apollo gave it the one it has now, that I cannot tell -you, for it has never been known to allude to the -subject, and it would hardly do to ask it. We only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"></a>[Pg 176]</span> -know that it was quite ordinary. But, do you know, -Apollo never quite liked the Lyre-bird's imitating -him, even though he had told it that it might, and -so, not so very long afterwards, he left the country. -He went to Greece—it was a very long time ago—and -he has not gone back to Australia yet.</p> - -<p>Now you may be sure that a bird with a tail like -that has his playing ground, where he may come and -show it to his wife or sweetheart; for it is only the -male bird who has it—like the others—though, really, -I cannot think what Apollo was about, not to give it -to the hen as well, for he was always a very polite -god. The Lyre-bird's playground is a small, round -hillock—which he makes all himself—and there he -will come and walk about, raising his magnificent tail -right up into the air, and spreading it out in the most -beautiful and graceful way. And, as he does this, he -will sing so beautifully, sometimes his own notes, -which are very pretty ones, and sometimes those of -other birds, all of which he can imitate quite well. -But, of course, as Apollo has left Australia, he cannot -imitate him any more now, and after such a long time -he has forgotten what he learnt, unless, indeed, his -own notes are what Apollo used to play. But, if that -is the case, he must have left off singing his old song, -and I do not think he would have done that.</p> - -<p>This wonderful bird builds a wonderful nest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177"></a>[Pg 177]</span> -with a roof to it, so that he can get right inside it -and be quite hidden from sight, tail and all, although -he is so large—almost as large as a pheasant, even -without counting his tail. As a rule it is only little -birds that make nests like that, and not big ones. -The Lyre-bird's nest is something like the one that -our little wren makes—which perhaps you have seen—only -of course ever so much bigger. Only one -egg is laid in it, and out of it comes one of the -queerest little birds you can imagine, all covered with -white, fluffy down, and with no tail at all that you -can see, so that you would never think he was going -to grow into a Lyre-bird. It takes him four years to -get that wonderful tail. Apollo did not mean him -to have it, until he was quite grown up—it was not a -thing to be entrusted to children.</p> - -<p>Now you must not think that the Lyre-bird -always holds his tail up in the air, for when he walks -through the thick bushes he has to carry it as a -pheasant does, and I think you know how that is. As -soon as he wants to show it to his wife or his sweetheart, -up it goes, and oh, it <i>does</i> look so beautiful!</p> - -<p>But now, if it were not for that promise which -your mother is going to make you, there would very -soon be no more of these wonderful birds, with their -wonderful and beautiful tails, left in Australia, which -would mean that there would be none in the whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178"></a>[Pg 178]</span> -world, for Australia is the only country in the world -where they are found. People like much better to -see that beautiful tail in their rooms, where it will -soon get spoilt and dusty, or to put some feathers of -it in their hats, than to know that the bird is running -about with it, alive and happy, holding it down like -a pheasant's when he walks through the bushes, but -raising it in the air when he stands on his little -hillock, for the hen Lyre-bird to see, and singing her a -song as well. People who live in Australia—and there -are a great many people who live there—might often -see it doing that if they were to take a little trouble -(they take a great deal of trouble to kill it), and, even -if they could not see it, they would hear its beautiful -song. But they like much better to kill it, so that -there may be a little less song and beauty and happiness -in the world, and all because of the wicked little -demon with the correct suit of clothes. But all this -is going to be altered, and you are going to alter it. -Just run to your mother, wherever she is—if she is -not with you now—and ask her to promise, <i>ever</i> so -faithfully, never to have anything whatever to do -with a hat that has so much as one single feather of -a Lyre-bird in it.</p> - -<hr /> -</div> -<div class="chap"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179"></a>[Pg 179]</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI<br /> -The Resplendent Trogon and the -Argus Pheasant</h2> - - -<p>One of the most beautiful birds in the whole world—more -beautiful, even, than <i>some</i> of the Birds of Paradise -and than <i>some</i> of the Humming-birds, even those -that are not hermits—is the lovely Trogon of Mexico. -But first I must tell you that there are a great many -birds called Trogons that live in other parts of America -as well as in Mexico, and in other parts of the world -as well as in America. But the most beautiful -of all of them—which is the only one I shall have -time to tell you about—is the Resplendent Trogon -or Quezal—for that is what the Indians call it—and -it is only found in Mexico, which, you know, is in -North America, only right down at the southern end -of it, where there are a good many Humming-birds -too. There are many more Humming-birds in South -America than in North America. It is the hot, -tropical countries they are so fond of. You see they -like to be with their brothers the sunbeams.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180"></a>[Pg 180]</span></p> - -<p>This Mexico is such an interesting country. It -belongs, now, to the Spaniards, whom I dare say you -have heard about, but once it belonged to a quite -different people, an old people who had been there -for hundreds and hundreds of years, long before -Columbus discovered America. These people were -civilised, only in a different way to ourselves. They -did not wear the kind of clothes that we do, but only -light linen things, dyed all sorts of colours, which were -prettier and suited the climate. They had many -cities, as we have, though they were built in a different -way, and the largest was built all over a great lake, with -bridges going from one side of it to another. One -can build houses in the water, you know, for there is -Venice in Italy, and Rotterdam in Holland, which -are both built in the sea, and which your mother will -tell you about.</p> - -<p>These people, who were called Aztecs, were very -clever workmen, and such wonderful goldsmiths and -silversmiths, especially, that they used to make imitation -gardens, with all sorts of flowers beaten out of -gold and silver. Then they used feathers as we do a -paint-box, to make pictures of things with. They -would paint houses and ships and men and boats and -landscapes with them, putting the right-coloured -feathers just where they were wanted, blue ones for -the sky, green ones for the grass, and so on. For the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181"></a>[Pg 181]</span> -wicked little demon knew of those people just as well -as he knows of us, and he had taught them to kill -birds, too. Only as they had no guns they could not -kill nearly so many of them as we can, so that there was -no danger, then, of a beautiful bird getting rarer and -rarer, until, at last, it is not to be found in the world any -more, which is what happens now with us—at least it -will if <i>you</i> do not stop it. But though it would have -been much better to let these birds—which were often -Humming-birds—go on living and flying about, and -though no picture made with their feathers was nearly -so beautiful as the feathers themselves were, growing -upon them, yet these feather-pictures of the old -Aztecs were very wonderful things, and it is a great -pity that there are none of them left now, for us to -look at. Nothing could bring the poor birds back to -life, so we might just as well have had the pictures -that they had helped to make.</p> - -<p>And we might have had some other pictures, too, that -these people made, for they used to draw things, just as -we do, and when they wanted to describe a thing they -would often draw a picture of it, instead of only <i>saying</i> -what it was like. Even their writing was all in pictures, -for when they wanted to write—say the word “sun” or -the word “house”—they would draw a little picture -of the sun or of a house, only so quickly and with -such a few strokes of the pen or the paint-brush (I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182"></a>[Pg 182]</span> -don't quite know which it was), that it was quite like -proper writing. Of course there are some words that -are not so easy to make a picture of—as you can try -for yourself—but, wherever it could be done, these -old Aztecs would do it. And if only we had some -more of this writing (for we have very little of it), we -should be able to know a great deal more about this -old people, who were in America before Columbus -came there, and what they did and what they thought -about, and the remarks they made to each other, and -just think how interesting that would be. It is -always interesting to know something about people -quite different to ourselves who lived a long time ago.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately, when the Spaniards had conquered -these people, instead of keeping the things which they -had made, they burnt them. They burnt their houses, -their temples, their cities, their picture-writings, their -feather-pictures, their wonderful flowers—until the -gold and silver they were made of were quite melted—their -clothes, everything—even the people themselves—and, -to save time, they often burnt the two -last together. It is a great pity they did this, but, -you see, everybody has a plan of doing things, and -the plan of the Spaniards was to burn the people they -conquered, and everything belonging to them. But -was it not horribly cruel? Oh! most horribly; but -so it is to shoot sea-gulls, and then to cut off their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183"></a>[Pg 183]</span> -wings, before they are dead, and throw them back -into the sea, to drown there or bleed to death. That -is what <i>we</i> do, and <i>it</i> is horribly cruel, too. So do -not let us think about the cruel things the Spaniards -did—yet. Let us think, first, about the cruel things -that are done by people in our own country, and try -to stop <i>them</i>. <i>When</i> we have stopped them—<i>all</i> of -them—then we can think about the Spaniards—and -some other nations.</p> - -<p>You know there is a proverb which says, “Those -who live in glass houses should not throw stones;” -that is generally one of the first proverbs we learn, and -<i>always</i> the very first one we forget. I am afraid that -those old Aztecs lived in <i>rather</i> a glass house, for <i>they</i> -had a plan of cutting people open, whilst they were -still alive, and tearing their hearts out. Horrible! -was it not? But they did not <i>burn</i> people; so, when -they saw the Spaniards doing so, they were shocked -at them. As for the Spaniards, <i>they</i> were shocked at -the Aztecs doing this other thing, for <i>that</i> had never -been <i>their</i> custom. So the Aztecs and the Spaniards -were shocked at each other. People are very easily -shocked at each other, but they are not nearly so -easily shocked at themselves. Now I come to think -of it, I never remember hearing any one say, “I am -<i>shocked</i> at myself!” And yet it would often be a -quite sensible remark.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184"></a>[Pg 184]</span></p> - -<p>But what I wanted to tell you about these old -Aztecs, who lived in Mexico all that time ago, was -that, when the Spaniards came there, they were ruled -over by a great king named Montezuma, and this king, -amongst many other wonderful things, had a great -place, where he kept all the different kinds of birds -that were found in his country. A place like that -is called an aviary, and you may be quite sure that -the beautiful Trogon or Quezal was one of the birds -in King Montezuma's aviary, for it was more highly -thought of than any other bird in the country. Let -us hope that all the birds in this aviary had nice, -large places to be in, with trees, and flowers, and -everything that they wanted; and, as it was a king's -aviary, I daresay they had.</p> - -<p>Well, now, I will tell you what this beautiful -bird, the Quezal or Resplendent Trogon, that used -to be in King Montezuma's aviary, is like. It is -about the size of a turtle-dove, but with the most -beautiful, long, curling feathers in its tail, and -these beautiful feathers, and all the feathers on its -back and breast and on its head, too, are of the -most lovely, rich, golden-green colour. Really -I don't know whether there is more of gold or of -green in them, but there is just the right quantity -of each to make them the most beautiful, beautiful -feathers you can possibly imagine. It is the tail-feathers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185"></a>[Pg 185]</span> -that are the most beautiful, for they are -so very long—the two longest are much longer than -those in a pheasant's tail—but there are some feathers -which begin on the back and lap softly round the -sides, one a little way off from the other, so that you -see their pretty shapes, and these are almost as beautiful, -although they are ever so much shorter. But -now there is something funny about those long -feathers, which I have called the tail-feathers, and -that is, that they are not <i>really</i> tail-feathers at all. -They look as if they were, but <i>really</i> they are -feathers which go <i>over</i> the tail and cover it up, -so that the <i>real</i> tail is underneath them. It is like -that—though I am sure you never knew it—with -the peacock; those beautiful, long feathers which -we <i>call</i> the tail are not <i>really</i> the tail, and you -will see that, directly, if you watch a peacock when -he spreads them out, for, as soon as he does, you -will see the real tail underneath, which is nothing -very particular to look at. Still, in both these -birds the long feathers look so like the real tail -that we may very well call them the tail-feathers, -and we can always explain about it afterwards, to -show how much we know. And, do you know, -these beautiful, long, golden-green feathers of the -Quezal, which we are going to call the tail-feathers, -although we know very well they are not, were so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186"></a>[Pg 186]</span> -highly valued by these people who used to live -in Mexico, that no one was ever allowed to kill -the bird, but only to catch it and cut them off and -let it go again, so that new ones might grow on it. -And only the chiefs were allowed to wear its -feathers. And, indeed, there would be no great -harm in wearing feathers in hats, if we got them -only in that way. Only I cannot think what the -little demon could have been about in that country. A -law like that must have made him very angry indeed.</p> - -<p>Then, besides his splendid tail-feathers, this beautiful -bird has a crest on his head, which is something -like the one the Cock-of-the-Rock has on his, for -it is of the same tea-cosy shape, only it is green -instead of crimson, and it does not quite cover up -the beak. So perhaps you will think that, as the -Cock-of-the-Rock is all blood-red, with a tea-cosy -crest on his head, this beautiful golden-green -Trogon, with the tea-cosy crest on <i>his</i> head, is all -golden-green. But no, all the lower part of him—that -part which is hidden when he sits down—instead -of being golden-green, is the most splendid -vermilion, as bright a colour—although it is not quite -the same—as the Cock-of-the-Rock's himself. Just -think, golden-green and splendidly bright vermilion! -and you cannot think how beautiful the one looks -against the other. Whether they would look quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189"></a>[Pg 189]</span> -so well together in a dress <i>I</i> am not quite sure, -but your mother would know all about that. Only -you must remember that <i>such</i> a golden-green and -<i>such</i> a vermilion as this Trogon has were never -seen together—no, or separately either—in any -dress yet.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="Illo_187" id="Illo_187"></a> -<img src="images/illo_187.jpg" width="361" height="800" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><p class="center">THE RESPLENDENT TROGON</p></div> -</div> - -<p>These beautiful Quezals live in the forests of -Mexico, and they like to sit lazily on the branch -of a tree, and let their beautiful long tails (which -we know are not <i>really</i> tails) hang down underneath -it, like the “funny feathers” of the Birds of Paradise. -At least the male birds like to do that, because the -female Quezals have not got those beautiful, long -feathers, although they are very fine birds even without -them. They are not so handsome as the males, -but they are not plain like the female Humming-birds -or Birds of Paradise. Perhaps the male Quezals -show off their fine feathers to the females by letting -them hang down like that, because, of course, long, -soft, drooping feathers, such as they have, would -not stand up in the air, like those of the peacock -or of the Lyre-bird. But very likely they have -some other nice way of showing them.</p> - -<p>Now, although the Quezal or Resplendent Trogon -is such a magnificent bird, he is not so very often -seen. It is difficult to find him in the dense forest, -and I wish it was still more difficult than it is, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190"></a>[Pg 190]</span> -when he <i>is</i> found, he is always shot for those beautiful -feathers of his. When the Indian who is looking for -him sees him sitting in the way I have told you, he -hides somewhere near and imitates the cry of the -bird. When the poor Trogon hears it, he thinks it is -another Trogon—a friend of his, perhaps—and so he -comes flying to where the sound came from. Then -this deceitful man—and I really think it is <i>very</i> contemptible -to deceive a bird in that way—shoots him, -and there is one beautiful, happy bird less in the -world. Is it not dreadful to think of, that in almost -every part of the world there are some <i>very</i> beautiful -birds to be found, and everywhere they are being -killed and killed and killed, so that they are getting -scarcer and scarcer every year? If it were not for -what your mother has promised you about the Lyre-bird, -and what she is going to promise you about this -Trogon, there would soon be no more beautiful Lyre-birds -in Australia, and no more beautiful Trogons in -Mexico. How terrible that would be! But we have -saved the beautiful Lyre-bird, and now we are going -to save the beautiful Trogon. Ask your mother—oh, -<i>do</i> ask her—to promise, most <i>faithfully</i>, never -to have anything whatever to do with a hat that has -any of the feathers—short or long, golden-green or -vermilion—of a Quezal—a Resplendent Trogon—in -it. Ah, now she has promised, and we have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191"></a>[Pg 191]</span> -saved that beautiful bird as well as a great many -others.</p> - -<p>Now I will tell you about a very beautiful pheasant—the -Argus Pheasant. Some people may think -him the most beautiful one of all. And yet he is -not the most showy pheasant—for the pheasants, you -know, are very showy birds indeed. There is the -Golden Pheasant, who is dressed in the sun's own -livery; and the Silver Pheasant, who has a silver white -one which is more like the moon's, but who looks -gaudy and smart all the same; and the Amherst -Pheasant, who manages to be handsomer than both -the sun and moon—which is very clever of him; and -the Fire-back, who is all in a blaze without minding -it at all; and the Impeyan or Monal, who looks as if -he was made of beaten metal, and had just been -polished up with a piece of wash-leather. There is -the Peacock, too—for he is really nothing but a large -pheasant—so, you see, the pheasants are a handsome -family, and you may be sure that they know how -to appreciate themselves. The pheasant that we are -going to talk about is quite a large bird, not so large -as the peacock, it is true, but with still longer tail-feathers, -and oh, such wonderful wings! One may -say, indeed, that this bird is all wings and tail, but he -is principally wings, at least when he spreads them -out. But, even when they are folded, they are so very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192"></a>[Pg 192]</span> -large that he looks quite wrapped up in them; and I -think he is, too, partly because of that, but still more -because they are so very handsome.</p> - -<p>So, first, I will tell you what these large, handsome -wings of his are like. Well, in each one there are -twenty-five or twenty-six very fine long feathers, but -these feathers are not all so fine or so long as each -other. Ten of them are about a foot long, and these -are prettily marked and mottled with all sorts of -pretty brown colours, whilst, down the centre of each -one, there is a pretty blue stripe. It is the quill of -the feather that makes that stripe, for it is blue, and -looks as if it had been painted. So you see even -these are pretty feathers, but it is the fifteen or sixteen -other ones that are so very beautiful. They are -much broader and longer than the other ten—the -longest are more than twice as long—and down -each of them, just on one side of the great quill in -the centre, there is a row of such wonderful spots. -They are as large as horse-chestnuts (big ones I mean), -and what they look like is a cup and ball, the ball -just lying in the cup ready to be sent up; only, of -course, the cup has no handle to it—you must not -think that—for the spots are round. And, do you -know, the balls look as if they were <i>really</i> balls, so -that you would think you could take them in your -hand, and throw them up into the air, and catch them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193"></a>[Pg 193]</span> -again as they came down. They do not look flat at -all. You know, when you try to draw an orange or -an apple, how difficult it is not to make it look flat -like a penny. <i>You would</i> make it look flat, I know, but -these wonderful balls on the Argus Pheasant's feathers -look as if they had all been drawn by a very clever -artist (as indeed they have been—a <i>very</i> clever one), -who had shaded them properly; you know how -difficult shading is. There are eighteen or twenty—sometimes -as many as twenty-two—of these -wonderful spots on each feather, but I have not -told you, yet, of what colour they are. Perhaps -you will think they are very bright and dazzling. -No, they are not like that at all. They are soft, not -bright, and their softness is their beauty. All round -them, at the edge, there is a ring of deep, soft brown, -and, just inside the ring, there is a lighter brown, and -it goes on getting lighter and lighter, until, in the -centre, it is a pretty, soft amber, and, at the edge of -the soft amber, there is a pretty, white, silvery light, -as if the moon was just coming out from behind -an amber cloud. <i>So</i> pretty! And when the Argus -Pheasant spreads his wonderful wings out, you can -see more than a hundred of these wonderful spots on -each wing, which is more than two hundred altogether. -Such a sight! so soft and so pretty they -look. Shall I tell you what such wings are like?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194"></a>[Pg 194]</span> -They are like skies where the stars are all moons, -that float softly among soft brown and amber clouds, -tipping them all with soft silver. For the Argus -Pheasant is not one of the very brilliant birds of the -world. No, he is not brilliant at all. His colours -are only soft browns and soft ambers and soft, silver -whites, and yet he is so pretty, so beautiful. I think -he is as pretty as the peacock, and, when one sees him -after the peacock, it is a rest for the eye. Some -people might prefer him to the peacock. Do you -wonder at that? It is not so very wonderful. There -may be a little girl reading this, with soft brown hair -and soft brown eyes, and with nothing golden or -gleaming about her, and some people, besides her -father and mother, may think her prettier than the -little girl who is all golden and gleaming. It is all a -matter of taste. Some like a broad sheet of water -dancing in the sunlight, and some like quiet streams -running under cool, mossy banks, with trees arching -above them, where the shadows are cool and deep, -and where even the sun's peepings are only like -brighter shadows. People who like that better than -the other, will like the quiet little girl with the brown -hair better than the one who gleams and dazzles; and -they will like the Argus Pheasant better than the -peacock, and think them both a rest for the eye. It -is not at all a bad thing to be a rest for the eye.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="Illo_195" id="Illo_195"></a> -<img src="images/illo_195.jpg" width="600" height="603" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><p class="center">THE ARGUS PHEASANT</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197"></a>[Pg 197]</span> -I have told you how large the wings of the Argus -Pheasant are; when he spreads them out to show to -the hen bird (who has nothing like them), they look -like two banners or two beautiful feather-fans, the -kind of fans that you see Eastern queens being fanned -with, in the pictures. Then he has a very fine tail as -well, as I told you. Two of the feathers in it are -very long indeed—quite four feet long, I should -think—and as broad as a man's hand, if not broader, -near the base (which means where they begin), but -getting gradually narrower towards the tips. On -one side, these feathers are a soft, rich brown, with -silver-white spots, and, on the other, a soft, silver -grey, with silver-white spots. When the Argus -Pheasant spreads out his two great wings, he takes -care to lift up his fine handsome tail, as well, so that -the two long feathers of it are quite high in the air. -So there is his tail going up like a rocket, whilst his -wings spread out on each side of it, like feather-fans, -and his head comes out between them, just in the -middle, and makes a polite bow to the hen. That is -the right way to do it, and the Argus Pheasant -would rather not do it at all than not do it properly. -Oh, he takes a great deal of trouble about it, and all -for the hen—which is unselfish.</p> - -<p>This beautiful Argus Pheasant lives in Sumatra—which -is a large island of the Malay Archipelago—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198"></a>[Pg 198]</span>and -also in the Malay Peninsula and Siam, which are, -both, part of the great Asiatic continent—as perhaps -you know. Yes, that is where he lives, but you -might walk about there for a very long time, without -ever once seeing him, for the Argus Pheasant is a -very difficult bird to find. He lives in the great, -thick forests, and keeps out of everybody's way. -One hardly ever does find <i>him</i>, but, sometimes, one -finds his drawing-room (for he has one, like the Cock-of-the-Rock -and the Lyre-bird), and if one waits -there long enough (<i>I</i> would wait a week if it were -necessary) one may see him come into it. He spends -almost all his time in looking after this drawing-room, -and he only sees the hen Argus Pheasant when -she comes there too, to look at him. Of course he -dances in it, and it is there that he spreads out his -wonderful wings and lifts up his tail, in the way that -I have told you. The Argus Pheasant is very proud -of his drawing-room, and he <i>will</i> have it nice and -clean, with nothing lying about in it. So, if he finds -anything there that has no business to be there, he -picks it up with his beak, and throws it outside. He -has not to open a door to do that; his drawing-room -is only an open space which he keeps nice and -smooth, so, as it is always open, it does not want a -door to it. Now I think you will say—and I am -<i>sure</i> your mother will agree with you—that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199"></a>[Pg 199]</span> -Argus Pheasant does quite right to act in this way, -and that to keep one's drawing-room clean and tidy -is a very proper thing to do. Your mother may be -surprised, perhaps, that it is the male Argus Pheasant, -and not the hen bird, that does it, but I am sure she -will not blame <i>him</i> on that account. But I am sorry -to say that the wicked little demon has found out a -way of making this habit of the poor bird's—which -is such a good one—a means of killing him.</p> - -<p>The people who live in that part of the world—those -yellow people called Malays that I have told -you of—know all about the ways of the Argus -Pheasant, and how he will <i>not</i> have things lying -about in his drawing-room. Now there is a great -tall reed that grows there, called the bamboo, which I -am sure you have heard of, and which your mother -will tell you all about. The Malays cut off a piece of -this bamboo, about two feet long, and then they -shave it down—all except about six inches at one end -of it—till it is almost as thin as writing paper. It -looks like a piece of ribbon then, only, as it is very -hard, as well as thin, its edges are quite sharp, and -able to cut like a razor. But the piece at the end, -which has been left and not shaved down, they cut -into a point, so that it makes a peg, and this peg, that -has a ribbon at the end of it, they stick into the -ground, right in the middle of the Argus Pheasant's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200"></a>[Pg 200]</span> -drawing-room. So, when the poor Argus Pheasant -comes into his drawing-room, he sees something lying -on the floor, which has no business to be there. It -may be only a ribbon, but that is not the right place -for it, so he tries to pick it up and throw it outside. -But it won't come, however much he pulls it, for the -peg at the end is fixed in the ground, and he is not -strong enough to pull it out. At last he gets angry -and thinks he will make a great effort. He twists -the long ribbon round and round his neck—just as -you would twist a piece of string round and round -your hand if you were going to pull it hard—then -takes hold of it with his beak, just above the -ground, and gives quite a tremendous spring backwards. -You may guess what happens. The long -peg does not come out of the ground, but the -ribbon is drawn quite tight round the poor bird's -own neck, and the sharp edges almost cut his -head off.</p> - -<p>Now is not <i>that</i> a most cruel trick to play upon a -bird who only wants to keep his drawing-room in -proper order? How would your dear mother like -to be treated in such a way for being <i>neat</i> and <i>tidy</i>, -which I am sure she is? But we are going to stop it—this -cruel trick of the wicked little demon—for it -was he who thought of it and taught it to the Malays. -It is not <i>their</i> fault, you must not be angry with them,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201"></a>[Pg 201]</span> -any more than with the poor women whose hearts the -same demon has frozen. We are going to stop it, -and you know how. The Malay only kills the poor -Argus Pheasant to sell his feathers. If <i>they</i> were not -wanted he would leave him alone, to be happy and -beautiful, and to dance in a nice tidy drawing-room. -So just ask your mother to promise never to wear a -hat—or anything else—that has a feather, or even a -little piece of a feather, of an Argus Pheasant in it.</p> - -<p>That was going to be the end of the chapter, but -there is just something which I have forgotten. I -am sure you will have been wondering why this -beautiful pheasant is called the Argus Pheasant, and -what the word Argus means. Well, I will give you -an explanation. Argus was the name of a wonderful -being—a kind of monster—who had a hundred eyes, -and who lived a long time ago. But he offended the -great god Jupiter, who had him killed, and then -Jupiter's wife—the goddess Juno—whose servant he -was, put all his eyes into the tail of the peacock—for -the peacock was her favourite bird. That is one -story; but another one says that she did <i>not</i> put them -<i>all</i> there, but only the bright ones. The soft ones—those -pretty ones that I have been telling you about—she -put into the wings of another bird, that she liked -quite as well, if not better, and that bird became, at -once, the Argus Pheasant. But now if Argus had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202"></a>[Pg 202]</span> -only a hundred eyes, how is it that there are two -hundred, or more, in the wings of the Argus Pheasant, -to say nothing of those in the tail of the peacock? -That shows, <i>I</i> think, quite clearly that he must, really, -have had a great many more; and so, now, when -people talk to you of Argus and his hundred eyes, -you can say, “A hundred, indeed! Why, he must -have had <i>three</i> hundred at the very least.” And -then you can tell them why.</p> - -<hr /> -</div> -<div class="chap"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203"></a>[Pg 203]</span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII<br /> -White Egrets, “Ospreys,” and Ostrich-Feathers</h2> - - -<p>The last bird I am going to tell you about is -the White Egret. But, do you know, I am not -quite sure if he is beautiful enough to be put in a -book of beautiful birds, because, of course, a book of -beautiful birds means a book of <i>the</i> most beautiful -birds that there are, and I am not <i>quite</i> sure if the -White Egret is so beautiful as all that. At any rate -he is not so beautiful as the birds I have been telling -you about, and there are many other birds in the -world that I have <i>not</i> told you about, that are more -beautiful than he is. So, perhaps, you will wonder -why I put him into the book at all, but I will soon -give you a proper explanation of it. In the first -place, if the White Egret is not one of the most -beautiful birds in the world, yet, at any rate, he has -some of the most beautiful feathers that any bird has, -and that alone, I think, gives him a right to be here, -because, you know,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204"></a>[Pg 204]</span> “fine feathers make fine birds.” -And, in the second place, this poor bird is so shot -and killed and persecuted for these beautiful feathers -of his, that, unless you were to get your mother to -make that promise about him, there would soon be -no such thing as a White Egret left in the world. -He and his feathers would both be gone.</p> - -<p>But now, perhaps, you will say that if “fine -feathers make fine birds,” then beautiful feathers -must make beautiful birds, too, and so the White -Egret must be a beautiful bird. Oh, yes, he is. -You are quite right. I did not mean that he was not -a beautiful bird at all. All I meant was that he was -not quite so beautiful as the Birds of Paradise and -the Humming-birds, and birds like that—birds that -look as if they had flown into a jeweller's shop, and -then flown out again with all the best part of the -jewellery upon them. Whether he is not as beautiful -as some of the other birds we have talked about—but -I will not say which, for fear of offending -them—that I am not quite so sure of; but, at any -rate, he is beautiful.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="Illo_205" id="Illo_205"></a> -<img src="images/illo_205.jpg" width="600" height="658" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><p class="center">THE WHITE EGRET</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Oh, yes, he is quite a beautiful bird, is the White -Egret; and now I will describe him to you. I shall -not have any colours to tell you about, because he is -all white—which of course you will have guessed -from his name—but you know how beautiful white -can be. You will not have forgotten the little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207"></a>[Pg 207]</span> -Humming-bird who was made still more beautiful -than he had been before, by three snowflakes falling -upon him. But, with this bird, it is as if the snow -had fallen all over him and covered him up, for he is -white all over, a beautiful, soft, silky white, as pure -and delicate as the snow itself. Only his shape, -perhaps, is a little funny—at least you might think -so—for he has a pair of long, thin, stilty legs, and a -long, thin, snaky neck, and a long, sharp, pointed -beak, so that all three of these together make him a -tall, thin, stilty bird. “Something like a stork, that -is,” you will say, for you will have seen pictures of -storks, even if you have not seen one alive in the -Zoological Gardens—which is a very bad place for -him, <i>I</i> think. Well, this bird <i>is</i> something like a -stork, but he is a great deal more like a heron, that -long-legged, long-necked bird that stands for hours -in the water, waiting for a fish to come near it, so that -it may catch it and swallow it; for the heron, you -know, lives on fish and frogs, and things of that -sort.</p> - -<p>Yes, he is very like a heron, and, do you know, -there is a very good reason for that, because the -White Egret <i>is</i> a heron. Some birds, I must tell -you, have names which are like our surnames, and -show the family they belong to. As long as you -only know a boy's or girl's Christian name—Reginald<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208"></a>[Pg 208]</span> -or Bertram or Dorothy or Norah or Wilhelmina—you -don't know a bit what family they belong to; -but as soon as you know their <i>surnames</i>—Smith or -Brown or Jones or Thompson or Robinson—why then -you do—and it is just the same with birds. Heron -is really a surname, only the bird that has it, here in -England, has not a Christian name as well—unless -“common” is one, for he is called the Common -Heron. But White Egret is a Christian name and -the surname to it is Heron—for the White Egret -belongs to the Heron family. That is why he is so -tall and gaunt and stilty, for a heron is always like -that—it is the family figure—and so now, when I tell -you that <i>he</i> stands in the water and catches fish, you will -know why he does that, too; fish is the family dish, and -no heron would think of going without it, for long.</p> - -<p>But now, let me tell you about those beautiful -feathers which the poor White Egret has. They -grow only on his back—about the middle of it—and -droop down to a little way over his tail, so that -they are a foot or more long. You remember what -I explained to you about the feathers in the tail -of the Lyre-bird, and those that make the plumes in -the beautiful Birds of Paradise—how the barbs of -the feather on each side of the quill have no -barbules to hold them together, so that they fall -apart and wave about like beautiful, soft, silky threads.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209"></a>[Pg 209]</span> -If you have forgotten, then you must look back for -it, because I should not explain it better here than I do -there, and, besides, it would be twice over. Well, -these feathers are made in the same way, only they -are of a pure, shining white—like all the rest of this -birds plumage—and although they are as soft as silk -they are stiff at the same time, and so smooth that -they look like the delicate flakings from a piece of -beautiful, pure, polished ivory. Imagine a little -fountain of ivory threads all shooting up together -into the air, quite straight at first, and then bending -over and drooping down in the most delicate, graceful -way imaginable. That is what a plume of those -feathers looks like, when they have been taken out and -tied together, but I wish, myself, that they did not -look nearly so beautiful, for it is because of those beautiful -plumes, that the poor bird is being killed and killed -and becoming scarcer and scarcer, every day. For the -women whose hearts the little demon has frozen, wear -these plumes in their hats and in their hair, and they -are called “ospreys,” and are very fashionable indeed.</p> - -<p>Soldiers, too, used to wear them in their caps, -but <i>they</i> have given up doing so. It is only the -frozen-hearted women who are killing the poor -White Egrets now—but ah, there are so many of -them (the women I mean, not the Egrets). I have -sat at the entrance of a large concert-hall, and counted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210"></a>[Pg 210]</span> -the faces that had these lovely egret-plumes—these -beautiful, fashionable “ospreys,” so white and yet so -blood-stained—nodding above them—counted them -as they came in and as they went out, young faces, -old faces, soft faces, hard faces, shrivelled faces, -puckered faces, painted faces, plain faces, ugly faces, -quite dreadful faces—ah, what numbers of them -there were! It was quite difficult to count them all. -Every now and again there would be a pretty face, and -I used to count <i>those</i> separately—one—two—three—four—five—sometimes -up to half-a-dozen. That was -not so tiring, but, you see, I had to count them all.</p> - -<p>Oh, wise but wicked little demon, who blew his -bad powders into the hearts of <i>all</i> the women! -There were two kinds, you know, and one of them -was “Vanity.” Now if it had been a man—however -wicked a one—I feel sure that he would have -looked about for the women with the <i>pretty</i> faces, -and who were rather young, to blow <i>that</i> powder -into. But the little demon was wiser, in his own -wicked way. He did not go about, looking and -looking. He blew it into <i>all</i> their hearts, and that -gave him no trouble at all.</p> - -<p>Now, I must tell you that there are two different -kinds of White Egrets, with these beautiful feathers -that the women with the frozen hearts wear. One -is much larger than the other, and is called the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211"></a>[Pg 211]</span> -Great White Egret. He is quite a big bird, larger -even than our common heron—and you know what -a big bird <i>he</i> is. The other one, which is called -the Small White Egret, is not more than half the -size of the great one, but his feathers are the most -beautiful, so that, though he has not nearly so many -of them, he is worth nearly twice as much money. -That means, of course, that the servants of the -wicked little demon, who shoot him and sell his -feathers, can get nearly twice as much money for -them as they can for the feathers of the other one. -So, of course, they like shooting him best, but they -are very glad to shoot the other one—the Great -White Egret—too, for even <i>his</i> feathers are worth -a good deal. Now, if the wicked little demon had -not frozen the hearts of women, they would never -want to wear feathers that cost the lives of the poor -birds to whom they belong—because, you know, women -are, <i>really</i>, so kind. Then, of course, those feathers -that are so beautiful would not be worth anything -(as it is called), and so men would not shoot the -White Egrets, because they would not be able to -sell their feathers. I am afraid they would have -no better reason for not doing so than that, because -men, you know, are not kind and pitiful—as women -are, if only their hearts are not frozen. But, at -any rate, the White Egrets would be left alive.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212"></a>[Pg 212]</span></p> - -<p>And you must not think that their feathers would -<i>really</i> not be worth anything, then. When we talk -of a thing not being worth anything, what we really -mean is that we cannot sell it for money. Now what -are things that you cannot sell for money? I will -tell you three. There is the sky, and the air, and -the sunlight. You cannot buy or sell them, but do -you think they are not worth anything! <i>I</i> think -they are worth a good deal. Then there is a good -temper; nobody can buy that, but yet what a lot -it is worth! Now if the beautiful feathers of the -White Egret could not be sold, because the world -was better and there were no frozen-hearted women -to buy them, yet they would be worth something, -although it would not be money. They would be -worth love and pity and sympathy and interest -and real admiration (which never wants to kill), -for all those things would be given to the beautiful -bird with its beautiful feathers, and it would -be just because of those things that no one would -think of killing him. His feathers, then, would -be like the smiles on a face. You cannot take -those <i>out</i> of the face, and put them in a hat. If -you could, then some one would soon say to you:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213"></a>[Pg 213]</span> -“Will you part with a few of your smiles? They -are fashionable in hats just now; I will give you, -for a nice, bright one—let me see—half-a-crown.” -Then you might say that a nice, bright smile was -worth half-a-crown. But I think it is worth much -more where it is, in your face, though you cannot -take it out and get half-a-crown for it.</p> - -<p>Smiles are not bought for money in <i>that</i> way, but -you must remember that what is not worth money -is often worth much better things. That is why -I wish the feathers of the poor White Egrets were -not worth even a penny. If they were not, then, -if you were to go to the countries where they live, -you would see those feathers on the birds themselves, -where they look most beautiful, and you could watch -the birds (with the feathers on them) flying through -the air, or perched in trees, or walking about in the -water and catching fish in it, or building their nests, or -feeding their young, or doing all sorts of other interesting -and amusing things. And they would not be -so rare then; in fact they would be quite common, -so that you would not have to go into such out-of-the-way -places—yes, and such unhealthy places too—in -order to see them. No, they would be all about, -so that they would often come to see <i>you</i>, instead of -your going to see <i>them</i>; sometimes, even, they might -come into your garden—for why should you not -have a garden in another country?—and walk about -on the lawn. Think how interesting that would -be, and how pretty it would look!—and all because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214"></a>[Pg 214]</span> -those beautiful white feathers would not be worth -anything.</p> - -<p>But, because they are worth a good deal, men who -would kill every bird in the world for money go out -with guns, and shoot these poor White Egrets whenever -and wherever they see them. And, because of this, they -are only to be found, now, in swamps and places where -you, and most other sensible people, do not like to -go; so that, now, the only people who ever see these -beautiful birds are just the servants of the demon, -who murder them as soon as they see them. You -and I, and others like us, who would like to look at -them, and admire them, and watch their ways, and -learn all about them, cannot do so, cannot see -them at all, cannot even imagine them, unless in -swamps, and being shot. Yet once they were -quite common, so that everybody might look at -them. Now they are getting rarer and rarer, so that -very soon, if we do not do something about it quickly, -there will be no more of them left in the world. How -dreadful that is to think of! If you were to see a -very beautiful picture, or statue, and then, afterwards, -you were to hear that it had been destroyed, you -would feel sorry, would you not? And not only -you, but all the world would. I feel perfectly sure -that if Sir Edwin Landseer, who (as your mother -will tell you) was a great animal artist, had painted a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215"></a>[Pg 215]</span> -White Egret, everybody would think it quite shocking -if it were to be burnt or torn up. You would -hear people say (and they would be quite right to say -so): “Oh, it is dreadful, it is quite dreadful to think -of! It can never be replaced! There is no such -other artist! To think of such a masterpiece being -destroyed!” Now, when all the White Egrets (and -let me tell you they are <i>all</i> masterpieces) have been -destroyed, it will be quite impossible to replace any -one of them; so that that kind of bird—or any other -kind of bird or animal that has been shot and shot -till there are no more of it left—will have gone -in just the same way that a picture goes, when you -burn it or tear it to pieces. But is there any picture -of a bird or animal, that is so beautiful or so wonderful -as that bird or animal itself? And is there any -artist so great as the artist who made it, who made -that bird or animal, that picture with a life inside it? -You know who <i>that</i> artist is, you know <i>His</i> name—or -if you do not, your mother will tell you. I have -called Him Dame Nature, but that is only just a way -of talking. He has another name, greater than that. -He is a much greater artist than Sir Edwin Landseer -(or even Raphael or Phidias), but I am afraid there -are not many people who really know that He is. -Perhaps He is too great to be appreciated. That -sometimes happens, even amongst ourselves.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216"></a>[Pg 216]</span></p> - -<p>Well, these poor White Egrets—these masterpieces -that are always being destroyed—are birds that live, -mostly, in America—in Mexico, and California, and -Florida, and, I think, all over South and Central -America. They live in the swamps and lagunes—as -they are called—of the great forests, where -trees grow all about in the water—such dark, -gloomy, wonderful places—and the servants of the -little demon, whose business it is to kill them, -have to follow them to those places, and live there, -too. Of course it is very unhealthy for them, and -they often die there; but the women with the frozen -hearts do not mind that, any more than they mind -the Egrets being shot. They want the feathers, and -when they pay for the feathers they pay for the lives -as well—for they are honest, although their hearts -have been frozen.</p> - -<p>Perhaps you will wonder how men can live at all, -in such places as those. Of course, as it is all water, -they have to live in boats or canoes, and as soon as -they have found out a pool or creek, where the White -Egrets come to catch fish, or some trees where they -have built their nests, they cover their boats over -with reeds or rushes or ferns or the branches of trees, -so that, even though you were to come quite close to -them, you would not think they were boats at all, -but only part of the forest. That is what the poor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217"></a>[Pg 217]</span> -White Egrets think, for the men sit in their covered-up -boats, quite silently—without speaking a word—and, -as soon as they come near enough to them, fire -at them and kill them.</p> - -<p>And now I will tell you another dreadful thing, -which makes the killing of these poor birds more -cruel even than you will have thought it was, though -I am sure you will have thought it cruel enough. I -have spoken of their having nests, so, of course, there -will often be young ones in those nests, who cannot -feed themselves, but have to be fed by the parent -birds. What do the young ones do when the parent -birds—their own fathers and mothers—have been -shot? I will tell you. They starve. That is what -they do, and that is what the women with the frozen -hearts, who wear these feathers, know that they do—for -they have been told so, now, often enough. Is -it not terrible? For those pure, white, beautiful -feathers, not only have the grown birds been killed, -but the young ones—their children—have starved—starved -slowly—in the nest where they were born. -Day after day they had looked out from it, to see -their father or mother come flying to them, with -something to eat; day after day they had not seen -them, and when the night came—oh, they were so -hungry! Before, how glad they used to be when -they saw the great, white wings come floating to them,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218"></a>[Pg 218]</span> -slowly, through the air, like a silver sun, like a broad, -white, silken sail. Nearer and nearer they came, and -then there was a cry of greeting, and such <i>good</i> appetites -for breakfast or dinner. Their appetites were -just as good now—indeed better, for they were starving—but -where was father or mother, where were the -broad, white wings, the silken sail, the great silver -sun? Oh, how they strained their eyes and stretched -their poor, little, long necks over the side of the nest, -to try to see them, to see if they were not coming, if -there was only a speck of white in the distance! -But they saw nothing, for father and mother had -both been shot. And, now, they grew so weak with -hunger that they could not hold their heads up, any -more. They laid them down in the nest, and their eyes -closed, and their poor little voices only came in whispers, -“Feed us! feed us!”—they had been screams -before. Then even the whispers ceased, the beaks -could not be opened, and slowly, slowly they starved.</p> - -<p>And those are the feathers—feathers that have -been got in that way—which the poor women whose -hearts the little demon has frozen, wear in their hats. -In those hats they go out to concerts, and hear songs -that are all of love and tenderness, and music that -seems to have been made by the angels in heaven; in -those hats they go to meetings that are held, perhaps, -for some good and just thing—to save people from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219"></a>[Pg 219]</span> -being killed, or children from being starved—some of -them may even speak at such meetings—and in those -hats, those very hats; in those hats, too, they go to -church, they kneel down in them, and they pray—yes, -<i>pray</i>.</p> - -<p>Oh, it is wonderful—wonderful! In Africa, where -the people believe in witchcraft, one man will throw -a spell upon another man that he hates, so that wherever -that man goes and whatever he does, he always -sees his face, his enemy's face. There it is, always -before him, and, at last, he gets so tired of seeing it -that he dies, or even kills himself. Of course, he -does not <i>really</i> see the face, and his enemy does not -<i>really</i> cast a spell upon him, because there is no such -thing as witchcraft, <i>really</i>; it is all superstition, as I -think you know. But as the one man <i>thinks</i> he sees -the face, and the other man <i>thinks</i> he is casting a -spell upon him, and making him see it, it comes to -very nearly—if not quite—the same thing as if it -were real, especially as the one man does <i>really</i> die. -Ah, if those hats could cast a spell (not quite the -same one as that, but something like it), if, wherever -the women who wore them went—whether it was to -concerts where they heard beautiful music, or to -meetings where good things were talked about, or -to church where they kneeled down and prayed—they -always saw a picture of a nest, with young birds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220"></a>[Pg 220]</span> -in it, starving—slowly starving! if it was always -there, always before them—that pitiful picture—and -if the voices came, too—the screams, and then the -whispers—“Feed us! feed us!” then, I think, -they would take off those hats, and they would not -wear them any more. They need not die or kill -themselves, they would only have to take off those hats.</p> - -<p>And they will do that now, because you and -every little child in the world will have asked them -to. Yes, they will do it now. They will take off -those hats—those hats of starvation and murder, of -terrible and shameful cruelty—they will leave off -wearing them, they will never put them on, again. -Those plumes called “ospreys,” that one sees everywhere—in -streets and in shop-windows, at concerts, -at meetings, and in churches—that bend above fine -sentiments, that wave over charities and goodnesses, -and tremble, softly, in the breath that prayers are -made of—they will tear them out of their hats and -out of their hair—yes, and out of their hearts too. -They will hate them, they will loathe them, and -when they say, next time, in church, upon their knees, -“Give us this day our daily bread,” they will try not -to remember them, or only to think that they are -unfashionable.</p> - -<p>Oh, make them unfashionable! for you have not -yet, you have not said “promise” yet. Oh, then, at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221"></a>[Pg 221]</span> -once, at once! Break the spell of the demon, that -spell that is so real and so cruel, that spell that kills -the soul. Thaw the poor frozen heart, thaw it with -your own warm one, with your lips, with your soft -hands and arms. Thaw it with the tears in your eyes, -as they look up, thaw it with the words that you -say, “Mother, do not kill parents, and make children -starve! Mother, do not wear ‘ospreys!’ Oh, -mother, promise, promise!”</p> - -<p>So, now, we have saved the White Egrets, as well as -all those other birds that I have been telling you of, -and that your mother has promised about. But does -that save all the beautiful birds in the world? Oh -no, for there are ever so many more than I have been -able to say anything about, in a little book like this, -more—oh, a great many more—than all the Birds of -Paradise, and all the Humming-birds, and all the other -ones in the other chapters—for, you know, there are -not many—put together. And though the Humming-birds -and the Birds of Paradise and the White -Egrets and the others are, now, quite safe, yet, if your -mother does not promise about the rest, people will -go on killing them, till there are no more of them -left in the world. Think what that would mean! -Why, besides hundreds and hundreds of beautiful -foreign birds, it would mean all the kingfishers—the -star-birds (for there has been no promise about them)—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222"></a>[Pg 222]</span>and -all the chaffinches and bullfinches and goldfinches -and greenfinches—yes, and all the little robin-redbreasts -too—being shot and shot, killed and killed, -till there were no more of them left, either in England -or anywhere else. For, of course, when all the beautiful -foreign birds were gone, then the frozen-hearted -women would begin to wear our own little birds, here -at home, in their hats. You would hear one lady say -to another: “I wanted to have a redbreast tippet -this winter, but, my <i>dear</i> they are so expensive. -You see, hundreds go to one, because there's only -the breast, so I'm afraid I must fall back on -greenfinch. They're less, of course; you see, there's -a greater surface, and they're not quite so rare. -But I <i>did</i> so want redbreast!” And, then, the other -lady would say: “Well, I think I should manage -it if I were you, dear, for, you know, they say there'll -soon be no more real redbreast—only imitation. -So it's best to get one, whilst there's time.” And -you may be sure that it would be managed somehow—things -like that always are.</p> - -<p>Well, then, but what is to be done? Do you -think your mother would make a promise about all -the birds? I think she would if <i>you</i> were to ask -her. But then, perhaps, she might think it a <i>little</i> -hard not to wear any feathers—just at first, at any -rate—although flowers and all sorts of other things<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223"></a>[Pg 223]</span> -look ever so much nicer in hats. Oh, but wait. -Are there <i>no</i> feathers that can be worn in hats -without its doing any harm at all—without any bird -being killed to get them? Why, yes, of course -there are—and the very handsomest of them all—ostrich-feathers. -Ostriches are kept on farms, and -twice a year, their beautiful white and black feathers -are clipped and sent to the market. So, as they are -not killed, but kept alive and fed and taken care of, -and have a very good time of it—as I can tell you -that they do, for I have lived on an ostrich-farm—I -do not see any reason why one should not wear -their feathers—if one wants to. And how beautiful -their feathers are! I think, myself, that they are the -only feathers that really look nice in a hat—at any -rate they are the only ones that ever looked nice in -a portrait. A portrait of a lady in a beautiful, -broad-brimmed hat, with beautiful, broad, soft ostrich-feathers -curling all round it, looks lovely; but a -portrait of a lady in a stiff little pork-pie sort of -thing, with a lot of heads and wings and tails, sticking -bolt upright in it, looks <i>horrid</i>. People, you know, -always look like their portraits, as long as their -portraits are good ones—and, of course, we are not -talking about bad portraits. So I think that any -<i>sensible</i> woman, even though her heart were frozen -and she were determined to wear feathers, would only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224"></a>[Pg 224]</span> -wear ostrich-feathers. Of course, no woman whose -heart the wicked little demon had <i>not</i> frozen would -ever wear any other kind.</p> - -<p>But there are not going to be frozen-hearted -women in the world any more, now, because their -little children will soon have thawed all their hearts, -and the Goddess of pity is just beginning to wake -up again. So now, ask your dear, dear mother to -make just one more promise, just one more which -will be better than all the others she has made. -Of course she could not be expected to make it -quite at first, but now, after all that you have told -her, I think she will. Just go to her and throw -your arms round her neck, and whisper: “Mother, -promise not to wear <i>any</i> feathers, except the beautiful -ostrich-feathers that you look so <i>lovely</i> in.” As -soon as she has promised, then all the beautiful -birds in the world (and that means all the birds, -for all birds are beautiful) will be saved, and it is -you and the other little children who will have saved -them. So, of course, you must keep on saying -“Promise” till she does.</p> - - -<p class="p2 center"> -Printed by <span class="smcap">Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.</span><br /> -Edinburgh & London<br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<div class="figcenter"><a name="Illo_225" id="Illo_225"></a> -<img src="images/illo_225.jpg" width="600" height="729" alt="Woman wearing hat with dead bird and she has a demon's tail." /> -</div> -<hr /> -</div> -<div class="chap"><div class="transnote bbox"> -<h2><a name="TRANSCRIBERS_NOTE" id="TRANSCRIBERS_NOTE"></a>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE</h2> -<p>Archaic, obsolete, unusual and inconsistent spellings have been -maintained as in the original book. Obvious errors have been fixed as -noted below.</p> -<p class="hh-only"> The cover is an image of the original book cover, -and it is in the public domain.</p> -<table id="details" summary="Details of the changes"> -<tr> - <td class="tdpadtop">Page <a href="#Page_119">119</a>:</td><td class="tdpadtop">spring from the top of the small</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td>Originally:</td><td>spring from the the top of the small</td> -</tr> -</table> -</div> -<hr /> -</div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Beautiful Birds, by Edmund Selous - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEAUTIFUL BIRDS *** - -***** This file should be named 50777-h.htm or 50777-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/7/7/50777/ - -Produced by Emmanuel Ackerman and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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