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Updated: May 10, 2025
The Siskin, however, is not mentioned in Professor Ansted's list, and there is no specimen at present in the Museum. LINNET. Linota cannabina, Linnaeus. French, "Linotte," "Grosbec linotte." The Linnet is resident and the most numerous bird in the Islands by far, outnumbering even the House Sparrow, and it is equally common and breeds in all the Islands.
It was summer: thrush and linnet sung their gladsome summer-lay; Through the fir trees' cooling vista rose the cataract's white spray; And the light blue smoke of even o'er the darksome forests fell Rose and lingered like a lover loath to bid his love farewell; And in silence, Wistful silence, Shed its peace o'er sunlit dell.
If Linnet had not been somebody's wife she would have danced around and clapped her hands with delight; as it was she nearly forgot her dignity, and exclaimed with surprise and pleasure sufficient to satisfy those who were in the secret of the feast.
Yet this great beauty was but half the charm I found in these trees: the other half was in the bird-music that issued from them. It was the music of but one kind of bird, a small greenish yellow field finch, in size like the linnet though with a longer and slimmer body, and resembling a linnet too in its general habits.
This experienced dowager acted as mistress of the ceremonies on such occasions, and was the trusty depositary of more intrigues than were known to any dozen of her worshipful calling besides. "As sweet a linnet," she said, as she undid the outward door, "as ever sung in a cage." "I was afraid she might have been more for moping than for singing, Dowlas," said the Duke.
Rowe began to tell him something good in return, and in spite of my utmost endeavours not to hear anything, the words "Linnet Flash" became audible, I blushed to hear the fancier choking over his shandy-gaff with laughter, and I feared at our project for settling on the island. The interview was now at an end, but as Mr.
Linnet waved her handkerchief, Marjorie laughed, and their father took off his hat to them. "Oh, dear," groaned the captain. "Lord, help her; poor little thing," prayed Hollis, with motionless lips. He remembered that last letter of hers that he had not answered.
The whistling wings that seemed a hawk were a sham, made by a racquet thrown through the air by the fowler, through a slot in his tower. He keeps by him many such racquets. The door of the tower opens, and out comes the fowler. He is lowbrowed, swarthy, ill kept, and wears rings in his ears. A soiled hand seizes the struggling linnet, and drags it violently from the threads that entangled it.
One more prisoner has escaped one more." "One more, Marie. It is the life here that on the Hill, this here below; and yet the sun is bright, the cockatoos are laughing in the palms, and you hear my linnet singing." "It turns so slowly. Now it points across the Winter Valley. Ah!" "Yes, across the Winter Valley, where the deep woods are, and beyond to the Pascal River." "Towards my home.
"Your letters are not suggestive enough," she said, archly. "Like my conversation. As poor a talker as I am, I am a better talker than writer. And you you write a dozen times better than you talk." "I'm sorry I'm so unentertaining to-night. When Linnet writes she says: "'I wish I could talk to you, and when I talk I think: 'I wish I could write it all to you."
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