266 HAUNTS OF THE TOWN SPARROW, 



has received from some friend who is a denizen of the green lanes, where 

 the wheat ears lay thick upon the path fallen from the loaded wain. 



He is fond, too, of quiet retired courtways in the city, where the 

 quaint old gabled houses afford him many a snug retreat, and he will 

 hop upon the great bow-window-sill, gladdening the eyes of the clerk 

 sitting within, who knows that he will not disappear till he gains the 

 wished-for biscuit crumbs^ which, as his company is a pleasure, are indef- 

 initely delayed. 



Down other courts too, where men and women die daily by dozens, 

 and disease lurks in every corner, the Sparrow is found, when other birds, 

 kept in cages, die, and plants — poor withered things — can only be recog- 

 nised as sapless woody stems. In these places, where life is so hard to 

 retain, the Town Sparrow is as lively and companionable as in the semi- 

 green railed-in squares of the West-end; to the poor he takes the place of 

 the warblers of the grove, albeit he has but a faint, yet withal a spirited 

 chirp. 



Nor are these his only haunts. In the early morning, passing beneath 

 the great black dome of St. Paul's, through the low old-fashioned arch- 

 way leading to the district of law and lawyers, we come suddenly upon a 

 large tree, perhaps we have been attracted thither by hearing a babel of 

 bird voices upon the morning air; perhaps by the air of retirement about 

 the place; there they are however, filling every branch and twittering about 

 among the leaves, holding a morning concert for the benefit of the Dean 

 of St. Paul's, who lives in the great house adjoining. 



Then in little out-of the-way city church-yards, so small in compass, 

 that one wonders where they buried the dead of by-gone generations, the 

 Sparrow luxuriates in the possession of opaque green-ieaved trees, and 

 hiding amid the tall rank grass that in summer-time grows thick about 

 the crumbling stone tombs of deceased burgesses. 



But above all, the Sparrow's favourite haunt is the Fountain in the 

 Temple, that green oasis in the wilderness of bricks and mortar; how he 

 loves the thick over-arching trees that rustle against the windows of law- 

 chambers, and the soft grass watered by the fountain; and the fountain 

 itself; oh! the crystal W'aters of that fountain! leaping up and falling 

 again in diamond sprays upon the birds beneath, who are dipping their 

 notched beaks in the marble basin, or smoothing their ruffled plumage. 

 As cheering and refreshing to the Town Sparrow, must this leaping, tree- 

 shaded fountain be, as it is to the weary- worn Naturalist, panting to go 

 forth into the boundless domains of Nature. We can fancy the Sparrows 

 by the side of this fountain, looked upon by loveable Oliver Goldsmith, 

 in the leisure moments he takes while writing his ^'Animated Nature," or 

 bluff Johnson while taking his after-tea walk. 



