CHAPTER XXXVI 



THE COMMON SPARROW 



A PLAIN little burgher, greedy, pugnacious, and harmful, 

 and would that all sparrows had one head, and that I might 

 be allowed to silence for ever the infernal chattering of that 

 commonplace pest. 



He is in no hurry to nest — often waiting for that artist, 

 the house-martin, to finish his cosy cradle, when, with his 

 strong predatory beak, he will drive the beautiful bird from 

 his house, and you see his devilish leer as he peeps forth 

 from his stolen shell, and prepares to perpetuate his under- 

 bred progeny. Indeed, do you but try conclusions with 

 him yourself, and he will try his sparrow-best to nip a piece 

 out of your finger; for he is vengeful, like the low type he is. 

 Indeed, I know of a case where a rat-catcher sent a puppy 

 to retrieve a winged sparrow, and the little beast bit the 

 puppy's lip, and would not let go, so that he ran back to his 

 master, who took the bird away from his hold, when the 

 little vixen fixed on his finger, and he had to crush its 

 useless head to make it let go. 



When he does not rob an artist of his nest, he will 

 pile some straw carelessly in a rain-spout, forgetful of the 

 thunderstorm ! — under the eaves, or in a hole made by pull- 

 ing out long reeds from the thatch, where the hen will lay 

 her speckled eggs and raise her harsh-looking youngsters. 

 And so much is she in love with her progeny, that she 

 at times begins to lay fresh eggs — in all, six — whilst the 

 young are still living. You see she is a willing conquest, 

 and fond of her lover's embraces, though she does pretend 



