174 THE BIRDS OF KENT 



little is thought about the thousands of cats that must 

 die every year, in London alone, of starvation. Well 

 our present thoughts are not now with the cats, but 

 that most republican of birds, the Sparrow. The Sparrow 

 is a native of our isle, and he seems somehow to inherit 

 the independent spirit which, at one time at any rate, 

 was the boast of Englishmen as peculiar to the British 

 race. He is gregarious by habit, building his nest in 

 colonies, his favourite place being either the eaves of 

 buildings or thatch of barns ; if numerous, however, they 

 will build in every green tree and shrub, such as the 

 spruce fir or Portugal laurel. The nest, if built in the 

 open, is circular-shaped, with an entrance at the side, 

 whilst it is often more or less rudimentary when built 

 under the sheltering roof. The first sound that greets 

 the dweller either in town or country in the early morn- 

 ing, and one of the last as evening draws on, is the end- 

 less chatter of the Sparrow, for he — unlike most of our 

 sombre-coloured birds — possesses no pleasing song with 

 which to beguile the hen during the days of incubation. 

 What all their conversation can be about would tax the 

 most imaginative of mortals to determine, for the ordinary 

 listener the distinguishing feature of their parliamentary 

 wrangle seems to be repetition. They remind me very 

 much of a number of almshouse gossips, whose sole aim 

 appears to be to hear their own voices, to attain which 

 it is necessary for all to speak at once. The Sparrow, 

 however, is not always chattering, for he is a good 

 forager ; a veritable gourmand is he, few thnigs come 

 amiss to him, from the corn in fields to the cherries on 

 the wall ; with his powerful beak he shells the peas 

 with wonderful celerity, and when detected will fly to 

 the nearest wall and chirrup a bold defiance, as if he 



