THE HOUSE SPARROW 93 
harvest they transfer their attention to the sheaves, while the reapers 
and binders are occupied elsewhere; as gleaners they are inde- 
fatigable ; they participate, too, in the joys of harvest home, 
for their food is then brought to their very doors. The most 
skilful binder leaves at least a few ears exposed at the wrong end 
of the sheaf, and these are searched for diligently in the rick; 
and the barns must be well closed indeed into which they cannot 
find admission. At threshings and winnowings they are constant 
attendants, feeding among the poultry, and snatching up the 
scattered grains under the formidable beak of Chanticleer himself. 
At seed-time their depredations are yet more serious, as they now 
come in not simply for a share of the produce,but undermine the 
very foundations of the future crop. I once had the curiosity 
to examine the crop of a Sparrow which had been shot as it flew 
up from a newly-sown field, and found no less than forty-two grains 
of wheat. A writer in the Zoologist, who professes himself a 
deadly enemy of the Sparrow, states that he once took 180 grains 
of good wheat from the crops of five birds, giving an average of 
thirty-six for a meal. Now if Sparrows had the opportunity of 
feeding on grain all the year round, they would be unmitigated 
pests, and a war of extermination against them could not be waged 
too vigorously; but during the far greater portion of the year 
they have not the power of doing mischief, and all this time they 
have to find food for themselves. Against their will, perhaps, 
they now hunt for the seeds of various weeds, especially the wild 
mustard ; and these being smaller than grains of corn and less 
nutritive, they consume an immense number of them, varying their 
repast with myriads of caterpillars, wireworms, and other noxious 
grubs ; also they devour small beetles (called hay-chaffers) when the 
hay lies in swathes onithe field. They thus compensate, certainly 
in part, perhaps wholly, for the mischief they do at other seasons ; 
and it is even questionable whether, if a balance were struck 
between them and the agriculturists, the obligation would not be 
on the side of the latter. 
It is scarcely necessary to say much of the habits of a bird 
which stands on such familiar terms with the human race as the 
Sparrow. During no period of the year do Sparrows live together 
in perfect amity ; if half a dozen descend to pick up a handful of 
scattered crumbs, each in his turn will peck at any other who comes 
too near his share of the feast, and, with a peculiar sidelong shuffle 
or hop, will show his intention of appropriating as large a portion 
of the feeding-ground as he can. In spring, this bickering assumes 
a more formidable character. A duel is commenced among the 
branches of a tree, obstinate and noisy; all the Sparrows within 
hearing flock to the scene of combat, joining at first with their 
voices, and finally with their beaks ; a general riot ensues, with as 
little object seemingly as an Irish ‘row’; for suddenly the outcry 
