A RUFFIAN IN FEATHERS. 

 By olive THORNE MILLER. 



Abh-eviatcd fro77i the ''Atlantic Monthly.' 



The harshest cries of our native American birds, if not 

 always musical in themselves, seem at least to accord in 

 some way with sounds of nature. The house-sparrow 

 alone is entirely discordant — the one bird without a 

 pleasing note, whose very love-song is an unmusical 

 squeak. Nor is his appearance more interesting than his 

 voice, a-nd on looking into his manners and customs we 

 discover most unlovely characteristics. 



One cannot help watching bird-life, however ignoble, 

 which goes on within sight. Sparrows have long been 

 my neighbours, and 1 have observed many phases of their 

 hfe— combats, briwls, forcible divorce, and persecution of 

 the unfortunate. | A day or two ago I saw a murder *' most 

 foul,' and now, Avhile indignation stirs my blood, I will 

 chronicle the ruffian's monstrous deeds. 



Near my window is a Norway spruce, which this spring 

 I regretted to see selected by a pair of sparrows for one of 

 their clumsy, straggling nests, to which they brought 

 rubbish of all sorts and colours, from hay of the street to 

 carpet ravellings fronri the spring house-cleaning, till the 

 tree was greatly disfigured. I do not know how many 

 broods h^ave been raised there, but on the 6th of July I 



