IN AN OLD GARDEN 245 



medicinal and restorative effect on the jarred and 

 wounded sense. 



From the elms hard by comes a subdued, airy 

 prattle of a few sparrows. It is rather pleasant, 

 something like a low accompaniment to the notes 

 of the more tuneful birds; the murmurous music 

 of a many-stringed instrument, forming the indis- 

 tinct ground over which runs the bright em- 

 broidery of clear melodious singing. 



This morning, while lying awake from four to 

 five o'clock, I almost hated the sparrows, they 

 were there in such multitudes,^ and so loud and 

 persistent sounded their jangling through the 

 open window. It set me thinking of the England 

 of the future — of a time a hundred years hence, 

 let us say — when there will remain with us only 

 two representatives of feral life — the sparrow 

 and the house-fly. Doubtless it will come, unless 

 something happens; but, doubtless, it will not 

 continue. It will still be necessary for a man to 

 kill something in order to be happy; and the 

 sportsmen of that time, like great Gambetta, in 

 the past, will sit in the balconies, popping with 

 pea-rifles at the sparrows until not one is left to 

 twitter. Then will come the turn of the untamed 



