THE SPARROW'S HOLIDAY 



THE sparrow's points of contact with humanity 

 are, as everybody knows who has studied his 

 ways, very numerous. He has adopted our 

 dwellings as his own. He has so nicely adjusted 

 himself to human economy that we have, in no 

 fanciful sense, become his servants and providers. 

 A creature of urban civilization, he is as familiar 

 with the dangers of the streets as a gamin, and 

 makes as little of them. He knows our ways and 

 our weaknesses, and takes full advantage of both. 

 His latest tribute to humanity is the adoption of 

 our habit of treating ourselves to a summer 

 holiday. 



I am the happy possessor of a bit of ivy- 

 covered wall, which is the happy home of a goodly 

 sparrow company. There they nightly go to rest 

 before darkness sets in their one thoroughly 

 respectable trait. For quarter of an hour their 

 squabble for the best sleeping -perches makes a 

 quiet corner clamorous, and fills with futile longing 

 the pussy cat which is the latest addition to my 

 live stock. They do not manoeuvre for position ; 

 there is no finessing about sparrows. They simply 

 plunge in among the ivy leaves and elbow 

 vigorously for places, scolding in real backyard 



