254 TOUR IN SUTHERL AN DSHIRE. 



titmice are very carnivorously inclined, feeding greedily on 

 any dead bird or other animal which they may meet with. 

 Our favourite, the robin, is not much behind them in this 

 respect, having a very great partiality for raw meat and dead 

 animals. 



Although so much protected, and in fact enjoying an 

 almost entire immunity from all human persecutors, the 

 robins do not appear to increase in numbers ; this is, in all 

 probability, occasioned by the bird generally breeding on the 

 ground, and being thereby exposed to the attacks of weasels, 

 rats, &c. Were it not for this, the almost sacred character 

 the robin has always held amongst bird-nesting schoolboys 

 and juvenile sportsmen must have caused its numbers to 

 increase ; but we still see the same dead branch or the same 

 railing head occupied by a single robin year after year ; no 

 rivals spring up to dispute the favourite perch. 



Of all pugnacious birds the robin is the most determined 

 fighter. When snow and frost cover the ground, and we 

 feed the birds at the windows and on the gravel walks, 

 thrushes blackbirds, sparrows, and many other birds come 

 to share the crumbs, but none dare eat if any robin is there, 

 until the fiery little fellow permits him. Thrushes and all 

 are beaten and driven away, and even after he has crammed 

 himself to repletion, the robin will sit at the window and 

 drive away with the most furious attacks every bird whose 

 hunger prompts him to try to snatch a morsel of his leavings. 

 Perched amidst the crumbs, he looks the very personification 

 of ill-temper and pugnacity. The thrush, on the contrary, 

 allows every bird to feed with him, and puts on a complaining 

 but not an angry look when an impudent sparrow or tomtit 

 snatches the morsel of bread from his bill. 



In large towns it is curious to see how accustomed sparrows 

 become to all the noises and sights by which they are 

 surrounded. You see a flock of sparrows feeding in the 

 middle of a paved street, an omnibus comes rattling along, 

 shaking the very houses, and making din and noise enough to 

 deafen a miller, yet the sparrows merely hop out of reach of 

 the wheels and do not take the trouble to go a yard farther. 

 Knowing either from instinct or long experience that they 

 are safe from gun or trap, where every passer-by is too 

 intent on his own more important matters to waste a thought 

 upon them, they become most impudently confident of their 

 own safety. 



