A Street Troubadour 



sometimes stopped work for a minute to utter 

 a loud sweet song, much like that of a Canary. 



It is not usual for a Cock Sparrow to build 

 alone. But then this was an unusual Bird. 

 After a week he had apparently finished the 

 nest, for the bird-house was crammed to the 

 very door with twigs purloined from the muni- 

 cipal shade-trees. He had now more leisure 

 for music, and astonished the people about by 

 frequent rendering of his long, unsparrow-like 

 ditty ; and he might have gone down to history 

 as an unaccountable mystery, but that a barber 

 bird-fancier on Sixth Avenue supplied the miss- 

 ing chapters of his early life. 



This man, it seems, had put a Sparrow's egg 

 into the wicker basket-nest of his Canaries. 

 The youngster had duly hatched, and had been 

 trained by the foster-parents. Their specialty 

 was song. He had the lungs and robustness of 

 his own race. The Canaries had trained him 

 well, and the result was a songster who made 

 up in energy what he lacked in native talent. 

 Strong and pugnacious, as well as musical, this 

 vociferous roustabout had soon made himself 

 master of the cage. He had no hesitation in 



in 



