STARROW 9 



He is a bird familiar indeed to all. But his familiarity 

 has nothing in common with the fearless confidence of 

 the robin, who helps the gardener at his work, and who 

 in hard days of winter joins the household at their 

 meals. Nor is it that of the swallow, who, timid as she 

 is, will almost brush you with her purple wings as you 

 stand to watch her floating to her nest among the 

 rafters. 



The daring of the sparrow is the evidence of an in- 

 tellect sharpened by bitter persecution ; his is a boldness 

 born of long familiarity with danger. Always on guard 

 against the prowling cat, constantly on the look-out for 

 flying missiles, mistrustful even of the crumbs that kind 

 hands scatter on the grass, ever he holds himself warily 

 aloof. Gladly we minister to the wants of the suppliant 

 robin. We love to watch the titmouse swinging on a 

 bone. But to the sparrow scant welcome is accorded ; 

 good words for him are rarely spoken. His impudent 

 air, the doubtful character of his language especially 

 in the heat of argument or the dust of conflict his un- 

 deniable acts of pillage weigh heavier in the popular 

 regard than all his faithful service in the field. 



He has no lack of handsome kinsmen. The goldfinch, 

 for all his smart red cap and the dainty fan of yellow in 

 his wing, is a connection not remote. The chaffinch is 

 his near ally ; the bullfinch, too, is numbered with his 

 clan. But of these the sparrow is the poor relation. 

 There is no gay colour in his coat, no note of music on 

 his tongue. 



A wide difference there is, however, between the 



