THE SPARROWS, BUNTINGS, AND LARKS. 143 



be a gentleman and attains to being a gent. In 

 dress it affects smartness and in manners gentility. 

 In the company of ladies it becomes a masher. 

 Nevertheless, I like the little Sparrow out of doors. 

 But in this country you cannot keep it out of doors. 

 It comes in and makes up its mind that it will have 

 its nest in the corner of your ceiling. And when a 

 Sparrow makes up its mind nothing will unmake it 

 except the annihilation of that Sparrow. Its faithful 

 spouse is always, and very strongly, of the same mind 

 as itself. So they set to work to make a hole in the 

 corner of the ceiling-cloth, and they tear and tug 

 with an energy which leaves no room for failure. 

 Then they begin to fetch hay. The quantity of hay 

 which a couple of Sparrows will carry in a day is 

 almost miraculous. Most of it tumbles down in their 

 efforts to stuff it into the hole, for they always bring 

 larger loads than they can manage. I remember a 

 pair which made a hole directly over one of the pic- 

 tures on my drawing-room wall, and I declare 

 solemnly that you might have fed a horse on the hay 

 which I removed daily and hourly from behind that 

 picture. This savours of exaggeration, perhaps, but 

 I mean a hack-victoria horse. At such times the 

 House Sparrow requires an antidote, a u Gem Air- 

 gun," or something of that sort. I once saw, with 

 unfeigned satisfaction, a pair of Sparrows making 

 their nest in the top of a street-lantern near to the 

 Victoria Station. They had no idea that that lamp 

 was lighted every night after they had gone to bed, 

 and, when they arrived each morning and found yes- 

 terday's work reduced to ashes, they did no doubt 

 what a brave Sparrow always does in such circum- 



