SPARROW. 75 



Throughout Ireland, Scotland, and the Orkney and Shetland 

 Islands it is to be found as in England. In the outer 

 Hebrides it is said to have been known only at Kilbar, in the 

 Island of Barra, where it had made its abode in a ruined 

 church, thus fulfilling literally the words of the Psalmist, 

 'Yea, the Sparrow hath found her a house, and the Swallow 

 a nest where she may lay her young; even Thy altars Lord 

 of Hosts, my King and my Grod.' It now appears to be 

 multiplying in that district. 



Following the methodical arrangement prescribed to myself 

 in the introduction to the present 'History of British Birds,' 

 at this stage of the narrative of the Sparrow, I have arrived 

 at that portion of my, alas! too brief, allotted space, which 

 is assigned to the subject of migration. But on this head 

 little could be said: where is the Sparrow to migrate to or 

 from, for where is he not to be found? 



Wherever this bird is met with, his character is as I have 

 said, much the same bold, pert, and familiar; 'instead of 

 the gentle and pleasing confidence displayed towards the 

 human race by the Redbreast, the Nightingale, the Redstart, 

 and some other small birds, the Sparrow shews a bold dis- 

 regard that is far from engaging affection; as if our kindness 

 and our enmity were alike despised. Instances are not wanting, 

 however, of great attachment on the part of caged Sparrows 

 for persons by whom they have been reared.' 



In London, where, as in most large towns, they abound, 

 one has been known to perch on and under the moveable 

 'cafe' of one of those examples of 'London labour and the 

 London poor,' who deserve far more commiseration than I 

 fear even Mr. Mayhew's very able work will earn for them 

 from some at least and there pick up its crumbs; nay, 

 not only was it wont thus daily and hourly to do, but it 

 was even accustomed to go the length of a whole street to 

 meet him and it on the way from his home from his nightly 

 home to his daily one whenever, and as often as he was 

 detained, perhaps by the severity of a winter's morning. It 

 would then ride back in the 'cafe,' wheeled along by him, to 

 receive the reliques of the early meal which some industrious 

 man would snatch on his way to his work to 'gather up the 

 crumbs,' though not from a 'rich man's table.' The Sparrow 

 used to feed out of the hand of the said honest Patrick 

 Corbett, to sit on his knee, and drink out of his cup; 'she 

 was unto him as a daughter.' I say she, for it was a hen 



