COCK ROBIN'S MURDERER 77 



eaten up my chota haziri> and that the sparrows were 

 fighting over the crumbs left by the crows. 



Throughout the day those sparrows mocked me. In 

 vain did I try to eject them. I flicked at them with a 

 towel. They flew out at one window and in at the 

 other, thoroughly enjoying the game. I continued the 

 unequal contest for forty-eight hours, and then, having 

 girt up my loins, betook myself to an hotel where the 

 sparrows did not trouble. 



The sparrow is no respecter of persons. He swears 

 at crowned heads, treats viceroys with contempt, and 

 gibes at bishops. Nothing is sacred with him. He 

 forces his way into the seraglio and stares impudently 

 at the unveiled inmates. He struts into the halls of 

 justice, and there commits contempt of court He in- 

 vades church, chapel, and cathedral, and, as Lockwood 

 Kipling hath it, "perches on the organ pipes in full 

 blast, and chatters loudly through the sermon." 



One of his favourite pastimes is to sit on a beam 

 under the eaves of the verandah and contemplate the 

 human occupants. His stare on such occasions is 

 equalled in impertinence only by that with which the 

 cockney, spending Saturday afternoon at Hampton 

 Court, annoys the occupants of the houseboats on the 

 Thames. Doubtless, if we only understood them, we 

 should find the personal remarks of the sparrow as 

 insulting as his stare. Needless to say, the sparrow is 

 not aware of his deficiencies. He thinks himself a 

 mighty fine fellow. And in truth he is not a bad-look- 

 ing bird, in spite of his squat figure, his coarse beak and 

 vulgar tail. In England, one seldom has the opportu- 



