Some Curious Notes from My Diary 



Jefferies, Nature's great prose poet, it sounded like, 

 " Will you, will you, kiss me dear." 



The love affairs of wild birds do not always run 

 smoothly. In many species desperate battles are 

 fought by the males for the favours of the fair. 



During the war I had a male house sparrow living 

 in and around my garden for two years in succession, 

 and although a bird of comely appearance, except for 

 a little bald patch at the back of his head (which 

 rendered him easy of identification), he never succeeded 

 in securing a mate. In the spring of 1918 he laboured 

 hard and lovingly, carrying all manner of straws, 

 feathers, and bits of string into a nesting-box I had 

 fixed in an old apple tree for the use of wrynecks or 

 great tits. When his task was finished he sat by the 

 hour together and prosily sang the praises of his cosy 

 nest from the topmost branch of the tree, but no lady 

 member of his species ever came near. If he espied one 

 flying overhead he called after her with the utmost 

 vigour and persistence, but without attracting the 

 slightest notice from any female of his kind. I felt 

 very sorry for him. His gentlemanly methods were too 

 original to be appreciated. He no doubt knew more 

 about the methods and manners of his kind than I did, 

 but the most approved way of wooing in the sparrow 

 world had always appeared to me to consist of a little 

 vigorous clubbing and a great deal of excited abuse in 

 some unseemly hedgerow melee. 



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