112 BIBDS IN LONDON 



the window-sill. After a few days' holiday the 

 old birds would begin to tidy up the nest to 

 receive a fresh clutch of eggs. In July I noticed 

 that a second female, the wife, as it appeared, of 

 a neighbouring bird, had joined the first pair, 

 and shared in the tasks of incubation and of 

 feeding the young. The cast-off cock-sparrow 

 had followed her to her new home, and was 

 constantly hanging about the nest trying to 

 coax his wife to go back to him. Day after day, 

 and all day long, he would be there, and sitting 

 on the slates quite close to the nest he would 

 begin his chirrup — chirrup — chirrup ; and 

 gradually as time went on, and there was no 

 response, he would grow more and more excited, 

 and throw his head from side to side, and rock 

 his body until he would be lying first on one 

 side, then the other, and after a while he would 

 make a few little hops forward, trailing his 

 wings and tail on the slates, then cast himself 

 down once more. Something in his monotonous 

 song with its not unmusical rhythm, and his 

 extravagant love-sick imploring gestures and 

 movements, reminded me irresistibly of Chevalier 

 in the character of Mr. 'Enry 'Awkins — his whole 

 action on the stage, the thin piping cockney 



