. 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 witha 
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- 
