GARDENS OP THE LOUVRE AND THE TUILERIES. 17 



A man, evidently a respectable mechanic, comes to a 

 certain spot, near the private garden of the Emperor. 

 Presently some of the pigeons fly to their friend. He is 

 an old acquaintance, and a bird alighting on his left arm gets 

 a morsel of bread to begin with ; others follow. He has 

 previously put a few crumbs of bread into his mouth, of 

 which the birds are well aware, and, arching their exqui- 

 sitely graceful necks, they put their bills between his lips 

 and take out a bit turn about. Perhaps one alights on his 

 head, and he may accommodate two or three on his right 

 arm. There are others perched on the railings near at 

 hand, and they come in for their turn by-and-by. A dense 

 ring of people stand a few yards off, looking on, especially 

 if it be a fine day, but they must not frighten the birds, 

 and this persistent feeder looks daggers at a small boy who 

 allows an audible yell of delight to escape. Presently the 

 sparrows gather round the feeder's feet, and pick up any 

 crumbs that may fall while he is transferring the bread 

 from his pocket to his mouth. The sparrows, sagacious 

 creatures, do not as a rule light upon the arm, and never 

 even think of putting their heads in the mouth of the man, 

 but flutter gently so as to poise themselves in one spot 

 about fifteen inches or so from the hand of the feeder. 

 He throws up bits among them, and they invariably catch 

 them with slight deviation from their fluttering position, or 

 at most with a little curl. Sometimes the sparrows pluckily 

 alight on the hand, and root out crumbs held between 

 the finger and thumb, but this only in the case of very 

 old friends. 



