A LIBEL ON THE BIRDS. 



A few clays ago I was watching the 

 curious actions of a sparrow on the side- 

 walk in a rather quiet part of town. On 

 either side of the street were lofty brick 

 and stone buildings, with the usual mul- 

 tiplicity of little niches and cavities in 

 and about the projecting cornices and 

 ornamental architecture. These sheltered 

 and inviting ledges had been utilized 

 from year to year by divers smaller tribes 

 of the feathered folk as nest-building 

 sites, and the little bird which had at- 

 tracted my attention had already laid the 

 foundation timbers of its prospective 

 house in a cosy niche of the cornice al- 

 most directly over my head where I was 

 standing. 



It was plainly evident that the sprightly 

 creature was seeking sticks of proper 

 length and strength to barricade a broad 

 hiatus in the front part of the cavity it 

 had chosen for its future home. 



This opening was angular in form with 

 the vertex at the bottom and its sides sep- 

 arating outwards towards the top, where 

 there was a» span of perhaps four or five 

 inches. 



As I stood with my elbow resting 

 against the low paling the confiding spar- 

 row hopped to within a yard or two of 

 my feet in searching for tiny twigs that 

 had fallen from the overhanging shrub- 

 bery. 



It picked up a great many pieces and as 

 quickly dropped them. Then it would 

 stand perfectly still for a few minutes in- 

 tently scanning the limited landscape as 

 if in a brown study as to what move it 

 should next make. 



Finally it set vigorously to work picking 

 up bits of material from an inch or two 

 to six inches in length. Instead of 

 flying away with a load it dropped them 

 in a little heap nearly if not quite paral- 

 lel to each other. Then poking its beak 

 into the pile and throwing the sticks 



hither and thither it settled down to prac- 

 tical business by seizing a stick of 

 medium length and flying away with its 

 burden dangling in the air. Of course, 

 I watched the little architect and saw her 

 mount straight up to the chosen ledge 

 and deposit the twig exactly crosswise 

 of the gaping notch. This operation she 

 repeated several times, always throwing 

 the sticks about as if intent upon select- 

 ing a piece of special dimensions. No 

 human carpenter with measuring rule in 

 his hand could have been more expert. 



In a moment the truth flashed into my 

 mind and I realized that I was verily the 

 human pupil of a little bird made famous 

 by honored mention in Holy Writ. 



Why, the cunning worker had foreseen 

 to the ridicule of my own confessed 

 stupidity that in order to effectually bar 

 the exposed side of the chamber it must 

 of necessity select girders of successively 

 increasing length and size. Thus, as I 

 fancied it reasoned, a short stick would 

 not span the top of the dangerous gap; 

 while, on the other hand, a long stick 

 could not be used at the bottom because 

 it would strike smack against the side 

 walls before it could be placed in position 

 low enough. So all this clearly explained 

 why the bird should exercise such studied 

 care in selecting the large "timbers." 



A few days afterwards I visited the 

 scene of operations again, and by using 

 an opera glass found that the nest was 

 very nearly if not quite finished. The 

 menacing gap in the ledge no longer ex- 

 isted ; for there was a solid bulkhead in 

 its stead composed of longitudinal sticks 

 tied and stiffened by interwoven bits of 

 dry grass and such shreds of various 

 waste material as only bird intelligence 

 knows where to find. 



More interested now than ever, I took 

 pains to climb into the attic of the three 

 story building where from a narrow 



