"Oh dear no, sir. I couldn't think of changing my state."
"Here, _you_!" cries another black bib, hopping on to the same twig,
"it's you and _me_, if you please."
Then another fearful fight begins between the two black bibs.
And so the fun goes on.
But this I have observed: Before mating actually takes place the male
sparrow often gives the female a thrashing. Well, perhaps it is as well
they should have their little differences out before marriage instead of
after. _Quien Sabe_?
Early in June my sparrows may be seen hopping or flying about with
sprays of blue forget-me-not in their bills. A lady visitor at my house
was much struck with seeing this last summer.
"Whatever do they carry flowers for?" she asked laughingly; "your
sparrows are more refined in their tastes than any birds I ever even
read of."
But the explanation is simple enough. They cut and carry away the
sprays of forget-me-not for sake of the seeds that are already half ripe
at the lower end of them.
A little innocent girl asked me the same question, her pretty eyes
filled with sweet surprise, and I wickedly replied, "There is going to
be a grand _fete_ of some kind to-day among my sparrows, and they are
going to decorate their nests." She simply answered, "Oh!" but she
looked believing.
In this short paper I have not said one-half of what I should wish to
say about these interesting and independent wee birds that follow and
take up their abode with mankind wheresoever he goes in the wide world,
but I hope I have said enough to gain for sparrows a little more
consideration and a little less cruelty than they generally meet with.
"But they are so destructive?" Yes, I knew some one would say that.
Yet I maintain that they do far more good than harm in the world. If
space were given me I could prove this. Meanwhile here is an extract
from _Land and Water_, which is well worth reading and considering:--
"What the swallow tribe do in killing innumerable flies in country
parks, the sparrow does to some extent in the gardens and squares of
London, especially in its more immediate suburbs. All the sparrows have
got nests, many containing callow young, a few `flyers,' and some are
still sitting on the eggs. An old sparrow might be seen perched on the
top of a house, and presently with a graceful motion the bird `rises to
a passing fly' and secures the morsel. If the bird or birds had got
young in the water-spout hard by, or in the hole often left by builders
missing a brick at the end of a row of houses, in ivy, or in the thick
foliage of the Virginia creeper, the young birds get the `catch.'
Besides this fly-catching, I have noticed for the last few weeks the
sparrows working in every evergreen bush, also in jessamines, in
lilac-trees, and especially in the crevices of old walls, in search of
spiders, earwigs, green-fly, daddy long-legs, etc. The adult birds seem
to prefer this wall and bush `food' more than crumbs of bread regularly
thrown out for them, except where they have got a nestful of hungry
youngsters, and then the latter get some of both. But how hard the
sparrows work, and the starlings too!"
Now let us go a little farther from home. Some years ago the English
sparrow was introduced into that country of free institutions called the
United States. The sparrow has certainly made himself at home there.
He has increased and multiplied a millionfold, and now America wants to
"Extirpate the vipers."
But the Americans do not always know what is good for them. Example:
They have slain all their big game (where will you find a herd of wild
buffalo now?), they have killed nearly all their birds, and well-nigh
cut down their last bit of genuine forest.
Yes, the sparrow makes itself at home in America. Some months ago I was
sitting in one of the beautiful open squares in New York. The sparrows
were plentiful enough all about and enjoyed themselves very much,
especially in flying through the playing fountains; it must be
delightful to take a bath on the wing. A tall Yankee was sitting near
me with outstretched legs. A sparrow alighted on the toe of his boot;
he wore Number 10's. He eyed it curiously and critically. I smiled.
"A cheeky bird," I couldn't help remarking.
"Yes, sir," was the reply, "but--it's British. That accounts."