The sparrow carries no purse, for he steals all he wants; and his name is in no directory, for he lives everywhere. His address is the world, and when changing his residence he apprises no one. There is no city whose freedom he has not conferred upon himself, and no corporation whose privileges he does not habitually usurp. Collectors of rates might well despair if directed to get their dues from him, and school boards need not hope for his reclamation. A long immunity from reprisals has so emboldened this feathered gamin that he seems now to fear nothing, riding on omnibuses free of charge, occupying tenements without paying rent, and feeding everywhere at no cost to himself.
Such, summarized, would stand the indictment against the sparrow, — a contemner of all law, and a rebel against all order, a criminal egotist of a very serious type. But what can be said for the defence? That he is consistently the friend of the farmer is still disputed, and that he fills any important place in the economy of nature, a close observation of his habits must make every one doubt. Imported into foreign countries as “the friend of man,” the sparrow, in Australia as well as in America, has multiplied into a public nuisance; and in return for the gift of new worlds to colonize, the graceless birds have developed into a multitudinous evil. They have also been called “the nightingales of our roofs,” and if they remained upon the roofs only they might be permitted to retain the flattering title of nightingales. Since, however, they come down off the slates into our houses and swagger about in our pleasure-grounds and business premises alike, giving us in return no pleasant song, their claims to the honor of “the queen of the feathered choir” cannot be gravely entertained. Upon
