Coues, 'we have these animated manure machines, as every house-owner knows to his cost.'
In London, as we have the largest population—'without feathers,' as Carlyle says,—so have we the largest sparrow population of any city in the world. We have counted a hundred at one time upon the grass in the Temple Gardens, to say nothing of hundreds upon the trees and the surrounding roofs; and it was pretty to see them.
The grounds of Lambeth Palace, where, twenty years ago, were to be found thrushes, blackbirds, chaffinches, and other country birds, now swarm with nothing but sparrows. The gardens in our suburbs, where formerly other birds were common—or not uncommon—have now nothing but sparrows. An occasional visitor is seen—a robin, wren, or titmouse, but it disappears in a day or two. It is a belief that this is due entirely to the increase of sparrows. As Londoners, this is nearly our only grudge against them: we feed them well.[1]
- ↑ In severe winters a variety of beautiful strangers re-appear and appeal not in vain to our charity. The greatest number was in the severe winter of 1880-81. We had then in our garden (Clapham) thrushes, blackbirds, red-wings, chaffinches, bullfinches, robins, wrens, and titmice, and starlings in great number.
