al accommodation. During the summer, when
doors and windows are open, the sparrows hold high revels in the Central
Park menagerie. They go fearlessly into the eagle's cage, bathe in his
water dish, and make themselves very much at home. In the cages occupied
by pigeons, pheasants, and other larger birds, the sparrows are often
troublesome thieves. They can easily squeeze through the coarse
net-work, and no sooner are the feed dishes filled with breakfast than
they crowd in and take possession, scolding and fluttering and darting
at the imprisoned pigeons and pheasants if they dare to approach.

The smaller parks of New York city contain each about two hundred houses
for the sparrows. Some of them are of very simple construction, being
made of a piece of tin leader pipe about ten inches long, with a piece
of wood fitted in each end. A little round doorway is cut for the birds
to enter, and they seem perfectly happy in these primitive quarters.
Feed and water troughs are provided, and it is the duty of the park
keeper to fill them every morning. The birds know the feeding hour, and
come flying eagerly, pushing and scolding, and tumbling together in
their hurry for the first mouthful. The greedy little things eat all
day. School-children come trooping in, and share their luncheon with
them, and even idle and ragged loungers on the park benches draw crusts
of bread from their pockets, and throw the sparrows a portion of their
own scanty dinner.

It is very easy to study the habits of the sparrow, for it is so bold
and sociable that if a little house is nailed up in a balcony, or by a
window where people are constantly sitting, a pair of birds will at once
take possession, bring twigs and bits of scattered threads and wool for
a nest, and proceed to rear their noisy little family. Chirp, chirp,
very loud and impatient, three or four little red open mouths appear at
the door of the house, the parent birds come flying with worms and
flies, and then for a little while the young ones take a nap and keep
quiet, when, they wake up again and renew their clamor for food.

If houses are not provided, the sparrow will build in any odd corner--a
chink in the wall or in the nooks and eaves of buildings. A pair of
London sparrows once made their nest in the mouth of the bronze lion
over Northumberland House, at Charing Cross. They are very much attached
to their nest, and after the little speckled eggs are laid will cling to
it even un