y now, not black in colour; his cravat is grayish
and the wing bar ashy. In the spring, however, a noticeable change takes
place, but neither by the moulting nor the coming in of plumage. The
shaded edges of the feathers become brittle and break off, bringing out
the true colours and making them clear and brilliant. The waistcoat is
brushed until it is black and glossy, the cravat becomes immaculate, and
the wristband or wing bar clears up until it is pure white.

The homes of these sparrows are generally composed of a great mass of
straw and feathers, with the nest in the centre; but the spotted eggs,
perhaps, show that these birds once built open nests, the dots and marks
on the eggs being of use in concealing their conspicuous white ground.
Something seems already to have hinted to Nature that this protection is
no longer necessary, and we often find eggs almost white, like those of
woodpeckers and owls, which nest in dark places.

We have all heard of birds flocking together for some mutual benefit--the
crows, for instance, which travel every winter day across country to
favourite "roosts." In the heart of a city we can often study this same
phenomenon of birds gathering together in great flocks. In New York City,
on One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, there stands a tree--a solitary
reminder of the forest which once covered all this paved land. To this,
all winter long, the sparrows begin to flock about four or five o'clock in
the afternoon. They come singly and in twos and threes until the bare
limbs are black with them and there seems not room for another bird; but
still they come, each new arrival diving into the mass of birds and
causing a local commotion. By seven o'clock there are hundreds of English
sparrows perching in this one tree. At daylight they are off again,
whirring away by scores, and in a few minutes the tree is silent and
empty. The same habit is to be seen in many other cities and towns, for
thus the birds gain mutual warmth.

Nature will do her best to diminish the number of sparrows and to regain
the balance, but to do this the sparrow must be brought face to face with
as many dangers as our wild birds, and although, owing to the sparrows'
fearlessness of man, this may never happen, yet at least the colour
protections and other former safeguards are slowly being eliminated. On
almost every street we may see albino or partly albino birds, such as
those with white tails or wings. White birds e