There have been tales told about this curious little rowdy among birds. He was a nuisance; he drove our song and grub-eating birds away; he also littered the cornices of buildings and made of himself a pest in general. There have been other tales told about the cute chap who perches upon a wire near the window and rocks his clever head toward you when you tap against the pane; and still another story is told concerning the lynching of one by a flock of the brisk chaps. Some say they took a bit of twine, fastened it to a wire, secured the victim, and induced him to put his head through a loop; then drew the twine and scattered, leaving a lot of wise men to gaze upon the wonderful spectacle, which the newspapers took up and printed. I have watched birds for years and I never saw an incident of the sort—the lynching of a sparrow by his fellow sparrows! A sparrow has been caught in the loop of a bit of twine fastened to a wire or a cornice; but no sparrow ever deliberately put the twine up and lynched one of his rowdy brood. He wouldn’t do it simply because he hasn’t got bird instinct enough to follow out such a tragedy. I will tell you a little incident concerning a sparrow which I know to be true. It didn’t find a place in any newspaper, either, simply because I never gave it much thought until now, hence never mentioned it before. I had noticed upon arising for several mornings in the early spring a half dozen or so of sparrows congregated in a sunny spot of the roof below. At first I paid no attention to it, for the sparrow is apt to go where he pleases, man’s wishes to the contrary notwithstanding. But the little chaps were there every morning, and in the same sunny spot. I was curious to know why they came there, and I went down stairs one morning to watch them from a more close point of observation. I got there before they came. I stood back of a closed blind, peeped through the slats and waited. When the sun-rays fell upon the spot close to the window the little fellows began to come—each with a morsel of food. They twittered and hopped about as if they were enjoying the morning fancy. Then they scattered and took wings to chimneys, cornices and wires. I opened the blinds and looked out. I saw one lone, little sparrow feeding. I bent over the sill. He did not fly away. I reached out and took him in. He fluttered and struggled. His eyes were covered with a film. He was blind. H. S. Keller. THE WHITE-THROATED SPARROW. (_Zonotrichia albicollis._)