his family and the pleasure of his neighbors.

Putting self-interest completely out of court, however, it is not uncommon to see odd people who desire no mental companionship. They are the hermits of the intellectual world. They live on affectionate terms with a large circle of acquaintance who do not understand them in the least. Their true intimates are their books, and if they confide, it is upon paper. These men and women are often very original and humorous. Among those who think upon the same lines as they do they would feel like fish out of water. They have an essential shyness, and dare not face new manners or different ways of living. They may be found among what Matthew Arnold called the strongholds of the barbarians, or in the commonplace dwellings of the most Philistine section of the middle class. Wherever they may be, they are satisfied with and amused by their surroundings. We may know all their friends intimately and not know them at all.

Again, there is still a good deal to be said for the old theory of the attraction of opposites. There are certain large-minded people who are capable of great affection for, and much real intimacy with, persons of opposite mental calibre. They do not as a rule live among them, but as individuals they like them very much, sometimes apparently better than those among whom they live. We are not, of course, speaking of the marriages which are made upon these lines, and we mean differences which go deeper than differences of opinion.

If one

must have a rule-of-thumb, it is far better to judge a man by his friends than by his opinions. A vast number of people are born with conclusions already formed, and if they are tenacious characters, they keep them all their lives. Experience, if treated in a selective spirit, will confirm any of

the commonly held views of life. It is converts who are hot and intolerant. The opinions prepared for us by our parents and grandparents, while they color the character, do not breed controversy. But one does see surprising friendships between persons of differ ent tastes and habits of mind. Perhaps some instinct moves them to correct their mental balance, and they find recreation in each other's point of view. Such friendships chiefly exist between men. Friendships among women presuppose tastes and interests in common, for they are much more eager for sympathy than men are. Friendship cannot, of course, exist without some degree of intimacy; but intimacy may very well exist without friendship. This fact has a great bearing upon the whole discussion, for it is impossible for the outside world to judge between the two. It seems sometimes as if certain intimacies were the outcome of irritation, and represent the direct result of friction. Good-hearted, hot-tempered people are particularly liable to fall into this unfortunate relationship. They each re pent what seems to them their own unwarrantable disagreeableness. It calls, they think, for some form of reparation, and at last they may find themselves becoming intimate with some one solely because they are truly sorry that they dislike him so unreasonably much.

The words "friendship" and "acquaintance" overlap, and their meanings merge in one another. It is impossible to draw in ordinary talk a nice distinction between them. But using the word in its strictest sense, an intimate acquaintance with a man's nearest friend may not help us to form a correct estimate of his character. He may be better or worse, abler or weaker, than we could have supposed.

As in love, so in real friendship there is much mutual attraction which is

completely unaccountable. It seems to belong to some unexplored region in the mind of man the thoughts of which have not yet been reduced to words. Perhaps in this twilight region the spirits of his ancestors still hold sway. Perhaps it is they who welcome the friend to whom The Spectator.

other

friends would have barred the door. It is the existence of this tract of undiscovered country in every mind which more often than anything else disproves a common proverb, and makes it impossible to assert of a given man that he may be known either by his friends or his associates.

Winter is often claimed as an admirable time for observation of birds. They show up with distinctness, they grow tame with the cold and approach our dwellings; if the number of species is fewer than in summer, our native birds atone by superior boldness, and they are, after all, more worth our admiration than most of the migrants. Those who have enjoyed this feature of winter, when, as the blind and foolish say, the country is dull and ugly, will have found their pleasure steadily dwindling during recent years. The cause lies not in themselves, or in any failing of zest, but in the degeneration of the birds. I write with a picture of a garden lying in the midst of a favorite bird haunt, fixed in my mind. In the tracery of the trees are shown up uncomely lumps that look like clods thrown up at random. These are the nests of sparrows, who have lately taken to this unnatural choice of locality for no other reason than want of room elsewhere. For this garden is dominated by sparrows. They roost so thick along a hedge in it that at evening it looks like a tree in heavy fruit. In a holly-bush they are packed tightly enough, and so low down as to attract rats. For crumbs thrown from the window they will compete even with a dog, just as in some suburbs they seem to have lost all proper fear of the cat. I knew a delightful and very humane old

woman who spread out on a suburban lawn a quarter of a loaf daily "for the poor dear birds." Every day the old woman's cat hid behind the laurel, and every day caught its poor dear bird feeding on the crumbs. In a state of Nature the cat would have had to find new fields after the second attempt.

Much has been written of the destructiveness of the sparrow, of the huge toll that he levies on the farmer, and the need of his extermination on behalf of agriculture. All these accusations are true. Mr. Tegetmeier has accumulated proof long since until no more is needed. The sheer cost of sparrows to the country amounts to thousands of pounds. But there is another accusation, equally severe on the sparrow, which has not been brought into court. Thanks to the abundance of food which his boldness enables him to find and to the protection of his numbers, he has surrendered his instincts without, so to speak, advancing in reason. This building in trees gregariously is one example. Here and there they have been found, in the manner of our civilized man, building in flats; two or three families housed more or less above each other in an amorphous stack of straw and feathers. Confession of the same loss of instinct is advertised in the appalling untidiness of these nests pitchforked into the low boughs of a maple, or loaded on the lofty platform of the

spruce boughs. They scarcely build nests, but rather pile stooks into which they burrow holes. Yet now and again some relic of suspicion that tidiness is demanded appears in their actions. One nest on a London ledge last year was conspicuous for a long straw sticking out from the side. It was apparently unheeded till one day, when the nest was completed, the cock bird became, so it appeared, suddenly ashamed of the workmanship. The straw "stuck in his gizzard," and he determined to have away with it. For some time he tugged in vain, till at last with a final splendid effort he pulled half the nest over the ledge. This straw may be taken to show which way the wind blows with the domestic sparrow. All difficulties have been so tempered to him by the support of men and their dwellings and their crumbs, that he has no need to struggle for existence, and for want of that happy incentive is on the way to degeneration. It would not be surprising if one year some disease broke out among them, as it has often broken out among rabbits when they have been over-crowded; but hitherto he has flourished progressively. I always fancy that sparrows are bigger now than they used to be, just as the pigeons in the park, large and overfed, have developed into what, if we could reckon by weight, and to some extent by color, might be called a new species. More than any bird sparrows disregard the seasons, though here the pigeon gives a parallel case. I watched sparrows building with great vigor during the last week of November, and I think it is likely that they will develop the habit of roosting in the old nests during the winter, in the way of the jenny wren, which will congregate in packs of six or eight in old nests. I know one instance where several of them were killed by the fall of a swallow's nest, into which

too great a burden had crushed, on a cold winter's evening.

When a bird begins to lose its instincts it becomes a thing of no pleasure to the observer, and generally, unless domesticated, a creature of considerable danger to its neighbors. The starling has lost instinct in the same way as the sparrow; his nesting-places grow less and less cleanly. The proper principles of economy in nest building do not much concern them. A bird that builds in a hole is not tempted to extravagance and cannot display untidiness; but in the matter of egg-laying no animal has so dangerously discarded natural carefulness. They drop eggs on the ground anywhere; and the only pity is that this waste appears to have no effect on the multiplication of their species. Like the sparrow, the starling is now a hostis humani generis, though still no birds are more beautiful to watch when they manoeuvre their battalions with Prussian precision and more than Japanese mobility in the spaces of the air against a winter sky.

In general the humanitarian view of bird protection is the right one. I see that many fishery boards are protesting against the increase of cormorants. and writers are found to maintain that the bird "serves no useful purpose in the great scheme of nature." Why should a bird serve a useful purpose? Existence itself is a purpose. It is enough that the species is on the earth. flies over the surface of the waters and swims below it with incredible skill.

Subordination to "useful purposes of natural economy" is demanded of no bird, beast or insect. The phrase is cant, and the argument would justify that "total extinction of man" demanded by the Girton milkmaid. But the case is different when you come to the artificial protection of any species till it interferes with the liberty and

productiveness of other species. The sparrows drove the last of the chaffinches out of St. James's Park. They are driving other small birds out of Hertfordshire gardens; they are helping to drive the agricultural labor to the towns. Against them a jehad, so often preached, ought to be practised; and winter is the season for the campaign. With a sparrow net half the sparrows in a garden may be caught in

The Outlook.

an evening, if there is any convenient roosting ground; and the free use of it may be recommended even on the higher humanitarian ground. The gradual decrease of the sparrow clubs, once very general and popular, has been almost a national calamity. The sparrow has his place; he is delightful to watch, always interesting and full of character, but-toujours moineaux! Agricola.

To the frivolous only does the subject of clothes appear frivolous. How much better fine clothes get on without a King than a King without fine clothes, Thackeray has shown to perfection in the cruel caricature called "Ludovicus Rex," wherein Ludovicus, the man, divided from Rex, the fine clothes, cuts a very poor figure indeed. Carlyle dedicated a whole volume to the philosophy of clothes. Politicians know that written laws about clothes are never obeyed, while the oral law concerning them is obeyed more slavishly than any other, whether of Church or State. The history of clothes is the history of something in man that has hitherto defied analysis. It is connected with every one of his spiritual instincts. He wears a special dress to kill, to govern, to judge, to preach, to mourn, to play. In every age the manner in which he retains or discards some part of it denotes a subtle change in his feelings. To see our ancestors dressed is to have a shrewd guess at what they were-at what they did. Only because this is

"Historic Dress, 1607 to 1800." By Elisabeth McClellan. Illustrated by Sophie B. Steel. (Lane, 42s. net.)

"English Costume." Painted and described by Dion Clayton Calthrop. Vols. 1 and 2. Early English and Middle Ages. (Black, 78. ed, net each.)

forgotten are books on clothes unreadable except for those who make them, for tailors and milliners, for the stage manager, and the antiquary. Only because this is forgotten are we reminded, when we essay them, of the poor little Italian children who found a number of beautiful old dresses hidden away in a chest, dressed up in them to act before their parents, caught plague, and died. Apart from the wind and spirit of life, there is something poisonous about clothes that have been kept for many generations -a hideous Life-in-Death, despite "the Cut, which betokens Intellect and Talent, and the Color, which betokens Temper and Heart." No one will catch the plague from the books that are now before us; but no one-with the exceptions before mentioned-will be able, we fear, to get through them. With all the good will in the world we have not found it possibie. There is too much about the mere stuff, too little about the real dress-makers.

"Chats on Costume" is by far the most readable. The illustrations and "Chats on Costume." By G. Woolliscroft Rhead, R.E. (Fisher Unwin, 58. net.).

"Costume, Fanciful, Historical and Theatrical." Compiled by Mrs. Aria. Illustrated by Percy Anderson. (Macmillan, 10s. 6d. net.)

quotations are enchanting; it may serve to while away an hour or two very pleasantly. Mrs. Aria is commonplace and somewhat inconsequent; but ladies who like to appear at a fancy ball dressed as "The Seville Orange," may find her book useful. Mr. Calthrop works on an excellent system, showing how one garment was logically developed from another throughout the different periods. If he had gone a little further and a little deeper, if he had kept clear of a certain annoying jauntiness of style, his book, valuable already, might have been of still greater worth. Elizabeth McClellan and Sophie Steel have written and illustrated a work invaluable for reference on the subject of dress in America. The pictures, often copied from orginals yet extant, are beautiful; the portraits of Governors most interesting; and the glossary of the odd language of dress-it rivals that of Heralds in eccentricity-is extremely useful.

The letter-press contains many an incidental notice of the curious and picturesque customs of the early settlers in America. "The Posey Dance," which was popular in all the Spanish provinces, was, we think, a graceful form of entertainment. The author quotes the following description of it:

The ladies of a household arrange in a room of their dwelling an arbor decked with garlands of flowers and lighted with many candles. This is understood by the gentlemen as an invitation to drop in and admire the decorations. Meanwhile the lady who has prepared it selects a partner from among her visitors and hands him a bouquet of flowers. The gentleman who receives this posey becomes for the nonce the king of the ball, and leads out the fair donor as queen of the dance. The others take partners, and the ball thus inaugurated may continue several successive evenings. Should the lady's choice fall upon an unwilling swain, which seldom hap

pened, he could be excused by paying the expenses of the entertainment.

The poems interspersed are very happily chosen. How pretty is the lament for the good old times in

The Old Man's Rehearsall. What Brave Days He Knew,

A Great While Agone. When His Old
Cap Was New.

Our ladies in those dayes
In civil habit went,
Broad-cloth was then worth prayse.

And gave the best content;
French fashions then were scorn'd
Fond fangles then none knew,
Then modistie women adorn'd
When this old cap was new.

Many and many a question rises to the lips as we muse over these five gaily-clothed volumes. Why was the dress of men and women in England plainer about the time of Stephen than at any other period? Why did ladies of Henry VI.'s Court affect short waists like those of the Empire? Why do monks, nuns, Quakers, agree to think that black, brown, and gray are more religious than other hues? (N.B.This is not universal. The early Friends indulged in green aprons, and certain nuns look exquisite in sky. blue.) Why does the festal attire of a young belle of Otaheite almost exactly resemble a farthingale? Why did a Roman bride wear a red veil where an English bride insists on a white one? Why is yellow sacred to the Imperial China and to a few distinguished favorites, while red belongs to the Mandarin, and blue, violet, and black are good enough only for common folk? The Emperor has 130 wives, divided into different classes, and the class to which any one of them belongs may be known instantly by a glance at her clothes. It is easy to see the practical utility of that. How obedient ladies must be in China! Actors,

Family of