a most important personage, in his own eyes ; but on one else takes him over 

 seriously, and his pretentions are slyly encouraged by the knowing ones, as 

 affording a prospective diversion amidst the tedium of winter. 



The Tufted Tits come of. hardy stock; although somewhat less common in 

 the northern portion of the state, there is no other evidence that they mind the 

 severity of winter. The average Titmouse family, too, approaches near the pro- 

 portions that our grandfathers believed in. With six or eight youngsters in a 

 brood and two broods in a season, it is a wonder that they do not overrun the 

 land. 



Nests consist of well-lined cavities like those of the Chickadee, but the ex- 

 cavations more frequently follow natural lines ; and for the sake of getting an 

 easy start through an inconspicuous knot-hole, the birds will range up to thirty or 

 forty feet in height. Less frequently deserted Woodpeckers' nests are used, and 

 fresh holes are dug in green or rotten wood. 



The cheevy, cheevy call of the Titmouse is one of the most familiar sounds 

 of the woods and village groves. More loud and clear is the Peter, Peter, or 

 peto, peto note of springtime. As a distinct modification of the first named note 

 there is a rare musical choo-y, choo-y, which has in it much of the flute-like 

 character of the Wren's song. The latter bird is very apt to answer this cry with 

 his "Richelieu" note, as though he were challenged to utterance. If one is ac- 

 customed only to these clear whistled calls, it comes as a great surprise when the 

 Titmouse bursts out with a Chick-a-dee, Chich-a-dee-dce, almost precisely like 

 that of his black-capped cousin. 



Undtr date of March 31st I find: "The neighboring woods are haunted, and 

 have been for a week or more past, by a love-lorn Titmouse who repeats Peto, 

 peto, peto, peto with rapid enunciation and wearisome iteration. The bird utters 

 this cry in groups, as above, on an average of about thirteen times a minute, and 

 keeps it up all day long. During these days he ranges high in the trees, but stops 

 only ten or fifteen seconds in a place, — about long enough to repeat his burden 

 four or five times. Then comes a hiatus of a few seconds, during which time he 

 is flitting to another perch. At a casual glance it looks as though Mary Ann had 

 retired to the depths of some unknown knot-hole to escape this silly chap, and we 

 heartily wish that we might follow suit." 



[ 892 



