lawn, aiul there were- many <>t tlu-ni, huntiii}^ for insects and worms for tlieir 

 yoimg ones. 



Mr. I'.askett, in "Tlu" Story of the Birds," says that "In the old days when 

 smokehouses of the rural ret^ions were of logs unchinke<l, these little fellows dug 

 into the hams and middlings, and the crested tit is especially known as the 'meat 

 eater' among some of the southern folk." In the country, at my father's log 

 .cabin home, was one of those unchinked log smokehouses, and how well do I 

 remember when the cold winter days came how the titmice would visit it- And 

 this is suggestive. Now that the old smokehouses have disappeared, why not put 

 out some scraps of meat for the birds in winter, whcTi the insects an<l worms are 

 scarce and hard to find? 



One who has not been reared in the country and has not enjoyed the many 

 pleasures of sugar making, is without some of the things which help to make the 

 after memories of life most delightful. It is in sugar making time that every- 

 thing is opening into new life. Spring is getting ready to put on the green that 

 makes May and June the most delightful months of the year. .Vs to this conclu- 

 sion, some may difTer with me, giving the preference to September and October. 

 To me the one speaks of fresh life and budding youth ; the other of old age, decay 

 and death. It is in spring, in the language of the Psalmist, that we have "showers 

 that water the earth." And who has not enjoyed these showers? It is at this 

 time that the drops of water falling into the pools and rivulets make air globules 

 like halves of soap bubbles, and our shadows are reflected mirror-like in the water. 

 It is at this time of the year that the drying leaves rustle as we walk through them 

 gathering the sugar water. And how delightful the memory of the neighborhood 

 parties at night about the furnace of the sugar camp from which the stirring off 

 was being made for the wax pulling that was to follow. It is in sugar making 

 time that we as children go hunting for that delicious bulbous edible, the turkey 

 pea or pepper and salt. Among the plants it is the pretty little harbinger of 

 spring. It is in sugar making time that the tufted titmouse is in full song. It is 

 then, as Mr. Baskett tells us, that his song "is that sugary sap-rising call to 'I'eter- 

 peter-peter' to get out his spiles and water troughs." It is then that their clear, 

 loud whistle of "peto-peto-peto" may be heard at Buzzard's Roost, for we have 

 many of them there. 



These delightful birds are very inquisitive and sociable. They rather enjoy 

 the company of man. At Somerleaze an elm tree stands so close to the house that 

 the limbs almost overhang the back porch. Here I have frequently sat in the 

 afternoon and whistled to the titmice to come- They would be over in our 

 orchard, and hearing my whistle, would come in answer to it. getting as near to 

 me as the closest limbs would permit, and look inquiringly at me, as much as to say, 

 "Here we are, what do you want with us?'' And then I wished that I could tell 

 them that I wanted their companionship. I sometimes feel that it is a hardship 

 that all animal life cannot communicate with each other. \\'ould there not be 

 less wrong inflicted then? Would a man kill a bird if it could say, "Sir, will you 

 not spare my life? Have I done you any wrong? Have T not been your 

 friend?" 



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