46 The Paridce, or Titmice. [Sess. 



hollowed-out stump is a favourite site, especially where there 

 is a narrow hole deep enough to prevent access by the human 

 hand ; hut occasionally other and more singular situations are 

 adapted to the purpose, such as the disused nests of magpies, 

 or even a squirrel's drey. It is amazing how agilely they 

 wriggle in and out of a small space. Last summer I watched 

 one at Temple Bridge flying in and out of a long narrow aper- 

 ture in the masonry, apparently one of those outlets for the 

 escape of the water after rain. It alighted on a tree within 

 five or six yards of the bridge, and then flew like a flash 

 straight for the slit. The latter, however, was too small for it 

 to pass into direct; so as quick as thought it grasped the sharp 

 edge of the stone, turned itself sideways, and disappeared into 

 the recess, to emerge again in a few seconds with equal rapidity. 

 This performance was repeated every few minutes ; so taking 

 into account the length of a summer day, one can gather an 

 idea of the indefatigability of the parents while feeding the 

 young, and of the incalculable benefit they confer on sylvan 

 life by destroying countless insects. Some authors accuse it 

 of cannibalistic tendencies, in so far that it now and then kills 

 and eats other small species ; but upon this point I should not 

 care to hazard an opinion, never having come across a case of 

 the kind. That it does so when confined has been indubitably 

 established by Dr Bechstein in his valuable work on ' Chamber 

 Birds ' ; but one is loath to credit such evil of this little ornament 

 of the woods in its native state, although, from the evidence 

 adduced in support of the statement, it seems likely to be too 

 true. A friend who possessed a number of marsh tits, in- 

 formed me that on one occasion, when by some blunder food 

 was omitted to be jjut into the cage, they fell upon each other, 

 and, like the far-famed Kilkenny cats, in the morning none were 

 left to tell the tale, the last survivor having evidently succumbed 

 through exhaustion. Any one who has kept an aviary must 

 have observed how intensely cruel birds are to any of their 

 number who fall sick. In nine cases out of ten the healthy set 

 upon the weak and peck them to death. It is hard to com- 

 prehend the motive of this seemingly relentless nature, unless 

 it be with the object of putting the sufferers out of pain, or 

 from some inherent desire to extirpate all who cannot " fend " for 

 themselves ; but this is all the more difficult to reconcile when 



