THE FRANKS OF THE TUFTED TITMOUSE. 165 



lieu of a poetical tribute, I have thought out a 

 little fable, of which he is the hero, although I fear 

 it will uever take rank with the celebrated fictious 

 of iEsop or La Fontaine. It might be entitled 

 " Reasoning in a Circle." 



One day, while sauntering m my favorite wood- 

 land, I exclaimed, somewhat querulously : '^ What 

 are the dogwood berries good for, any way ? If 

 they were wholesome and sweet like the cherries, 

 or even the black-haws, one might readily discover 

 their use ; but as it is, I cannot see that they serve 

 any good purpose whatever." 



The words were scarcely out of my mouth before 

 a tufted titmouse sprang up into the dogwood-tree 

 before me, and seizing one of the crimson berries 

 between his mandibles, leisurely scaled off the 

 pulp, with many a chip and wink, and then taking 

 the " pit " in his claws and holding it firmlj^ upon 

 a limb, proceeded to bore out the kernel, which he 

 ate with a hearty relish. I felt rebuked at once 

 for my petulant fault-finding. " Now do you see 

 what these berries are good for ? " he demanded, 

 blinking at me in his pert way. '' They are in- 

 tended to give sustenance to the birds." 



" Ah, I see ! but of what use are the birds ? " I 

 queried, nothing loath to keep up the dialogue. 



