252 BIRDS IN TOWN AND VILLAGE 



gathered for the wine-press. In yon grey wall 

 at the end of the lawn, just above the climbing 

 rose-bush, there are now seven hungry infants in 

 one small cradle, each one, some one says, able 

 to consume its own weight of insect food every 

 day. I am inclined to believe that it must be so, 

 while trying to count the visits paid to the nest 

 in one hour by the parent tits — those small tits 

 that do the gardener so much harm! We know, 

 on good authority, that the spider has a "nutty 

 flavour"; and most insects in the larval stage 

 afford succulent and toothsome, or at all events 

 beaksome, morsels. These are, just now, the 

 crimiSon cherries, purple and yellow plums, cur- 

 rants, red, white, and black — and sun-painted 

 peaches, asking in their luscious ripeness for a 

 mouth to melt in, that fascinate finch and fly- 

 catcher alike, and make the starlings smack their 

 horny lips with a sound like a loving kiss. 



Not that I care, or esteem birds for what 

 they eat or do not eat. With all these creatures 

 that are at strife among themselves, and that 

 birds prey upon, I am at peace, even to the small- 

 est that are visible — the red spider which is no 

 spider; and the minute gossamer spider clinging to 



