THE FAERY YEAR 



on a brilliant March day. The oxeye is the chief 

 musician among titmice. Then, he has no superior 

 in colour and spright. His lemon and black and 

 white plumage scarcely dulls at any season of the 

 year ; he is more observant of men, and more pro- 

 testing and inquisitive towards them, than the other 

 titmice. The most musical of his March notes is 

 a clear one that has a single tinkle of a tiny silver 

 bell. The timbre of this varies, perhaps, slightly 

 in oxeyes, but it is always beautiful. Now, too, he 

 has a dancing "tze tewey, tze tewey," which he 

 will exchange for " tze, tze, whee," the last syllable 

 having the poignant ring of the redstart's note of 

 agitation. 



This is far from all of the oxeye's spring 

 vocabulary. There is the whetstone cry, and pre- 

 sently there will be the " ter, bit, ter, bee " sounding 

 through the leafing coppices. One minute the 

 oxeye is uttering the note sometimes, I think, 

 denoting anger like a rough, strong zizz of a 

 grasshopper. Next minute he cries quickly "chip, 

 chip, chip," or else "tit, tit, tit, tit." Often the 

 notes are jumbled up anyhow ; often the same tit 

 will restrict himself to a particular call for half an 

 hour at a stretch. What one likes so much in 

 this titmouse is the challenge in his utterance and 

 manner. He is always up in arms. 



The long-tailed titmouse seems the meekest, 



mildest of small birds. He never adopts a scolding 



way save when a sparrow-hawk or other bird of 



prey approaches. Then he adds his might to the 



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