A GREAT PLUNDERER OF FLOWERS. 117 



without any variation of tune, is very pleasing in the 

 general concert, as most vernal notes, if not harsh and 

 wearisome from monotony, are. These birds make sad 

 havoc with some of our spring flowers ,* and the poly- 

 anthus, in March, in our sheltered borders, is very 

 commonly stripped of all its blossoms by these little 

 plunderers, I suppose to obtain the immature seeds at 

 the base of their tubes. They will deflorate too the 

 spikes or whorls of the little red archangel (lamium 

 purpureum) ; and we see them feeding in the waste 

 places where this plant is found in the spring, their little 

 mouths being filled with the green seeds of this dead 

 nettle. At this period too they are sad plunderers in 

 our kitchen gardens, and most dexterously draw up our 

 young turnips and radishes, as soon as they appear upon 

 the surface of the soil; but after this all depredation 

 ceases, the rest of their days being past in sportive in- 

 nocence. I have observed these birds, in very hot sea- 

 sons, to wet their eggs, by discharging moisture from 

 their bills upon them, or at least perform ah operation 

 that appeared to be so. 



We still continue here that very ancient custom of 

 giving parish rewards for the destruction of various 

 creatures included in the denomination of vermin. In 

 former times it may have been found necessary to keep 

 under or reduce the numbers of many predaceous ani- 

 mals, which in a thickly wooded country, with an in- 

 ferior population, might have been productive of injury ; 

 and we even find parliamentary statutes enacted for this 

 purpose : but now, however, our losses by such means 

 have become a very petty grievance ; our gamekeepers 

 do their part in removing pests of this nature, and the 

 plow and the ax leave little harbor for the few that es- 

 cape ; and thus we war on the smaller races of creation, 

 and call them vermin. An item passed in one of our 

 late church-wardens' accounts was, " for seventeen 

 dozen of torn-tits' heads ! " In what evil hour, and for 

 what crime, this poor little bird (parus cceruleus) could 

 have incurred the anathema of a parish, it is difficult to 

 conjecture. I know hardly any small animal that lives 

 a more precarious life than the little blue torn-tit. In- 



