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 

 crimson 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 



