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GXGRACGS MP, DIARY OF A 
_ FROM GhE 47 /) BLUGE-GIG. 
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Edited and Illustrated with Photographs by Hermann LEA. 
I FEEL I must preface these extracts with a few remarks just to let the reader 
know who and what I am. In the first place I am a Blue-Tit (Parws c@ruleus) 
of the male gender, and in age—but no, there cannot be any need for excessive 
candour—sutfice it that I am no fledgeling. I reside in the parish of Lynch Mullen, and 
spend the greater part of my time in the garden of a cottage which stands a short 
distance away from the village. The garden, with orchard attached, covers some two 
acres, and is comfortably provided with shelter in the shape of trees and shrubs. 
The story that these extracts tell is absolutely true, all “padding” has been avoided, 
and the only help I have received is in the writing. This has been undertaken for me 
by the occupier of the cottage and garden. 
Being naturally of a retiring disposition I should not have given my history to 
the tender mercies of carping critics but for the fact that I am led to suppose it 
may do some amount of good in preventing the further persecution of my species, 
and of my descendants in particular. So much has been said, so much has been 
written about our family—by people, too, who ought to know better—that I think it 
only fair to clear up one or two points on which there is a good deal of misunder- 
standing. For these mis-statements, this economising of the truth, have influenced 
many against us, and I trust anyone reading these pages will do me the justice to 
enquire on any point which seems to them ambiguous; and further, that they will 
not merely shout “twaddle,” but will try to realise that these are facts and not fiction. 
To begin with, there exists a superstition that we do a lot of harm in the fruit 
garden; in fact, not to mince matters, that we pick out all the gooseberry buds. 
This is a lbel; we only pick out those which contain insects. Do we eat peas? 
No, we don’t, though I could tell you who does—only I don’t want to get anyone 
else into a row. Do we eat ripe fruit? Yes, now and then; but the remedy is 
obvious—net it. And even if we do spoil a few pears and apples, you may take my 
word for it that if we had not killed thousands of insects in the spring there would 
not have been many fruits left to have been eaten by anybody. As to seeds, we 
do not care for them unless we are in an absolutely starving condition—and that 
would not happen if you were to give us a few scraps in the hard weather. 
It is a fact that each member of our family—and I am not ashamed to own 
it—destroys hundreds of thousands of insects every season; so that, even if we did a 
trifle of harm now and again, you ought to remember that the good we do outweighs 
the harm a hundredfold. I could give further instances, but I feel sure enough has 
been said to show we ought to be helped and encouraged instead of being harassed 
and driven from pillar to post, and so I will now proceed with the extracts from 
my diarys. 
December 14th.—Whilst I was doing a solitary ramble this morning round the 
boughs of the old elm tree that stands on the lawn, I noticed a huge van come in 
at the gate. From this was unloaded a lot of strange things of apparently very little 
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