THE TITMICE. 



THEY are the little acrobats of the bird world. Not 

 content with flying, and hopping, and running np 

 the bark of a tree and along its branches, as swiftly 

 and joyfully as a squirrel, the Titmice have a clever knack 

 of twisting and turning and hanging head downwards 

 from some slender, bending spray, which is quite charming 

 to see. 



It is not all for fun. They are very busy practical 

 little people, with very considerable appetites. As often 

 as not, therefore, you will find that they have a purpose 

 in all these nimble gymnastics. 



Richard Jeflferies, in one of his intimate chapters on 

 country life, refers to these tricks and tumblings. One 

 day in late March, he tells us, "while watching the 

 approach of a snowstorm, I noticed that a tall birch tree — 

 whose long slender branches showed distinctly against the 

 dark cloud — seemed to have fruit hanging at the ends 

 of several of the boughs. On going near I counted six 

 tomtits, as busy as they could be, pendent from as many 

 tiny drooping boughs, as if at the end of a string, and 

 swinging to and fro as the rude blast struck the tree." 



As he watched, " the six in a few minutes increased to 

 eight, then to nine, then to twelve, and at last there were 

 fourteen together, all dependent (hanging) from the very 

 tiniest of the drooping boughs, all swinging to and fro as 

 the snowflakes came silently floating by, and all chuckling 



and calling to each other. The ruder the blast and the 



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