And the titmice: where is the lane with anything like a fair sprinkling of trees, that is not inhabited by at least two species of these restless gymnasts?—the ox-eye, or great tit, and the little blue tit. What with the rich tints of their plumage, their incessant activity, and the infinite variety of attitudes they assume in their hunt for insects, the "tits" are some of the most entertaining little feathered things the have. Utterly indifferent whether their heads or tails be uppermost, up and down the boughs they caper, one moment at the bottom of the tree, the next on its topmost spray. Now it is the beautiful black-capped head of the ox-eye that attracts us, as it hangs suspended by its feet from some slender twig; and now its yellow under parts, barred down the centre with a broad stripe of richest black. Or the lovely azure blue of the little "tomtit"—blue tit—as it swings itself, head downward, for a fresh inspection of some insect-eaten branch; but, before we have had time to admire the lovely blue of its back and head, it has finished its somersault, when we see the beautifully contrasting pale yellow of its under parts.