THE TOM-TIT IN LONDON.
[To THE EDITOR OP THE "SPECTATOR."] SIR,—The tom-tits (both larger and smaller) are by no means unfamiliar in London, but take kindly to any fairly quiet garden where they are treated with kindness. For years I have hung up meat-bones for them to feed on during the severe weather, and they have requited the consideration by a constant exhibition of the most entertaining gymnastics all day long. Two half-cocoanuts were also hung up in an old verandah, which runs round one side of the house, last winter, and were constantly visited by titmice, who cleared them out in a short time. Some hanging flower-baskets, lined with dead moss, were suspended in the same verandah, and in the late summer, the tits, after busily boring holes in the moss as if to make nests, have come regularly every night to roost in them. At dusk they may be seen flitting round the baskets, and, finally tucking themselves into the holes, they sleep there with such confidence that no passing footstep or near voice disturbs them. All this goes on, literally, within a stone's-throw of the four-mile radius. Other birds, such as robins, thrashes, and blackbirds build, in the summer, in the same garden, where they find a regular meal in the winter, showing that they— like dogs and horses—know who are kind to them, and whom they may trust.—I am, Sir, &c.,
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