Hardy, smart, restless, industrious, and frugal, the Black-cap Titmouse ranges through the forest during the summer, and retiring to its more secluded parts, as if to ensure a greater degree of quiet, it usually breeds there. Its numerous eggs produce a numerous progeny, and as soon as the first brood has been reared the young range hither and thither in a body, searching for food, while their parents, intent on rearing another family, remain concealed and almost silent, laying their eggs in the hole deserted by some Woodpecker, or forming one for themselves. "As it has been my fortune," says Audubon, "to witness a pair at this work, I will state what occurred, notwithstanding the opinion of those who tell us that the bill of a Titmouse is 'not shaped for digging.' While seated one morning under a crab apple-tree (very hard wood). I saw two Black-cap Titmice fluttering about in great concern, as if anxious to see me depart. By their manners I was induced to believe their nest was near, and, anxious to observe their proceedings, I removed to the distance of about twenty paces. The birds now became silent, alighted on the apple-tree, gradually moved towards the base of one of its large branches, and one of them disappeared, in what I then supposed to be the hole of a small Woodpecker, but I saw it presently on the edge with a small chip in its bill, and again cautiously approached the tree. When three or four yards off I distinctly heard the peckings or tappings of the industrious worker within, and saw it come to the mouth of the hole and return many times in succession in the course of half an hour, after which I got up and examined the mansion. The hole was about three inches deep, and dug obliquely downward from the aperture, which was just large enough to admit the bird. I had observed both sexes at this labour, and left the spot perfectly satisfied as to their power of boring a nest for themselves."
"The Black-cap Titmouse, or Chickadee, as it is generally named in our Eastern States, though exceedingly shy in summer, or during the breeding season, becomes quite familiar in winter, although it never ventures to enter the habitations of man; but in the most boisterous weather requiring neither food nor shelter there, it may be seen amidst the snow, in the rugged paths of the cheerless woods, where it welcomes the traveller or woodcutter with a confidence and cheerfulness far surpassing the well-known familiarity of the Robin Redbreast of Europe. Often, on such occasions, should you offer it, no matter how small a portion of your fare, it alights without hesitation, and devours it without manifesting any apprehension. The sound of an axe in the woods is sufficient to bring forth several of these busy creatures, and, having discovered the woodman, they seem to find pleasure in his company. If, as is usually the case, he is provided with a dinner, the Chickadee at once evinces its anxiety to partake of it, and loses no opportunity of accomplishing its object, although it sets about it with much circumspection, as if afraid of being detected and brought to punishment." "A woodcutter in Maine assured me," continues Audubon, "that one day he happened to be at work, and had scarcely hung up his basket of provisions, when it was observed by a flock of these birds, which, having gathered into it at once, attacked a piece of cold beef; but, after each peck, he saw their heads raised above the edge, as if to guard against the least appearance of danger. After picking until they were tired or satisfied, they left the basket, and perched directly over his fire, but out of the direction of the smoke. There they sat enjoying themselves, and ruffling their feathers, to allow the warmth more easy access to their skin, until he began his dinner, when they alighted near him, and, in the most plaintive tones, seemed to solicit a portion."
"Often," continues our author, "have I watched the busy Chickadees as they proceeded from tree to tree and from branch to branch, whether by the roadside or in the interior of the forest. The light rustling sound of their concave wings would intimate their approach as well as their retreat, as gaily one after another they passed onwards from one spot to another, chattering, peeping everywhere, and determined as it were not to suffer a chink to pass without inspection. Now hanging back downwards at the extremity of a twig, its feet almost up to its bill, one would peck at a berry or a seed, until it had devoured it, or it had fallen to the ground. Should the latter be the case, the busy bird would at once fly down and hammer at the fruit. To the Black-cap Titmouse the breaking of a hazel-nut is quite a pleasure, and I have repeatedly seen the feat accomplished, not only by a bird in its natural state, but by one kept in confinement. Courageous, and at times exceedingly tyrannical, it will attack young birds, break their skulls, and feed upon their flesh, as I have more than once witnessed.
"The Chickadee feeds on insects, their larvæ and eggs, as well as on every sort of small fruit or berries, including grapes, acorns, and the seeds of various pines. I have seen it eat the seeds of the sunflower, the pokeberry and pears, as well as flesh of all kinds. Indeed, it may truly be called omnivorous. Often you may see them perched, as it were, upon their food, and holding it beneath their feet while pecking it.
"The nest of this species, whether it be placed in the hole of a Woodpecker or Squirrel, or in a place dug by itself, is seldom found at a height exceeding ten feet. Most of those which I have seen were in low, broken, or hollowed stumps, a few feet high. The materials of which it is composed vary in different districts, but are generally the hair of quadrupeds in considerable quantity, and disposed in the shape of a loose bag or purse, as in most other species which do not hang their nests outside." The eggs rarely exceed eight in number; they are five-eighths of an inch long by three-eighths and three-quarters, rather pointed at the smaller end with minute reddish dots and markings. The first brood are laid from the middle of April to that of May, the second two months later. "The flight of this species," says Audubon, "like that of all American Titmice, is short, fluttering generally from tree to tree, and is accompanied with a murmuring sound, produced by the concavity of the wings. It is seldom seen on the ground, unless when it has followed a fruit that has fallen, or when searching for materials for its nest. It usually roosts in its nest during winter, and in summer amid the close foliage of firs or evergreens. In winter indeed, as well as in autumn, it is seen near the farmhouses, and even in villages and towns, busily seeking for food among the trees."
"On seeing a cat, or other object of natural antipathy," says Mr. Nuttall, "the Chickadee, like the peevish Jay, scolds in a loud, angry, and hoarse note, ''tshe! daigh, daigh, daigh!' Among the other notes of this species I have heard a call like ''tshe-de-jay! 'tshe-de-jay!' the two first syllables being a feeble chirp, with the jay strongly pronounced. The only note of this bird which can be called a song, is one which is frequently heard at intervals in the depths of the forest at times of day usually when all other birds are silent. We may then sometimes hear, in the midst of this solitude, two feeble, drawling, clearly whistled and rather melancholy notes, like 'Te dizzy!' and sometimes 'Ye perrit!' and occasionally, but rarely, in the same wiry, whistling, solemn tone, 'Phebe!' On fine days, about the commencement of October, I have heard the Chickadee sometimes for half an hour at a time, attempt a lively petulant warble, very different from his ordinary note. On these occasions he appears to flirt about, still hunting for his prey, in an ecstasy of delight and vigour. But, after awhile, the usual drawling note again occurs."
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