WILLOW-WRENS. 



|NE afternoon towards the end 

 of May I was strolling along 

 a garden walk which skirts 

 the open common, when I overheard 

 some boys saying, " Here's the nest, she 

 can't fly," &c., and fearing some cruelty 

 was going on, I quickly went out to the 

 lads and asked what they were doing. 

 They pointed to a tiny willow-wren 

 sitting on the ground unable to move because 

 her wings were glued together with birdlime. 

 It was the work of some bird-catcher ; he had 

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