UNCLE IN ENGLAND. 203 



cannot say so much for the pretty, but mis- 

 chievous bulfinch, which too often amuses itself 

 in picking off the flower-buds. 



What endless entertainment, mamma, there is 

 in observing the operations of the birds ! For 

 some days we had heard a bird in the low wet 

 grounds, for ever going on with two notes, like 

 the whetting of a saw ; and at last we traced it 

 to a place by the river side, where there are some 

 willow trees, and the remains of an orchard. 

 We found it nestling in the decayed stems 

 Mary pronounced it to be the little black- capped 

 marsh titmouse. We went two or three times to 

 the old orchard," where we saw it very busy 

 picking off little chips, in order to deepen a 

 hole in a decayed willow tree for its nest ; and 

 I am told, that it makes the bottom much larger 

 than the entrance. 



The birds of passage which came here for 

 winter are now all taking their departure ; and 

 others will, I suppose, soon replace them. 

 Frederick often points out large flocks of them at 

 a great height ; but it is the charming singing 

 birds that interest me: the blackbird, for in- 

 stance, with his sweet whistle ; and the thrush, 

 who constantly varies his song. But still more, 

 the missel thrush, the largest of the species, who, 

 perched on a lofty tree, warbles a loud carol to 

 the coming Spring, with a, very strong note. 

 This bird is eleven inches long, and Frederick 



