224 BIRDS 



plete. The Ring Doves are much noisier than 

 when we last wrote, and, spotting one by the side 

 of the woodland glade, we notice the soft and 

 delicate grey of his head and the white ringlet 

 round the neck. Just latterly the most diminu- 

 tive bird in Europe — the Golden-Crested Wren — 

 seems to have become more abundant, and the 

 Robins are singing loud and long one against the 

 other, and some particular birds utter the sweetest 

 music imaginable, so flute-like and mellow are the 

 notes. 



The Chaffinch is in full song, and the Yellow 

 Bunting — what a fine bird he is in his yellow 

 plumes — is daily assuming his little ditty, which, 

 being translated, runs : — 



A little bit of bread and no cheese. 



The Wren is in much fuller and continuous 

 song and seems to thrust sweet music at us if we 

 pass him by unheeded, whilst the graceful Lap- 

 wings on the ploughed lands have by this time 

 laid all their pear-shaped eggs. 



The Blackbird is in beautiful voice; it is slow, 

 measured, and mellow; so different is it from the 

 sometimes screeching notes of the Song and Mistle 

 Thrushes. For the most part, the song of him 

 of the golden dagger seems melancholy and sad, 

 but the poet knew his bird when he sang : — 



Thou hast thy matin and thy vesper song. 



