low-bill will stand head side-ways, downward watch- 

 ing or listening and then make a sudden dive for the 

 worm exactly as the Robin does — but when it comes 

 to real song, the notes of our Robin — charming as is 

 its "Spring song" when heard on a March day — can- 

 not compare with the full, deep, liquid notes the 

 Blackbird can give at its best. I have heard the 

 "best" of the Blackbird only once, when he was on a 

 branch overhanging the narrow path around Rouge- 

 mont Castle, Exeter, just above that wonderful 

 downward sweep of the turf, studded with great trees, 

 that was once the moat of a castle — so long ago that 

 now giant cedars of Lebanon grow where water used 

 to be. 



In and out of the shrubbery along this same path, 

 a bright-eyed Wren kept watch of me, as I of him. 

 This little bird was a Wren like unto our Wrens, and 

 I use the word for only such birds, little saucy brown 

 bits of feathers and audacity — but in books on Eng- 

 lish birds a number of different kinds of birds are 

 called "Wrens" — with which the rapid traveller need 

 not, at first, concern himself. 



Down near the cathedral the Great Titmouse lived 

 and would have passed easily for our Chickadee to 

 one who has not studied the difference. In song the 

 Titmouse gives several rich finch-like notes as an in- 

 troduction to his "dee-dee-dee" but he lacks the clear 

 two-note whistle with which our bird makes the woods 

 musical. His actions are the same — those of a tiny 

 acrobat, and it gives one a homelike feeling to watch 

 his performances — if one is well acquainted with the 

 Chickadee. Chaffinches were here, too, and around 



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