The eggs, numbering from four to eight, are white, spotted with pale rusty-red, whereas those of the Chiffchaff, with which they are most likely to be confused on account of the similarity of the nests built by the birds, are marked with dark purplish-brown.
The Willow Wren is one of the brightest and sweetest carol singers visiting our shores. Although its song is short and contains but little variety, there is a sprightliness and simplicity about it that never fails to charm. I always associate the bird’s thrice-welcome notes with the babbling alder-fringed trout streams of my youth, spring sunshine, and the sweet freshness of expanding leaves.
WILLOW WREN BRINGING FOOD
TO YOUNG IN NEST.
John Burroughs, the great American ornithologist, who once came over here to study the song birds of our country, said, “The Willow Wren has a long, tender, delicious warble, not wanting in strength and volume, but eminently pure and sweet—the song of the Chaffinch refined and idealised.... It mounts up round and full, then runs down the scale and expires upon the air in a gentle murmur.”
Willow Wrens proclaim their presence directly they arrive in this country by commencing to sing, and continue to do so until the end of July. I have heard one, together with a Robin and a Song Thrush, carolling in my garden to-day—the 16th of August. After moulting, they commence their music again in September, so they are not long silent.
The song varies, like that of many other melodists, in different parts of the country, and is sometimes uttered on the wing. The alarm note is a plaintive t-wheet, with the first t suggested rather than sounded.
THE HEDGE SPARROW.
