THE WREN is a very small bird; but, as if nature had intended to compensate the want of size and bulk in the individuals, by multiplying them to a greater extent, this little bird is one of the most prolific of the feathered tribe, its nest containing often upwards of eighteen eggs, of a whitish colour, and not much bigger than a pea. The male and female enter by a hole contrived in the middle of the nest, and which, by its situation and size, is accessible only to themselves. The Wren weighs no more than three drachms. Its notes are very sweet, and rival those of the robin redbreast, in the middle of winter, when the coldness of the weather has condemned the other songsters to silence. Like the redbreast, it frequently approaches the habitation of man, enlivening the rustic garden with its song during the greater part of the year. It begins to make a nest early in the spring, but frequently deserts it before it is lined, and searches for a more secure place. The Wren does not, as is usual with most other birds, begin to build the bottom of the nest first. When against a tree, its primary operation is to trace upon the bark the outline, and thus to fasten it with equal strength to all parts. It then, in succession, closes the sides and top, leaving only a small hole for entrance. [Illustration: THE WILLOW WREN. (_Sylvia trochilus._)] THE WILLOW WREN is somewhat larger than the common Wren. The upper parts of the body are of a pale olive-green; the under parts are pale yellow, and a streak of yellow passes over the eyes. The wings and tail are brown, edged with yellowish green; and the legs are inclined to yellow. This bird is migratory, visiting us usually about the middle of April, and taking its departure towards the end of September. The female constructs her nest in holes at the roots of trees, in hollows of dry banks, and other similar places. It is round, and not unlike the nest of the Wren. The eggs are dusky white, marked with reddish spots, and are five in number. A Willow Wren had built in a bank of one of the fields of Mr. White, near Selborne. This bird, a friend and himself observed as she sat in her nest, but were particularly careful not to disturb her, though she eyed them with some degree of jealousy. Some days afterwards, as they passed the same way, they were desirous of remarking how the brood went on; but no nest could be found, till Mr. White happened to take up a large bundle of long green moss, which had been thrown, as it were, carelessly over the nest, in order to mislead the eye of any impertinent intruder.