O N April 8th, 1933, the Blackbird which sings from the apex of our cottage on Skokholm Island, Pembrokeshire, was displaced by a small finch whose song I have never heard before. It was linnet-like, but much fainter, and I put down the notes " tu-tee, twee-ee-ee", rapidly repeated. As it flew away I had a glimpse of a lemon-yellow bill. During the next three days it fed in the garden, a few feet f...
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