My dear Weasel,
I trust things are well with you? I thought you might like to receive an account of my recent attempt to ring some of the birds of the vicarage garden. I entrusted my scullery maid, Clara, with the responsibility of retrieving birds from the mesh, recognising this task to need a woman’s touch. Clara has proved most useful, and will certainly become a competent remover once I have trained her fully.
I have used the first of the rings the local smithy has made for me, based upon instructions given by young Witherby. The majority used on this first session were of one ninth of an inch diameter, made of the thinnest lead. Upon each I had scribed 'Bandwell Listershire', and upon each a number. One of the very first birds that Clara bought to me was this British Bullfinch Pyrrhula pyrrhula nesa. Taffy Evans, the village idiot, poked his head over the hedge and proclaimed it to be an example from the far east, on account of a tiny trumpeting sound he had heard, but I rebuked him firmly, and sent him on his way. (It was far too delicate a matter to have explained to him the noise had eminated from Clara! The girls of the village are so full of rustic charm.)
Otherwise, less than a handful of tit-mice, and nothing else, so I will be trying your suggestion of putting out grain and seed on the floor below the mesh, and will report back to you soon.
Bandwell Fumblefinch (Reverend)