THE WREN 49 
Whoso kills a Robin or a Wran 
Shall never prosper boy nor man. 
In the north it is protected by a similar shield: 
Malisons, malisons, mair than ten, 
Who harries the queen of heaven’s Wren. 
In the Isle of Man a legend exists that there ‘ once on atime’ lived 
a wicked enchantress who practised her spells on the warriors of 
Mona, and thereby stripped the country of its chivalry. A doughty 
knight at length came to the rescue, and was on the point of sur- 
prising her and putting her to death, when she suddenly transformed 
herself into a Wren and flew through his fingers. Every year, on 
Christmas Day, she is compelled to reappear in the island under 
the form of a Wren, with the sentence hanging over her, that she 
is to perish by human hands. On that day, consequently, every 
year, a grand onslaught is made by troops of idle boys and men 
on every Wren which can be discovered. Such as are killed are 
suspended from a bough of holly and carried about in triumph 
on the following day (St. Stephen’s Day), the bearers singing a rude 
song descriptive of the previous day’s hunt. The song is preserved 
in Quiggin’s Guide to the Isle of Man, as it was sung in 1853; and, 
strange to say, it agrees almost word for word with a song which 
was current twenty years ago, and is so perhaps now, among the 
rustic population of Devonshire, though the actual hunt has in the 
latter case fallen into disuse. 
In several parts of Ireland, especially the south, there still exists 
a legend to the effect that a party of Irish soldiers were on the 
point of surprising their enemies (either Danes or Royalists, for 
the story varies) who lay fatigued and asleep, when a Wren perched 
on the drum and awoke the sentinels. Anunhappy legend for the 
poor bird. Forsome weeks previous to Christmas, peasants assemble 
to revenge the treachery of the offender in the persons of his descen- 
dants. Every Wren that is seen is hunted to death, and the bodies 
are carefully saved till St. Stephen’s Day, when they are suspended _ 
from a decorated holly-bough and carried from house to house by 
the captors, accompanied by a song of which, in Connemara, this 
is the burden: 
The Wran, the Wran, the king of all birds, 
St. Stephen’s Day was caught in the furze ; 
Although he is little, his family’s great ; 
So come out, kind ladies, and give us a trate. 
The version of the song in Hall’s Ireland, as it is sung in the 
neighbourhood of Cork, scarcely differs from the above, and a 
similar one may be heard on the same day within twenty miles of 
Dublin. That a custom so absurdly singular should exist in places 
so remote, is in itself evidence that it is of ancient origin, though 
whence derived it would be idle to inquire. 
B.B. & 
