A SWEET-VOICED WREN. 97 



clover-field beyond, causing me to spring up alert 

 and listen for a repetition of the melodious strain. 

 What could it be ? At first I thought it must be a 

 variation of the song-sparrow's canticle, new to me, 

 but it struck me that the tones were not so full 

 and resonant, and that there was more inflection 

 and blending of the notes. Rushing into the 

 house for my opera glass, I hurried across the 

 greensward. The nearer I approached him the 

 more was I convinced that the minstrel had qual- 

 ities of voice not possessed by the song-sparrow ; 

 it was a voice of different timbre. The song was 

 new to me ; for I had been living here only a few 

 months at the time. 



Presently I espied the blithe little vocalist on a 

 fence stake. There he stood with his tail bent 

 downward in true wren fashion, puffing out his 

 throat as he poured forth his delicious roundel, until 

 I got too close to suit his fancy, when up went 

 his tail, which he switched from side to side in a 

 sort of curve, instead of backward and forward as 

 some other wrens do, and then he scudded down 

 among the rails. Here he crept in and out among 

 the crevices, now coming forth a moment to take a 

 peep at me, and then darting back again into a 

 hiding-place. I have learned to know him by the 



