me THE SEATTLE WREN. 
Nor was it at all amiss for Professor Ridgway, the eminent ornithologist 
of Washington, D. C., to name this bird in honor of the Queen City, for it is 
in the immediate environs of the city, as well as in the untidy wastes of half- 
conquered nature, that the local Bewick Wren finds a congenial home. 
Logged-off tracts, slashings and burned-over areas are, however, its especial 
delight, and if the bird-man catches sight of one that has been making the 
rounds of all the fire-blackened stumps in the neighborhood, he is ready to de- 
clare a new sub-species on the strength of the bird’s soiled garments. No 
junk-dealer knows the alleys of the metropolis better than this crafty bird 
knows the byways of his log-heaps and the intricate mazes of fire-weed and 
fern. If there is any unusual appearance or noise which gives promise of mis- 
chief afoot, the Seattle Wren is the first to respond. Fitting, gliding, titter- 
ing, the bird comes up and moves about the center of commotion, taking ob- 
servations from all possible angles and making a running commentary thereon. 
His attitude is alert and his movements vivacious, but the chief interest at- 
taches to the bird’s mobile tail. With this expressive member the bird is able 
to converse in a vigorous sign language. It is cocked up in impudence, wagged 
in defiance, set aslant in coquetry, or depressed in whimsical token of humility. 
Indeed, it is hardly too much to say that the bird makes faces with its tail. 
While spying along the lower levels the Wren giggles and chuckles and 
titters, or else gives vent to a grating cry, moozeerp, which sets the woods on 
edge. But in song the bird oftenest chooses an elevated station, an alder 
sapling or the top of a stump. Here, at short intervals and in most energetic 
fashion, he delivers extended phrases of varied notes, now clear and sparkling? 
now slurred or pedalled. Above all, he is master of a set of smart trills. One 
of them, after three preliminary notes, runs fsw’ tsw’ tsw tsu’ tsw’ tsu’, like an 
exaggerated and beautified song of the Towhee. Another song, which from 
its rollicking character deserves to be called a drinking song, terminates with 
a brilliant trill in descending scale, rallentando et diminuendo, as tho the little 
minstrel were actually draining a beaker of dew. 
The Seattle Wren is altogether a hilarious personage; and in a country 
where most song birds are overawed by the solemnity of the forest, it is well 
enough to have one cheery wight to set all canons at defiance. Even the gray- 
bearded old fir-stubs must laugh at a time over some of the sallies of this rest- 
less little zany. The Wren does not indulge in conscious mimicry, but since 
his art is self-taught, he is occasionally indebted to the companions of the 
woods for a theme. The Towhee motif is not uncommon in his songs, and the 
supposed notes of a Willow Goldfinch, a little off color, were traced to his 
door, at Blaine. 
Of the nesting Mr. Bowles says: “The building sites chosen by this 
wren for its nests are so variable that hardly anything can be considered typi- 
cal. It may be in the wildest swampy wood far removed from civilization, but 
