206 THE HOUSE WREN. 
evil day the Wren has fought a losing battle. If one could believe in the sur- 
vival of the “‘sassiest’’ the odds would still be in his favor, but the Wren alas! 
has not learned the value of codperation, and his tiny beak, however valiant, 
is no match for the concerted action of the aliens. The American Wren 
must go. 
For some reason, too, the near presence of its cousins, the Carolina and 
Bewick Wrens, does not seem to be congenial to this bird, and it has retired 
before the latter species, apparently without dispute, from the southern third 
of the state; and one finds it commonly only where neither of the others is to 
be found. 
Arriving about the middle of April, the House Wren—or Jenny Wren, 
as it is fondly called—proceeds immediately to renovate last year’s quarters, 
and to season the task with frequent bursts of song. In singing his joyous 
trill the bird reminds one of a piece of fireworks called a cascade, for he fills 
the air with a brilliant bouquet of song, and is himself, one would think, nearly 
consumed by the violence of the effort. But the next moment the singer is 
carrying out last year’s feather-bed by great beakfuls, or lugging into some 
cranny sticks ridiculously large for him. 
During the nesting season both birds are perfect little spitfires, assaulting 
mischievous prowlers with a fearlessness which knows no caution, and scold- 
ing in a voice which expresses utmost contempt. The rasping notes produced 
on such an occasion remind one of the energetic use of a nutmeg-grater by 
a determined housewife. 
In providing a nest the birds usually seek to fill up the chosen cavity, 
whatever it be —an old coffee pot, a peck measure, a sleeve or pocket of an 
old coat, or a mere knot-hole—with sticks and trash. Within this mass, or 
preferably on the top of it, a heavily-walled cup of chicken feathers is placed, 
and these are held in shape by a few horse-hairs. I once found a set of 
Wren’s eggs in the deserted nest of a Barn Swallow. Even here the second 
tenants had relined the nest, until there was barely room to insert the fingers 
between the edge of the nest and the roof of the building. 
Not infrequently, whether because of the incessant persecutions of the 
Sparrows, or from a recurrence of ancestral tastes, nests are found far from 
any human habitation, in a crevice of a worm fence or in a decayed stump at 
the edge of the swamp. 
Eggs are deposited at the rate of one each day, and incubation lasts four- 
teen days. ‘Two and often three broods are raised in a season, the eggs of 
each succeeding set usually being less in number. 
