42 IN BIRD LAND. 
qwish-year, giving one the feeling that at least one 
brave little heart was not discouraged on account 
of the dismal moaning of the wintry storm. He 
is every inch a hero, and I wonder Emerson did 
not celebrate his praise as well as that of the black- 
capped chickadee, in verse. The wren is somewhat 
more of a recluse than most of my winter intimates. 
He has not been quite as sociable as J should have 
liked. Whether it was modesty or selfishness that 
made him a sort of eremite could not be deter- 
mined. Most of his contemporaries, such as the 
chickadees, kinglets, nuthatches, and woodpeckers, 
prefer to go in straggling flocks; so that, as soon 
as I see one bird or hear his call, I feel sure that he 
is simply the sentinel of a bevy of feathered titers 
and coasters at my elbow. No, they do not believe 
in monasteries or nunneries; they do not believe 
that it is good for a bird to be alone, whatever may 
be said of man or woman. Listen to that kinglet, 
the malapert, hanging head-downward on a spray 
and making his disclaimer: ‘No, sir, we birds 
are sociable beings, as men are, and like to hold 
commerce with one another. What good would it 
do to sing so sweetly or tilt so gracefully were 
there no auditors or spectators to admire our per- 
formances?” And all his plumed comrades cry, 
“Aye! aye!’ by way of emphatic endorsement. 
The division of these tenants of the woods into 
communities or colonies is a matter of unique 
interest to the ornithologist. For instance, there 
seemed to be at least two of these groups, one 
