156 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. 



of birds. Only recently I read a most painful account of 

 the many dangers to which birds nesting in the valley of 

 the Hudson River are exposed. According to the writer 

 but very few broods are successfully reared. Happily, 

 here in the Delaware Valley the birds are more fortunate, 

 and a failure is the exception, not the rule. So, too, it 

 may be with the songs of birds. My Carolina wrens do 

 not mimic, but perhaps my neighbor's do. 



At the onset of winter, which in 1882 was late in 

 November, the wren seemed unusually active, and sang 

 even more frequently than during the sunny days of 

 early autumn. At this time the characteristic tyrannical 

 temper of the wren tribe showed itself. My wren had 

 pre-empted the immediate vicinity of the stable, barn, 

 and other out-buildings, and woe betide any trespasser ; 

 snow-birds, sparrows, titmice, and even blue-jays were 

 promptly warned off by the little tyrant. If they ques- 

 tioned his authority it was only to their sorrow. So it 

 proved the long winter through. No other birds came 

 near to stay. Spider-hunting, fighting, and singing oc- 

 cupied all its moments, and, I am told, it was often heard 

 to whistle late in the night. Probably it was dreaming, 

 which is not to be wondered at, considering the activity 

 of the bird's brain when awake. 



Thus for six months this bird lived quite alone. It 

 certainly never wandered far at any one time. It was 

 seen at too short intervals for this. But if lonely it was 

 not morose, and to all appearance throve admirably from 

 September to March. 



From March to September it lived another life. As 

 early as the Yth it appeared upon the scene with a com- 

 panion. The two were very noisy and demonstrative. 

 I could not detect much evidence of affection, and at 

 times their actions were strongly suggestive of quarreling. 



