THE COMMON WREN. 



bird is ever cheerful, active, and gay. 

 As the poets have it : 



" When icicles hang dripping from the roof 

 Pipes his perennial lay." 



Its song is surprisingly loud and clear 

 for such a tiny musician, especially when 

 heard only a few inches away, as I have 

 heard it on several occasions whilst 

 crouching inside some of my hiding con- 

 trivances waiting to secure a photograph 

 of some shy bird or beast. It is delivered 

 both upon the wing and when the 

 musician is at rest upon a branch or stone. 



A Wren's call notes sound something 

 like tit, tit-it, tit-it-it, tit-it-it-it, uttered 

 so quickly as to resemble the winding-up 

 of a clock. 



Even in the depths of the very severest 

 winter weather, " Jenny " Wren refuses 

 to be " pauperised " like the Robin, the 

 Blackbird, and the Song Thrush, and dis- 

 daining the help of man, hunts all day 

 long for its own support in a spirit of 

 hopeful independence. It does not matter 

 whether it is an old moss-grown stone 

 wall, a stack of loose firewood, or a 

 shrubbery, in and out goes the little nut- 

 brown bird from cold grey morn till 

 glooming eve, examining every crack 

 59 



