42 THE BIRDS ABOUT Us. 



in the country must have a lively recollection of that 

 bright, sunny April morning when, for the first time 

 in months, they heard the cheery singing of this lively 

 minstrel. It is always ready with a full performance. 

 There is no tuning up, no interminable twanging of 

 strings, or dead-and-alive tooting upon horns, but the 

 full measure of the song proposed, and it is a wel- 

 come to spring that puts faith in the hearts of all 

 hearers. 



Year after year the same birds come to the same 

 old quarters, and no time is lost in renovating them 

 for the coming summer. This means work, of course, 

 but the labor is not depressing. There goes a song 

 along with every twig that is carried in-doors, a round 

 of exultation with every egg that is laid, and a gen- 

 eral rejoicing until the young have gathered strength 

 sufficient to go out into the world. And all the while 

 these birds are devouring thousands of insects, liter- 

 ally, thousands. 



I do not know how far, years ago, these wrens fre- 

 quented the remote woods, but of late I have found 

 far more in the weedy meadows, wandering about 

 old worm-fences and making their homes in hollow 

 trees, than about the out-buildings on the farm. Here, 

 however, whether they felt out of place or not, they 

 were just as lively and ready to pick a quarrel as 

 when the lords of the door-yard. The change may 

 not have been a sorrowful one for them, but it was 

 for me. 



The house-wren is sensitive to cold, and early in 

 October they leave for warmer regions ; but it is very 

 difficult to make many people believe this. Time 



