The Birds and Poets 115 



grasses and reed stalks, which is strapped with 

 the same material to reeds or cattails, about eight 

 to twelve inches above the water, with the entrance 

 at the side. They are said to resort to the clever 

 strategy of building a number of nests, for the 

 sole purpose of misleading their enemies and 

 attracting them away from the real domicile. I 

 am constrained to concede them this wisdom, for 

 I have always found it necessary to look through 

 a number of equally promising nests before I 

 found one containing eggs. 



The long-billed marsh wren is one of the most 

 active, nervous, excitable bits of feathered life one 

 ever sees. His song is louder and more musical 

 than the house wren's, but it is a typical rollick- 

 ing wren song, and after hearing the song I have 

 often watched the rushes whence the sound came, 

 unable to catch sight of the little reed-colored bird, 

 when suddenly he would virtually tumble up into 

 the air over the rushes, and as suddenly tumble 

 down again, out of sight, accompanying this aerial 

 performance with his rippling, bubbling, gurgling 

 song. At other times he will perch on a reed or 

 rush stem and, throwing his head back and his 

 tail straight up, sing until his little body is vibrant 

 with ecstasy. His tail is always brought straight 

 up in the air when he sings, unlike the house 

 wren, who brings his tail down while singing. I 

 once visited a colony of these birds near Millers, 

 Indiana, and while my companion and I were 

 watching one of them sing, he threw his little 



