IV. 



THE WITCHING WREN. 



" There is madness about thee, and joy divine 

 In that song of thine." 



THE song of the winter wren is something 

 that must be heard to be appreciated ; words 

 can no more describe it than they can paint the 

 sky at evening, or translate the babble of the 

 mountain brook. 



" Canst thou copy in verse one chime 

 Of the wood bird's peal and cry ? " 



This witching carol, one of nature's most allur- 

 ing bits of music, fell upon my ear for the first 

 time one memorable morning in June. It was 

 a true siren-strain. We forgot, my comrade 

 and I, what we were seeking in the woods. 

 The junco family, in their snug cave among the 

 roots, so interesting to us but now, might all fly 

 away ; the oven-bird, in the little hollow beside 

 the path, might finish her lace-lined domicile, 

 and the shy tanager conclude to occupy the nest 

 on the living arch from which we had fright- 

 ened her, all without our being there to see. 

 For the moment we cared for but one thing, 



