The House Wren 127 



tend to be defending them, and thus divert attention from the 

 true nest. 



I have been much interested and entertained by giving at- 

 tention to the nesting of these birds. On my return to Somer- 

 leaze one evening, John King, our colored boy who was a great 

 lover of the birds and who is now dead, told me that a pair 

 of wrens had been about the woodyard that day looking for 

 a nesting place. I said to him that we must help them and 

 put up a box for them. We did so and they immediately took 

 possession of it and commenced the work of building their 

 nest. In a few days John told me that the English sparrows 

 were fighting our wrens and my observations convinced me 

 that he was right. I then got a cigar box and put it up for 

 them down in front of the house so that I could watch and 

 study them. This time I made the hole for their entrance so 

 small that English sparrows could not enter it. That was 

 years ago, and ever since then I have had wrens in that box. 

 Five years ago I put up a gourd for the wrens in a catalpa 

 tree which stood in front of Elmhurst, about ten feet from the 

 porch, and every year since we have had the companionship 

 of a pair of them. One February morning in 1903, when I 

 opened the door to go down town to business I discovered 

 that the wind had blown down and broken the gourd. I picked 

 up the pieces of the gourd and nest. They recalled the lines 

 of Margaret E. Sangster: 



"Never again in this empty nest 



Of love that mated, the love that sung; 



The birds are flown to the east and west 



The husk of their homestead has no tongue 



To tell of the sweet, still summer eves, 



Of the sweeter, merrier, summer days; 



Only a nest in the falling leaves, 



And silence here in the wood's dark maze. 



But I hold in my hand a dainty thing, 

 Woven of feather and fluff and reed, 

 Once 'twas the haven of breast and wing, 

 And the shelter of callow and helpless need. 

 It tells of a passionate gladness gone; 

 It dumbly whispers that love is best; 

 That never a night but has a dawn 

 And I drop a kiss in my empty nest." 



