THE WREX. 95 



an i\'y-bu.s]i, decked with variously coloured 

 ribbons, among which the slaughtered birds are 

 exhibited. They go from house to house, collecting 

 money, and singing the well-known and foolish 

 song commencing thus, — 



"The wran, the wran, the king of all birds, 

 St. Stephen's day was cot in the furze, 

 Although he is little, his family's grate. 

 Put your hand in your pocket, and give us a thrate, 

 Sing holly, sing ivy, sing ivy, sing holly," &c. &c. 



A little inoffensive bird like the wren seems ill to 

 merit this traditionary hatred, but Aubrey, in his 

 Miscellanies, relates the tale which is its supposed 

 origin. After having mentioned the last battle 

 in the North of Ireland, between the Protestants 

 and Roman Catholics, in Glinsuly, in the county 

 of Donegal, he says, "Near the same place a party 

 of the Protestants had been surprised sleeping, by 

 the popish Irish, were it not for several wrens, 

 that just wakened them, by dancing and peeking 

 on the dinims, as the enemy was approaching. 

 For this reason the wild Irish mortally hate them 

 to this day, and killing them whenever they can 

 catch them, they teach their children to thrust 

 them full of thorns ; you'll see sometimes on holi- 



