THE WREN 49 



Whoso kills a Robin or a Wran 

 Shall never prosper boy nor man. 



In the north it is protected by a similar shield : 



Malisons, malisons, mair than ten, 



Who harries the queen of heaven's Wren. 



In the Isle of Man a legend exists that there ' once on a time ' lived 

 a wicked enchantress who practised her spells on the warriors of 

 Mona, and thereby stripped the country of its chivalry. A doughty 

 knight at length came to the rescue, and was on the point of sur- 

 prising her and putting her to death, when she suddenly transformed 

 herself into a Wren and flew through his fingers. Every year, on 

 Christmas Day, she is compelled to reappear in the island under 

 the form of a Wren, with the sentence hanging over her, that she 

 is to perish by human hands. On that day, consequently, every 

 year, a grand onslaught is made by troops of idle boys and men 

 on every Wren which can be discovered. Such as are killed are 

 suspended from a bough of holly and carried about in triumph 

 on the following day (St. Stephen's Day), the bearers singing a rude 

 song descriptive of the previous day's hunt. The song is preserved 

 in Quiggin's Guide to the Isle of Man, as it was sung in 1853 ; and, 

 strange to say, it agrees almost word for word with a song which 

 was current twenty years ago, and is so perhaps now, among the 

 rustic population of Devonshire, though the actual hunt has in the 

 latter case fallen into disuse. 



In several parts of Ireland, especially the south, there still exists 

 a legend to the effect that a party of Irish soldiers were on the 

 point of surprising their enemies (either Danes or Royalists, for 

 the story varies) who lay fatigued and asleep, when a Wren perched 

 on the drum and awoke the sentinels. An unhappy legend for the 

 poor bird. For some weeks previous to Christmas, peasants assemble 

 to revenge the treachery of the offender in the persons of his descen- 

 dants. Every Wren that is seen is hunted to death, and the bodies 

 are carefully saved till St. Stephen's Day, when they are suspended 

 from a decorated holly-bough and carried from house to house by 

 the captors, accompanied by a song of which, in Connemara, this 

 is the burden : 



The Wran, the Wran, the king of all birds, 

 St. Stephen's Day was caught in the furze ; 

 Although he is little, his family's great ; 

 So come out, kind ladies, and give us a trate. 



The version of the song in Hall's Ireland, as it is sung in the 

 neighbourhood of Cork, scarcely differs from the above, and a 

 similar one may be heard on the same day within twenty miles of 

 Dublin. That a custom so absurdly singular should exist in places 

 so remote, is in itself evidence that it is of ancient origin, though 

 whence derived it would be idle to inquire. 



B.B. S 



