A Bird Sanctuary for The Sign of the Wren's Nest 171 



sought refuge at The Wren's Nest. First, the fugitives built a nest at the gate, 

 in the letter-box, which thereafter was scrupulously respected by the postman, 

 and even by the children of the vicinity. Thus encouraged, they made them- 

 selves at home in many quiet nooks and corners in the vines, and, receiving 

 watchful care and protection from the inmates in the cottage, they organized 

 a little republic of their own; and in their picturesque domain they have ever 

 seemed to regard themselves as the rightful owners and rulers of the entire 

 tract. Birds, next to children and flowers, were the special objects of 'Uncle 

 Remus's' attention. 



The Park Board of Atlanta is caring for the trees at The Wren's Nest and 

 the grounds are kept in perfect order. The Memorial Association is planning 

 a series of scenes for moving pictures that will show The Wren's Nest and 

 places of interest about the place. Everybody loves the home where "Brer 

 Rabbit" lived, and the tourist always wishes to go to Snap-Bean Farm, that 

 he may enjoy the scenes where Uncle Remus talked to the Little Boy, and the 

 old "Bar" and "Sis Cow," and all the other fanciful people and animals that 

 lived in the imagination of the author. 



There is a guest-book at the Sign of the Wren's Nest that shows enrolled the 

 names of distinguished men and women of world-wide interest. Fifty-three 

 states and governments are represented, but the tourist does notlinger over the 

 guest-book to see the distinguished names it bears. He wishes to see the birds, 

 the rabbits, the trees, the flowers, and the vines, where "Brer Possum" was 

 caught napping. 



It is the earnest desire of all Atlantians that some day there may be a child's 

 hospital at The Wren's Nest, that will be the greatest memorial that can be 

 erected to the memory of Joel Chandler Harris. 



THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE 



Is it a firebrand, tossed in the air, 



Which the soft breeze fans to a flame? 

 Glowing and brilliant beyond compare. 

 As it darts and flashes, now here, now, there. 



Pray, can you give it a name? 



Or is it a petal from some gorgeous flower. 



Wind-blown from the tropics this way? 

 Or a meteor shooting through orchard and bower. 

 Till the blossoms come falling, a glorious shower, 



Like the ghost of a snowstorm in May? 



— Nellie J. Wharples. 



