The Carolina Wren in Beverly, Mass. 



By VIOLA E. CRITTENDEN, Beverly, Mass. 



FOR an entire week I have been the proprietor of a Carolina Wren. I 

 discovered him by means of his striking song, early in the morning of 

 March g, and have seldom had a richer reward for early rising. Today, 

 March 16, he is still haunting the brush-piles along the little brook which is 

 directly in the rear of a rather busy street. It is not a romantic spot. A good 

 part of it is occupied by a dump; children and dogs are numerous, likewise 

 men splitting kindlings in back yards, and women beating rugs. 



The crowing of roosters and the quacking of ducks is much in evidence, but 

 through all these sounds the Wren's clear tones penetrate, and can be heard at 

 a long distance by a trained ear. 



During my morning calls, he is not at all shy. He gives his undivided 

 attention to his vocal practice, singing each phrase many times, as though he 

 were afraid of forgetting it. His method of practice is most fortunate for the 

 observer who wishes to "drive it in." Tick'le you! tick'le you! he calls lustily 

 from a little sapling. On being disturbed, he flies to the brush-pile, and per- 

 haps doubles his song thus : Tick'le you, tick'le you, tick! His vigor reminds me 

 of the White-eyed Vireo, and his position and coloring are a little like the 

 Thrasher's. He will sit "head on" and sing, watching me calmly until I come 

 close enough to see the pretty curve of his slender bill. Then, when I grow 

 unbearably obtrusive, his tail, which has drooped as he sang, suddenly takes 

 Wren-like pertness, and he drops to the ground behind the brush-pile. 



Soon his voice calls clearly, "Judy! Judy! Ju'dyP'' and then, perhaps, he 

 varies a phrase with some rich little grace-notes or a tremolo. His nights are 

 usually short, and he sings a different phrase on settling in a new position. 

 Only once have I seen him sulky or shy. That was late in the afternoon of a 

 cold day. I wonder if loneliness has not made him bold, for I have been within 

 seven or eight feet of him. 



March 30. This morning I visited my little friend at 6:30, and 

 found him mad with song and showing the most intense excitement. 

 From the brush -heap above which he sang issued a petulant scold- 

 ing chatter, suspiciously feminine, and to my delight Jennie Wren popped 

 into the open. Both birds were apparently unaware of the presence of an 

 intruder, and several times flew to within five feet of where I was standing. 

 Jenny was certainly in a most unenviable mood. She would sit on a twig, 

 open her little bill to the widest possible extent, and scold poor 'Jimmy' in a 

 manner most unbecoming to one of the gentle sex. Then she would drop to 

 the ground with seeming nonchalance and fall to feeding. 



As for Jimmy, he was far too jubilant to dream of food. Not for a second 

 did he allow her out of his sight. With drooping tail and lifted bill, like a 

 miniature Thrasher, he performed his repertoire again and again. He sang 



(222) 



