WREN LIFE 



to believe with the Icelander that he is the mouse's brother. 

 During the whole time of his mate's sitting on the nest, he 

 faithfully ministered to her necessities and jealousy guarded 

 their home against all intruders. 



These tiny creatures are seldom mute for long at a time. 

 Hopping about among the branches, peering under leaves 

 and looking into crevices, they stop every now and then to 

 send up their shrill, vibrating songs. The wren is no mean 

 musician. In a musical contest the eagle would never have 

 been accorded first honors even for a moment. 



At the noonday woodland concert given by the wren, 

 thrush, catbird, ovenbird and bobolink, when most other birds 

 are silent, the wren — possibly because he is nearer than any 

 of the others — seems to be the leader of the chorus, as his 

 gladsome trill rises higher and clearer than all the rest. And 

 often throughout the day he flies to a lofty bough and there, 

 atilt on a branch, pours forth his soul in music — ^his whole 

 body atremble with the fervor of his song. With open bill 

 pointed toward the sky he sends his trilling notes upward; 

 then, as if moved more and more by the gladness of the 

 springtime, with the wildest abandon he scatters reverbera- 

 ting notes about him, filling the grove with that melody which, 

 to a bird lover, is one of the chief charms of summer. 



The concert season of this cheery little minstrel does 

 not close with the springtime; for full six months he sings. 

 Those who have never been moved by the song of a bird 

 have surely never had wrens nesting on their premises. 



On the morning when the first baby chirps were heard 

 in the nest, the little wren father sang with hysterical glad- 

 ness from the topmost bough of a nearby elm. The song 

 was so like the triumphant music of Eastertide that the new 

 life in the nest must have inspired it; though it may have 



35 



