266 THE HOUSE WREN. 



evil day the Wren has fought a losing battle. If one could believe in the sur- 

 vival of the "sassiest" the odds would still be in his favor, but the Wren alas ! 

 has not learned the value of cooperation, and his tiny beak, however valiant, 

 is no match for the concerted action of the aliens. The American Wren 

 must go. 



For some reason, too, the near presence of its cousins, the Carolina and 

 Bewick Wrens, does not seem to be congenial to this bird, and it has retired 

 before the latter species, apparently without dispute, from the southern third 

 of the state; and one finds it commonly only where neither of the others is to 

 be found. 



Arriving about the middle of April, the House Wren — or Jenny Wren, 

 as it is fondly called — proceeds immediately to renovate last year's quarters, 

 and to season the task with frequent bursts of song. In singing his joyous 

 trill the bird reminds one of a piece of fireworks called a cascade, for he fills 

 the air with a brilliant bouquet of song, and is himself, one would think, nearly 

 consumed by the violence of the effort. But the next moment the singer is 

 carrying out last year's feather-bed by great beakfuls, or lugging into some 

 cranny sticks ridiculously large for him. 



During the nesting season both birds are perfect little spitfires, assaulting 

 mischievous prowlers with a fearlessness which knows no caution, and scold- 

 ing in a voice which expresses utmost contempt. The rasping notes produced 

 on such an occasion remind one of the energetic use of a nutmeg-grater by 

 a determined housewife. 



In providing a nest the birds usually seek to fill up the chosen cavity, 

 whatever it be — an old coffee pot, a peck measure, a sleeve or pocket of an 

 old coat, or a mere knot-hole — with sticks and trash. Within this mass, or 

 preferably on the top of it, a heavily-walled cup of chicken feathers is placed, 

 and these are held in shape by a few horse-hairs. I once found a set of 

 Wren's eggs in the deserted nest of a Barn Swallow. Even here the second 

 tenants had relined the nest, until there was barely room to insert the fingers 

 between the edge of the nest and the roof of the building. 



Not infrequently, whether because of the incessant persecutions of the 

 Sparrows, or from a recurrence of ancestral tastes, nests are found far from 

 any human habitation, in a crevice of a worm fence or in a decayed stump at 

 the edge of the swamp. 



Eggs are deposited at the rate of one each day, and incubation lasts four- 

 teen days. Two and often three broods are raised in a season, the eggs of 

 each succeeding set usually being less in number. 



