BIRD COURTSHIP 261 



mates successively with several females. But 

 they are such unspeakable pests they are worthy 

 of mention only to advise their extinction. 



Every year we have wrens. The male comes 

 alone and often spends all of a week carrying sticks 

 and twigs by the peck into three different wren 

 houses, singing ecstatically at the entrance to each 

 in turn. Such bubbling, persistent song I never 

 have heard from the throat of any other bird — 

 not even the indigo finch. When timed, a wren has 

 sung for an hour in a spring rain. Then one day I 

 suddenly become aware that there are two wrens 

 on the premises busy with nest building. This has 

 gone on for years, but tell how Madame is courted 

 and mated I never can; for with closest watching, 

 I have not been able to catch the slightest glimpse 

 of a love affair. Surely she must be drawn to her 

 male by that outpouring of song, for he never seems 

 to leave the premises. 



We have song sparrows with us all winter and 

 song sparrows nest low in the honeysuckle or rose 

 bushes or on the ground, at least three times every 

 summer. Whether they are the same birds we 

 can not be sure, but we rather think they arc. 

 We never see but two; their song begins on sunny 

 winter days, grows sweeter and more prolonged 

 with spring; no rivals disturb them after migration 

 and they go about their nesting quietly. 



There were never less than a dozen pairs of 

 martins on the windmill at the Cabin, south, but 



