264 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



they had a roomy nest. May not the wrangle have 

 been a lawsuit concerning this desirable bit of real es- 

 tate? 



There are very few people who know a wren when 

 they see it. Do not take me up, captious critic, and 

 insist that this is too sweeping a statement. Have you 

 tested the matter ? In all probability not. I have. It 

 is not enough to know only the pair that nest in cosey 

 quarters yon have provided for them. There are wrens 

 and wrens, as there are people and people, and your 

 door-yard couples are sadly uninteresting when com- 

 pared with their wilder brethren that have roughed it 

 for the season in a hollow fence-rail — suffer in compari- 

 son, just as the gilded youths of large cities so often 

 dwindle to absolute insignificance when seen by the side 

 of their wide-awake country cousins. 



But the tenants of the wild woods know the wrens 

 full well, and usually give them a wide berth. They 

 realize that they are petty tyrants, suffering no intru- 

 sion and excusing no blunder; particularly so when 

 something has gone wrong with them; then it is "a 

 word and a blow, and the blow first." Even hornets 

 stand back when there is a riot in wrendom. 



Nowhere do the few remaining black-snakes find so 

 sure a retreat as beneath the bottom rail of the fence, 

 where it is beyond the reach of every foe ; and where, 

 too, it has the entrance to a snug underground retreat. 

 From such weedy coverts these shy serpents occasion- 

 ally venture far a-field, and it is as instructive as amus- 

 ing to see with what promptness they dart directly 

 towards the fence, even if you happen to be between 



