The Rambles of an Idler 



The house-wrens are now here and nest-build- 

 ing is over. There are no sticks to be carried 

 and no more quarreling over their availability. 

 Life has become one endless round of song, 

 varied by lively chatter and spiced with an oc- 

 casional dash of acrimonious debate. When the 

 pair came — I presume they are the same birds — 

 to the cozy corner in my north-side porch, they 

 found the English sparrows in possession. That 

 was April 23d. Of course there was a fight. 

 Nothing like argument, but at once a deal of 

 vituperation, and, on the wrens' part, determi- 

 nation that became desperation. Possession is 

 nine points of the law, and this was the spar- 

 rows'. I was forced to come to the wrens' aid. 

 This I did by closing the entrance to the nesting- 

 place and making a new and smaller one. The 

 sparrows were now at a disadvantage, and held 

 out for three days only, standing guard, and 

 preventing the wrens going where they could 

 not go. Then they gave up. What appeared a 

 purposeless labor on the part of the wrens was 

 that they removed twig by twig all that the spar- 

 rows had gathered to complete a nest, and then, 

 having cleaned house, which proved no very 

 easy matter to them, they took back about as 



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