134 WREN. 
and carry it about when caught, on the top of a pole in the 
midst of holly or ivy, singing some doggrel verses, which 
begin with 
‘The Wren, the Wren, the king of all birds, 
St. Stephen’s day was caught in the furze; 
We hunted him up, we hunted him down, 
We hunted him all about the town.’ etc., etc. 
The whole being an excuse for begging, and its consequent 
debauchery. 
Take the following for a contrast, from an American paper, 
whose editor I must likewise do honour to by naming it—the 
‘Clinton Courant,’ though I cannot him, for the following 
right-minded sentiment so well put:— 
‘Leaning idly over a fence a few days since, we noticed 
a little four-year-old ‘Lord of the creation’ amusing himself 
in the grass, by watching the frolicsome flight of birds which - 
were playing around him. At length a beautiful Bob-o-link 
perched himself upon the drooping bough of an apple-tree, 
which extended to within a few yards of the place where the 
urchin sat, and maintained his position apparently unconscious 
of the close proximity of one whom birds usually consider a 
dangerous neighbour. The boy seemed astonished at his 
impudence, and after regarding him steadily for a minute or 
two, obeying the instinct of his baser part, he picked up a 
stone lying at his feet, and was preparing to throw it, steadying 
himself carefully for a good aim. The little arm was reached 
backward without alarming the bird, and Bob was within an 
ace of damage; when lo! his throat swelled, and forth came 
nature’s plea: 7—‘A link—a link—a Li-n- k, Bob-o-link —Bob-o- 
link!—a-no-weet—a-no-weet! I know it—I know it!—a link— 
a link—a link—don’t throw it!—throw it!—throw it!—throw 
it!’ ete.;—and he didn’t. Slowly the little arm subsided to 
its natural position, and the despised stone dropped. ‘The 
minstrel charmed the murderer! We heard the songster 
through, and watched his unharmed flight, as did the boy 
with a sorrowful countenance. Anxious to hear an expression 
of the little fellow’s feeling, we approached him and enquired, 
‘Why didn’t you stone him, my boy? you might have killed 
him and carried him home.’ The poor little fellow looked up 
doubtingly, as though he suspected our meaning, and with 
an expression, half shame and half sorrow, he replied, ‘Could n’t! 
eos he sung so!’ Who will say that our nature is wholly 
