"I know not," says Macgillivray, "a more pleasant object to look at than the Wren; it is always so smart and cheerful—to it all weathers are alike. The big drops of a thunder shower no more wet it than the drizzle of a Scotch mist; and, as it peeps from beneath a bramble, or glances from a hole in the wall, it seems as snug as a kitten frisking on the parlour rug."
"It is amusing," continues this writer, "to watch the motions of a young family of Wrens just come abroad. Walking among furze, or broom, or juniper, you are attracted to some bush by hearing issue from it a lively and frequent repetition of a sound which most resembles the syllable "Chit." On going up you perceive an old Wren flitting about the twigs, and presently a young one flies off, uttering a stifled 'Chirr,' while the parents continue to flutter about, uttering their loud 'Chit! chit! chit!' with indications of varied degrees of excitement."
The Wren produces two broods in the course of the year, the first in April, the second in July. The eggs, from six to eight in number, are large and round, of a pure white or yellowish white, delicately spotted with reddish brown or blood-red, these latter markings often taking the form of a wreath at the broad end. The male and female brood alternately for thirteen days, and cleanse the nest and feed their hungry family with great assiduity. The young remain for a considerable time with their parents, and generally return to pass the night in their old homes for some time after they are fully fledged. Although largely insectivorous, these hardy little birds are enabled to brave the severest winters, not only of our own climate but of still more northern regions. They are not uncommon in Zetland, where their sweet notes serve greatly to enliven the dreary landscape.
The MARSH WRENS (Thryothorus) are a group of American species, distinguished from other members of the family by their comparatively long, thin, and slightly-curved beaks.
THE CAROLINA WREN.
The CAROLINA WREN (Thryothorus Ludovicianus), according to the Prince von Wied, is five inches long and seven broad; the wing measures two inches and one-sixth, and the tail an inch and three-quarters. The plumage of the upper portion of the body is reddish brown, marked with undulating lines of a deeper hue; the chin and throat are white, the rest of the lower parts yellowish red, with black markings on the sides; a stripe over the eyes is white. The quills are blackish brown on the inner, and striped on the outer web. The feathers of the wing-covers are tipped with white. The eye is greyish brown; the upper mandible light grey, the lower one lead-colour, tipped with pale brown. This species is the largest and most numerous of all the many species of Wrens inhabiting North America; it is met with alike in mountain tracts, low-lying regions, dense forests, or even districts near the abodes of man.
"The quickness of the motions of this little bird," says Audubon, "is fully equal to that of the mouse. Like the latter, it appears and is out of sight in a moment; peeps into a crevice, passes rapidly through it, and shows itself at a different place in the next instant. When satiated with food, or fatigued with these multiplied exertions, the little fellow stops, droops its tail, and sings with great energy a short ditty, something resembling the words 'Come to me, Come to me,' repeated several times in quick succession, so loud, and yet so mellow, that it is always agreeable to listen to its music. During spring these notes are heard from all parts of the plantations, the damp woods, the swamps, the sides of creeks and rivers, as well as from the barns, the stables, and the piles of wood within a few yards of the house. I frequently heard one of these Wrens singing from the roof of an abandoned flat boat fastened to the shore, a short distance below the city of New Orleans. When its song was finished, the bird went on creeping from one board to another, thrust itself through an auger-hole, entered the boat's side at one place and peeped out at another, catching numerous spiders and other insects all the while. It sometimes ascends to the higher branches of a tree of moderate size, by climbing along a grape-vine, searching diligently among the leaves and in the chinks of the bark, alighting sideways against the trunk, and conducting itself like a true Creeper."
The vocal capabilities of the Carolina Wren would appear to be respectable, and it can imitate with tolerable accuracy the notes of other birds. "Amidst its imitations and variations," says Nuttall, "which seem almost endless, and lead the stranger to imagine himself, even in the depth of winter, surrounded by all the quaint choristers of the summer, there is still with our capricious and tuneful mimic a favourite theme, more constantly and regularly repeated than the rest. This was also the first sound that I heard from him, delivered with great spirit, though in the dreary month of January. This sweet and melodious ditty—tsee-toot, tsee-toot, tsee-toot, and sometimes tsee-toot, tsee-toot, seet, was usually uttered in a somewhat plaintive or tender strain, varied at each repetition with the most delightful and delicate tones, of which no conception can be formed without experience. That this song has a sentimental air may be conceived from its interpretation by the youths of the country, who pretend to hear it say 'Swĕet-heart, swĕet-heart, sweet!' Nor is the illusion more than the natural truth, for usually this affectionate ditty is answered by its mate, sometimes in the same note, at others in a different call. In most cases it will be remarked that the phrases of our songster are uttered in threes; by this means it will generally be practicable to distinguish its performance from that of other birds, and particularly from the Cardinal Grosbeak, whose expressions it often closely imitates, both in power and delivery. I shall never, I believe, forget the soothing satisfaction and amusement I derived from this little constant and unwearied minstrel, my sole vocal companion throughout many weary miles of a vast, desolate, and otherwise cheerless wilderness. Yet, with all his readiness to amuse by his Protean song—the epitome of all he had ever heard or recollected—he was still studious of concealment, keeping busily engaged near the ground, or in low thickets, in quest of his food; and when he mounted a log or brush-pile, which he had just examined, his colour, so similar to the fallen leaves and wintry livery of Nature, often prevented me from gaining a glimpse of the wonderful and interesting mimic."